(a version of this essay was published in Takahe 82, August 2014)
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| Chief Watsoni of Makongai, with lunch |
Fiji, 2009. I am sitting cross-legged on a mat woven from voivoi leaves with Watsoni, the village chief of Makogai Island in eastern Fiji, eating a Sunday lunch of crab, cassava and coconut cream. The cream is so good that it's not enough to dip my crab legs and cassava into it. I want more. So I reach for a spoon in the middle of the mat — halfway between the chief's daughter and me — dip it into my bowl and bring the rich white cream to my lips. As soon as I do it, I feel eyes on me. The daughter throws an inquisitive look across the mat. “I love the coconut cream,” I offer, but it's not an adequate explanation for my breech of luncheon etiquette. Her eyes grow brighter, and her mouth forms a wide grin, as if to say: “You silly kaivalagi! Why are you using a spoon when it's easier to drink right from your bowl?”
