A Story of Recovery:
Less is More Fiji Edition
Six years ago, I went with my family to the village of Nasivikoso in the highlands of Fiji to visit the family that my son had stayed with during the previous four summers. They lived in a stunningly gorgeous, but very remote and barely accessible, farming village without running water and electricity.
I left our hotel in Nadi with a few of the provisions that I knew I needed for our overnight stay and was assured by my son and his friends in town that the host family in the village would provide the other farm-fresh food items I would need. I knew I might have to do with smaller portions or maybe let go of an item, like I do when I dine in a restaurant, but I had no idea how much letting go I was going to have to do.
One of my son’s Fijian friends drove us up in an open-sided safari type jeep vehicle, and we were greeted by a machete-wielding elderly couple that had just terminated their wild boar hunt. They jumped in next to us and we all took the last remaining miles home up the winding river to the village. It turned out they were the parents of our host and we were all headed to the same welcoming family.
That afternoon our hosts and their extended family and friends prepared a dinner feast for us consisting of the wild boar (which looked to me to be harboring a host of contagions and trichinosis galore), bowls of flour products, starchy vegetables, and one bowl (that looked to be an FA serving size) of some sort of mystery greens. I wanted to jump across the room, seize the bowl and abscond with it, but being the polite guest that I was, I simply served myself a respectable portion of the greens and a portion of the starchy tuber. I had a couple of “just in case” ounces of cheese that I had brought along.
Ok. Phew! I made it through that. Now what? Oh my God it’s Kava time. My son had explained this Fijian custom to me many times, always delighting in the horror on my face when I envisioned myself screaming “NOOO! I can’t break my abstinence!” while they held me down and forced me to drink the kava root brew. Fortunately when it was time for the sacred Kava drinking ceremony, God seemed to sit right down next to me and helped me pass the murky looking bowl to my right with a gracious smile. I patted my stomach as if I wasn’t feeling well and passed it on to my daughter. That seemed to be the most expedient and authentic way I could express why I would have to forego this special ritual.
It was wonderful to watch them prepare the Kava drink, mashing it, mixing it with the water, and passing the bowl around for everyone to drink. I had to stifle a giggle as I watched the rest of my family partake in the ceremony. They were practically gagging, and their smug smiles turned downwards as they tasted the potent brew, which I guess it is an acquired taste. Afterwards, it was time to dance, tell stories, and laugh.
We went to bed that night in one-room home with about twelve members of the extended family sitting in a semi-circle, watching us get into our sleeping bags, and patiently waiting for us to fall asleep. It was so touching. It is difficult to explain what a sweet and gentle culture the Fijians have and what a bond we had seemed to forge with them in such a short period of time. No wonder my son hated to leave each year. I went to sleep that night thanking God for the opportunity to meet everyone who had been so kind to my son over the years, hosting him and treating him like a true member of the family.
I woke up in the morning and went to wash my face and brush my teeth on the other side of the village where they had some fresh water, and came back ready for breakfast. There, to my horror, was my son’s host mother smiling with pride as she was making a batch of fried flour and sugar. I can’t tell you how good it smelled; you could almost see the wafting fragrance of one of my old favorite foods drifting straight from the pan into my nose like in the cartoons of our youth.
My son looked at me, horrified, and kindly went up to our hostess and explained to her in his rudimentary Fijian and various hand signals that it would be “bad” for my stomach to eat that and that I would have to refrain. Little did she know that she was cooking something that, in some form, used to be my drug! I could tell she was sad and a little baffled, but she was delighted when she saw that I at least had my breakfast grain. I had thought that some fruit would be served, but there was none in sight. When I glanced out to see a citrus tree, I was delighted; maybe I could get a piece of fruit from the tree. One of the kids was happy to climb up and bring me what looked like a very familiar fruit, but when I peeled the skin away, the interior was rock hard. So much for that!
Again, for lunch out came a “feast” with much of the same sort of foods from last night’s dinner, but by this time I was sure that the un-refrigerated protein had spoiled and I knew that would definitely be “bad” for my stomach. By this point I can say that I was praying that our ride would come sooner than later so we could get back to our hotel. I almost cried when I heard that the jeep might not make it back that day. Thank God it was some kind of rumor, and when I saw our friend the driver arrive in the jeep late that afternoon, you would have thought I saw the Messiah. I did my best to muffle my glee so as not to offend anyone.
When it was time to go, though, I have to say that I was sad to leave this beautiful community of very gracious, warm, and welcoming people. They had demonstrated such grace and acceptance and couldn’t have been more hospitable. They opened their hearts and homes and treated us so kindly that when it was time to leave, I felt as if I was being dragged away from family.
The entire village showed up to sing us the beautiful a cappella song, Isa Lei, as tears streamed down all of our faces. One beautiful 24-hour period of time had so much meaning to all of us, and I was so happy to be abstinent, present, and basking in the true comfort that comes from faith, serenity, and acceptance. No food in the world would have been worth breaking my abstinence for, and no food could have tasted as good as the wonderful feelings that I was privileged to share during this very incredible and moving experience in Nasivikoso.