Time was spent with family, the streets were peaceful and “still”,and most shops were closed.

I was lucky to grow up in a nice community. I had roller skates and a bike and spent most of my time outside, rolling around the local streets, hunting cicada’s or playing tennis on the road with my sister and our neighborhood friends.

Life was simple and fun.

Over the years this changed as the shops started opening on Sunday, the “cafe society” boomed and life in general took on a far busier tone….

This morning I headed up to the local shops – around a 3 minute drive. I watched as hundreds of people sat in their cars, in a 3 km long traffic queue slowly making their way through the main street of this small north shore suburb. It was worse than peak hour traffic.

I guess everyone was on their way to the cafes for brunch, picking up the Sunday papers, doing some shopping or maybe off to a relaxing yoga class ?

Whatever it was they were doing, no one looked relaxed and happy.

Hardly a nice way to start what was once known as a “restful day.”

My how times have changed.

I reflected back to a couple of months ago, when on the island of Foa in Tonga the entire island shut down and how wonderful it was to completely ” stop”.

This is how I wish my Sunday’s to be.

Still completely obsessed with my time spent in that wonderful place, I think about it often.

After attending the Sunday Church procession on the island of Foa, I wrote about the experience.

What I didn’t write at the time was that following the church service, I spent a good part of the afternoon riding around on a bike. Just like I did 25 years ago as a kid.

It is a wonderfully simple existence on the “friendly islands.”

Sunday Morning Church, Foa, Ha’apai, TONGA

It has been a verrrry long time since I have attended a Sunday morning church service, but on the island of Foa, this is the place to be on a Sunday morning.

In case you are wondering why I am not on a boat swimming with whales, its because the entire island shuts down on a Sunday. It is a day of rest.

There are around 10 churches in Foa. This may not sound like many to most, but the island is around 10km long.

Tonga is a deeply religious country.

As we rode our pushbikes into the closest township we could hear the church bells ringing.

We chose a church that was sitting high up on a hill. We parked our bikes and wandered around outside waiting for the service to start.

We stopped to watch the locals in their traditional Sunday best slowly strolling along to their chosen churches.

This was not the prettiest church in the world, nor was it the richest, the ceiling was falling down, the surrounds were falling apart, but really, it did not matter.

We were welcomed quietly by a pretty young girl who was sitting outside practicing her reading.
Once we were inside we were again warmly greeted with a handshake and kiss and “thanked for coming” by one of the church elders. The kids stared at us “palangi’s”  inquisitively with a cheeky glisten in their eyes!

As we took our seats inside the church, the sea-breeze was blowing through the open windows, palm trees were swaying and in the distance we could see the aqua blue sea.

I thought to myself, “This is paradise, heavenly even”. What a place.

Not long after we took our seats the most incredible sound started.

It was the sound of soft, delicate, yet deep soulful singing. It was surreal. Slowly it began to ring out loudly all around us and in the distance as the surrounding churches started their service. How absolutely amazing! It sent tingles down our spines.

We did not understand a word of what was being said, nor did it really matter. This moment touched us deep within our souls.

After the service the young girl who had welcomed us introduced herself as Christina. She then introduced her mother Susan.

Susan and Christina very politely asked us if we would take some photos of them. Cameras were very much a luxury around these parts.

What proceeded was an impromptu and fun photo shoot under the church bell (including “gang signs”), even Grandma got involved. Afterwards Susan asked us if we could “find a boyfriend for her daughter”, much to Christina’s embarrassment!

Oh and after a very confusing conversation on how we could post the photos to Christina and Susan, email was the answer!

Not so primitive after-all hey!

What a great way to start the day! Love the Tongans. Thank you for welcoming us.

http://www.thekingdomoftonga.com/index.php/what-s-happening-in-tonga/haapai-a-tranquil-tropical-paradise/

So on that note, I am going to put my feet up and read the Sunday paper. Should I mention this is the Sunday paper from 2 weeks ago I have not yet had time to read !?

I guess that proves my point.

……….Ommmm “namaste” !

Assorted soft drinks at a street-side stall in Mawlamyine, Burma; Rangoon-based MGS Beverages produces several different flavors of pop.  The Coke cans sold here are produced and brought in from Thailand.

But it sure softened your thirst during the Irrawaddy Delta’s 100-degree-summer days.  And, at half the price of import sodas, seemed like a backpacker’s bargain.  Ignoring the faded English letters and rust marks around the rim, we’d swab at the glass mouths, drop in a straw and guzzle down.

Now, as recently-lifted U.S. sanctions open up the Burmese market for foreign investments – including the shiny scroll of Coca-Cola’s famous signature – guilt might start to taste a bit more like cinnamon and American culture.

According to a BBC article from September 11, Burma was one of the last no-Cola outposts in the world.  (Cuba and North Korea are still holding out).  While the article – and my own taste buds – confirmed that the illegal drink could indeed be found at various tourists spots, production inside the country will re-start after sixty years’ absence.

” ‘Coca-Cola’s entry into any country is a powerful symbol’, says Tom Standage, author of A History of the World in Six Glasses.  ‘The moment Coca-Cola starts shipping is the moment you can say there might be real change going on here,’ he says. ‘Coca-Cola is the nearest thing to capitalism in a bottle.’ “

Even in the sparsely-populated South Pacific Kingdom of Tonga, where most stores operate out of a single room and contain little more than a few shelves and canned goods, Coca-Cola is still the only non-alcoholic beverage advertised.

As travelers striving to make conscientious choices about our purchasing power in local communities, how does this influence our drinking habits abroad?

Coca-Cola’s CEO, Muhtar Kent, was quoted in a September 11 story from BeverageDaily.com, announcing company plans to invest $3 million in grant money to a non-governmental Burmese organization that creates economic opportunities for women.  And, in a country where a majority of civilians survive solely on subsistence farming, the number of jobs made available through Coca-Cola’s entry into the Burmese pop market will hopefully be a blessing in employment.

Yet foreign investment and impact often chip away at national identity.  This is one of the reasons Venezuela’s president, Hugo Chavez, made a public declaration in July, asking people to enjoy the nation’s own Uvita fruit juice before drinking fizzy imports.

It’s also the reason Scottish consumers become vocally annoyed at news of Coca-Cola out-selling their own national brand, Irn Bru.  For decades, this secret-recipe-of-a-soda (tasting strongly of melted gummy bears) has contested the American company for control of the country’s market.  It is a source of pride that the spirited wee nation prefers Irn Bru to anything from across the pond.

Perhaps one of the best (unintentional) commentaries on the unexpected effects of globalization, via Coca-Cola, is the 1980 South African film, The Gods Must Be Crazy.  In this controversial movie, an empty Coke bottle is tossed from an airplane and mistaken as a gift from the gods of a Botswana tribe.  Though initially hailed as the perfect present, the glass container quickly changes the tribe in unforeseen ways.

Does this imply that Coca-Cola’s re-introduction to Burma will be a curse in the guise of scarlet-colored aluminum cans?  Or simply that we, with active passports, must make an effort to understand the choices we face on any trip- down to the simplest, “What would you like to drink today?”

You tell me!  Do you believe in the “coca-colonization” of developing countries, or know where travelers can go to escape it?  And what advice would you give to travelers who haven’t made up their minds on the subject?

So, click here to see our short underwater video of humpback whales.

We’ll try for the photos next! Michelle

When your fearless “captain”, a veteran of whale swims makes a comment like this, it really cements the fact you have just been a part of something very special.

When I booked to go to the island of Foa in Ha’apai Tonga to swim with humpback whales, I really did not give a second thought to what the experience would be like.
I had no idea what was in store for me.

One of the Aussie girls on our boat made the comment “I thought I would just be able to walk down to the beach and whales would be everywhere “, to which one of the guides on our boat mocked ” release the whales”, a catch-cry that would ring out a few times over the next few days.

