Escape Logistics

20th April, 2020 – Cotignac

It has been a while since I’ve written a blog post, as the in-country part of my assignment in Vanuatu was cut short, much to my mother’s regret. On arrival back in Cotignac, I was put in the house next door for two weeks quarantine. You all know what lockdown and quarantine feels like, so there’s little point me posting our shared experiences.

I made use of my time in the other house to assist a Vanuatu-based UNICEF volunteer (one of the ones who decided not to disappoint her mother and stay on) to translate the Vanuatu public health authority’s official guidance on COVID-19 into French. Whilst everyone in Vanuatu speaks either English and Bislama or French and Bislama, there aren’t so many who speak English and French, and given the public health authority was working flat out with its response to COVID-19, they reached out to anyone who might be able to help. As part of this work I came across some linguistic curiosities. Did you know, for example, that the WHO (OMS in French), has chosen the acronym COVID-19 to be of the feminine gender, whereas almost all other sources refer to it as “Le COVID-19”. Usually, loan words and acronyms from other languages into French are assigned the masculine gender, so it’s an interesting choice by the WHO translation team. Those of you reading this who speak French, please do let me know your views on the matter.

Now the COVID-19 situation in Vanuatu is that there is not a single positive case. In order to keep things that way, shortly after I departed the country, all international air traffic was interrupted, and all passenger boats refused entry. This is an understandable reaction to the pandemic, and I commend the prompt action of the interim government which has ensured the country remains one of the few virus-free nations on Earth. However, subsequently, further measures were imposed which seem bizarrely disproportionate. Schools were closed. Domestic flights and passenger vessels were also discontinued. An overnight curfew was imposed. Every mobile phone owner was supposed to register their SIM card with a government register by the end of April. I don’t even understand how that last one could possibly help as a public health measure.

In any case, just as I finished my translation work on a Friday evening and sent it for proofing and publication the following week, there was news of a cyclone near the Solomon Islands which had the potential to move over Vanuatu over the weekend. Tropical Cyclone Harold gained more strength than initially forecast, and by the time it made landfall over the Vanuatu archipelago on Sunday evening / Monday morning, it was a category 5 (out of a possible 5) cyclone. This means sustained winds in excess of 215km/hour, with gusts in excess of 250km/hour. In non-numeric terms, this means winds likely to result in widespread destruction to property and significant loss of life, the most violent storm which can possibly exist on the planet. The path of the cyclone in Vanuatu started in West Santo, passed directly through Luganville, before moving down to the Southwest, crossing the North of Malekula, and across West Ambrym and Pentecost before moving onward to wreak further havoc in Fiji. Communications went down when the storm hit, and although they are now mostly back up again, the full extent of the damage has yet to properly be assessed. The town of Lakatoro on Malekula, where I had been based, was sheltered by the surrounding foothills, so apparently escaped the worst. I have since spoken briefly with Kevin, and he tells me he and his family are safe. To give an idea of the devastation, here are some photos from facebook of the former town of Melsisi, on Pentecost Island:

It is clear that rebuilding after a cyclone of this magnitude is a huge task. The most pressing issue to prevent further death is usually the availability of clean water, and an often overlooked effect of a cyclone is the devastation it wreaks on the food supply as crops are ruined. Gaps in the water and food supply are typically plugged by bringing in supplies from unaffected regions, but efforts to do so were of course initially hampered by the COVID-19 restrictions and their impact on logistics. Most of the restrictions have since been lifted, although international flights are still prohibited except under the most stringent of conditions, so international aid and particularly international expertise are slight.

The translation work I had accomplished for the public health authority presumably was pushed to the bottom of the pile. Any work I did with Kevin on the investment policy for Malampa province can presumably be shelved for quite some time, as investment into the province will not show any noticeable signs of activity for the forseeable, although the brief contact I’ve had with him since suggests that he wants me to carry on drafting the policy, so that at least they have something in place when the time comes. The Vanuatu peanut butter industry will not become the next big thing as so badly hoped by my brothers. Eating bats is also quite likely to be frowned upon in future.

I had mentioned in my previous post that all VSA volunteers worldwide were being called back to New Zealand, as the cessation of flights meant secure operations could no longer be relied upon. As I arrived back in France, the other volunteers were making their way to Port-Vila and most of them were scheduled to fly out on the last plane from Port-Vila. Unfortunately, without warning, Air Vanuatu cancelled this flight, and grounded its fleet a few days earlier than scheduled, trapping 11 of my colleagues in country, and it was then that cyclone Harold hit. Following the cyclone (which caused no damage in Port-Vila, as it passed a bit further to the North), the New Zealand government negotiated the safe entry of a Hercules C130 RNZAF to Vanuatu, to bring supplies to assist with the recovery, and on the return leg they “rescued” those of the 11 who chose to be repatriated. Commendably, or perhaps foolishly, the VSA programme manager Trevor and his wife Michelle chose to stay to help out with recovery efforts as best they could. A couple of others among the 11 also decided to stay. Hats off to you guys, my mother would be proud of you.

