Tradition and modernity in the Pacific

Tradition and modernity in the Pacific

Dewi Anggraeni, Contributor, Suva/Vila

The contingent of the Minister of Agriculture Bungaran Saragih
arrived in Fiji amid continuous rituals in the nation's last
farewell to their founding father, former prime minister and
president Ratu Sir Kamisese Mara, who died on April 18.

On the following day on April 28, we were given a glimpse of
the love and respect Ratu Mara had enjoyed during his lifetime.
The hearse containing his remains was driven through the capital
city Suva, where people two and three deep lined both sides of
the streets.

In the central business district, many sat solemnly waiting
for the procession, wishing to pay their last respects to one of
Melanesian Fijians' most revered traditional chiefs.

The strength of tradition is often indicative of an agrarian
society, and the economy of the 33-year-old republic in the South
Pacific still rides on its agricultural and horticultural
products and by-products.

To first time visitors, especially those coming from big
industrialized cities, the combination of a clean environment and
the availability of modern conveniences is a welcome change. Even
the central business districts of Fiji's main cities of Suva and
Nadi are delightfully free of aggressive commercialism.

Commerce seems to take place in a sober way. Visitors do not
face the visual assaults of excessively garish outdoor
advertising billboards, nor are they subjected to robust pressure
by hustlers. Even in relatively large restaurants, the
ambient music often provided by singers and musicians in
traditional attire is discreet and unintrusive.

While private cars are widely used, city buses and taxis are
the main means of public transportation for those who commute
without private vehicles.

With over 60 percent of the country still covered with thick
forest, and most of the arable land managed by small holding
farmers and cottage industry operators, traveling in the lush and
undulating rural areas is like an eternal escape from the
proverbial rat race.

For visitors from Indonesia, eating here is a pleasurable and
interesting experience. The abundance of fresh produce yields
many familiar ingredients, such as ginger, chili, coconut,
cassava and other root vegetables, yet they all have particular
Pacific tastes to make them unique. Beef, chicken and seafood,
cooked in a traditional manner as well as in Western recipes, are
never absent from the menu.

At the moment, rice is still the secondary choice to cassava,
but it is increasingly more common. In fact, one of the purposes
of Bungaran Saragih's ministerial visit was to pledge Indonesia's
assistance in developing Fiji's rice-growing program.

Leaving Fiji to head to Vanuatu late in the evening, the
exhausted group was quickly lulled to sleep during the one and a
half hour westward flight to Port Vila.

Stepping down onto the tarmac, the warm humidity outside only
rocked us further into our dreamy state.

"Are you the group from Indonesia?" came a question floating
in our consciousness. "Step this way, please."

Suddenly from a distance there was yelling and shouting. We
turned sleepily in the direction of the noise, and saw to our
bewilderment a group of traditional young warriors rushing toward
us, now conversing among themselves, now interrogating us,
sinisterly waving their weapons.

We were promptly brought to full wakefulness and bafflement
all at once. Not speaking the language, we felt vulnerable, even
besieged. When some of the warriors examined the minister's
hands, an older person in a more chiefly attire suddenly emerged,
and spoke calmly to the group. This seemed to mollify the
warriors, who stepped back while we were then ushered into the
airport's VIP room.

It was surreal, as if we had just stepped in and out of a
different world in a space of a couple of blinks. However, it was
a symbolic introduction to Vanuatu's way of maintaining the
tradition and allowing a degree of modernity in its daily life.

Having been eased into the Pacific pristine environment in
Fiji, where the 18,370 square kilometers are shared by a
population of 800,000, we were no longer surprised by the
comparable situation in Vanuatu, a country with a population of
just over 200,000. However, the similarities do not stretch
beyond the physical geography and landscape.

A predominance of Melanesian in the population (98 percent)
makes them on the whole look considerably darker, and the men do
not combine Western attire with malo (a short sarong) like in
Fiji; they wear pants. Thus, in a way, they come across as more
Western. The town center in Port Vila is more reminiscent of a
French provincial town than the central business district in
Suva.

Another unique aspect of Vanuatu is that, having been an
administrative territory of France and Britain until its
independence in 1980, most of the educated people speak both
French and English, as well as Bislama, their lingua franca, and
their respective traditional languages.

Like Fiji, Vanuatu is also vastly agrarian, where most of the
farmers are not only small land-holding managers, but still
practice subsistence farming. In Efate, the island where Port
Vila is situated, many of the men who work in town in the
hospitality industry, such as taxi drivers and hotel employees,
still hold on to their farming land in their traditional
villages.

The country appears to make considerable use of Western
influence on the running of its government, all the while
guarding its tradition. Traditional practices are maintained in
the rural areas, yet Port Vila has a sophisticated chamber of
commerce with approximately 5,000 members, providing a powerful
lobby in the government. The Port Vila Chamber of Commerce,
founded by an Act of Parliament in 1995, has projects funded by
at least 10 percent of the fees paid by its members to the
government.

Supermarkets in town sell modern commodities and allow
international visitors pressed for the local currency vatu to use
Australian dollars in their transactions, yet within a stone's
throw a traditional market still practices a local way of buying
and selling. Stalls display stacks of different items, all priced
Vt100, and buyers select the desired combination and pay the
price. No foreign currencies are accepted here.

Personal interaction seems a lot more straightforward in
Vanuatu than in any Asian country. This may have contributed to
minister Saragih's success in making inroads into better
relations between Indonesia and Vanuatu. According to his own
theory, being a Batak he does not beat around the bush. And to
his credit, he is also not one to put on airs.

When presenting Indonesia's gifts of five hand tractors to
Vanuatu's farmers, and US$40,000 in cash to help victims of
cyclone Ivy which had hit Vanuatu late in February, he said that
he was bearing a gift from one developing country to another.
Emphasizing that Indonesia had a fair number of ethnic
Melanesians in its population, Saragih said the gifts were a
gesture heralding cooperation between two brothers, not between a
donor and a recipient country.

Vanuatu's Acting Prime Minister Ham Lini made a point of
saying that Indonesia had been regarded as an enemy by the
Melanesians. The image was of a country where Melanesians were
treated with contempt, oppressed and disenfranchised. However,
having met and spoken with minister Saragih, the acting prime
minister was willing to review his perception. "Maybe we have
misunderstood you," he said.

Unlike interactions between Asian countries, where the need
for interpretation was paramount, in the South Pacific countries,
you know where you stand with them.

Back in Melbourne, a friend asked "So, did you do any
snorkeling?"

Snorkeling?

"Yes, Vanuatu is an ideal place for snorkeling! The limpid
sea, the coral reefs..."

"Oh, snorkeling! Yes, of course! I mean, no, I didn't have
time. I was too busy enjoying myself observing their lifestyle."

The friend walked off in disgust.