Whales are wild animals, and rather large playful ones at that. Every year humpback whales make the journey to Tonga to give birth and raise their calves in warm safe waters, protected from predators.

Over the few days we spent out on the boat, we not only swam with whales, but we were educated on some of the behaviors of humpback whales, oh, and also became fully fledged friendly “whale hunters”.

We learnt how to spot whales, screening the horizon for water spouts, tail slaps, and pectoral fins waving or in the most exciting scenario, the spectacular full breach as these enormous creatures launched themselves high out of the water, it was pretty hard to miss that!

On our very first day out, we were in and out of the boat so many times to swim with the whales that we were like a crew of “Navy seals” suiting up in mere moments to get in the water. Seconds count when whales are on the agenda. We had it down to a fine art form.

In the end we just kept our fins and masks on and shuffled around the boat tripping over each other.

At the days end, we would have been happy if that were our one and only day on the boat as we swam so with so many whales. It was quite simply, incredible.

Never in our wildest imagination did we expect what would happen on our second day out on the boat. We had a few short swims with a couple of whales throughout the morning. Nothing too exciting compared to our first day.

After lunch not far from Robison Crusoe Island we were in for the surprise of our lives. A curious and playful adult whale joined us for quite some time, and what fun it was.

Before long, Darren calls out from the boat, “THERE ARE MORE COMING”….

Four more whales decided to join the “party“. OH GOD !

Our eyes were glued to these whales as we scrambled, back-tracked and froze to ensure we were not in the direct path of a giant whale rising up from the depths, or a tail flipping around in the water.

It was clear that these whales were having as much fun with us as we were with them.

They carried on like playful puppies, really big playful puppies. Rolling over, racing around in circles, swimming upside down, popping their heads up and swimming right at us, it was incredible.

Our encounter with these whales carried on for around an hour, although that memory will carry on forever.

What incredible creatures, what an incredible country and what an incredible experience !!!

After our amazing whale-swimming experience, we spent another few days here in the town of Neiafu, decompressing from our passage, learning the lay of the land and taking care of our usual chores. We dropped the mooring ball and headed out for the islands on Tuesday, August 21. It was a beautiful day, but with little wind, so we motored over to tiny Kitu Island, where we’d seen dozens of flying foxes hanging on tree branches. I got a few photos, then we squeezed through the narrow channel to the east of the island, and went in search of an anchorage. Ultimately deciding on the gorgeous, open anchorage at Ovalau Island, we watched several humpbacks in the channel, and were greeted by a sea turtle as we dropped the hook. Wow, what a beautiful spot; a small island, with a lovely white sand beach, and a long stretch of protective reef to the east of us. The next day, we took the dinghy around the island, walked on the beach, and snorkeled over a giant mound of coral in the center of the anchorage. While we were snorkeling, I stopped and held my breath for a minute. Diving down into the water column, we could hear the wonderfully bizarre notes of a humpback song, being sung somewhere off to the north of us. It really was a great afternoon. New friends Shawn & Chris, of S/V Tao, sailed into the anchorage and came to share dinner with us. It was a calm, starry night and we were so grateful to have chosen that anchorage.

The next morning, Mark’s sister Lauren called to tell us that their dad had passed away. It was a peaceful passing, with the resident music therapist singing Tom’s favorite hymn right at the very end. Lauren was with him, Mark had spoken to him on the telephone a day or so before, his grandkids had just come by to see him and his good friend Mike was there with Lauren. We’ve been expecting this moment for the better part of the past three years, and, with his quality of life diminishing greatly, had almost been hoping that Tom would be able to let go of his failing body.

So, we came back to town, found some internet, booked flights for Mark, and then headed back out to the anchorages. For the next week we were able to anchor in some more beautiful spots, snorkel nearly every day and even explored ashore on a few islands. We saw loads of reef fish, including several new species, and watched the flying foxes venture out at sunset. We discovered a hidden beach by hiking through the forest on Vaka’eitu Island. It was a lovely week, during which I know we both genuinely appreciated the abundance of life around us. I was hoping to let the photos tell the story this time, but I’m having trouble with uploading them. I’ll keep trying and hopefully have some to share soon. I especially want you to see the photos of Nemo, a tiny orange-finned anemonefish, with a couple of adult fish trying to scare me away from their anemone.

Then it was time to return to town, and choose the best mooring we could for my time here alone. After our terrible experience in Bora Bora, I was a little nervous, but this place is completely different. It’s a very protected harbor, and the mooring balls seem to be well maintained. There’s a sizable fleet of other cruisers who have offered help if I need it, as well as an established community of expatriate business owners who’ve been helpful with advice and services. Mark started his 36-hour-long journey last Tuesday morning, flying from here to Nuku’alofa, then to Auckland, San Francisco and, finally, Dallas. Despite a 3-hour delay in Auckland and a sprint through SFO, he made it to DFW, luggage in hand, even! He’ll be back at the end of the week, after hopefully just 36 hours of travel.

There’s so much philosophizing that I’m tempted to do here, but really it comes down to this: there are no guarantees, so live as fully as you can, while you can. After a LOT of conversation on the subject, we’d still choose to make this journey this year, to pursue this dream and challenge ourselves as we have. That said, this freedom has a price and it’s hard to be so far away at times like this. While we appreciate very much the condolences offered by acquaintances out here, they can never really substitute for the love, understanding and support that comes from friends and family.

XOXO Michelle

We arrived in the Kingdom of Tonga on Monday, just before sunset, after our 1320nm passage from French Polynesia. We’ve now sailed 5125nm since departing Puerto Vallarta in March. Our passage took 11 days 10 hours, at an average speed of 4.8 knots. Considering that we added nearly 70nm to the passage to avoid crummy weather, and completely lost our wind at the end, motoring for the last 20 hours, we’re very content with those stats. We arrived after business hours, so anchored off and got a good night’s sleep, waiting to take care of our official clearance the following morning. Early Tuesday morning, we moved over to the Customs dock, raised our “Q” flag and waited for the officials to pay us a visit. Shortly after 9 a.m., the Quarantine and Customs officers arrived, clearing us into the country in a very relaxed and friendly manner. We moved off the dock, over to a mooring, prepped the dinghy and went ashore to complete our clearance with a visit to the Immigration Office. Fees paid, passports stamped and our quarantine certificate filed away, we set out to explore town.

Neiafu is the main town of the Vava’u region of Tonga, and the second largest city in the country. However, it’s really quite small and very manageable on foot. We found the open-air market, which is always one of my favorites, and bought some much appreciated fresh produce. Then we followed our noses to a local café, where we bought fresh whole-grain bread! Although the baguettes of French Polynesia were delicious, I was definitely ready for some bread with a little more substance.

Like all Polynesians, Tongans appear to be generally shy with foreigners, but most were quick to return our greetings when we passed on the street. We stopped to have lunch at a local restaurant, in full view of the groups of uniformed school kids headed home for lunch. I caught the eye of one of the older girls, and her entire face broke into the most beautiful grin. Local women walked in twos and threes, wearing woven pandanus skirts and carrying umbrellas as sun protection. Men and boys of all ages strode by, wearing the traditional wraps that substitute for pants with either button-down or polo shirts. Hopefully I’ll have some photos to post at some point.

