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“Yes, perhaps two hours ago. Are you Faali?” I asked.
“Yah, I am Tongi's father.”
Just then Tongi's sleepy head appeared at the companionway entrance. He said something
to his father, fisting both his eyes. His father nodded absently.
“You get boat papers. I take you to post office and you see the officer there now,” said
Faali, pointing to the post office building. “Nice boat hey, where you come from?”
“All over the place, but I am on my way back to Hawaii.”
He was impressed, “Hawaii, yes? That too much big place, plenty money that side, many
American people. I got plenty good friends from that place.”
I ducked down into the cabin, retrieving my papers and jumped down onto the dock.
“Come, we go to post office,” he said, looking away from the top of the mast.
I cleared in at the post office counter. It was as I suspected, a dinghy interior with a sleepy
official behind a well-worn, dark wooden counter, greasy from eons of sweaty arms and
elbows. There was a lazy fan overhead revolving around very slowly with an annoying
squeak. There was the uneven throb of a stifled diesel engine coming from the back in a
rough, weatherproof shelter. I had assumed correctly, it was the only generator on the is-
land. It was run at certain times of the day and was used for a few street lights around the
center of town as well as the few buildings, including a general dealer I had not seen earlier.
I was surprised to learn as well there was a meager little airstrip at the east side of Omoka.
Once a month, a twin engine cargo plane arrived from Rarotonga with post and supplies for
the villagers. It returned with the pearls that these villagers dived up and distributed them
to the jewelry trade in Rarotonga and New Zealand. The generator was cranked up for its
arrival as well as for the harbor when trading boats would sometimes sail into the lagoon.
The officer was a simple, friendly soul, and soon passed back to me across the counter my
papers and passport heavily thumped with the official Cook IslandS stamp. I hesitated out-
side the office. Faali invited me to their house for dinner. “When sun go down, you come
back for supper, you now family.” He smiled, and took off with Tongi. There were people
around the town now. A few came down to the dock to see the new boat, and I met some of
the local fishermen and divers. All were polite and friendly. One could tell they appreciated
the few visitors that made the trip to this sleepy little outpost.
I anchored my boat just away from the little harbor and noticed just how shallow the water
was. I was in all but ten feet of seawater. The heat had made me weary, and I dived into
the cool lagoon and rinsed off with my solar shower's warm freshwater. I went below to lie
down and promptly fell asleep.
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