One grand mid-April evening after work I found myself cruising along Suva’s Walu Bay seawall squeezed into the backseat of a souped-up Corolla sedan. Next to me, a gentle giant named Amani uttered now famous words; ‘Bula, welcome to my Vlog’.
Waving out the window at an absent audience and stunning Fiji sunset, Amani and I, together with Joe and Mele (of previous kronicles) were on our way to a kava barrel night at Suva’s Seafarers Club.
Tucked behind the naval yard, the Seafarer’s hall was hosting Kabara Island Nite, a fundraising event organized by community members from the tiny paradise island of Kabara (pronounced Kanbara) in Fiji’s Southern Lau group.
Located some 200 nautical miles southeast of Suva, Kabara is halfway to the Kingdom of Tonga occupying a unique point of transition between the Melanesian and Polynesian cultural spheres. Kabara is famous for traditional wood carving with skilled artisans producing both camakau (elegant outrigger canoes) and tanoa, Fiji’s iconic kava bowls.
Blessed with perfect conditions for vesi, a beautiful Fijian hardwood similar to Southeast Asian teak, there is evidence of a long history of logging on Kabara by both locals and Polynesian canoe builders from Tonga and Samoa. Such is the demand for this prized timber that much of the small island (32.75 km2 / 12.64 sq mi) has been deforested.
However, sustained efforts over the past 20 years to expand nurseries and instill regenerative forestry practices have had a positive impact helping to secure the livelihoods and traditions of Kabara’s >600 residents. Considerably more Kabarans live on the main island of Viti Levu, a good smattering of which were in attendance that night at the Seafarers Hall.
After Amani guided the selection process of our kava chasers from a well-reinforced Chinese convenience store (Suva can be a bit rough around the edges) we each paid our $10 FJD ($4.40 USD) for the bottomless basin and secured a nice spot at the back of the hall.
A live band called Cagi Ni Delaikomo had set up an array of amplifiers, microphones, mats, and guitars at the far end of the hall and were busying themselves with sound checks. One of their well-mulleted members wandered down to our section and seemed to be patiently listening for the right acoustics while pulling on a floral bula shirt.
A big thumbs up was all the confirmation they needed to launch into full tropical swing with fast-paced lyrics and syncopated strumming. Three songs were played before the entire gang stopped and decided to rotate their gig 90 degrees. An amusing spectacle of flying wires and shimmied speakers ensued as we received our first kava basin of the evening dispensed from a large white refill bucket.
The event officially began with a soulful opening prayer in iTaukei reminding those gathered of their relationship to the island of Kabara and how the collected funds would support Suva’s upcoming Kabara Island Day celebration.
Amani served the first round of bilos to all gathered around our basin including Viliame, a cheery recent arrival who took up the seat next to me. Commenting on how seamlessly the opening prayer had integrated appreciation for kava, I asked Viliame if religion and kava were commonly found together in Fiji.
Having grown up Catholic on the island of Taveuni, Viliame shared that his Church welcomed the tradition and community bonds that kava fostered. Much to my surprise he then pulled up on his phone the Archdiocese of Suva’s crest which he shared had been created with brother’s graphic design help.
A powerful artifact of cultural integration, the crest brings together iconography representing Fiji’s diverse demographics. Directly under the host wafer is a bilo which Viliame said signifies Fijian tradition, a butter lamp for the Indian Fijian community and fish for the Chinese Fijian community. At the base of the crest is a Tabua (ceremonial whale tooth) with mungi mungi (coconut husk sinnet rope) encircling the entire image. These represent both the iTaukei community and the vanua (Fijian land) which has received and supported the Church.
Appreciating this symbol of religious tolerance I also learned that Fijian Catholics sometimes organize a traditional kava ceremony following church service together with the congregation and Archbishop himself. This is not the case in every community though, some Christian denominations in Fiji discourage or outright prohibit the consumption of kava.
