Going Native in Vanuatu — Land Divers of Pentecost Island
Thursday, June 7th – After watching the Dance of the Small Nambas, we return to Avante, stow the dinghy and get ready to sail to Nopul Bay on Ambryn Island. Arriving there at 1500, we quickly launch the dinghy to head ashore. A small house is on the beach where several men are in the process of making their evening’s ration of kava. One of them comes over to us and introduces himself as the chief. We ask if we may have permission to take a hike. We are interested in finding the village that is noted for its wood carvings. He replies that we are free to wander and sends us off in the direction of the village which is supposed to be about 30 minutes up the dirt road. Stay on the main road we are told.
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We trek on into the woods and find ourselves climbing deeper into the island. We pass small groupings of huts all made with woven walls and thatched roofs.
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Every time we encounter someone we explain that we are looking for the village with the wood carvings, and each time we are told to follow the main road. We continue on, climbing higher and further away from the water. Something does not seem right.
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We see a village just below the trail and decide to head on down to ask directions. We are told that we have gotten off the main trail. How? We do not know. A villager offers to take us down to the village with wood carvings.
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He explains that there is no way we would be able to find it ourselves. Leading us through his village on a narrow path with many offshoots, we understand how there definitely is no way we could have found our way. We are in the woods with enclaves of houses scattered everywhere we look. How to tell where one village ends and another begins or is it all one village?
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We arrive or think we have arrived. Our guide tells several people what we are interested in seeing. We wait for a while taking in the atmosphere of the place and are eventually rewarded with a grouping of carvings from various individuals.
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They are all skillfully and intricately carved, but we are thinking of carvings of creatures from the sea and definitely something we can hang in the boat. We explain that and are relieved when no one presses us to purchase anything.
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Our guide next points us along the path we are to follow back to the beach where we are anchored. Word has spread quickly from house grouping to house grouping, and we keep getting asked if we would like to see their wood carvings. Apparently this whole area is full of gifted wood carvers. We wish we had time to look, but by now it is late and the sun will soon be setting. We must get back to the boat before we are caught out here in the dark.
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We explain this to everyone and tell them that we will try to return tomorrow. As we walk along, The First Mate is intrigued with the houses and would love to take a peak inside. None of them seem to offer much in the way of ventilation. Are they for sleeping, storage, cooking? She does not know, and not wanting to overstep some social more, she does not ask.
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We eventually find ourselves back on the main road, and yes, there was a road that forked to the right which we should have taken. However, the road to the left, which we took, sure looked like the road most traveled. We pass a woman heading home for the evening with 4 young girls. Each girl has twisted what look like long pine needles into her hair. Asked if there is a reason for this, we are told that it was just done in fun. They really were quite proud of the fanciful headdresses.
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Old McDonald’s Farm island style! The First Mate could not pass up a photo op of this bucolic scene!
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Friday, June 8th – We wake to rain – something we should be accustomed to by now, but we are not. Grey skies and rain are never shown in glorious tourist photos of Pacific Island paradises, but exist they do and in greater frequency than blue skies and sun. With only a few miles to go to our next anchorage, we hunker down on Avante for the morning in hopes that the rain will cease.
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At noon, under overcast skies, we motor off. The seas are calm, and the wind is nowhere to be found. Within an hour, to our surprise, the wind is up to 10 knots, and we are able to raise sails and turn off the thrumming engine. Our destination is Wali Bay on Pentecost Island. The wind stays with us, and we are able to sail right into the bay. We drop sails just off the anchorage and are anchored by 1445. This anchorage may be called a bay, but that is really stretching it, for there is nothing enclosed, sheltered or welcoming about this spot. With 4 boats already at anchor and 4 more expected, we are all strung out along a stretch of shoreline whose ocean bottom slopes quickly upward to the beach. This is the sort of anchorage that only works as long as the wind is blowing one securely off shore. We do have such a wind, but still this is a tricky anchorage causing each boat to think and rethink its anchoring choice. Setting one’s anchor onto a downward slope is never a reassuring feeling, for it is far easier for an anchor to pull loose when the bottom slopes away from it than when the anchor pulls up into the muck. One is forced to come up with a best guess formula for the amount of chain to set out. It has to be long enough to hold the boat securely but not so long that if the wind were to shift unexpectedly to blow one inland, one would not end up grounding on the quickly shallowing land.
We are anchored off this uninviting spot to view the Land Divers of Pentecost Island, another National Geographic moment as The Captain calls it. The idea for modern-day bungee jumping originated here. Legend tells the story of a young girl who ran away from an intended husband she did not like. She climbed a banyon tree. At the top, she tied long vines around her ankles. Just before he caught up with her, she executed a 10-point swan dive into the jungle growth below her. Without stopping to think, the jilted man dove in after her. She was saved by those vines stretching just enough to stop her fall short of the ground. She untied herself and ran away unscathed. He plummeted to his death. This legend supposedly led to the annual blessing of the yam harvest. How the two connect is completely beyond The First Mate’s understanding!
