Backpacking in Fiji, Chapter 8

Cow Patties and Short-Eared Dogs

We made our way down the steep, gravel covered trail leading to the small cluster of buildings in the valley below. From that distance, about a quarter of a mile away and 500 feet above the valley floor, the homestead looked like a tranquil place, almost idyllic. A half dozen buildings--a larger meeting building, a cooking shack, and four homes--were visible from above. The grass was green and a stream came from the mountains, filling a pond some ways away from the small cow pasture. The cow pasture lay between us and the homestead and was tucked up close to the human-occupied area.

Descending the sharp grade was slightly treacherous. I followed Jone and Oro closely, sliding a little bit once or twice on the loose gravel. Jone, however, slid nearly ten feet when he lost his footing. Oro was even less lucky, almost launching himself clear off the mountainside. He slipped at a turn in the switchback, catching himself on a bush before experiencing the drawbacks of gravity. Each incident left two of us laughing at the unfortunate third.

Once we got closer, the tranquility of the scene was slowly drowned out by the overwhelming smell of cow manure and the steady hum emanating from swarms of flies covering the pasture. I followed my local companions past the creatures while keeping a back eye on the bull that watched us the whole way. Our whole group made it safely through the swarm, herd, and crap-strewn minefield to jump the barbed-wire fence closest to the buildings.

We were met by Oro's uncle. He, Jone, and Oro immediately walked off in discussion, leaving the three white kids to fend for themselves. I decided it would be a good time to track our progress so far on the map, so I spent a few minutes comparing my handheld gps to the topographical map I had brought along. Soon after I had finished my little task, Oro's cousin led all of us on a small tour of the homestead. He showed us where the main hall was, to cooking shack, the dwellings, and their water supply. We followed the water to its source, a spring, and on the way saw something very interesting.

It was a kava plant. Not the kind of kava I see in the open-air market, which has stalks maybe as wide as my index finger. These kava plants had stalks with a circumfrence at least twice that of my thumb.

"This is very strong kava," Oro said, "The older it is, the stronger it is." A fact I would find experience soon.

We returned to the main hall, a big empty building about the size of half a basketball court, where we waited for the welcoming ceremony. On our way there, I noticed several dogs wandering around. All of them smelled horrible and looked just as bad, but some had ears that were quite obviously cut off. I turned to Jone.

"What happened to their ears?" I asked.

"Those dogs are for hunting," He answered, "And people cut off the floppy ears so they can hear better."

How did canines ever survive in the wild before humans came along to cut off their ears, I thought, That is one of the stupidest things I've ever heard. Instead of voicing my thoughts, I said:

"What do they hunt?"

"Wild pig," he said, "Very dangerous. Sometimes dogs get killed. People sometimes get cut real bad here." He drew a line with his finger going up his calf.

"That does sound pretty dangerous," I remarked. He nodded.

We walked into the main hall and sat on the floor to wait.