As fate would have it, the day of my arrival in Fiji marked the day of departure for a dearly departed colleague whom, unfortunately, I never had the chance to learn from directly. A gentle giant who touched the lives of many in Fiji and his native Malaysia, the sudden loss of this man to the same cancer that took my maternal grandfather proved an unexpected opening to Fijian culture.
A week after his passing a subdued group of friends and colleagues from the Fijian Ministry of Trade gathered in an apartment on Waimanu Road (Suva) to honor the life, work, and legacy of Nantha Kumar Vaithilingam.
A small altar had been erected in the living room on top of a traditional Fijian pandanus leaf mat used to wrap caskets before burial. The mat was lined with frills of pink and yellow thread and had been brought by Joe, a native Fijian (iTaukei), who told me he had been given it at a family member’s funeral he’d attended previously - as is the tradition in Fiji.
Eulogies and dedications were spoken by friends of the departed in a gentle atmosphere of grief and solemnity. Kaya Oti Na Noda Kalou, a traditional Fijian funeral hymn, was sung with reverberating baritones that shook glassware and moistened our eyes. Live recording below:
The sweet air of tradition wafted through the room as two iTaukei men brought an isevusevu (wrapped bundle of kava roots) forward and positioned themselves in a line before the altar. The older man, furthest from the altar, spoke first offering the kava on behalf of the Ministry as a gesture of respect to the younger man (Joe) who was fulfilling the role of ambassador for the deceased.
Receiving the isevusevu Joe rose to a knee and began his own dedication in Fijian. Contemplating the slowly rotating yaqona (Fijian for kava) in Joe’s hands as the words came forth, a sense of transitory power hung in the air. After one week in Fiji this first-hand encounter with the deep ritual surrounding kava felt as natural as it did profound. How better to honor the life of a lost friend than invoke perhaps the oldest tradition of the islands?
After the formal isevusevu offering the service concluded and those assembled relaxed into a pleasent mood of togetherness. A large Indo-Fijian biryani dish was casually shared at one end of the matted floor while the first tanoa (kava bowl) of the evening was filled to the brim with grog (Fijian slang for kava).
Joe mixed the grog in a silk cloth taking extra care to fold the contents over his hands in such a way that the kava inside ground against his knuckles. This, he shared, is ‘how you grind the grog’ and can determine if all of the good psychoactive oils (kavalactones) are extracted from the dried root powder. One can tell if the kava has been properly extracted by feeling the texture of the powdered root inside the cloth. If it is clumpy, then there are more oils to be extracted, if it is finely textured like sand or soil then the job is done.
Joe’s technique for ‘grinding the grog’:
A different method is used for determining the potency of the grog once it has been mixed. Joe shared that as one pours kava into the tanoa it is possible to discern the strength by listening to the sound the grog makes upon landing. If it is ‘heavy’ sounding it means there are more fine root particles in the mix and this will be stronger. One can also look ‘through’ the kava as it is being poured using the opacity of the falling liquid as another gauge of its strength.
Some short words were spoken in Fijian followed by a few rounds of hearty claps before the first bilos (coconut shells for drinking kava) were served. The mix was smooth and refreshing after the somber mood of the service and soon the taki (next round) was being called.
As we sat on the mats next to the altar, stories began to be shared of the good times had together drinking kava with the one we had gathered to remember. These were light recollections evoking the laughter and smiles of friendships cut short too soon. This style of gathering and conversation is often called talanoa, a term used across the Pacific to describe inclusive and participatory dialogue regularly accompanied by kava.
Joe told me that in Fiji it is customary for family members to begin drinking kava almost immediately upon arriving at the house of one who has passed away. Receiving guests and for many hours in these circumstances, mourners often only consume small amounts per bilo as the wake can go on for days. Visitors usually bring an isevusevu with them, preparing it by the traditional method of laborious hand pounding before mixing it into drinkable kava and sharing with all assembled.
Sitting together swilling bilos and swapping stories it felt as if Nantha’s mana (spiritual power) was there with us. From all the individuals he guided and the vision he helped set in motion for Fiji’s future, without a doubt, he is still with us.
Out of this experience, I learned that kava plays a somewhat central role in Fijian customs surrounding death, acting to bind mourners together in bonds of remembrance rather than numb their pain.
If you have your own experiences or thoughts on kava and grief, please share them here in the comments. I am fascinated to learn more about the ways in which kava supports psycho-social wellbeing and your stories may be valuable to other curious readers too.
Vinaka vakalevu (Thank you)
Suva, March 2024
Hi, I am Nantha's brother. Thank you for sharing. I had seen a video clip of the ceremony shared by KV Soon previously but reading your explanation for the various aspects of the ceremony gives it so much more meaning. Regards, Jeya.