July 23, 2008

Smashing coconuts out of the boot

For those whose memories require a prompt, last week, I began recounting my experiences at my Fijian-Indian pen friend’s Hindu wedding held in Suva, the capital city of Fiji, back in the early 1980s.

Having safely negotiated the “1,500-person pre-wedding party” (their more civilized version of a stag party) we now faced the actual wedding day.

It had already been determined that the bride would be returning home to her family and I would get the wedding bed for the night as the gods had not seen fit to allow the “bulb” that was tied to my friend’s wrist to blossom prior to the ceremony.

Once again, my friend told me he was expecting about 1,500 people at the event. That seemed to be his favorite number, but if anything, I think that maybe he was being very conservative in his estimates.

The wedding would be at the Suva Town Hall, as there were no temples big enough in Suva.

The groom’s party left home in a huge procession of cars, again very different from the “everyone go when they are ready” approach in New Zealand. I was put in the front car along with the best man, who drove, and one other guy, who, as I soon found out, had his own very special duty.

The procession reached the first intersection and stopped. Out jumped our “other guy”, who then opened the boot (Americans call it the “trunk”). He took a coconut out of the trunk of the car, ran into the middle of the intersection and smashed it in the road.

Naturally, I was a little surprised.

The best man explained to me that this was another religious tradition - a form of chasing away any “evil spirits” that might be lurking around. Given the best man’s already-proven enthusiasm for practical jokes I wasn’t totally convinced.

After several repeats of the process, we reached an intersection where there was a policeman on traffic duty. When the coconut routine was repeated here I was really worried, but the policeman quite happily held up all the other traffic to allow the ritual, and the smooth passing of the procession.

So maybe, for once, the best man wasn’t pulling my leg.

The wedding itself was a huge event, and the town hall was already pretty full, and lively, when we arrived. I didn’t understand much of what was said as the only time English was ever spoken was when someone was talking directly to me. But it certainly was impressive. It ran from mid-afternoon, well into the evening, but wasn’t the slightest bit tiring. There were just so many things going on.

The food afterward was great, although, unlike in New Zealand, not the highlight, as the ceremony certainly took that honor. My friend had to spend almost as much time watching to make sure that his best man didn’t get me into trouble of some sort as he did paying attention to his new wife, so I felt a bit guilty on that score.

The “bulb” continued to show no signs of life over the days after the wedding, so my friend and his new bride had to wait until several days later for the “follow-up” ceremony before they could finally start enjoying some time together, so I was able to continue sleeping in the comfortable bed.

Given that I had to get back over the other side of the island to Nadi to catch my flight back to New Zealand, that is where they decided to start their honeymoon.

We stayed in the island’s flashest hotels. I was a little worried about the cost but my friend assured me it was all free. He worked as the auditor for the company that monitored the accounts of most of the hotels, and that apparently entitled him to free accommodation at these resorts whenever he wanted it. (Or at least I guess, when they weren’t already sold out).

And great service too.

He pretty much asked for whatever he wanted and got it - immediately. It was really as though he owned the whole place!

Either the staff really liked him, or they were very scared of what his next audit might turn up!

All up, I only had about a week in Fiji, but it was a great experience.

Unfortunately for the Indian population of Fiji, things turned really sour a couple of years later.

Given it’s growing economic power, the Indian community had been seeking political influence to match. However when a party sympathetic to this cause won the general election the (mostly native Fijian) army held the first of what has now become a series of military coups, overthrowing the elected government.

Many Fijian-Indians subsequently moved to either New Zealand or (in my friend’s case) Australia. While many Indians still live in Fiji, it is no longer the “South Pacific paradise” they once believed they lived in.

I sort of got the opportunity to repay my friend’s hospitality in 2000, when Sydney hosted the Olympic Games.

Economically, this was a great opportunity for him, as it provided him the chance to rent out his home to visitors coming for the Games.

Like many Sydney residents, he didn’t want to be around for the chaos that accompanied the Games, so his family and that of a friend took the opportunity to visit New Zealand. They planned a stopover of about four days in Wellington, during which time they camped down in my two-bedroom flat (Americans call it an “apartment”).

It’s surprising just how nicely 10 people can fit into a two-bedroom apartment, if you plan it right. Two couples, five kids, and me.

The two wives (and the daughters) somehow managed to keep my home cleaner with 10 people living there than it ever was with just me. It was in the best shape ever when they left.

Funny that!

Guests like that are welcome any time.

by FRANK SHANLY

frank@news-banner.com

Email Frank Shanly

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