It is a privilege to be alive, with clean water to drink, plentiful food to eat and a roof over my head. I truly wish all ni-Vanuatu could say the same. It was also a unique privilege to have shared their country and community for a couple of months; it is such a pity my visit ended in such disastrous circumstances. May the resilience of the Ni-Vanuatu shine strongly in the times to come.

March 19th, 2020 – Cotignac, France

I’m home! After my last post, where I’d arrived in Port-Vila, things started to go wrong quite quickly. Emmanuel Macron, President of France, gave a second televised address whereby he chastised the French population for not listening to his first televised address a few days prior, and said as a result he was imposing new stricter measures to contain the virus. This wouldn’t have bothered me, it was all very French, but in the latter half of the speech, he declared that as of the following day, the French border would be closed to non-nationals. This bothered me greatly, being a non-national due to return to France a few days later. Even more bothersome, after giving his speech, Macron went to bed, as it was late in France, but early in the morning in Vanuatu. So when I showed up at the French Embassy asking for clarification on the rules for French non-nationals returning to their families, they looked at me as if I were a sad puppy (admittedly I had been caught in a tropical rainstorm en-route to the Embassy), and told me that as France was now sleeping, they only knew as much as I did based on Macron’s speech, and they figured I would likely be denied entry. They also considered my chosen route back to France problematic, as they figured my 2-day planned layover in Sydney may fall foul of Australian quarantine requirements which had just been announced the previous day. Furthermore, they said that with the closure of the French border, it was likely that my planned flight from Doha to Nice could well be cancelled, and to check with the airline (I’d been trying for a few days, but phone lines were jammed, and being placed on hold interminably while calling Qatar isn’t cheap). They said given I had dual UK/NZ citizenship, my best bet would be to go to NZ and sit tight there before NZ also closed its borders. I went upstairs to the Kiwi High Commission, handily in the same building as the French Embassy, and their advice was pretty much the same. The UK high commission (also in the same building) was closed, with a note on the door saying that given it was a new mission, it only served for diplomatic representation, and consular assistance could be sought by calling a 24-hour helpline, which would connect me to the High Commission in Canberra. I tried calling the 24-hour helpline only to be told that as it was out-of-hours it was currently closed and to try back later. The French Embassy gave me the email contact they had for the UK embassy, and I tried that. Given the lack of clarity on the treatment of my planned 2-day layover in Sydney, I went to the Air Vanuatu office to change my flight to Friday morning instead, meaning any layover wouldn’t be necessary, I would just hang around in Sydney airport for most of Friday instead. A few hours later I received a response from my email to the UK high commission, advising me to contact the 24-hour helpline in Canberra, which was still closed. I replied pretty crossly, and barely half an hour later received a call on my Vanuatu number from Canberra from the wonderful Elicia. I say wonderful, as while the French and Kiwis had been helpful, they had sort of shrugged and said let us know how you get on. Elicia, on the other hand, was just as understanding, but also very attentive to the practicalities of the situation (where was my hotel, what were the booking refs of my flights, etc…). She said she was going to try to both get clarification on the French border situation and to contact Qatar airways on my behalf. She also told me at the end of the call what time she would next call me, which is very good practice in situations like this. She gave me a call later in the day even though she hadn’t made much progress, and importantly checked on my mental health, financial security, and once again told me that she would call me back tomorrow in the morning. She advised me that the situation was changing rapidly across the world, but also in Vanuatu, which was looking likely to close its borders shortly. If I could, she said, I should look into booking an earlier flight, and so I found that there was still space departing the following afternoon (Wednesday) on a Virgin flight from Port-Vila to Brisbane. This worked out nicely, as I had given cousin Rick a call, and he had offered his spare room in Brisbane for as long as needed. So I booked the flight to Brisbane just in case. Then that evening, the acting PM of Vanuatu came on the telly, saying Vanuatu was going to start “restricting and reducing” international flights. He actually said it in Bislama, which I’m pleased to say I understood, although I was none the wiser as to what that actually meant for me. He then went to bed. I did a quick search for onward flights from Brisbane to Nice, and found that it is a route flown by Emirates, and they had some seats left on the plane. I figured that given it was now late, and Elicia and the French were both going to get back to me in the morning, I’d wait to get clarity as to whether the French border would let me in or not before booking.