The next morning, I woke before sunrise, very excited about the day to come and with my body obviously still ready for my night watch. A slim crescent of moon had just risen and the town was completely quiet, except for the roosters… Coffee in hand, Mark and I sat out in the cockpit listening to the phenomenal singing coming from the Catholic church on the hill. I’ve read that Tongans are renowned for their a cappella singing, and that attending a church service is a must while we’re here. In any case, it was a beautiful start to an amazing day. Our friends Fred and Cinda, of S/V Songline, were in town and had made arrangements for all of us to go out on a whale-watching excursion for the day. We picked them up at 8:15, and by 8:45 were headed out into the islands with owner Alistair and guide Lo, of Dolphin Pacific Diving. The day was sunny and warm with just a light breeze blowing, we stopped to pick up an Australian family of three, and then were off. From a distance, Vava’u is reminiscent of the San Juan or Gulf Islands of the Pacific Northwest, with many islands offering protected anchorages, all within a day sail of each other. I haven’t researched their geologic history yet, but they appear to be limestone, with dramatic cliffs and caves topped by lush tropical vegetation and surrounded by that amazing blue water. It’s really beautiful, and completely different from any of the island groups in French Polynesia.

So, back to the whale watching… As I mentioned in an earlier post, humpback whales from the Southern Ocean come to these warm waters in July, to give birth to their calves and to mate. They stay until October, then make the long swim southward again, to their feeding grounds in colder, more productive waters. Tonga is one of the few places in the world, where you can actually swim with these humpbacks, and that was our hope for the day. There are strict guidelines for approaching the animals by boat, and only 4 people plus a guide can be in the water at a time. Dolphin Pacific ran a very sensitive and informative trip, and we HIT THE JACKPOT!!!

The first whales we sighted were a competitive group of 2-3 males vying for the attention of a single female with her year-old calf. There was a lot of action at the surface, with lunging, fast swimming and some good loud trumpeting by the males. Eventually, this group dispersed, with two of the males staying in our vicinity and the cow / calf pair swimming away to the north. Once these males seemed to settle into a regular swimming pattern, our guides told us to “get ready”. Four of us donned masks, fins and snorkels and slipped off the back of the boat behind our guide. Since Alistair kept the boat a good distance away from the whales, we swam about 100 meters out into the deep blue, scanning underwater in all directions. We first sighted a spinner dolphin gliding slowly towards the surface, about 50 feet below us, and then… my heart stopped. Two humpbacks were swimming lazily toward us, side-by-side, just 100 feet away. I’m sure this will sound cliché, but, suddenly, the world disappeared, and my entire being was aware only of the rays of sunlight piercing the blue that surrounded me, and those two whales swimming towards me. There’s one of my photos that, I think, captures this image. With the merest flick of their tail flukes they propelled themselves in a graceful circle around me, just 20 feet below the surface, never breathing once. Just writing this, I can feel my heart pounding again, and I’m pretty sure I’ve stopped breathing myself.

After all of us had a turn in the water, we headed toward a nearby island, for a short lunch break. Soon we were underway again, this time in search of a cow / calf pair that another guide had located. We spotted their blows mingled with the spray from the waves breaking on the nearby reef, and slowed to a crawl. Over the course of the next hour, we watched this mom with her month-old calf and an “escort” adult that only surfaced on occasion. Once we felt that the mom was comfortable with our presence, maintaining the same behavior she’d displayed when we arrived, we took turns in the water with her. Mark and I were in opposite groups, so our camera got double duty, but we didn’t get any photos of each other with the whales. His group went in first, and they were all smiles as they returned to the boat. Then it was my turn again. It was an incredible experience, as you’ll see from the photos and short video. Then the whales seemed to change behavior a little bit, but still remained in the area and circled back toward us. Our guides decided that we’d try one more swim, and I opted to go camera-free for this last time. Friends, I’m really sorry, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to find adequate words to convey the experience. Swimming right behind the guide, on my side as he showed me to keep our fins underwater and minimize the splashing noise, I caught sight of the escort whale, hovering about 100 feet below us. It was ethereal, and, again, my focus on the moment was complete. Then I looked up, and our guide Lo said, “Look, right in front of me”. As he swam to the right, the cow and her calf came into view, swimming right towards me. Slowly, they came abreast of me, not 20 feet away. I could see every tubercle on their rostrums and pectoral fins, throat pleats, the folds and wrinkles in the young calf’s skin, and their eyes… As this mother and her baby passed right in front of me, I looked them right in the eyes. I will never forget that moment, ever.

And then they were gone. The escort emerged from the depths, and they surfaced for a breath and slowly swam away. When I got back to the boat, my smile was so big I thought my face would split open, and I’m pretty sure I carried that perma-grin all the way home. As we were nearing Neiafu again, we saw a flying fox overhead, which was just icing on the cake for me. As Alistair and Lo got word that I was excited to see the flying fox (a fruit bat about as big as a medium-sized hawk), they hatched a plan to show me more. We passed between two small, rocky islets and they pointed out dozens of them hanging from the tree branches, and then eventually about 50 of them in the air above us! It was such a great end to a truly amazing day.

So, that’s all for now. I hope you enjoy the photos. I’ve made a short video, but haven’t been able to upload it yet. If I can ever get fast enough internet, I’ll post it as well. We’re planning to stay in town until Tuesday morning, taking care of our usual chores, and then head out to the anchorages for a few weeks. Internet is very limited here, so there may not be many photos, but I’ll do my best.

Until next time, we’re hoping that all is great with you! ~ Michelle

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

On my second trip we had an opportunity to visit the northern most grouping of Tongan Islands.

Mounu Island, situated to the south of the Vava’u Archipelago, is one of those Islands.

The Vava’u archipelago consists of around 50 islands formed by volcanic mountains rising from the sea.

The waters surrounding these islands are crystal clear, a light aqua blue with white sandy bottoms  reflecting the deep blue of the skies above.

A 6 acre coral atoll fringed by white sands set amongst spectacular coral reefs, Mounu is spectacular both in appearance  and accommodation.

The privately owned resort on the island offers complete peace and privacy in a pristine tropical setting.

Four  thatched huts, known as “fales”,  all situated on the waters edge make up the accommodation.

Activities from the Island include whale watching, snorkeling, diving, light tackle fishing, bird watching, guided tours, kite surfing, sailing.

Getting there is via plane to Vava’u Island and then charter boat to the island.

Definitely a pivotal location for the discerning traveler.

A humpback whale plays around the shores of the Ha’apai island group, Kingdom of Tonga.

Sonny, our driver, was halfway over the boat’s wooden side, pointing at shadows. “Look below you,” he said.

The five of us leaned expectantly towards his finger. The sea below was so clear I could count starfish on the bottom.

“What do you see?” he asked, as his finger moved slowly along the vessel’s prow. What looked like two charcoal-colored atolls were actually the broad backs of a mother humpback whale and her calf, drifting towards us. The mother exhaled, close enough to shower us with her salty breath.

The Kingdom of Tonga sprawls across the Pacific migration route of these giant beasts and, between June and November, adult females stop here to mate and give birth. From the shores of any one of the country’s 170 islands, you can witness them spouting, flipping and playing with their young. But for the more curious – or crazy, according to some locals – Tonga is one of only two places in the world where travelers can also arrange to meet the whales in the water.

Keep reading…

Manase currently works for Le Va which is New Zealand’s national coordination service and workforce development programme for Pacific mental health, addictions, disabilities and general health. Le Va’s vision is: Pacific leadership and well Pacific families.  Manase’s leadership role at Le Va involves managing key initiatives from initiation and development through to implementation. He is also a member of the Pacific cultural team for Engaging Pasifika where he is responsible for relationship management with key stakeholders of the initiatives that he leads and supports.

Manase studied at The University of Auckland, New Zealand and attained a Bachelor of Arts and Master of Arts, with Honours in English. His academic focus was mainly in post-colonial New Zealand and Pacific literature. He is a humble Poet who has worked under the esteemed presence and guidance of Albert Wendt and Witi Ihimaera.

Dedicated to the passing of HM King George Tupou V

© Manase Lua, 2012

The sun has set and the Crux Australis weeps.

An aching black silence descends from the sky.

A white heron bows its head atop the leafy mane

of a solitary casuarina overlooking Fanga’uta.

