Collecting Camp Coconuts

Jungle Scout Camp in Niutao...

Jungle Scout Camp in Niutao...

Four season sleeping bag, waterproof jacket, thick hiking socks, waterproof trousers, sturdy hiking boots, gloves, survival bag, crampons, ice axe, emergency rations etc. the kit list for a two week Scout camp in the UK tends to go on and on, and that’s only for camping in the summer.  Alright, so it’s not quite that bad, but when compared to the modest kit list needed for a two week camp in the jungle of Niutao, then it seems a tad excessive.  So filling my bag with the essentials (knife, toothbrush, spare pants), and grabbing my local palm mat to sleep on, I excitedly shut the door to the room I was staying in, and looked forward to two entire weeks living in the jungle with the Niutao Scouts.

Being such a small island, and with the seemingly limited resources that needed transporting to the camp, I assumed that we would be walking the couple of kilometres to the campsite at the other end of the island.  I of course assumed wrong, and was surprised to see a tractor complete with giant trailer waiting for us next to the church, ready to take an excited group of scouts and leaders to the camp.  After throwing my small bag and mat onto the back of the tractor, I took my place stood precariously between the tractor and trailer and watched as it became clear exactly why we needed the tractor.  Although the majority of our food was to be caught, trapped, and collected in the jungle, it would all be supplemented by a 'Pacific portion' of rice.  What’s a 'Pacific portion' of rice I hear you cry, well imagine if you will a regular serving of rice from your local resturant, now imagine ten similar servings, and you have a single 'Pacific portion', and with people often going back for seconds, and over 50 people attending the camp, you start to realise just how much rice we needed to take with us, I made sure to nod in appreciation to the tractor driver as I broke a sweat lifting the dozens of bags of rice onto the trailer – I didn’t fancy carrying these very far.

Tractor Transport...

Tractor Transport...

The short bumpy ride down the muddy track to the small clearing where we would be camping was enough to whip the Scouts into a frenzy, and before the tractor had even stopped, almost as if someone had just instigated the world’s most important hide and seek game, the Scouts jumped from the moving tractor, and disappeared into the dense jungle surrounding the campsite.  If it was a game of hide and seek I fancied my chances for the next game as they all returned within five minutes each carrying a lush heap of different trees, plants, branches and random bits of wood which were thrown into a pile next to the expertly built fale kaupule (traditional house) which dominated the clearing.

The pile of jungle detritus was added to over the next half an hour and soon took on proportions that Neil Buchanan would have approved of.  Only when the leaders called the Scouts into a huddle next to the pile and explained the next task did I realise that this wasn’t an art attack, but more like a jungle version of scrap heap challenge – the Scouts had the rest of the day to turn this tropical compost heap into their shelters for the next two weeks.

The only permanent structure on camp the rest would have to be built...

The only permanent structure on camp the rest would have to be built...

The next few hours were a master class in camp craft that Ray Mears would have struggled to keep up with, honestly I haven’t seen such elaborate camp skills since a night out in Brighton where I got chatted up by an incredibly charming transvestite old enough to be my father, but that’s another story.

The finished shelters were stunning with elegantly simple designs topped off with intricate palm weaving for the walls and roofs.  It seemed as if there was nothing that couldn’t be made using the local materials found in the surrounding jungle; IKEA could learn a few things from the Niutao Scouts, as washstands, shower rooms, cupboards, wardrobes, tool sheds, and entire kitchens were put together using nothing but a sharp knife and a bit of local knowhow – I was in my element.

Home made basket next to the home made kitchen...

Home made basket next to the home made kitchen...

After a lunch of fresh coconuts and raw fish (a diet which was to form a camp staple thanks to the ease at which it could be collected) it was time to gather and officially open the camp.  As I stood next to the flag pole (100% pure jungle of course) and looked at the 40 or so Scouts neatly standing in their familiar uniforms, I took a moment to consider my position and couldn’t help but smile as my own memories of wet and windy Scout camps in the UK washed over me, and I realised just how awesome it is that young people all over the world regardless of who they are, or where they’re from can do exactly the same thing and go out camping in the outdoors near them and have an adventure – that’s pretty special.

Flag break in the jungle...

Flag break in the jungle...

After the opening ceremony and a few words from Inaki (aka Uncle Bulgaria), the rest of the afternoon was spent putting the finishing touches to our camp site, which seemed to mean collecting an unnecessary amount of coconuts, preparing the fishing gear for the low tide (the raw fish isn’t going to catch itself), and draping bright blue tarpaulins over the beautifully weaved palm frond roofs of the shelters “just in case” apparently.  As the sun set, I sat with my patrol, and filled myself with more raw fish and a 'Pacific portion' of rice which I managed about a quarter of, resulting in a waddle to my palm mat before the rice coma set in.  Exhausted by the exploits of the day, and excited about the prospect of two whole weeks learning from the jungle experts that were beginning to snore all around me, I closed my eyes and looked forward to a deep undisturbed sleep.

On coconut collecting duty...

On coconut collecting duty...