Early Wednesday morning, I awoke and checked the latest travel advice for Brits traveling to/from France, and the general idea was that British residents in France would be allowed through the border. Based on that, I went back to the Emirates website, only to be told that all economy seats had now been fully booked, and only business class, costing some €4,600 had room left. I love Jen and Hunter very much, but spending that sort of money would significantly affect our future happiness, especially as there was still a possibility that my Friday flights would work out just fine anyway. Pretty upset, as I glumly chewed my hotel Weetbix and sipped a cup of hot coffee, not even taking joy in the fact that both Weetbix, milk, and fresh coffee would have all been unimaginable in Malekula, I had one of my smarter moments. Although I had searched with Skyscanner and directly with Emirates for the flight, I recalled that Qantas and Emirates were part of the same air alliance, and therefore often code-shared the same flights. Maybe if I searched on Qantas, I would find a seat in economy for later that day? It, somewhat surprisingly, was a fruitful idea. Qantas’ booking site said they had three seats left in economy. I paid for one straight up, and had only just done so when I received a call from Elicia telling me she had spoken with the French, and everyone now thought I would be unlikely to run into trouble at the border. The French even went so far as to prepare an official looking letter for me, requesting any French police to grant me safe passage.

So I packed my bag, checked out, went into town to change my remaining vatu into euros, donned a mask and disposable gloves, and headed to the airport. I checked in for my flight to Brisbane, and informed Air Vanuatu that I would no longer be on the Friday morning flight. There were already a few cancelled flights on the board at the airport, presumably due to the acting PM’s announcement the night before.

That’s it. I’m home now. I’ll keep this blog going, mainly to let you know what happens with my work in Malekula and the future of Vanuatu, but I shan’t be updating it as regularly as I have been to date.

Incidentally, the VSA announced on Wednesday, as I was scrambling to get to the airport, that they were going to be interrupting all their operations worldwide, bringing all volunteers back to New Zealand. The AVI (Australians) and the Peace Corps (Americans) had taken the same decision a couple of days earlier. It is a sad time for volunteering agencies across the globe, and even sadder for the developing countries such as Vanuatu which were benefiting from the great help and assistance that volunteer workers brought with them. Even if the virus passes swiftly, it will take many months or even years to rebuild the relationships and reputations that these volunteer organisations had in their host countries. If you have enjoyed reading this blog, please do consider making a donation to the VSA, however small. As I’ve said before, they do good work.

March 15th, 2020 – Port-Vila

This morning, Kevin came round to say goodbye. And the neighbours, Kathleen and Job, also wanted to say goodbye, so they all organised an impromptu lunch for me. Kathleen knew I only like aelan kakae (Island food, rather than imported), so she cooked manioc rolls wrapped in jungle cabbage leaves, served with deepwater fish cooked in coconut milk. Kevin cooked a wild pig stew and his wife Rose made a papaya fruit salad. Was a lovely sendoff, and Church was cancelled (the elders were busy with the election campaign, apparently), so Kevin said a lengthy grace, praying for me, my family and all those around the world affected by the virus. I gifted Kathleen a new coconut scraper with a mangowood board, as hers is very blunt after many years use. I gifted the province driver my cheap Chinese blender in the hope he’d use it to try to make peanut butter.

Then I got into the government truck with the driver, expecting that to be it, but everyone insisted on coming out to the airport to say goodbye, so they all piled into the back of the truck, and off we trundled. On the way, we drove past Dave and Andrea on their bikes, as they had decided to get some exercise by cycling to the airport to bid me goodbye too.

Landing in Vila was a tad scary in the small plane as there was a vicious crosswind. The girl next to me, a Turkish tourist, started clutching the seatback in front of her and screaming, which did nothing to calm the situation.

It is Vila itself which is truly scary, though. Everything is busy and the cars drive quickly. Absolutely wonderful to be in a hotel with running water which is safe to drink, hot water, air-con. Heck, there’s even a microwave and a toaster in the room. I might go for a dip in the pool in a moment.

Reverse-culture clash is definitely a real phenomenon. My next stop, virus permitting, is Sydney, leaving on early Wednesday morning. I suspect the culture clash will be even stronger there.