The stillness of the air broken only by the occasional whisper

of dust dissipating like prayers from Hihifo to Kolo Kakala.

Time and fate have honoured these flat and unassuming lands,

with a legacy second to none.

‘Eua looms large in the east, lying in the shadows

of the Ha’amonga ‘a Maui.

Winds from the north stir the endless fine sands

and scar the azure waters of the Otu Kinekina.

The peaks of Kao and Tofua solemnly stand guard in the distance.

Ha’afeva is silent, no longer does the wind speak

through the trees around Matahiva.

Tungua mourns deeply in the sacred knowledge it keeps,

a single lupe released for Fiji.

‘Uiha and Pangai gather their grief like kafa and bind it together.

Tofua’a beach themselves on the mighty shores of Vava’u Lahi,

they drown with honour in the Lolo ‘a Halaevalu.

There is a ring of fire around Niuafo’ou,

It burns in the hearts of the people.

The guardians on Niuatoputapu and Tafahi

signal to Savai’i and ‘Upolu at low tide:

“Behold, the Hau has taken the sacred path!”

Yet, the lines that once defined three Kings converge

into the majesty of an awesome sun, rising to greet a new day.

Hon. Frederica Tuita, daughter of the only sister to the late King, HRH Princess Salote Mafile’o Pilolevu Tuita and Lord Tuita, offers an exclusive and very personal insight to her life, role and responsibility at this fragile time in Tonga. She reveals an intimate moment with her grandmother, HM Queen Halaevalu Mata’aho, Mother of Tonga, and memories of her late uncle while being reminded of her own value and voice.

“When I think of the late King George Tupou V, he wasn’t just a leader for the nation, but a leader for our family. I’ve always believed that anything was possible depending on the way one chooses to pursue it. And that is what I saw in the late King. Others before him pursued change for the Kingdom, but weren’t as successful. He initiated a step by step reform of the laws and legislations of Tonga, which lead Tonga to a more democratic government. Change wasn’t always something we welcomed with open arms. After a few thousand years of living basically the same way, there isn’t much shock as to why. However, the late King took us with him down a road of uncertainty. I know I turned out all the better for it. His love for his people was like a light that lead and taught us not to fear change but to embrace it. We were all born with particular instincts and this was a new way to use those instincts in the new frontier of democracy.

My uncle’s fearlessness was the foundation for our independent (and at times rebellious) nature. Regardless of what you may have heard or read, he was the apple of our grandmother’s eye as he was her first born. Therefore, imagine how difficult the task was when I had to tell Her Majesty the Queen that her firstborn son had past away in Hong Kong thousands of miles away from her. I had found her at her residence Tufumahina praying with other women for his recovery. I walked in, sat at the door and waited for her to finish praying. After waiting for what seemed like the longest ten minutes of my life, she lifted her head, looked at me and smiled asking why I was there. I bowed my head, got up from the floor by the door and walked over to her past the other women that surrounded her. I sat beside her on the floor and told her… ‘Kuo Hala e Tu’i.’ After a moment of silence, I heard the most heart wrenching mournful cry and as much as I wanted to give her a hug, my instincts of respect prohibited me. After a few minutes of crying, she and her ladies in waiting continued praying. She’d come out of prayer from time to time to ask, “Do you think God needed him more?” My heart sank but I was still in shock. I couldn’t shed any tears. After I heard ‘Amen,’ she looked up and turned to me as though she had received a new found strength from God and continued to list things that needed to be done and who to contact. I immediately became attentive to what she wanted and proceeded to carry them out.

Since then, my eldest sister, Lupepau’u, has arrived from New Zealand and it is as though a weight has been lifted from our grandmother’s shoulders. Everything that we would all hesitate to tell the Queen is easily done by Lupepau’u. She knows who and when is permitted to see the Queen and has the “know how” and finesse that many others lack. As more close relatives of the Queen fly in from different parts of the world, I see her overcome things with more ease. Then, my mind drifts off to Hong Kong where my mother is, unlike what many people think of my mother, HRH Princess Pilolevu Tuita, was very close with the late King. She became his close confidant after the reform and would always refer back and forth to him and their mother. Although, there are things we speak of and things we do not, his mother and sister became his rock and he was theirs.

On Wednesday night, I stayed up late with my cousins, HSH Prince Tungi and Hon. Etani Ha’amea Tuku’aho, reminiscing about our moments with the late King. He wanted us to call him G5 after his coronation which came as a bit of a shock to us [his nieces and nephews]. Although, we are family and love each other, we also respect each others standing. We loved our uncle and are protective of him, but we were always mindful that he was the King and should be respected as thus, regardless of who we were. So, one could imagine how it felt when we, his own family, respected him as a King and others took liberty of his kindness. But, my cousins and I remember the advice he used to give us about how we should always be considerate of others.

He would host many dinners at his residence, the Villa, entertaining guests and telling jokes. He would always want one of us present at his dinners. Towards the end of his life, my cousin Tungi or sister Fanetupouvava’u Tu’ivakano, would be at his dinners as we were the only ones in Tonga. With me, he enjoyed talking about all things, especially cooking, which was a subject we both enjoyed, along with my cousin HRH Princess Latufuipeka.

Now that I look back, I remember how we would all want to make him smile, be at ease and tell him good news about our lives. I recall how many of his facial gestures and remarks were exactly like his Mother, The Queen. Now, almost everything The Queen does reminds me of him. Since his passing, we’ve all been here with Her Majesty. And the sight of many people walking around in the giant Liongi mats has become common. My sisters and I will be part of the very few people allowed to wear smaller mats in public or just the Aveave at home. All of our cousins, however, will wear very large Liongi mats, as he was the eldest son, and they are all children of his brothers or cousins who are his father’s younger brother’s children. The same rules that apply to every tongan family, also, apply to us. As his only sister’s children, we have less tapu towards him. But, as I said earlier, we loved and respected him as a King first. On the night of his Takipō [when the late King lies in state], it is us girls [daughters of the HRH Princess Salote Mafile’o Pilolevu Tuita] that will be allowed in the room with him and help the Nimatapu [the Royal Undertakers for the Tongan royal family] tend to him whilst he lies in State. Everyone else, including all his siblings, are not allowed to do the things we can. We see it as our duty to him and one of the last things we can do for him with the utmost humility. It is our honor to be able to tend to him through this process.

As his arrival from Hong Kong draws near, we all disregard our wants and needs to focus on what the Queen wants. Nobles, Ministers and Matapules (speaking Chiefs) all come to the Queen for the same reasons we, her close family, do for she is the Mother of the Nation. As time goes by, and more loved ones are lost, we realize that we need her with us more than ever. She is the link that all Tongans still have to the late King, what came before him, as well as, the strength we need for what is to come.”

Written By: Hon. Frederica Tuita

Source: Thewhatitdo.com check them out!

“The objective that is ever before me and which inspires all my thoughts is to unify and consolidate at this time the Kingdom of Tonga, that we may really achieve the reputation that is credited to us in the world outside:  There is not in the world a little Kingdom like Tonga, peaceful, contented and happy.“  Queen Sālote, 15 June 1937

Queen Sālote Mafile‘o Pilolevu Tupou III’s love for her consort Viliami Tungī Mailefihi had been expressed in joyous love songs during his lifetime (1 November 1887 — 20 July 1941). In celebrating 2012′s World Poetry Day, I am honoured to share this poetry piece and song written by Queen Sālote in the passing of her consort Viliami Tungī Mailefihi.

