Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
He obviously did not understand and, smiling, held out his upturned and splayed hands in
that gesture.
I pointed to all the dead bodies scattered around under the trees with a similar gesture and
drew my hand across my neck indicating death. He looked at me blankly at first, and then
followed my gaze at all the supine bodies and broke into a tinkling laughter. He shook his
head, shaking his long, shining, black hair, and put his two hands together and cocked his
head on them signaling to me that they were merely sleeping. I joined in his laughter, re-
lieved to find there was no killer virus or disease on the island.
He beckoned me off the boat and invited me to follow him. I stepped over the side and was
surprised at first to find that without hesitation, he took my hand and led me through the
trees onto a little, dusty path. This was something that I found in many of these little islands
where simple, sweet people still live. The children trust the adults implicitly, even the vis-
iting sailors and tourists, and it was often that I saw a child innocently take the hand of an
adult when walking. We walked through the main part of the town which was comprised of
a faded, old wooden post office and telephone room and a large public square outside these
old pre-war buildings, the village square if you will. I was getting used to no one around
except the still forms of the villagers lying in various poses of sleep. It was actually quite
amusing. Tongi towed me along the path towards a lime green hut at the end of the street,
his little brown hand in mine. I felt a little self-conscious with this at first but enchanted at
the same time. When in Rome.
He ran into the dark interior of the hut, yelling excitedly about my arrival. I looked about
me. The hut was modest and old, its paint fading and grubby around the door. There was
a large wooden deck with a roof of dried palm fronds, which offered some welcome cool
shade where I now stood.
Across the rails was draped an old fishing net with corks and floats attached, and an up-
turned, heavy wooden boat lay close by. There was a blackened cooking drum in a well-
used fire pit in the little front garden, and a pile of coconut husks and green nuts lay in a
heap. A few pigs lay about half buried in the beach sand. On the deck were old chairs and a
rickety bench. The path led off through a copse of coconut trees, and the blue of the lagoon
glittered brightly beyond.
A handsome, middle-aged woman appeared now out of the door. She smiled, with glossy,
white teeth set in a creased, bronze face. Her hair was long and wavy, streaked here and
there with strands of grey. She was obviously Tongi's mother as he hung onto her affec-
tionately. He pointed to me and chatted to her excitedly, waving a half peeled banana.
I introduced myself and told her briefly that I had just arrived by boat and wondered if there
were any immigration officials around. She smiled again and told me her name was Manu