March 13th, 2020 – Lakatoro

This Friday the 13th has been pretty intense. Last night (early this morning here), Macron announced the closure of all schools in France, and an extension of the country’s containment strategy. Not knowing what is next on the cards, we decided whatever happens, at this point, as family, Jen, Hunter and I need to reunite as soon as possible. Initially the plan was to fly them down to the Southern hemisphere, I could come and join them in New Zealand, and we could sit tight and ride out any troubles ahead from there. Jen tried to book tickets, but the website rejected her payment. And then doubt crept in as to the validity of the plan. Jen slept on it, and I went to work, and both of us started to have second thoughts. As Jen puts it, we need to do what feels right. And flying Jen and Hunter across the world to hanker down in a country which we both once called home just didn’t feel right. So the change of plan is for me to fly back to Cotignac as soon as practicable. Ultimately, as they say, home is where the heart is, and so it makes sense to listen to our hearts on this one. This latest decision may not be the wisest course of action, but it feels much better.

Regretfully, it means I will have to abandon my assignment ahead of schedule, although I think I have laid enough groundwork that I hope to be able to finish my assignment remotely. However, anyone who has worked one of these assignments can tell you that the assignment is only really half the job. Capacity building, soft diplomacy, and relationship forging are all part of what makes a volunteer placement so special and rewarding. None of those can be accomplished remotely.

Having taken the decision, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders, and coincidentally I received a message from Andrea informing me that the Peace Corps volunteers (Americans) tend to meet on Friday afternoons at a certain café, and spending time with them could be a good remedy for island isolation if I wanted to join. So I went along, and met with these young guys and girls. The Peace Corps has a policy of placing their volunteers in truly remote locations, with no electricity or water, which by comparison makes my digs seem luxurious. Given I will soon be leaving the island, I still had nearly a full case of beer in the fridge which needed emptying, so I invited them for a sundowner at mine, and they were happy to oblige.

I had been saving a La Tuf IPA which I’d brought with me from Cotignac for a special occasion. It felt right, maybe due to all the other beers I’d had to drink, to open it and enjoy the bittersweet taste, knowing I’m heading home soon.

I’ve heard tell there is a competition for a photo of a bottle of La Tuf the furthest distance from Cotignac. I think that strictly, New Zealand is actually further away, but I think Lakatoro, Malekula deserves a nod as the most remote place a bottle has ever been enjoyed, and likely that record will stand for some time.

Just as the beer found its way to this remote location, now I must figure out a way back home, which is no straightforward task. But the situation has clarified one thing in my mind: for better or for worse, Cotignac is my home.

To you Cotignacéens, à très bientôt, j’espère. To those of you in Vanuatu, ale tata lo naoa, be meibi mimi kam bakagen wan dei. To those of you elsewhere, stay safe, and keep fighting the good fight.

March 10th, 2020 – Lakatoro

So today I was having my morning shower when Kevin decided to come into my house half an hour earlier than scheduled to tell me the truck was waiting for me, and we were going to the airport. Showered and dressed in a hurry for seemingly the umpteenth time this week, but before I got in to the truck, I was given a shiny fluorescent gilet to wear. President and Kevin were wearing theirs, and so when I donned mine, we looked like three Stooges:

The reason we needed the gilets was because we were supposed to be going out to the airfield, walking back and forth across the runway to inspect the topographic problems raised during yesterday’s civil aviation authority meeting, and rules dictate that anyone on the runway must wear hi-vis at all times. Due to obscure reasons, we actually ended up going back to the runway three times over the course of the day, each time tut-tutting a little louder than the last. Given the gilets were made of thick polyester, and it was about 35 degrees in the shade today, I would take my gilet off the moment after the above photo was taken, but President and Kevin kept theirs on throughout the entire day – I suspect because orange is the colour of the President’s political party who are in full campaign mode. Although rules prevent the president from campaigning while on duty as provincial president, if his hi-vis gilet happened to be the right colour, what a coincidence that would be!

After faffing about on the airstrip, we met with the manager of Vanuatu’s largest plantation, PRV. For me, the meeting served as information gathering so as to be able to better draft the investment policy, but Kevin and President used it to try to strike a deal between PRV and some potential Chinese investors. Both objectives accomplished, we posed for a photo:

Then we had a meeting with Bruce (after yet another trip to the airport), an Englishman who owns and runs the only value-adding factory in Malampa, called Nuts ‘n’ Oils. He specialises in making Nangai, Tamaru and Coconut oils, and has just started using the husks of the nuts processed to fill bags of animal feed. I had met Bruce briefly a few weeks back, and respect the fact that he is giving it a go under pretty extreme circumstances, although unfortunately health concerns mean he will likely have to leave the island in the coming weeks, and I suspect his business will falter without him present.

