Valerie was born in New Zealand and raised between Australia and the Pacific. Her stories originate from her rich family ancestry and personal experiences across Oceania. Her father’s family stories stretch from Sāmoa and remote islands in the Koro Sea to the early mixed race pioneers who settled in Levuka, Fiji. Her mother’s family stories expand from the interior of Viti Levu to the delta of the Rewa River. Valerie is a documentary film-maker, photographer and broadcast journalist. She is currently doing a PhD in Pacific and Antarctic studies at the Australian National University.
Still beneath the surface of the river
Speckled light ripples across smooth round pebbles
Staring into the boundless sky
Above a billi billi
Piled high with dalo and rou rou
Glides towards an evening meal by hurricane light
With the movement of her agile feet
Bubu finds her balance
Splashing, squeaking, rolling bamboo
A baby wrapped snugly on her back
Memorises the rhythm of the river
And the smell of smoky wood fire and coconut oil
On her Bubu’s ebony skin
Strong hands guide the craft with skill and grace
Past laughing children
Swimming against the current
Letting go, without fear
They bob up and down
Their laugher is gently silenced
As they are embraced by deep swirling water
At the same time the bamboo craft comes to rest upon the pebbled shore
Our blood once flowed for each inch of soil
And when death came we were wrapped in masi
Then buried safe in Vuni-vasa
Men and women
Warriors of Viti
We lived when the world was alive with spirit
That demanded our attention
Then fathers traded parcels of land for a bottle of whiskey
With a hope that gold could honour the vu ni yalo
Poisoned by the bottle and dreams of a better life
Mothers lay down with men for money
Even though missionaries
Came and sought to convert the heathen
Superstition and insecurity
Never left the hearts of brothers and sisters
They bled the sacred trees of your ancestors
And erected shrines of victory
To men whose sons now stand to lose everything
The marking of time burdens the living
With the triumphs and failures of those who conjure the past
Shaping the present
Floating in the riddle of truth
They lose sight of the shadows following their footsteps
Twenty strong warriors are now dead
Fighting to feed their children while fields lay bare
Those who return from battle earning 4WDs and iPods
Have no eyes for a future that learns from the past
We rise unhappy
And cry into the ocean and rivers
Of their childhood