‘Oketi

1.  Gone is that dear dawn

To which, as wings, clung my remembrances

Of the orchid, the bloom of the dew,

(Which I) Adorn till the end of time

2.  This body has become a thing of no worth

Overcome by all-conquering love

For your image of precious stones

I will string them for my garland

3.  The shade of evening beckons

To which I direct my lamentations

If the magnitude were only known

Of the love (I bear) for the bouquet of langakali

Chorus:  Alas that this body, sweet enticement to gossip

Is only poison to your mission

Yet do you not see, Gladiola

This love of mine may never end. [MT]

In the Tongan language:

1.  Si’i hengihengi e kuo ‘alu

Kapakau ai si’ete manatu

Ki he ‘oketi fisi e hahau

Tauleva ki he pa’anga ngalu

2.  ‘Anga’anga ni kuo me’a noa

Ka falala he funga hau’alofa

Ki ho ‘imisi maka koloa

Tui fakaholo ko hoto kahoa

3.  Ta’alo e malu ‘i he efiafi

Pea te hahanu launoa ki ai

Ke ‘iloa mai ‘ene tupulaki

‘A e ‘ofa he poukei langakali

Tau:  Sino ni ‘a pe ka melie lau

Pea kona ai ki ha’o fekau

Ka neongo ia ‘e Kalatiola

Na’a kuo ta’engata ha’ata ni ‘ofa

Reference:

Wood-Ellen, E. (1999).  Queen Sālote of Tonga:  The Story of an Era 1900-1965. Auckland University Press.

Photo credit:

State Library of Victoria

How I ended up in Tonga is pretty incredible: my friend Bret and his twin brother, Chad, both quit their jobs in 2009, bought a boat and started on a journey sailing around the world. No, I’m not kidding–this really happened. You can read all about it on their web site and follow their adventures on the Sail Broken Compass blog. While I was really sad to see my friend leave Portland, I knew it was the opportunity of a lifetime–one that I would benefit from as well as I now had friends to meet in foreign countries!

Since they left on their trip, I always said I would visit them. One day. Someday. And then all of a sudden they had been gone for a year! So in December of 2010 I decided that I was going to meet up with them–in Tonga. A country I had never heard of let alone could point out on a map: that just made it all the more exciting! Icing on the cake: the twins got a gig “island sitting”. Seriously. Island sitting. Our own private island in the middle of the South Pacific. There’s no way I could say no to that, so off I went!

Visiting the Van Rodens on Eueiki Island, Vava'u, Tonga

I had the time of my life and while I could sit here and write the longest blog post known to man about my trip, I’ll share the video I made about my trip instead. Music, pictures, captions: it does a pretty good job of sharing my adventure.

Visiting the Van Rodens in Tonga (2011)

►

10 days away (disconnected and off the grid-I even got my work email inbox down to ZERO before I left!)

900 plus photos (and videos too)

8 different flights (international and domestic)

7 different activities (skydive, snorkel, canoe, swim, dive, scuba dive,  sail)

6ish hours of sun (Yup, it was rainy and cloudy most of the time I was there. I’d like to think that the sun didn’t want to compete with my sunny personality. The fellas humoured me and agreed that that was definitely the case. It was still enough to get a little bit of a tan!)

5 days with the Van Rodens (and 5 days spent in transit)

4 Broken Compass Crew members (The twins + Makai (their dog and the queen of the boat) + me!)

3 items checked off the bucket list (travel alone, go skydiving and get SCUBA certified!)

2 survived earthquakes

1 unforgettable trip

P.S. This is the friend who inspired my Bucket List. Can you tell why?

A35YZ – Kingdom of Tonga

.

Flooding brought about by typhoons Pedring and later Quiel

This is definitely what we don’t want to be or where we should be heading, if we want to see progress in the Philippines. It is simply bad for tourism, unacceptable as an investment climate, and a misfortune for the economy, in the long term, unless something is done about it.

To be a high risk disaster nation is to be open to the wrath of nature and subject to losses in lives, health status, livelihoods, assets and services, which could occur to a particular area or region every time a natural calamity strikes.

The World Risk Index 2011, developed by the UN University Institute for Environment and Human Security in Germany, ranked each of the 173 countries according to their “risk score” or their exposure to hazards such as earthquakes, floods and storms, drought and sea level rise and its coping and adaptive capacities and had the Philippines as number three in their list in terms of vulnerability and susceptibility.  The island of Vanuatu and the Kingdom of Tonga, which are both located in the South Pacific Ocean, topped this year’s World Risk Index ahead of the Philippines.

Displaced victims of typhoons Pedring and Quiel

Immediately, Senator Loren Legarda, Chair of the Senate Committee on Climate Change, emphasized how bad and wanting the country is for disaster risk reduction planning after a steady climb on the list from placing 12th in 2009 then 6th in 2010.

In an interview, Legarda said, “Hihintayin pa ba natin na tayo ay maging topnotcher sa pinaka-high at risk (and) vulnerable sa mundo bago tayo umaksyon? (Will we wait until we top the list before we do anything?)”

Good question!

Our response to natural calamities has always been, to a large extent, reactive than proactive in nature.

We always seem to have our schools and its facilities ready as an immediate evacuation center. The Department of Social Welfare and Development (DSWD), a government agency that takes care of the welfare of the victims of disasters, among other things, together with private institutions, solicit donations and have a ready stockpile of relief goods and medicines for distribution in case of any eventuality. Lately, we have seen the country deploying rubber boats to reach and transport victims of flooding.

While all these reactive responses are laudable, what is more important is to view all these comeuppances in a proactive manner.

What proactive manner simply means is marshalling by government, both national and local, all that is needed to be done in order that the devastation, the lose of lives and properties, will not be as disastrous as when neglect or nothing is done at all.

In other words, let us not allow people to live and houses or buildings constructed in harm’s ways. Government should start implementing strictly rules, regulations and laws governing construction on natural waterways. It should start an honest to goodness search for a relocation site for the squatters in big cities, who always are the most affected. It should start de-clogging creeks, canals and other water-draining arteries. It should stop, once and for all, the unscrupulous and scandalous illegal logging. It should discourage farmers up on the hills and mountains the slash and burn type of farming (kaingin) as it will only cause erosion in the long run.

Communication and close coordination must always be established between those managing the big water reservoirs or dams and the country’s weather bureau, the Pag-asa, especially during the rainy and typhoon season so that the releasing of water will not create any more havoc than what the flooding brought about by heavy downpour is already causing anxiety to people.

Being proactive is having the disaster risk reduction plan and management in place. But, all these will come to naught if government chooses not to exercise its political will.

There is no comparison between the intensity of Hurricane Irene, now downgraded to a Category 1, and Cyclone Waka (renamed Wiki due to the severity of damage).  Her category 4, 115 mph winds devastated the South Pacific in the waning days of 2001. During our eight-year circumnavigation on our sailing catamaran, Pacific Bliss, Gunter and I visited the Vavau Island Group in the Kingdom of Tonga. We arrived a full nine months after the storm had wrought her damage, yet we came upon people in remote areas who were still suffering. For them, there was no government safety net, no FEMA disaster supplies, and no officials to help the stranded. We anchored in Hunga Lagoon and brought what supplies we had on board to the villagers on top of the hill. This is our story, excerpted from the second book in my “In Search of Adventure and Moments of Bliss” trilogy, to be called “Sailing the South Pacific:”

Giving Is Receiving

Hunga Lagoon, Ika Lahi Resort, Vava’u, Tonga

Branches flailed against corrugated iron roofs. The wind rose like an approaching freight train, moaning through the shuttered windows and doors of the little village on the hill above Hunga Lagoon. Fierce gusts found their way deep into the homes of the huddled occupants, causing the flames of their kerosene lanterns to flicker and tremble. Entire groves of frangipani trees toppled like a pile of dominoes.  The angry wind had already ripped away their leaves and flowers. The delicate flowers of the hibiscus trees had disappeared; then the branches began to break.

But that was only the beginning of Cyclone Waka’s fury this past New Year’s Eve.

What sadistic irony!  Exactly two years after they appeared on television channels around the world––the first to celebrate the New Millennium––the joyous dancers of Tonga entered this New Year frightened and full of despair.

