When meeting foreign dignitaries it is rarely advisable to engage them in conversation about war, killing people with a bow and arrow, or pee, but apparently if you decide to spend Easter Sunday on a tiny islet in Funafuti then this is exactly what happens…
Welcome to Funafala...
Quick geography lesson for you (you don’t even need colouring pencils it’s that quick) Tuvalu is a country made up of nine islands and atolls spread over almost 1000km of Pacific Ocean. I live in the capital on an island called Funafuti.
Despite being called an island, Funafuti isn’t a single lump of land, instead it is a circle of coral with a lagoon in the middle more commonly known as an atoll. Funafuti atoll is broken into 31 chunks called islets (there used to be 32 but during a large storm a few years ago one of them was literally washed away!). I live on the biggest chunk of the broken circle known as Fongafale islet, home to the government offices, airport and houses for most of Funafuti’s 5000 residents. The other islets range in size from small, to tiny, with the tiniest simply being a pair of palm trees sticking out of the sea. They are all stunningly beautiful, untouched, tropical paradises, they have long complicated names, and they are all uninhabited, with the exception of the quite simply stunning islet of Funafala which was to turn out to be my very own Easter Island.
A map of Funafuti and its exotically named islets...
After an hour of smooth, easy boating from Fongafale in beautiful trademark Pacific weather (it would have been 45 minutes if we didn’t stop en route to snorkel with a giant leatherback turtle), I had been transported from the real world and into a fantasy world normally reserved for computer screen savers and children’s adventure books.
Places like the islet of Funafala really shouldn’t exist without the help of Photoshop; it is a perfectly long, thin, strip of tropical cliche, you know the deal – blinding white coral sands, dense luscious green palms, and water which can only be described as ‘Tuvaluan Blue’. Combine all these elements, and the result is the purest image of paradise you can imagine, and it isn’t alone. From the southern end of the lagoon every panorama is filled with idyllic islets competing with each other for the tallest palm tree, and flirtatiously showing off their sandy beaches in the low tide – we had arrived at Funafuti’s best kept secret and I couldn’t wait to explore.
Paradise Islet...
When you’ve been on a boat for over an hour in the baking sun staring at the crystal clear water rushing by, snorkelling becomes almost compulsory, so we headed off towards the crashing waves of the Pacific squeezing the boat through the tiny gap between Falaoigo islet and Tutanga islet. The tide was barely high enough to swim through, let alone drive a boat, so the outboard motor had to be lifted as we cruised through the narrow gap and into the turbulent surf. Riding the waves we managed to get through the worst of the rolling ocean, and anchored behind the breakers before donning our masks and fins and heading into the anything but murky depths. To say the underwater scenery was dramatic would be selling it short – beautiful coral with outstandingly colourful fish was etched by deep channels creating safe havens for giant sea creatures, some of them the size of small children – I longed for some scuba gear!
Despite the underwater theatre below, the explorer inside me was getting edgy; with all these uninhabited islets within swimming distance I just couldn’t help myself, and so headed towards the nearest one hoping that no one would mind if I accidentally annexed it as my own personal nation state. Stepping foot on virgin sand I felt triumphant – a proper uninhabited tropical island – forget shipwrecked, this was the real thing, and it was mine! I had already picked out a spot for my hammock and was thinking about how many people I could feed if I speared one of the giant fish from the nearby reef when my day dreams were interrupted by an intruder to my island! Fortunately it was only Jay and before I could convince him to lay claim to the neighbouring islet, he reminded me that we had already sorted out this evening’s accommodation – as fun as camping on the islets would have been, tonight we would be staying with our lovely friends Bronte and H who had arrived in Tuvalu a few weeks previously on their stunning yacht! Fortunately there was more than enough deck space for a couple of Scout development ambassadors to sleep on; but before settling down on deck for some freshly caught fish and storytelling, we just had to step foot on the alluring sands of Funafala.
Looking across the lagoon from Funafala...
During the Second World War Funafuti was occupied by the Americans; they built the runway, built bunkers and supply depots, and filled the lagoon with warships. Tuvalu was an important staging post from which to fight the Japanese particularly in Kiribati just to the North, and with the overcrowding of Fongafale, and the danger of being bombed, the locals were all evacuated to Funafala to stay for the duration of the war. Approaching Funafala today it is difficult to imagine what it must have been like during those times, as today the tranquil islet is home to only five families and the occasional guest. With no shops, schools, hospitals, or roads, life is simple, but far from boring.
When we arrived we were met with the confusing scene of relaxed chaos – there were men climbing palm trees, coconuts been thrown from almost every tree, the distant screech of a chainsaw and the splintering of wood, kids chasing chickens, women laughing and cooking, and the odd dog running around looking for attention. It was perfect – exactly how a small traditional Pacific island should be, and in true Pacific style our feet had barely touched the ground before we had been handed green coconuts to drink, freshly fried doughnuts and coconut heart to eat, and had been invited into the nearest house to sit and tell our stories.
We sat and laughed with the women, ran around with the kids, and then made the men laugh with our admittedly poor efforts at husking coconuts. Everyone was happily going about their business, but would always stop and chat; the concept of rushing here just doesn’t exist. It turned out that all the commotion was in preparation for the Easter Sunday service the next day, to which we were of course invited, and after yet another screensaver moment of the day, this time courtesy of a burning fluorescent sunset, I was just about ready to head back to the yacht to lie down and try to commit all the amazing things I had seen to memory.