Viliame also gave me a micro lesson in iTaukei which I will remember for a long time. He told me that in the dialect of Cakaudrove from the northern island of Vanua Levu, ‘k’s are not annunciated. This little insight can help to immediately determine where someone is from as the ubiquitous Fijian greeting of Bula Vinaka becomes Bula Vina’a’. I learned that the ‘hard k’ version is more widespread because it comes from the chiefly province of Bau, previously the Fijian Island’s central seat of power before the British arrived.
(Flag of the Kingdom of Bau)
More rounds of bilos were shared as the conversation drifted from religion to rugby with a well-adjusted backing now provided by the talented band, many of whom could be seen enjoying bilos between songs.
Mele, whose maternal family hails from Kabara, shared more about Fiji’s Southern Lau group with me including a tantalizing story about the uninhabited Vuaqava Island. Thought to house Fiji’s largest lake, Vuaqava is just a 30-minute boat ride from Kabara but was abandoned in the 1850’s due to a cholera outbreak. The island is now mostly visited by fishermen and the odd tourist seeking a peek into its wonderous emerald waters. Lacking the usual predators, the lake is populated with a high quantity of large sea turtles and eels (koya) as well as kekewa, a famous freshwater mollusk.
Eager as always to learn more, Mele introduced me to a table of Kabara elders on the other side of the hall highlighting that I was particularly interested in their traditional craft of tanoa carving. Offering my respects to the table, I engaged in a warm conversation and was excited to see photos of artisans on Kabara preparing large vesi logs for tanoa production.
Carved from a single block of wood, tanoa blanks are cut against the grain to ensure structural integrity. I was told that 20 or more tanoa measuring at least 20 inches in diameter can be produced from a single tree of 70+ years but timber this large is becoming increasingly rare. To avoid damage in transit, rough-cut tanoas are usually shipped to workshops in the Suva area where more delicate carving and staining with organic dyes complete the bowls. Finished products supply handicraft shops in the city including Jack’s, Fiji’s de-facto department store for the cruise ship trinket crowd.
Ever the kava odd-ball, I had brought over to the table my own Custom Tanoa from Thailand for the elders to inspect. Passing the familiar form around I could see that they were amused by the distinctive ‘segmented’ design employed by the wood shop in Lampang. Sharing what I could remember about how the individual slices of acacia wood were glued together and then turned on a lathe to enhance durability I received raised eyebrows and hearty laughs. While this technique may produce a lovely tanoa, it is entirely foreign to adept Pacific craftsmen making their living with chisel and hammer.
Thankful for the time spared to this curious vulagi (foreigner), I shook hands and beamed vinaka vinakalevus (thank yous) before stepping outside to catch my breath. Since encountering the motely crew of kava enthusiasts that I now call dear friends in Bangkok two years earlier, I never thought I’d be offering up a Thai tanoa for inspection by legitmate Fijian authorities on the subject.
I also thought that the evening’s title of ‘Kava Barrel’ was just a figure of speech. I was wrong. Reentering the now low-lite hall I noticed off to the side a whole crew of strapping Fijian men churning sulus (mixing cloths) inside of large white buckets. This was the grog station where I learned up to 12 kg of fine yaqona from Kadavu would be prepared by the end of the evening.
Once the relatively small batches of kava were mixed in buckets the contents were emptied into a big ol’ blue plastic barrel of the type found on fishing vessels. With mouth agape, I watched as liter after liter of kava was poured into this giant drum where it was further incorporated with the help of a canoe paddle ready for distribution to jolly clientele.
A far cry from alcohol intoxication, once a sufficient amount of kava has been consumed people generally soften into a state of relaxation and quietude - just not Lauans. The band was still jamming away, and many were on their feet dancing with casual pairings formed through a loose etiquette of inviting winks, gestures, and shoulder taps. Both watching those in the groove and diving in myself, it was clear that merriment was evenly distribution throughout the hall.
Sitting back down for a few more bilos I felt a deep sense of gratitude towards the people of Kabara for welcoming me into their midst. It is my sincere hope to visit their island one day and sit quietly in their vesi forests listening to stories of trees that carry tradition.