20 minutes across the Pacific we find Lamen Island with 3 villages and a population of 500 people -- Lamen Island is breathtaking. When we boarded off our boat and walked a few yards into the village I felt like I walked into a fairytale. Black sand makes up its main road outlined with banks of black rocks that were initially created to keep the villagers' pigs from running away. Although considering how tiny the island is unless the pigs are good swimmers or cut a deal with a local boatman they would not get too far. The rock bank is covered with olive green moss and the contrast in texture and color looks wicked. It never ceases to amaze me what a great designer Mother Nature is. What I fell in love with the most were the tightly woven canopy of trees that stand like watchful soldiers over the main road. I was glad we were visiting during the day because I can only imagine how spooky the main road looks under the cover of night.
Because the island is so small one Abu (Grandmother) I spoke with explained that everyone shares the responsibility of cleaning or 'brooming' the road of fallen leaves and debris. Imagine that! America would be a different country if we made 1/2 the effort these folks make. Lamen Island exemplifies what happens when a community cares. They make a weekly community project of it and take pride when foreigners visit. I was hesitant in tossing a banana peel on the ground for fear of tarnishing their land-- an act that in many villages of Efate and other islands is not thought of twice. Then again, many villages I've visited are infested with flies because rubbish is disposed of everywhere whereas on Lamen Island flies were not as much of a nuisance...go figure! My friend, Amy Orr, lives on Lamen Island and I now understand why she is so in love with her island and her family.
The next day we took a 20 minute truck ride from our bungalows to the village of Bonkovio to begin our youth leadership camp. We had an awkward start as the Paster was not present for the opening prayer and when he finally appeared we were in the midst of an introduction Ice-Breaker (The Human Bingo) with our kids. Needless to say , my friend and fellow PCV, Jeff Kladder, had to apologize profusely to everyone for starting the camp before praying. Although it's funny now at the time my first thought was... if the Paster had been on time we would not have seemed disrespectful. Needless to say, the locals forgave us, we 'lego' (let go) and moved forward with our sessions.
Day 2 was interesting because while we played our popular afternoon sport (Capture the Flag) our ears were filled with a terrorizing scream. The young men and women we were competing with and/or against made no attempt to figure out where the screams were coming from, but the Pikininis (young boys/girls) collectively ran behind the Nakamal to watch the killing of a pig. Apparently, while we were strategizing on how to capture the opponents flag the 'oldfala' men and women were conducting a 'sori ceremony'. Although I don't know the details of what caused this particular ceremony, in general a sorry ceremony takes place when an individual or nearby village has offended another. During the ceremony the village chiefs have their say as well as the person(s) involved. They apologize to each other, ask for forgiveness, present their 'gifts' (usually some mats, kava and pig) and end the ceremony with shells of kava and a feast. In this case, the feast was Wilbur the Pig. Although I didn't watch the slaughter my PCV friends, Billy and Chris, did and it seems the traumatizing squealing was due to the pig being butchered to death. First, the men involved in the killing attempted to silence Wilbur by knocking him in the head with a hammer not once, but 3 times. Unfortunately for Wilbur, who's a 'strong head', that didn't work. Next, as Chris so delicately put it, another villager "went Dexter" on the pig. This caused blood gurgling squeal #2, but once again, Wilbur was a fighter and was not going down for the count. Ultimately, it took a series of stabbings in the gut for Wilbur to cross over. By the way, this spectacular event occurs under the watchful eyes of the entire village who huddle around the men and the pig criticizing, laughing and/or making suggestions as to what will and will not work when it comes to pig killing.
I've come to understand and to some degree appreciate this cultural event. We all have to eat, right?! However, although I usually buy my chicken or bacon long after the animal has been slaughtered I can't bear to watch the animal suffer for sport. I've come to the conclusion that I may just have to look into kosher foods when I return to the States because the sound of Wilbur crying out is not something I can easily forget.
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Jeff & I reviewing the 3-day schedule with the kids.
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