Then followed a meeting with a provincial micro-loans company, offering small loans to the ladies at the market at 20% flat interest to be repaid in five months. Then a meeting with Vanuatu’s national pension fund and lastly a meeting with the national Bank. Temperatures carried on rising throughout, and the bank one in particular was notable for being held in a small cubicle with no windows, A/C or fan, meaning I can honestly say I’ve been in cooler saunas.

The problem with the airport is that they need to extend the current airstrip by 150 metres of level ground. Given the current airstrip ends with a 5-metre drop down to the field behind, this means they need to fill an area with earth which I estimate is roughly 150x5x300 (width), or 225,000 cubic metres of soil. I think this is an absolutely enormous task, but they seemed fairly confident the Chinese contractor who builds all the roads on the island would be able to manage it cheaply and quickly.

After all these hot meetings and airfield inspections, it was time for some kava, so we found a kava bar and had a few shells. Conversation was all about the coronavirus, and it just so happened that at that very moment my brother sent me a photo of him wearing his mask for the first time, which was met with great intrigue by the gents at the kava bar.

We toasted the next shell to those who were affected by the virus “including Cameron’s brother who must now wear a mask”.

I finished off the day by cooking some sweet potato, cabbage and chilli hash browns.

March 9th, 2020 – Lakatoro

Back to work today after the batty excitement of the weekend. Started off with an unscheduled meeting with the civil aviation authority. This was a lady visiting from Port-Vila, and wanting to meet with the province, as there’s a plan to expand Norsup airport to allow ATR’s (75 seaters) to land on Malekula. Given that the 12 seater plane I came here on was empty apart from VSA staff and one other lady, and that seems to be the norm, I’m not sure of the immediate need for ATRs to land in the province, but apparently there is an allocation in the national budget for airport expansion, and I do concede that at some point many years in the future, more than a handful of people may wish to come to Malekula at one time, so I don’t see what harm it can do. A few interesting observations from the meeting:

Firstly, while I’ve been struggling with my broken Bislama here, this lady came from Port-Vila and gave her presentation in Bislama, and I understood absolutely everything! Apparently Port-Vila Bislama is much closer to the ‘correct’ Bislama I’ve been learning from the Peace Corps online course. I suppose it’s just accent with a bit of dialect, maybe a bit like learning how to speak English in the States and then suddenly finding yourself in Glasgow, but for me it was a bit of a revelation. I’m not as rubbish at learning the language as I thought I was!

Secondly, this civil aviation lady was tremendous at her job. She could’ve presented to any boardroom I’ve ever been in, and impressed with her competence. This too was unexpected, as a) she’s the only woman I’ve met at a senior level here so far (despite good progress in gender equity, Vanuatu is still very much a patriarchal society) and b) everyone else I’ve met professionally here has been adequate at their job, some moreso than others, but up until today no-one had that extra something which would allow Vanuatu to compete on the world stage. She did. She reminded me a bit of my sister-in-law Kaisu in that way. I made sure to go up after the meeting was over and tell her that I thought her presentation was terrific, as it’s always worthwhile to give praise when due.

Then we had a few more meetings, and spent the rest of the afternoon driving round Lakatoro stopping off at various businesses to schedule meetings for later this week (whereas last week was meeting the various government departments, this week the plan is to meet with the private sector industry participants). The good news is this meant we got to drive past a plantation-run general store out near the airport, where I’d heard from Wayne that they sell the cheapest beer on the island. It is indeed true, although they’re running low on stock since Wayne’s last visit, so would only sell me a case of 24 beers rather than individual bottles. I caved in to their strongarm sales technique, and picked myself up a case of Tusker beer.

Later on, as we stopped off at another store, I once again decried the fact that here we were standing in the middle of a coconut plantation, and they were only selling coconut oil imported from Fiji. We are in an island archipelago with some of the richest fishing waters in the world, and yet the shelves only stock tins of tuna from the Solomon Islands and Indonesia. The mamas at the market sell peanuts by the bucketful, but the only peanut butter you can buy on the shops is Chinese peanut butter, with extra sugar, salt and Palm oil. As I was ranting about the peanut butter, the driver looked at me, and said, “but it isn’t easy making peanut butter”. I gasped. I corrected him, telling him it was indeed very easy, all you needed to do was crush the peanuts in a blender. I carried on with my rant, saying how Vanuatu is worried about its significant unemployment rate – if someone wanted to set up a business, all they needed to do was buy a blender, stick some peanuts in it, and hey presto, peanut butter. The driver called my bluff there and then, saying he was tempted to do exactly as I was saying, could I promise him that it was really that easy to make peanut butter? I must admit, as you regular readers of this blog may recall, I had tried to make peanut butter early on in my stay on Malekula, and it hadn’t really been successful, so when faced with this guy seemingly wanting to jack in his job as a government driver to follow my advice and set up a peanut butter business, I started to think I may have spoken too soon. So I told him I would go back to my house tonight, I would shell some peanuts, put them in my blender and then tomorrow he could taste my peanut butter and tell me whether he thought it was a winning plan or not. The only slight hiccup is that a few days ago my cheap Chinese blender had sheared off the nut holding the blades to the motor, but I was hopeful a superglue repair job might hold up. I have also had a sneaking suspicion since my last attempt at making peanut butter that raw peanuts aren’t the right starting point, and instead I should get the ones from the market that the mamas have already cooked in their shells in a drum over the fire.