Unfortunately that wasn’t going to be as easy as I first thought.  For some reason (perhaps it was the ghosts) the Niutao Scout leaders were overly paranoid about the potential night time wanderings of the young people, and so as to ensure that no harm came to them, a complicated watch rota had been drawn up meaning two people were to be on watch at all times throughout the night.  A noble concept in theory, in practice the exercise quickly took a turn towards the Stanford prison experiment and the watchmen soon became pseudo prison wardens drunk on power and authority.  Not only did they noisily patrol the campsite, walking around, over, and on the sleeping campers, but just to make sure the lumpy silhouettes on the floor were still campers, and hadn’t been replaced by sacks of coconuts by would-be-escapees, the glare of their torches would be shone in your face a regular intervals ensuring that escape or reasonable sleep wasn’t an option.  As was the ruthless efficiency of the rota, just as the guards were tiring and sporadically forgetting to blind you with their torches, giving you hope for some uninterrupted shut-eye, the rota would change, a new watch would start, and their obvious zeal for the job was shown almost immediately as they did their own ‘stock check’, scrutinising each camper with a torch to the face just to make sure they were still there.  I covered my head with a spare sulu and decided that it was just as well Colditz was never guarded by the Niutao Scouts; as it would have made for a very uninteresting book.

Getting ready for lunch...

Getting ready for lunch...

The soft early morning sea breeze on my face, the first rays of the sun peeking over the horizon, the majestic call of the rooster as he announces the promise of a new day – all of these are perfectly acceptable ways to wake up whilst camping - having a whistle blown in your ear at 5.30am however is not; yet this was the reality I faced as tired, confused, and with the shrill whistle still ringing in my left ear, I clumsily untangled myself from my mosquito net, and headed in the dark, to the fale kaupule to see what all the fuss was about.  Initially I thought there was something serious afoot, perhaps someone had gone missing during the night (although I doubt the torch wielding sadists would have allowed that), or perhaps there was some urgent news which just couldn’t wait until a sensible hour of the morning,  then the hymn singing began, and with a sigh I realised what was going on.  Now I have no problem with praying, in fact, if that is your inclination, and it makes you happy, then I would encourage you to do just that, but at 5.30am?!  Surely any benevolent God that you chose to believe in wouldn’t begrudge you a couple more hours in bed would they?  5.30am is a little early for my own personal spiritual tastes, but unfortunately there was little I could do about it, and so accepting my fate, I tried my best to sing along with the Tuvaluan hymns and unsuccessfully translate the lengthy and barely audible prayers.

Early morning devotion - A happy bunch!

Early morning devotion - A happy bunch!

The main reason for being invited to Niutao in the first place was to provide some training and support for the local Scout leaders, and to help them to develop Scouting on the island, but with Scouting so well established and the existing leaders doing an incredible job, there was a slight change of plan and instead, I was tasked with training a group of leaders so they would be able to recruit and train further leaders, hopefully ensuring the sustainability of the Niutao Scouts for years to come.  The advantage of a two week camp is that there is lots of free time, and a couple of hours were set aside each day specifically for training, so I dusted off my teaching hat, put my hammock up, and began to plan lessons again.

Niutao's got talent...

Niutao's got talent...

Thousands of miles away from the nearest interactive whiteboard, I set up my blackboard in the fale kaupule, and carefully rationed myself to two pieces of chalk (chalk has to come to Niutao from Fiji by boat via Funafuti, so as you can imagine it’s quite sought after) and began addressing my new ‘class’.  Trying to explain concepts like sustainable leadership and progression to a group of people for who English isn’t their first language is a challenge to say the least, but I couldn’t have asked for a more studious class, and with some perseverance, my Tuvaluan dictionary on hand, awful diagrams, and plenty of random coconut collecting/tuna fishing analogies we seemed to get there, and as the camp progressed the leaders became more and more confident and really began to shine as they relished the new tasks they had been given.

Traditional skills play a huge part in the Niutao Scout programme...

Traditional skills play a huge part in the Niutao Scout programme...

It wasn’t all chalk and talk though (there wasn’t enough chalk) and a key part of the training was to introduce the leaders to as many different Scout games as possible.  So taking advantage of having a group of enthusiastic young people on hand to work with, I spent one sweaty afternoon trying to demonstrate every different game I have ever played, seen played, or heard of being played.  Fortunately the games were a great success, and with acute dehydration, sunburn and aching arms and legs, I limped back to my hammock which I had strung between two trees looking out over the Pacific, and collapsed, happy to hear the shrieks of laughter from the Scouts as they continued to play various games.

The best part of the day at camp was always the evening, and after a hard day running around playing games, or talking about the importance of a varied youth activity program involving fun, challenge, and adventure, there was always time for a relaxing swim in the sea, a cold shower, a giant plate of fish, rice, and sea birds, and then an evening of singing and dancing in the fale kaupule.  The mood was relaxed but full of fun, and there wasn’t a night where the singing and dancing (usually after my efforts) didn’t descend into stomach aching hilarity, which ensured that you went to bed with a huge smile on your face, making it almost impossible to get annoyed by the goose-stepping night watchmen.

Blindfold water throwing game, not SAS torture training game, I promise!

Blindfold water throwing game, not SAS torture training game, I promise!

And so the camp continued, and we settled into a routine: morning devotion, rice and raw fish, leader training, rice and raw fish, enforced afternoon nap, activity or games, swim, shower, rice and raw fish, dancing and singing, laughing until you cry, bed, torch in face. 

I had the most incredible two weeks at the camp, and not only did I get to work with some amazing Scouts, and inspirational Scout leaders, but I also learnt so much about the culture, the environment, and of course the ghosts (see last post if you don’t know what I’m talking about!).  Leaving the camp was a sad day, but I felt so grateful for having had the opportunity to take part in something so unique, and the hilarious tractor ride back to the village and feast that was waiting for us when we returned soon put a smile back on my face.

Keeping it real...

Keeping it real...

© Andy Browning 2012