VANUATU - The Happiest People

VANUATU - The Happiest People on Earth

Bettina... my little friend

May 14, 2018

Majuro, Marshall Islands,

As our 8-year island-cruising extravaganza draws to a close, we look back and draw hyperboles, unearth superlatives, and clumsily catalog our most unforgettable experiences. Let’s start with the happiest people on Earth: VANUATU.

Children everywhere, laughing and happy.
But parents are concerned that the island may not be able to sustain so many lives.
Family planning is sporadic, with accent on" family," not so much on "planning" as the health worker often runs out of BCP

It’s true. A recent survey determined that the islanders of what used to be known as the New Hebrides are, indeed, the happiest people on earth. We could debate whether they absorbed their joie de vivre from their early French colons or retained the phlegmatic cool of their English tutelage. Certainly, it was unsettling to land on a beach and address the villagers to the North in French, those to the South in English, observe how the twain didn’t meet, each happy in their identity (French-Catholic vs/ English/Protestant).

this 5-year-old already wields his dug-out with mastery

Yet again, there still exist the traditional villages where no visitor are allowed, possibly the most authentic and worry-free people we ever met as they came out of their villages to meet us and share their culture with (Yam Festival, High Jump, Canoe Festival in the Meskalines.)

In the lush valley, the village lay still

This authenticity is especially true in the North of the archipelago, the Banks Islands. If Port Vila, the capital, is an amalgam of shanties, corrugated tin walls, black plastic-wrapped rotting frames, and rubbish-strewn streets, the villages in the Banks Islands are neatly built, houses of woven pandanus and coconut, the sand-and-pounded-dirt streets raked and clean, the gardens neatly tended.

Cynthia, Fred's wife, works hard, as all Vanuatu women.
When she is not at the garden, she weaves mats and handicraft

In the Banks, the needs are simple: water (usually from mountain streams) and food (lagoon and pelagic fish, yam, and fresh veggies from the gardens.)

The bath house and shower stalls

Farmers Market - Never used... perhaps when the supply ship comes?

Very traditional, with dramatic backdrop

Our 3-week stay in Ureparapara opened our eyes. This is a rather isolated island, nothing more than a volcano whose crater has collapsed, letting the ocean flow in, where the soil is fertile and the valley hospitable. There are six active volcanoes in Vanuatu, and evacuation of an island or another is frequent, as it happened in Aoba while we were there, 11,000 islanders evacuated. But Ureparapara is an extinct volcano, safe for now.

The key to the crater

As we steered DOMINO into the maw of the swamped crater, we were enveloped by the absolute magic oozing from the steep banks, the mist caught in the coconut trees, the hush of the jungle broken only by the sound of a conch signaling our arrival. Soon, dugout canoes were converging on us, welcoming us (and wondering if we had caught any fish!)

The receptions committee

We arrived 2 weeks after Cyclone Donna had done a ravage on the island: ruined the gardens, decimated the coconuts, uprooted and brined the taro roots.

Shells - great game pieces!

The only fiberglass panga used by the villagers was holed in several places. The village had run out of rice and no government help had arrived yet. What could we do? We had not even caught a fish, skunked again, having lost some 12 big fish in a row… pitiful!

Papa Fred and his brood

Simply, Fred (could be the village greeter, or Big Papa since he can always be seen with a dozen kids trailing behind him) invited us ashore. Of course, we brought all the rice we had on board which, we knew, would not cover the needs of the 120 or so souls on the island. The 6 dozen cookies I had quickly baked were reverently accepted by the kids while Fred portioned out the 2 banana breads (I hoped for a miracle!).

Fred and Cynthia's home... for a couple and 6 children

The village, though simple, was immaculate. Family compounds were neatly arranged, the paths raked clean, 3 water spouts were strategically placed for water distribution (water piped from a mountain stream), a central shower hut, outhouse, a community solar panel and individual home solar units were in disrepair, but the village was holding together. Then, the fishermen grabbed JP and asked if he could fix the panga.

JP Inspects the damages, and John is very eager to learn, under all the men's supervision

No 110v power on the island? Just paddle the panga over to our stern and start grinding away.
John gets a lesson in wielding the grinder

A thank-you gift from the fishermen

Oh Boy! the rest is history… we had three weeks of fiberglass grinding and laying, fiberglass lessons, making blankets for the 6 newborn babies, baking hundreds of cookies, banana bread, and polenta pies, repairing solar panels and HF radio, and night fishing with our hosts.

6-month old Fred loves his quilt

1-month old Katrina
Named after the anthropologist who lived with the village for a year, an honor for Katrina.

The supply boat — who anchors about once a month in the shallows — finally brought some rice, more than a month after the cyclone hit. It left with the coconut harvest, poor, the trees decimated by the cyclone. Copra production is the main income source on the island, and it will be another 4 months before they collect any coco of value. Bananas? ripped out too!

The supply boat keeps on its schedule, in spite of the dismal weather,
18-20' waves outside!

There is no phone service on the island, the HF radio was broken and we had to take it to Port Vila for repair, so there is no way for the villagers to communicate with the outer world. But, for those who have the courage to walk a few hours, over the crest and to the other side, there is a weak reception... 4-hour round trip!

John's canoe, super light and fast

As we ran out of butter, flour and eggs for making cookies and breads, my little friend Bettina organized a supply gang. Hey kids, you want cookies? Let's find what we need!

Shy, Sweet, Resourceful Bettina

The team of 18 kids delivered a quart of freshly-squeezed coconut milk (28 coconuts squeezed!), sweet potatoes, ad 14 eggs, begging for more cookies. Sweet-potato/coconut milk and lime zest make, indeed, wonderful cookies.

But the eggs? oh my! Sure, chickens roam free and you just KNOW there are eggs around… but where? No chicken coop! Although Fred swears that he knows his chickens and where they lay, out of the 14 eggs produced, twelve yielded chicks in various stages of development. Chickens are a status symbol on the island, a sign of wealth, a brick in the road to power, therefore it's more important to grow chickens than to harvest eggs.

Chickens roam free all over the islands

This incident, of course, had to be immortalized in a quilt, “Island Chickens.”

Bok Bok!

At the end of our stay, the gardens where starting to produce, the guys were fishing on their panga, and all was well again.

Flower crowns, AKA Leis

Served kava on bended knees

But we were not to leave this island without the Chief throwing us a party — or, as they call it, a “Program.”

The Shaking of the Hand

On the eve of our departure, the entire village converged to the meeting grounds, the Chief introduced us and thanked us, flower necklaces, kava ceremony, speech, prayer, and the amazing “shaking of the hand” reception line, as every single villager shook our hand in thanks.

John's brother gives JP a ukulele lesson

To top it all, John-the-fisherman, our “go-to” man, even named his first grandson “Jean-Pierre” — probably a phonetic version— and sent us on our way with a bag of Pamplemousse and a bag of coconuts, laughing, crying, singing, ringing the boat with their canoes, waving from shore.