So I picked up a couple of bags of cooked peanuts this time, and set to work shelling them.

I added them to the blender, and started grinding them up. They made a sawdust-like powder, similar to last time, but unfortunately no peanut butter. I added a little coconut oil, and then a little more and carried on whizzing. I was just about to give up when suddenly, the peanut butter started to smooth out, and lo and behold, something resembling peanut butter was forming! I was just getting excited when the superglue gave way under the effort, and the blender malfunctioned. But I had a trick up my sleeve! I decided to use the coffee grinding attachment which had come as a freebee with the blender. It only has two blades rather than the blender’s four, but it wasn’t broken, so was worth a shot. After some messy transferring of half-blended peanut butter, I was able to finish grinding it. I’m pleased to say the result is two-thirds of a jar of mighty fine peanut butter. The taste is sensational.

Honestly, it feels really great to have had my bluff called, and then at least to have something to show for it. There was a bit of me that felt under threat, as in: Here I was telling these guys how they should be making money, and when called to prove it, I would actually find it was harder than I made it out to be, because I was just a desk-jockey who had never gotten his hands dirty and made something, so had no idea of what was actually needed. But now I have proven my case, my words aren’t just hollow. Should you see gourmet Vanuatu peanut butter on a supermarket shelf near you in the years to come, remember that it all started right here today!

March 8th, 2020 – Walarano

A plan had been made earlier in the week for Kevin, President and I to travel to Wala Island today. Wala Island is a small, postcard-perfect island off the north-eastern coast of Malekula, where the cruise ships used to stop many years ago. The cruise ships paid generous fees to the tribal owners of the island, and the thousands of tourists who would flood it for a few hours would typically spend some money too, so everyone agreed it was a good thing. Only problem is no-one could agree who the tribal owners of the island were. One tribe put their hand up, and took the cruise line’d money, and when the next cruise ship docked and wasn’t greeted with the welcome they had requested and asked why not, they were told that no-one had told them a greeting was expected and no-one had heard of whichever tribe had been paid the money, and please could they have some more money. Needless to say, the cruise line didn’t come back to Wala Island again.

However, due to the cancellation of yesterday’s election rally, the plan changed. President was now going to a new election rally in the afternoon, and needed the truck, so instead, we were all going to go to church in Walarano, a village on mainland Malekula directly across from Wala and Rano islands. I was only informed of this change of plan at 6:45am this morning when President pulled up in the truck on my front lawn and started honking the horn, the second day in a row he has woken me up thus.

It turns out that Walarano is a francophone Catholic settlement. The church there is the largest building I’ve seen in Malekula, and it was pretty impressive how we just turned a corner on a jungle dirt road, entered the village of Walarano and blam! There was this enormous church, and a huge French school, too.

Compared to the Presbyterian service I had been to a few weeks back, this one was remarkable in that, although entirely in Bislama (Bible readings in French, though), the order of service was absolutely identical to that in any other Catholic church worldwide. I was intrigued to note that in the Presbyterian church, men sit on the left, women on the right, whereas here it was the other way round. No idea why. I’m pretty amazed that the missionaries managed to get any traction at all when they first arrived, it all just seems so incongruous with the way of life here. Even the clergymen’s white satin robes seemed way too hot for the temperature in the room which was well into the 30s by 9 o’clock in the morning. Having a good school I suppose was how they did it.

After church, President was chatting with some fellow party members, and they invited us to join them for some Laplap Sosor at their beachfront nakamal. Laplap is the traditional dish of Vanuatu, made by grinding manioc into a sort of cake, wrapping it in banana leaves, and burying it for several hours under hot rocks from the fire. I’ve mentioned it before on this blog, it’s not terrific tasting, similar to dry polenta cake, and needs something to moisten it. Laplap Sosor is definitely an improvement, as when the Laplap is unwrapped from the banana leaves, fresh coconut milk is squeezed over it. I was quite looking forward to trying out Laplap fresh from the fire rather than the stuff I’d eaten at the market.