In Vavau, Tonga’s most beautiful and treasured island group, the sea slammed against the shorelines, devouring anything in its path. Waka uprooted trees; destroyed docks; overturned boats; and ground churches, schoolhouses, and hospitals to rubble. Even in the relatively protected harbor of Neiafu, a catamaran broke loose of its moorings and flew right into Ana’s Waterfront Café, where for some weeks afterward, the owners continued to carry on business around it.

Most of the waterfront docks and structures had to be rebuilt. The governments of other South Pacific countries such as French Polynesia contributed workers and materials to rebuild schools and hospitals. Missions and charities rebuilt churches and handed out food necessary for survival. But for the inhabitants of Vava’u, there was no such thing as government aid to rebuild. Nine months later, these poor people are still recovering.

In Hunga, the village near where our yacht, Pacific Bliss, is anchored, the villagers staggered drunkenly in the wind as their homes fell around them, the sand stinging their faces like icy sleet. They ran for cover to whatever dwelling was still standing, carrying a few meager possessions with them. Coconuts thudded on roofs and cisterns with the force of exploding cannonballs. Shade trees were uprooted and torn apart until none were left standing in the little village. Every gust of wind hurled more branches and debris against any structures left standing until the landscape was finally flat.

Then came the rains.

The water rushed and swirled until horrid, twisting ravines replaced pleasant, tree-lined paths. When it was all over, the villagers struggled to rebuild their simple homes out of the muddy mess.

But then came the sun.

The rays shone mercilessly down to their barren and ugly world. They had no protecting shade.  They labored under the sun’s cruel glare for weeks on end.

The storm was over in a few days. But the devastation it wrought would seemingly last forever.  During this time of misery, the villagers found it hard to believe that beauty would ever again come to Vavau.

We arrive here, almost nine months later, to find that the lush vegetation has returned to Tonga’s beloved Vava’u.  There’s no doubt about the lasting after-effects of Cyclone Waka as we cruise through the islands: Overturned boats and canoes still line the shores and reefs of the anchorages and lagoons. The luxuriant new growth doesn’t hide the uprooted trees, sawed-off tree trunks, and stacks of old wood that contrast with the few newly-constructed buildings. For the 80 percent of the population that lives off the land, recovery is painfully slow. It can take up to ten years for a coconut tree to bear fruit. Replanting right after the storm meant using nuts that the farmers could have used immediately for food. Newly-planted banana plants will not bear fruit until the following year. The most immediate crop is the papalangi (European) vegetables such as tomatoes, cucumbers, lettuce, string beans, and cabbage—the produce that we have been enjoying here. These vegetables could be produced quickly and sold at the markets in Neiafu in return for nails and building materials. Fish from the sea, of course, was another source of income.

Günter and I have enjoyed all the bounty that Vava’u has to offer for over a month now. We have purchased fresh produce at the market every time we return from gorgeous anchorages to the port in Neiafu. We have feasted our eyes on the lush landscapes, pearly beaches, and multihued rock formations of the islands. We have frolicked and snorkeled in the emerald green waters of the lagoons. By the time we anchor off the Ika Lahi Gamefishing Lodge in Hunga Lagoon, Günter and I have decided that we want to give back.

To read more, please click here.

Path from Village

Tongan Family in Hunga

After four uneventful days at sea, in which I cleaned, waxed, and de-rusted the cockpit, we had arrived at the northern group of islands, Vava’u, in the Kingdom of Tonga. To get into the protected harbor of Neiafu, the second biggest city in Tonga (a small town by American standards), we wound in through forty little islands that, on a chart, seemed to hang from the larger main island like chopped up tentacles from a jellyfish.

Though the missionaries invaded Tonga with the word of God, the white armies weren’t so successful. In 1875, Taufa’ahau (King George), declared Tonga a constitutional monarchy. It remains the only monarchy in the Pacific. Besides the king, nobody owns anything in Tonga, and perhaps because of this, the Tongans don’t have the same sense of economics as the Europeans who have, in recent years, settled there. So all the artsy little cafés and restaurants along the waterfront are owned by palongies (white people).

After clearing customs on the first morning, we began the ever-present boat chores. Ivan and I began with the backstay (wires that hold back the mast, which run from the top of the mast to the stern.) On Mistress 3 these were hydraulic and one side had a leak. The plan was to replace the faulty one with a manual turnbuckle, though the hole on the stay and the hole on the turnbuckle were different sizes. Luckily, from his collection of stainless bits, Ivan fished out a clevis pin machined specifically for the job. This was entrusted to me, but somehow, while attempting to line up the stay with the turnbuckle, this one-of-a-kind pin jumped from my hand, making a clean break into the depths. Oops. The first of my many fuck-ups.

After Ivan’s discourse on how hard this would be to fix, nearly insurmountable in such a faraway place, my logic hazed over with my emotions. Luckily, Peter had an attitude of acceptance and “let’s get this done,” so I followed him to shore. He found a palongie who, for twenty bucks, machined a new part with efficient perfection.

We spent an afternoon folding and unfolding storm sails that had never been used, trying to figure out how to rig them. Peter was knowledgeable and industrious, and took the lead when Ivan didn’t. If I were paying my way as he was, I would have wanted to spend more time checking out the islands. As for me, I didn’t care about Tonga. I had resigned myself to accepting the fact that I was working. I just wanted to do a good job and get to Australia, where I would be free. I was relieved from guess work when Ivan gave me a list of chores. While the others went to shore to explore, I wired a new plug in the anchor locker for the spotlight, without incident or comment.

The next job I tackled seemed straight forward enough: fix the light in the main salon. It was drizzling and we were all crowded inside. Ivan was into some project or another with his tools scattered around. Peter was there, working on his computer. And Mary was sitting at the nav station, a raised desk across from the galley, above the refrigerator box and freezer.

I carefully pulled down the light and investigated the problem, which was obvious: the wires weren’t connected and needed to be re-soldered. While I was groping below Mary’s feet, dragging out the cooler marked “electrical gear” that was stored there, Ivan began inspecting the light. I quickly explained what I planned to do, assuring him that I knew how to use the solder iron and I didn’t need his help. I cringed when Peter looked up to see. “I can do it,” I declared, and went to crank up the generator.

I realize that sometimes, especially when a woman is trying to prove herself, there might be a tendency towards pridefulness. I like to think I’m beyond that, I did rewire my whole boat twice and soldered every connection, damn it. I’d like to think I am confident enough in my skills to accept help and advice. So when Peter jumped up, I recognized the slight mania I was feeling and took a breath. OK, I could use a little help, though I wasn’t going to let him take over.

“Okay Peter, you can hold this,” I relented, and handed him the pliers to hold the pieces together. I plugged in the iron and stood on the cooler, waiting for it to get hot, which it quickly did. I held it’s tip to the piece, and the solder to the wire, but the solder didn’t suck up into the wire like it should. Then the iron cooled down. Huh? That’s strange. Peter and Ivan were on it like tiny fish on food dropped overboard. Then there was a pop, and Mary complained that the GPS had gone dead. Suddenly I knew what I had done wrong. Fuck-up number two.

Though I knew enough to start the generator, I didn’t think to ask where the plug that corresponded to the generator was. I had plugged the soldering iron into the inverter where I was used to plugging things in, but the inverter didn’t have enough juice. After Mary and Ivan made sure that all the expensive navigation equipment was okay, I retreated to the bow to cry.

I allowed the wave of negativity and feelings of stupidity to pass through me, then gave myself a pep talk. “It’s okay. That was stupid, but nothing’s broken. You can buy another soldering iron. It’s okay.”  When I had recovered a bit, I made my way back to the cockpit, wiping away tears. I pushed past Peter who was hurting to see me hurting. He had a daughter in her mid-twenties, and his fatherly instinct was to coddle me, which I couldn’t stand. I preferred Ivan’s direct, “that was an airhead thing to do,” comment, which was honest and much closer to my own sentiments.

