Feb 16th, 2020 – Lakatoro

Even though I’ve spent much of the weekend sleeping, it has nonetheless been quite eventful. The heat, the bugs and the unfamiliar make even simple tasks become endeavours.

Sticking with my “made in Vanuatu” only challenge, on Saturday morning I cracked open a coconut I had put in the freezer the night before (a tip I’d read on the internet – only average results, don’t think I’ll bother next time), and put its milk and flesh into the blender along with a few ripe bananas and a some squeezed limes to make a pretty delicious breakfast smoothie.

As I was throwing the coconut shell and fruit peels out in the garden compost pile, I espied a coconut which must have fallen from the tree during the night. I picked it up, and figured I would have a go at de-husking it using my machete. It turns out de-husking a coconut isn’t an especially simple task, so I was making quite a lot of noise hacking away at it and the neighbour, Kathleen, came over to see what I was doing. She laughed at my pitiful white man attempts, and instructed her 12 year-old daughter, Jennifer, to show me how it was done. I actually think I’d done most of the hard work, Jennifer just stole my glory by tidying it up a little. Anyway, I now have a coconut foraged from my own garden in the fridge, which is a win! Kathleen stayed for a couple of hours chatting (quick visits aren’t very Vanuatu), and invited me to go with her to church on Sunday.

Then Andrea and Dave, currently the only other white people in Lakatoro, dropped by to see how I was settling in. I fed them some iced lime juice, and they explained they are leaving on Tuesday for a couple of weeks to attend a wedding back in NZ, which leaves me as the only white man in Lakatoro. I mentioned how I’d been bitten by a giant centipede, and they were surprised, as they hadn’t seen one in the six months they’d been here. After they said farewell, I head back to the bedroom, and guess what I see crawling all over the mozzie net?

Having disposed of Monsieur Milpat (one of the few Bislama words taken from French rather than English), I cooked myself dinner of eggs, chips and beans, Lakatoro-style.

The following morning, after getting dressed for church, I found something had left a dead gecko on the front doorstep, and it was being consumed by ants. I don’t mind a dead gecko, but I can’t help be a little afraid that something pretty big must’ve done this guy in.

Then I went off to church, a block or so down the road. A Presbyterian church, which is apparently the majority religion here. The service started well, almost entirely in Bislama except for the readings, but I was more or less keeping up, and the singing was wonderful. Then at one point during his service, the elder (actually a young chap), put his forehead down on the pulpit. I figured he was praying, and nobody else seemed to react. After a minute or so, he looked up and continued his sermon, but only saying maybe a sentence each minute – again, I figured this was part of the prayer. He put his head on the pulpit a second time, and stayed down a bit longer before carrying on, even slower than before. The third time, there was a bit of a kerfuffle from the congregation, than somebody rushed to him with a bottle of water. One of the other elders at that point assisted him to a chair on the side, and he put his head down on a table while the other elder finished the service. At the end of the service, I was invited/told to stand next to the elder and to shake everyone’s hand as they departed. Everyone filed out, and I asked the elder if the young guy was ok. He looked and me and told me not to worry, he was “just stressed”. Nobody else seemed too concerned, so I suspect it has happened before. I hope he overcomes his stresses.

After all the stress of church, I came home and rested, before reheating some laplap (national dish) I’d bought at the market. Apparently it’s a mission to make laplap, involving peeling, pounding, grating mashing, wrapping in leaves and cooking in the fire. I can say with some certainty it’s not remotely worth the effort. Tastes a bit like a very dense polenta cake wrapped in cabbage leaves.

And then this evening, I’ve tried roasting the taro I had instead of boiling or frying it. Will let you know if it works out any better, but don’t hold your breath.