Now I’m all up for novel cultural experiences, but eating a bat just really isn’t my thing. Having suddenly quite lost my appetite when they revealed the bats, I daintily picked at the Laplap from around the edge, dipped it in the coconut milk, and tried to pretend that I hadn’t even noticed the bats. Only when one of the ladies sitting next to me pulled off a drumstick and offered it to me did I politely decline, on the grounds that I was full up of Laplap. The others, however, got stuck in with gusto, eating the meat, skin (wings and all) and chewing the heads even. I was by this point trying desperately not to bring up the Laplap I had eaten, particularly as the smell of baked bat was reminding me distinctly of the rotten rat I had found yesterday. I realise it’s merely a cultural thing, and wouldn’t hold a grudge if someone has a different view to me, but this particular culinary experience I would rate a solid 1/10.

I was pretty relieved when the President drove us back to Lakatoro so that I could retire for a siesta and rest my churning guts.

March 7th, 2020 – Lakatoro

So yesterday, the president had invited me to join him for an election rally this morning. He hadn’t told me precisely what time, but had asked me at what time I usually get up. I had told him 7am, and at 7:03am he pulled up in front of my house (not in his official truck, as that would be a breach of campaign rules, apparently) and honked the horn, yelling that we were running late for the rally. I was still in bed, and jumped up, got dressed and out the door in a couple of minutes, and by the time I’d rubbed my eyes and properly woken up, we were racing through the jungle in a pickup truck en route to an election campaign rally.

On arrival at the village where the rally was being held, a pretty remote jungle outpost, it turned out we weren’t late after all, everyone was just sort of milling around. They were all wearing the party colours (fluorescent orange) – I was literally the only one there not wearing orange. I asked one of the guys hanging about why he was a supporter of the party, and he said they gave him a joining ‘donation’ of 1,000vatu, which was more than the other parties.

Apparently, a young woman had died earlier in the morning, and so mourning villagers had little appetite to come and listen to a political rally. After about an hour of deliberation, the organisers decided that the rally would be postponed.

Getting back into the truck, the President told me not to worry, he had a contingency plan. Given we had come all this way, he would take me to visit the manager of a nearby cacao plantation, that way our journey wouldn’t be wasted.

And so we drove even deeper into the jungle, until we came across a substantial cacao plantation, which to my untrained eye looked like yet more jungle. Apparently it is the largest cacao plantation in Vanuatu.

We drove to the plantation farmstead, and met with the manager. My French was once again very useful, as the manager, although of Ni-Vanuatu descent, had left when young, gone to France, joined the military and then the special forces, and had now come back to settle in the islands. The president introduced me, and invited me to ask plenty of questions for the sake of the investment policy I’m here to help with. I hadn’t expected to conduct a work-related interview, but was able to improvise, and fired out plenty of questions over the course of a couple of hours asking him about his work on the plantation, which the manager responded to positively, I think mainly enjoying the way that he was having a conversation in fluent French for the first time in many months. Fascinating chap, clearly one of these ex-military men of action, apparently content to live in an exceedingly remote location, and exactly the sort of guy who could competently run a plantation business in the middle of the jungle. Although that is also the assessment of some of the island’s other plantation owners, so the President tells me he may well be poached and go to work elsewhere before long, which would be a shame, as he is doing good work where he is at the moment.

Leaving the plantation, the President asked me if I’d ever tasted raw cacao fruit, and when I said I hadn’t, he pulled over the truck and we got out to taste some cacao.

The beans are laid to dry ferment under polyethylene sun tunnels, and the slimy stuff gradually dries off, at which point the beans are exported off the island, and at the destination they will be roasted, ground and milled with sugar to make chocolate! The plantation’s biggest customer was up until recently KitKat (Nestlé), but they are very excited to have just signed a contract to provide cacao to Valrhona, which is testament to the quality of their beans.

Returned to the village, I invited the president back to my place for lunch. I reheated some leftover sweet potato curry, and we enjoyed it with some cool beers. I then retired for a nap, but got up to start cooking as I had invited Dave and Andrea (other VSA volunteers, who have been away these last couple of weeks) over for dinner. As I was cooking, I noticed a nasty smell in the kitchen coming from near the fridge. At first, I figured it was just the usual nasty smell wafting in from outside. The neighbour’s pig pen is only a few yards away, and the Chinese farmer behind the house often fertilises his vegetable patch with human sewage, both of which create interesting odours on any given day. As the smell didn’t dissipate when the wind blew, however, I started to think that it was probably something in my kitchen. Then, upon seeing a big fat fly buzz round the kitchen (even though the kitchen is reasonably well screened), I suddenly remembered the rat trap. I had set it and baited it a couple of weeks back, and although I had checked it the first few mornings, I had discovered nothing and seen little evidence of rats, so had paid it no more attention. Sure enough, there was a big one trapped in it, and he’d been there I reckon for about 2/3 days, and was starting to decompose in the heat.

