Island life on Kuata

As the catamaran approached the tiny island of Kuata a small ramshackle wooden boat came alongside and those with destination Kuata had to clamber aboard. Diesel fumes, squeaking benches and a pool of brown oily water on the bottom of the boat welcomed me as I climbed down into the boat. After the initial let-down of seeing the masses of tourists in the marina this was truer to my expectations of Fiji: transportation in shoddy old boats and wading ashore to find hammocks stringed in between palm trees and old wooden bungalows with sandy floors, open to nightly visitors such as rats and land crabs.

Each night the thump of the generators stopped around ten which marked the end of the day for the local Fijians on Kuata and with that out came the Kava. Having seen this ritual a few nights before I was curious about that local drink and asked if I could join. With typical Fijian friendliness they immediately created a spot for me in the Kava circle after which I was explained the details of the Kava ceremony.

A few Kava bowls later we were chatting about family, home and traveling when I struck up a default backpacker conversation item: have you guys been traveling a lot? Their answer was a shock to me. Virtually the whole family present there had never been outside of Fiji. Most of them barely even left Kuata. Their whole lives were spent on a tiny island in the Pacific Ocean, without electricity, without cell phones, without Internet, without bars, without restaurants, without news, without television.

That talk was deeply confronting, as I was quite the consumerist in my younger years. I had led a life in which my happiness was weighed with having shiny gadgets and new computers. Yet these people were so profoundly happy with their existence on a patch of land the size of a sports field with nothing of value expect each other. The thought of that family on that island still humbles me and makes me appreciate what luxuries we all have in our western world.