I wanted to run to shore and fix the problem. I gathered my stuff and made for the dinghy, but not so fast. Mary wanted to go to shore, then so did Peter, and it took another hour before I could make my escape.

Finally I walked into the hardware store and found a large airy room full of shelves but little else. It looked as if a swarm of people had just swept through and bought up everything, leaving only scant odds and ends in their wake. I asked the cute young girl who looked like she should work in clothes retail, if they had a soldering iron. She assured me, decidedly, that they didn’t. But I spied what looked like one and asked to see it. It was almost exactly like the one I had ruined and only cost me forty Fijian, making my fuck-up bill to date only $40 US. “It’s not so bad, Davina, it’s not so bad.”

Back at the boat I easily fixed the light. The satisfaction when I turned it on was only slightly dimmed when Ivan said, “Well, it may work now but it won’t for long.”

Peter wanted to rescue me. After the near kissing experience [see Palmerston blog] I had felt my guard go up with him, but realizing that I needed him as a friend, I had decided to trust him and let it down. He tried to get me to go exploring, rent bicycles or something. But I needed punishing and redemption, so I insisted on staying and scrubbing the water line, which took hours and wasn’t even on Ivan’s list.

He and I did get away sometimes during our stay in Tonga. We usually ended up at a little open-air restaurant, The Aquarium, on the waterfront, to do internet on his computer. When the waitress came around, Peter ordered breakfast and invited me to do the same, “my shout.” But I declined until the waitress walked away and we could talk. “Peter, you are so sweet, and I would love to have breakfast, but I can’t afford to return the favor and I don’t want you to feel like you have to pay for me just because I’m here and I’m broke.”

“Okay, lets make a deal. I will only offer when I feel like it and you will never expect me to.”

“Deal!” I said, and ran to get the waitress.

All four of us went out one night to listen to a talk about how Tonga had changed. Afterwards we went to a traditional dance performance at a bar/restaurant. It was crowded with cruisers and everyone was drinking. The musicians were seated on a blanket in the corner facing each other, a bowl of Kava in front of them. The dancers were young, aged four to eighteen. The girls did their subtle feminine hip swirling dances, and the boys, an aggressive warrior display, all of them in palm frond splendor.  Peter offered to buy me a glass of wine. I hadn’t firmly declared I’d quit but I was feeling very clear about it and in explaining it to Peter, made my decision official; I was abstaining from alcohol and pot, at least until the end of October, when I planned to go to a meditation course in Australia.

Mary and Ivan were on an arbitrary time schedule, and they were feeling their self imposed pressure to get home. But Peter, wanting to enjoy some of the trip, made a spreadsheet to prove that we had a few unaccounted for days that could be used spontaneously to relax and take pleasure in the beautiful locales we were passing.

One day, over breakfast in the cockpit, we were getting into one of the conversations Peter and Mary shrank from, but Ivan and I enjoyed. Like me, Ivan was opinionated and I liked to engage him in what sometimes turned into heated but amiable discussions. He had a very scientific, believe-it-when-it’s-proven way of seeing the world, yet had experienced intuitions that he couldn’t explain under that belief system. I was pressing him on what exactly his beliefs were. Mary and Ivan both thought Peter’s and my insistence on the laws of attraction and the importance of positive thinking were absurd. Now Mary, who hadn’t been paying attention, remarked that between the two of them, Ivan was the dreamer.

“Really? Ivan? I would have thought it was you, Mary,” I said, surprised. She seemed to have a lighter-hearted take on things.

“For example,” she confided, “I don’t believe you can have a feeling about the future, like an intuition. Did you get any feelings about coming to Tonga? Because Ivan had a bad feeling about coming here.”

Ivan’s intuition proved prophetic. I spent three days playing onboard another boat [see my next blog, Furthur], enjoying a few of the hundreds of little anchorages where you could get the full, white sand, deserted island, Pacific paradise experience that appears on postcards. By the time I returned to Mistress 3, we’d already been in Tonga more than our “free” days allowed, and were preparing to leave when Mary declared she was worried. Ivan had a bite. He swore it was from a water snake, though conventional wisdom said their mouths were too small to bite humans. It didn’t seem like much to me, but given Ivan’s medical history of toxemia, it was a concern, especially with four days of sea ahead of us. We moved the boat back to the main harbor and Mary escorted Ivan to the hospital for antibiotics. Then we waited over the weekend. The infection became an ugly black wound and they went back to the hospital for three more types of antibiotics.

The wind had been howling, which provided another reason to stay put, so we moved the boat to a picturesque bay where we were anchored in more than 25 meters and could see fish swimming on the sandy bottom. Ivan’s bite hadn’t changed and a weather window was approaching; we were all getting antsy to go. Peter and I pulled the dinghy and motor onboard, anticipating our departure the next day. But the next day came and went. Ivan was feeling like hell. Peter suggested that if they were really worried, perhaps Ivan should fly home, which I secretly wished for. It would be clear cut and easier with Peter in charge.

Peter and I spent an afternoon with the hookah rig (a compressor that stays on the surface and allows you to breath through a tube down below), searching the depths for another pin, which this time, Mary had dropped, but we weren’t successful. We flushed the outboard motor with “fresh water” which Ivan had been saving for the job. It was old dishwater that had been fermenting in plastic jugs, and when we decanted it, it was rank with rotten bits of food. We were trying to devise a way to feed the water into the intake hole on the lower part of the outboard. I couldn’t stand discussing the situation for hours, and so, as the boys discussed, I began whittling a plastic tube to fit. Ivan, like a proud grandfather, made the comment that I could be an engineer. I pretended I hadn’t heard, but inside my heart swelled disproportionately, as if he really was my grandfather, or my father, and I was a little girl, protected, cherished, and loved.

The tube may have worked but in the end we opted to hold a bucket of the nasty sludge under the motor covering the intake valve, a job that went to Peter, being the man and stronger. I would have gladly done it but he chivalrously insisted. I couldn’t help giggling as the toxic waste was sucked up through the engine and then sprayed all over him.

Finally, after two weeks, we set sail. The seas were rough and Ivan was sick as death. He couldn’t keep his watches, so Mary, Peter and I did four hours on, eight hours off. Fiji had better medical facilities than Tonga; Ivan just had to survive the four days it would take to get there.

One night, at 4:00 am, it was the end of my watch and Peter was just coming on. I was explaining why I hadn’t stuck exactly to his course because we were holding a better line than we had been, (as if I needed to explain; as if I had done something wrong). I knew this was entirely my crap and was battling the feeling within myself. He was groggy with sleep and his only concern was that I help him jibe before I went to bed. I agreed. He was sitting by the winch and I assumed he would handle the sheet (the rope that controls the sail side to side.) I pressed the jibe button on the autopilot, thinking we were on the same page, and said, “Here we go.”

I released the main brake, and Peter asked if I wanted to move the car on the track. Normally I would have waited until after the jibe, but I knew where the wind was and knew I had time before the boat came around. So I released the car (a piece that holds the block to the track and can slide back and forth) and moved it over, expecting Peter to ease the sheet as the wind passed from one side of the boat to the other. I looked back at him, waiting, when SLAM!, the boom cracked across the stern. Peter hadn’t realized I had pressed the button. Though it was startling, no one was hurt and nothing was broken.

The next morning when I emerged from a deep sleep into the bright sun of the cockpit, everyone was sitting there waiting for me as if for an intervention with an alcoholic. Ivan asked, “What happened last night?”

“Uh,” I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, “Oh, you mean the jibe? I guess Peter didn’t hear me when I said I pressed the button.”