The previous volunteer who occupied the house, Wayne, had had the foresight to tie the trap to a kitchen unit with a piece of string, which was necessary, as this guy had evidently put up a fight after he’d been snapped, and the trap had moved a couple of feet from where I’d left it. I disposed of the carcass, and bleached the whole side of the kitchen. Have now re-set the trap, awaiting its next victim.

March 6th, 2020 – Lakatoro

Apologies about the lack of posting over the past few days. I had a busy day meeting more bureaucrats on Wednesday, followed by a public holiday (Chief’s day) on Thursday, and yet more meetings today. On the public holidays, given everything shuts and all road traffic stops, it is quite difficult to get around, as hitching a ride becomes impossible, and walking in the heat is ill-advised, so really my only option was to stay home and read a book.

I was really looking forward to meeting the Tourism Department, as I was hoping they could assist me by providing a map of the island, informing me of the boat schedules, and telling me what were the must-see sights. Turns out Rollyne was a new tourist officer who had been parachuted in from Port Vila, as the previous tourism department had closed down after 6 months of non-activity due to financial mismanagement (apparently they had been taking funds from tourists, booking them on tours, and then never passing the funds onto the tour operators). So she hasn’t been on Malekula much longer than I have, and has about as much idea of what there is to explore and see as I do. She also didn’t have any maps, which was disappointing.

But the event that is gripping the island’s interest is the forthcoming general election. The full candidate list was announced today, comprising 39 candidates for Malekula, all contesting 7 seats in parliament. Everyday, at least one candidate can be found at the market leading a rally with a loudspeaker.

The various candidates and their supporters drive up and down the main road waving flags and banners – the better funded parties even have matching t-shirts. Whenever they cross a rival party’s pickup truck, or go past a rally, they yell their party slogan and honk their horn. It is all quite jolly, and reminds me a bit of the vibe in Marylebone station on a Wembley match day.

One of my colleagues, the provincial president, is particularly excited, as his party has three candidates presenting. I asked him what the party’s main policies were, and he said creating more government departments to enable proper administration (sigh). Tomorrow he will be speaking at a rally, and invited me to come along and listen, so I said I would.

In other news, VSA has taken the decision faced with the coronavirus to evacuate all of its volunteers over the age of 60 back to New Zealand, as it didn’t want to risk any of them being quarantined overseas without access to adequate medical care. For some, this means abandoning their assignments half way through (or not even), so is not a small decision. So far, the hasn’t been a confirmed case in any of the Pacific islands, but there is a possible case in Tonga, and anti-chinese racism is rife here. I remain very protected on my exceedingly remote island, so please don’t worry about me. Jen, H, and Mother, on the other hand, are in France where the infection rate is skyrocketing. I’m keeping my fingers crossed for you guys.

March 3rd, 2020 – Lakatoro

The last couple of days have been run-of-the-mill work days, insofar as anything can be run-of-the-mill in Malampa. This week we’ve planned meetings with the various local government departments to try to understand what they all do. Next week will be meetings with the private sector players. Yesterday, we were supposed to have an internal meeting with the province Secretary General, but he was on the wrong island, so instead we went and asked the Finance and Inland Revenue departments for a meeting. They would only be available in the afternoon, apparently (government departments here like to have to make room in their busy schedules, which clearly are not very busy at all). Then this morning, we met with the department of Agriculture and the department of Livestock. Then this afternoon we meet with the department of Forestry and the department of Trade and Industry. We weren’t able to meet with the department of fisheries, as he was out fishing. Later in the week, we are planning to meet with the department of public works, the department of cooperatives and the department for tourism amongst others. Remember that Lakatoro only has a population of 2,000 or so, so it feels a bit like I’m stuck in a Gilliam-esque satire. The local government is by far the biggest employer on the island. It is as efficient as you’d expect. I’m happy to say that like anywhere, some of the government employees are hard workers who are diligently fulfilling a governance need. I would say the vast majority however are there to collect their quite reasonable government salary, and use their departmental budget to purchase themselves a pickup truck which they enjoy driving back and forth the only 10km of road on the island.

After the day’s meetings, I came home and started to cook my supper, although had to finish it in the dark as there was a power cut. There isn’t a local government department for Energy, you see.

Such is a day in the life of Malampa Province.