Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Oh my God, just look at that fox! I muttered to myself as I stood uncertainly at the foot of
the steps of their hut later that evening. I was looking at a feminine apparition with long,
flowing, wavy, black hair which had been scraped back and fettered with some type of dec-
orative hair pin. She had on a clean, white blouse with blue, printed flowers. She wore a
brown skirt below this, and she had a haughty young girl pout. She was about fifteen, with
an exceptionally pretty brown face. I could tell from her skirt that she was quite portly, but
Oh! Her face could launch a thousand dugout's canoes.
I waved self-consciously at her. She waved back with a look of boredom on her pale, brown
face; there was a sudden flicker of a smile, which she promptly checked. She turned and
said something through the door. Manu came out smiling, the proud matriarch.
“Hello Jonathan, you come for supper, welcome back. This is Maleea, my daughter.”
“Yes, I guessed that; she is also very pretty like her mother!” Manu laughed aloud, beaming
with pride.
A stern, young man in his teens appeared from around the side of the house dragging part
of a dried palm tree trunk. He nodded briefly at me and continued with his load to the fire
pit. There was a fire under the pot I had seen earlier, now swinging over the flames on a
tripod of blackened metal. Fragrant steam wafted over the top. I wondered what it was they
were cooking, wondered if it was our supper? I was hungry, and the smell of food cooking
had my tummy gurgling with anticipation.
I looked back and noticed Faali had appeared, showered and groomed, dressed uncom-
fortably in his clean Sunday bests. He smoked a cigarette and waved me towards a chair,
“Please, sit Jonathan.”
Another young man appeared also carrying firewood. He was about the other boy's age,
possibly younger.
“Are these all your children, Faali?”
“Ya, all mine,” he said, smiling indulgently. They dive pearls with me; work hard. We go
fishing too sometimes. You like diving for fish?” he asked, flicking his cigarette into a
rusty, old tin next to his chair.
“Yes, I love diving fish; where do you dive?” I asked him enthusiastically.
“We dive at the little pass where you come in. Only one passage. Must look out for sharks,
plenty sharks. Sometimes very big fish,” he said, nodding and looking directly at me. He
had a very straight gaze. I could tell he was not afraid of much, this tall, lean, quiet spoken
man from the Marshall Islands.