Ivan’s thoughts had obviously been churning all night because he had a lot to say about how serious and deadly my mistake was. In his mind the car had slammed over, and I could have died. I began to explain that it hadn’t and that I was fully aware of where the wind was; it had just been a miscommunication. I didn’t want to be defensive; I wanted to listen and respond calmly so I consciously opened myself. But his heavy words hit me hard, raining down on me like hammers, until I felt battered and bruised. My former logic and clarity about what had happened was buried in his words and all I could do was apologize, sincerely and profusely, and slink away. Though I was lying in my bunk alone, I carried on where he left off, adding every stupid thing I had done on this boat, and in my life, until the abuse was a torrential downpour of negativity and self-hatred. I wasn’t a good sailor, I wasn’t an intelligent and conscious human being, I wasn’t worth paying, I wasn’t even worth having around.

I tried to be strong in the face of the truth about my pitiful self. The honorable thing to do, I decided, was have a heart-to-heart with Ivan. So later, while we were alone in the cockpit, while I tried to hold back sobs, and tears were streaming down my face, I told him that I was sorry; that I really was trying and I didn’t know what was going on, why suddenly on this boat I was being so brainless and stupid. I’d really done great on my own boat and on all the other boats I had been on. I told him that I wished I could just say that he didn’t have to pay me, but I was really counting on the money from this trip. Maybe we could come up with something. Maybe I could do more work, be their indentured servant. Something. He listened somberly, which I took to be compassion, and said I just had to take more time with things. Looking back I realize he never mentioned any of the numerous things I’d done right, or appreciated my help in any way.

We made it safely to Fiji. Ivan got through the mega dose of antibiotics and began feeling better. And Peter, who had a huge amount of sailing and racing experience, reassured me that the miscommunication about the jibe could of happened to anyone. Ivan had obviously driven himself crazy all night, turning it into a much bigger problem than it was and then, to Peter’s disgust, had passively aggressively taken that out on me.

I recovered emotionally from the incident and was feeling back to my able, confident and happy self. But apparently I hadn’t fully learned the lesson, because there was still one more fuck up, the biggest of them all, yet to come.

Anyways last week in a conversation with some of the NYC homies, the idea of a premarital agreement came up. A few of the folks (both single and in serious relationships) shared their plans for putting together an itemized “this is my shit regardless of how bad one of us messes up” list prior to leaving their parents and becoming one with the love of their life.

I, on the other hand, didn’t think that list was necessary if by chance I decide to trade in this bachelor dynasty. Why? Well here are a few reasons:

+ Considering the idea of an eventual separation plants a seed that only requires a little nagging water, some bad cooking sunshine and flirtatious soil in a mini-skirt before we will find ourselves with a full blown separation plant that you can keep in your new place…

+ In the event of marriage, I plan on marrying up such that any divorce finds my mailbox converted into an alimony receiving machine…

+ But most importantly, I haven’t quite made it to that Tiger level where I’d be at risk of losing the Kingdom of Tonga’s GDP because love doesn’t live here anymore…

But this idea of protecting my “assets” led me to think what I would include in my prenup if asked…

Well for starters, I’m going to have to insist on including all the booze in the house. Seeing as I created your drinking problem hobby, you should be able to go back to your drinking in moderation ways which will not require these various expensive bottles of goodtimes juice we’ve collected.

Next one is tough but I’m going to need you to give back all my family members and friends. While it was important that they liked you back when we were we, but now that we is just me you can go ahead and free up those slots in the blackberry and make the appropriate facebook modifications.

In the case of me donating any organs to you, I’m going to need those back too. I mean if you break my heart then I should be able to get my gallbladder back right?

Get out the old calendar and photo albums because we have to go back over all relevant airlines and hotel arrangements. In other words, I need my miles and points back. Remember all those luxurious vacations we took using the thousands of miles I accumulated through my bacon-earning work travel? Well I need your half back but feel free to keep the Picasso album for your troubles.

I’d really appreciate it if you left my sport teams in the living room on your way out. I know we’ve been through a lot of tough games and enjoyed a number of championship celebrations over the years but now that you are a free agent, please move on to a new team. Even if we aren’t watching the game together, I’d be able to enjoy it much better knowing you went back to rooting for the Clippers.

So now that I got that off my chest, what about you folks with nicer stuff than me? What would you include in your prenup? Or would you even consider having one?

onetrik…holla we want prenup we want prenup….

Prime Minister Dr. Feleti Sevele, in accepting the report from Dr. Leon Foure, Dean of the Faculty of Creative Industries and Business, UNITEC, Auckland, endorsed the call for financial literacy to be expanded in Tonga. He commended the work the banks have begun in targeting small businesses and other customers with financial literacy training opportunities. But he emphasised more can be done.

Financial literacy is also a position supported by members of the Unitec delegation who were in Tonga to present the report.

The release of this report is a key input into the voyage Tonga is travelling on. The GEM Pacific Team wants Pacific people to benefit from sustainable economic development.

The GEM Report was released on the 26 of July, 2010 in Nuku`alofa on the eve of the Prime Minister’s departure to the Pacific Island Forum in Vanuatu. The report is available at www.pmo.gov.to/tongastats.

“Government and non government organisations in Tonga should review the report, and see how they can assist implement the key recommendations” says Associate Professor Robert Davis, Head of Unitec GEM Pacific Team.

The GEM Pacific Team supports the current initiatives to foster entrepreneurship. These include the agreement between the New Zealand Aid Programme and the Tongan government to set up the Tongan Business Entrepreneurship Centre (TBEC).

Furthermore, the GEM Pacific Team recognises the Business Opportunity Support Scheme (BOSS), a programme also supported by the New Zealand Aid Programme. BOSS is a practical offering for the private sector of Tonga to explore the feasibility of growth businesses.

Unitec looks forward to exploring common interests with the Tongan government to expand the Technical and Vocational Education and Training (TVET) sector. Expanding the sector is a programme which the Tonga, New Zealand, and Australia Governments are committed to over the next 5 years.

The GEM Report has highlighted the importance of improving business education in schools. The findings should contribute to the current discussion by the government on the primary and secondary schools curriculum. It is hoped that business as a curriculum subject will be considered in the review says Associate Professor Robert Davis.

Unitec hopes to continue its work with the Kingdom of Tonga through a second implementation of the GEM research in 2012 in collaboration with the government.

Unitec currently has a relationship with the Tupou Tertiary Institute.

Associate Professor Robert Davis also said that “we hope that the GEM research will contribute to the discussion about innovation and entrepreneurship in the Pacific region as a whole.”

Malia Talakai from the GEM Team is also the Acting Head of the Unitec Pacific Centre. She says that “it was not surprising to find that Tonga has a very strong commitment to entrepreneurship and innovation. The government of Tonga should continue to develop an enabling environment for entrepreneurs.”

Associate Professor Robert Davis also said we “look forward to constructive conversations for taking forward these recommendations that the Unitec delegation has brought to Tonga.

Destinations Tonga, a joint venture of DecisionMaker Publications and Pasefika Solutions, played the entrepreneurial role in bringing the UNITEC Tonga event together. The BOSS scheme is supporting their feasibility study – and they hope they can in turn foster more tourism entrepreneurs to invest and trade in Tonga.

Find out more: Dr Robert Davis on +64 21 303 743 (rdavis@unitec.ac.nz).

Song written for 3-part harmony – Sung by Manuhiri & Stiff Gins

Old Tree

Stands so lonely

Winds blow

Blood stained leaves

Fu’u Heilala ‘o Tapungatata

We hear your call

We bear your soul

Forever glow green and grieve

Live to see your destiny

Heilala grow Tapungatata knows

What she’s seen

…………………….

Old Tree

Stands so lonely

Winds blow tear stained leaves

Heilala grow

Tapungatata knows what she’s seen

Her children remember in dreams