Screensaver moment number three...
Waking up on Easter Day on a yacht surrounded by tropical islets is something I am unlikely to forget in a hurry. I’ll admit that getting woken up by the sun at 6.00am and it being too hot within about 10 minutes wasn’t ideal, but jumping off the back of the yacht (or the mast if you prefer) to cool down was the perfect start to the day, and as the sun got higher and hotter, we all donned our Sunday best and headed off to church on the little launc, until we were forced to walk as the tide was so low the boat couldn’t be driven any further.
We were met on the beach by the minister who had literally been shipped in for the occasion from Fongafale, and we were shown to our places in the beautiful, traditional maneapa as Funafala is too small to have its own church. The church bell was an old rusty air tank hung from a palm tree, and was hit with gusto with a spanner by the minister’s assistant to call the local residents to worship. Soon the entire population of Funafala had descended on the manepa bringing the congregation to a modest 32 all sat cross-legged on the traditionally woven mats and waiting for the minister to begin.
The service started with some beautiful acapella singing, and the minister was kind enough to switch between English and Tuvaluan so we could at least try to keep up with the proceedings. Readings were read, prayers were prayed, and communion was had, but instead of bread and wine (where would you get it from?) coconuts were blessed and the juicy flesh used to represent the body, and the juice the blood of Christ. Regardless of your religious or spiritual preference, sitting in a traditionally made meeting place on a tiny islet, listening to the Pacific lap at the beach a mere 50m away is a good place to partake in a holy coconut.
The Easter Sunday service waiting to start...
Throughout the service, sitting quietly in the corner of the manepa was an old, reserved, smartly dressed member of the congregation who was about to turn out to be more important than I could ever have imagined. After a silent signal from the minister, the old man raised his head, introduced himself simply as Toaripi, welcomed us to Funafala, and thanked us for our participation in the service. There was something about this man, something about the smile on his wrinkled face, something about the way he spoke – quietly but confidently and with authority, something that just made me want to talk to him, and so after the service and a good leg stretch (sitting cross-legged for long periods of time is something I am still getting used to) I picked up the remainder of my Holy coconut and headed over to Toaripi and asked if I could sit next to him.
The next half an hour was an education in story telling from an absolute master – at 84 years old Toaripi is unofficially the oldest man in Tuvalu and so has a lifetime of stories which he tells with the enthusiasm of a teenager. We talked about wartime Tuvalu where American soldiers struggled in the heat, his early journeys around the Pacific all by old steam boat, a childhood growing up in Papua New Guinea where he learnt to shoot a bow and arrow, becoming so good at it that he was tasked with defending the village against raiders, going to school in Fiji, how he was one of the first Pacific islanders to play for the New Zealand All Blacks reserves, and how he became the first Prime Minister of Tuvalu - As it turned out my new friend Toaripi was actually Sir Toaripi Lauti a man considered amongst the international community to be the ‘Father of Tuvalu’ after fighting the British for independence and eventually getting it in 1978, leading his country forward in its independent infancy.
Toaripi is the closest thing Tuvalu has to a celebrity, and I was struggling to think of what to say next, when he brought the conversation back to my level by telling me how the Tuvaluan word for coconut water is pi (pronounced ‘pee’) and reminded me that we had been drinking pi all morning at which we both began giggling like small children. I feel very lucky to have met Toaripi, a man with an amazing life, and humbling modesty, I honestly believe he is more proud of his skills with a bow and arrow than he is about his part in creating a brand new independent country, which serves to perfectly sum up this great man.
The man himself...
Whilst I had been chatting and laughing with Toaripi the congregation had begun to assemble a feast in the middle of the manepa to which we were kindly invited. With the nearest shop being an hour’s boat ride away most of the food was grown or caught locally, with seafood of course taking up the majority of the menu. Fresh fish of all types were served raw, dried, fried, or boiled with a variety of coconut based sauces, exotic shells with delicious meat inside were served with sweet spring onions and chilli, and the papaya and onion salad was like something out of a dream. Coconut sweetened rice and taro was served to soak up all the rich food, and it was all washed down with a constant supply of pi which also provided the coconut jelly desert if you could get your hands on a rare spoon or machete. The feast in Funafala was some of the best food I have had in Tuvalu, and after filling myself with Pacific goodness I was ready to string up my hammock and listen to Toaripi tell some more of his incredible stories.
Sunday lunch in the manepa...
Unfortunately the tide waits for no man, especially in Tuvalu, and so it was time to say our goodbyes and head back to Fongafale like all those others at the end of the war. We thanked the minister for the service, the congregation for the wonderful feast, and Toaripi for his stories and made our way to leave. The two days I spent in Funafala and the surrounding lagoon were incredible, and as I stepped out onto the whitest of sand beginning to be exposed by the falling tide, I vowed to return, next time for longer, to fully experience what it means to live on Funafala. As we said goodbye the minister said he would pray for us to return to the island, I really hope his prayers are answered.
In the name of the ‘Father of Tuvalu’, the Tropical Sun, and the Holy Coconut – Amen.
A humbling meeting with an incredible man...