Grandson from Vanuatu

A candidate for a chief

Chief Roy Mata had 50 wives and when he died, all of them were buried alive together with him. Chief Roy Mata brought peace to the archipelago of Vanuatu, so the legend says. He came from the east and subdued all other chiefs on Efate and its neighbouring islands, this is how the peace came. During his time going to war was punishable by death. When he died, all his wives and all the subordinate chiefs were buried with him. This is what the legend says. The place where he has been buried is sacred and is the object of pilgrimages to this day.

In the 1960s a French archaeologist Jose Garanger excavated the place where Roy Mata is supposed to have been buried. There he found a skeleton decorated with signs of chiefly power and other skeletons, whose hands and feet had been bound. Information about the excavation, illustrated with many pictures, can be seen today in the National Museum in Port Vila.

A chief in Vanuatu could have several wives. If this was the case, the wives had to be obedient, or else they could end up on a dinner plate (this is not my description, it was used in a conversation with me by Hardiman, a native of Vanuatu). In Vanuatu human flesh vanished from the menu only 1960ties. It wasn't necessarily prisoners that were on that menu. The immediate family was at hand all the time and for a chief who had several wives, tens of children and perhaps a hundred grandchildren a plump grandchild for supper was not a big deal. Still in the early 1980s a chief at Malekula island decided to have a juicy grandson for supper but the would be meal sniffed what was going on and legged it. Today he drives a bus in Port Vila, the capital of the country. My interlocutor, Hardiman, knows him very well. Hardiman knows many people in Port Vila, he has an arts and crafts shop on the main street there.

Plaited houses on Pentecost island

Welcome to Vanuatu, a paradise archipelago, where some of the islands have no roads, no cars, no electricity, no running water, no concrete buildings, all buildings plaited of bamboo and bound with forest vine. All buildings: houses, churches, schools, nakamals. A nakamal is a main building in a village, all public ceremonies are conducted either in it or on a square in front. Welcome in Vanuatu, which does not have an army and the whole police force is less than 600 men. On some islands there are no policemen at all. Where there are no police, the whole power is in the hands of village chiefs.

Eating human flesh is now illegal in Vanuatu but whoever wants to become a chief has to prove that he can kill. The victims are pigs nowadays. During the ceremony of a nomination of a new chief they wait turn quietly (or sometimes not so quietly), tied to a palm tree on a plaza in front of a nakamal. A band playing on slit drums sits next to the entry to the nakamal. A throng of dancers circles the victim. The candidate for a chief is easily recognisable, he is the one who wields an axe. At the correct moment the axe splits the pigs scull, the pig falls in convulsions, blood running down its snout. The dancers in the meantime circle another victim. (This is no literary fiction, I witnessed a ceremony like this on Pentecost island).

Pentecost Island is long and narrow, stretching from north to south. Some tourists go to the southern part to see an initiation ceremony that includes jumping head first from a platform with vines tied to the ankles. The jumper does not hit the ground, thanks to the vines at his ankles he ends up dangling just above but he has to show his stamina by jumping head first. No tourists go to the northern part of the island where I witnessed the initiation ceremony that included head splitting. I was the only white person there. The northern part of the island is, however, a place from which the intellectual elite of the country comes. At the airport (which consists of a grass air strip and a kiosk) I rubbed shoulders with a deputy prime minister and an attorney general who were visiting their families. Both carried a characteristic stick of a chief which meant that both once had to split a head of a pig. The candidate whom I saw dancing with an axe in his hand was a well known doctor who had a practice in the capital. Pastor Walter Lini, the first prime minister of the republic, also came from here and is buried here. There is a figure on his tomb holding, of course, the chief's stick.

Vanuatu folk dress

It is not on all the islands of the archipelago that a candidate has to prove his guts by killing to become a chief. On Tanna island the eldest son of the previous chief inherits the office. This was the case of Jack Waiwai who was the guide in the bush there. Chief Jack felt certain connection with me, he was the same age and his wife (apparently just one) also died a few years ago. Unlike me, however, he had already a number of grandchildren.

Tanna is the place where most tourists to Vanuatu come, the biggest attraction being Yasur Volcano. This is supposedly the most easily accessible active volcano in the world. One can drive a land rover to its foot, walk the last hundred metres to the rim of the crater ond look into the fire spitting throat of Hell. The airport of Tanna is not just a long bit of lawn, it is a proper tarmacked air strip used by big airliners. The airport is close to the town of Lenakel, called Black Man Town by locals, although the only reason to call it a town is that not all the buildings are made of bamboo. There are a few concrete buildings there, among them shops, a bank, even restaurants. I was there with my little friend Gibson, a grandson of chief Jack. He walked there holding my hand and watching the big world with wide open eyes.

Lenakel is the big world for Gibson. He lives on the other side of the island, in a village called Iatapu. It is so called “kastom vilij”, where tourists may come and take photos of the natives in their traditional costumes. On Tanna the traditional costume of men consists exclusively of a penis sheath, of course much bigger than the penis itself and always sticking up. The costume of women is a skirt made of grass that also cover the rear, but does not cover breasts. The villagers of Iatapu put these costumes only when tourists come there to see the traditional dances and pay for the privilege of taking photos. For the money earned thus they buy normal clothes they wear every day. Only adults wear clothes, though. Children, like my little friend Gibson, run around naked.

I know this because I stayed in that village for several days. I saw tourists coming with cameras and the villagers taking their clothes off for their sake. When I was in the village, little Gibson followed me everywhere holding my hand, in his birthday suit of course. Only when we went to Lenakel, the Black Man Town, they gave him a pair of trousers. I have no idea why he liked me so much, I couldn't even talk to him as he didn't speak English. When I had to leave, little Gibson cried. We were sitting at my last breakfast,Gibson on my lap and his grandfather, chief Jack, with me at the table.

“You can take him with you if you want to”, said chief jack.

“What do you mean? He would cry for his mum and dad. His mum and dad would cry as well.”

Maybe they would cry but you would give him power and in the future he would help the community..”

Chief Jack was saying this absolutely seriously.

My friend Gibson

You will find this story, and many others, in my book "ASK A GLOBETROTTER".