The Annual Blessing of the Yam Harvest: Build a 90-foot lattice-work tower of poles and vines. Measure off some liana vines and attach them to the tower at varying heights. Be a man and climb the tower to whatever height one so desires. Tie liana vines of the appropriate length to one’s ankles taking care not to tangle them. Walk to the end of the plank on one’s diving platform. Appeal to the gods. Show off and perform for the crowd. As the supporting cast of villagers reaches their peak of drumming, chanting and yuyulaying, execute a graceful dive earthward. And — pray, pray, pray — the vines do not break and the tower will give and sway just enough to prevent one’s head from crashing into the ground and cutting short one’s existence. Done right, one should be yanked upward by the vines just before impact. Did one’s forehead brush the earth? Good! The yam harvest is blessed.
The blessing of the yams is
a male dominated event. Women play a nominal supporting role. It
takes about 2 weeks to build the tower, and during this time, no woman
is allowed anywhere near the area. After the tower is built, it is
great taboo for a woman to touch either the tower or the vines. Their
presence is tolerated on the day of the diving only. That is when the
whole village shows up to sing, chant and stomp the diving men to
excess. Now someone please tell The First Mate how a legend about a
woman who cleverly outwits some dumb brute of a man turns into a
day-long celebration of male daring-do? That legendary woman was the
one with the smarts to use the vines. The legendary man did not even
think twice before nose-diving to his death. And, what, pray tell, does
yams have to do with any of it? No, not by any stretch of the
imagination does she see a connection.
Saturday, June 9th – The day dawns (guess how?) overcast and drizzly. We are due on shore at 10:00. As we dinghy in, it looks like the whole village has turned out to witness our landing. Everyone gets in the act of helping to pull us and our dinghies ashore. For the youngsters, this is really great fun.
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Land Diving only takes place from April until the middle of June. This is because of the vines, for it is when they are the most flexible (ie: not apt to splinter and break). Every Saturday, 2 villages along this coast of Pentecost Island put on land diving exhibitions for tourists. Down the coast and around a bluff, a similar exhibition is being put on today for a cruise boat load of 1,600 gaping guests. Our little village of Wali is putting on an exhibition today for our crowd of 18 souls off 9 private sailing yachts. Which one would you want to attend? How fortunate we all feel to have what amounts to a private showing! Thank you, John, our valiant Rally leader!
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We are invited into a thatched reception hut where flowered garlands of welcome are placed around our heads. The chief of the village had been called away to attend a meeting regarding local representation in government decisions or lack there of, and, to our surprise, his daughter is the one to welcome us to the village and the land diving ceremony in his place.
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Pamplemouse and orange slices, cookies and fresh lemon juice are offered for our refreshment. The First Mate is as pleased with the flower arrangement as she is with her favorite, the pamplemouse!
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We are then invited to follow our guides to the tower. Shortly before we cut off the road to head inland to where the tower is constructed, children from the local school are waiting to sing several songs for us. The children are delightful, and their singing is perfectly pitched, but we have learned to expect nothing less out here in the Pacific. Perfect pitch is a birthright!
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We turn off the road to head inland and upland along a dirt path. Steps and railings have been thoughtfully placed at the steeper spots. Just about all of the locals are barefoot so their toes can grip into the damp earth to propel them upwards. For those of us with shod feet, the steps and railings prevent many a muddy knee or brown bottom.
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Gradually, the diving tower comes into view, and it is impressive. Looking at it from way below, it looks much higher than it actually is, though still it is quite high enough! It truly is a lattice-work of poles and sticks woven together with vines. Primitive in design, it is a wonder to all of us and a marvel to the engineers in the group who are all eager for a closer inspection.
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The tower is built into the side of a hill. At its base, the ground slopes steeply downward away from the tower. To cushion the landing, the ground below the tower is dug and loosened up with sharp stakes.
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There are 6 separate diving platforms working their way up to the top of the tower. We learn that we are going to see a dive from each of the platforms. Anxiously, we wait. This appears to be a holiday of sorts for everyone. The whole village is out to see the performance, and they appear as enthusiastic as we are.
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A young boy carefully steps out onto the lowest platform. How old is he? 7 years old, we are told. How young can they start? Oh, about 5 or 6. It is up to the boy. Do all males have to take part in this? No, no one is pushed into doing this. As the boy stands there, a set of vines are pulled up to his platform and attached to his ankles. Slowly and carefully, he walks to the end of his narrow platform. Clasping his hands together, he appears to be praying and then he bows toward his watchers and dives forward. Except what he does is more of a jump than a dive. His little body is falling more in a upright belly-flop mode rather than in a head-first dive. A little more than 2/3 of the way down, the vines catch and whip-lash his body forward and downward. Reaching the end of his tether, his body is then jerked, like a rag doll, back toward the tower and the waiting dirt. The First Mate is sure she has just witnessed her first death. Two attendants rush forward with machetes to cut the vines. Unceremoniously, the lad is lifted to his feet, and with what looks like a dazed shamble, he climbs the hill back to his cheering supporters.
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The next diver ascends the platform. Vines tied, he shuffles to the end of the diving board. The villagers stomp and sing. He waves to us and shouts words we cannot understand, and then assumes the classic diving position.
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Off he sails, plummeting earthward with a hope and a prayer.
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Like the child before him, the vines arrest his fall about 2/3 of the way down, and his body is jerked back to the dirt at the base of the platform.
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Does this look like fun?
Every ligament, tendon, muscle and nerve in The First Mate’s body is
screaming in fear as she watches. “Don’t you even think of this,” they
say. Rest assured. It would never even cross her mind!
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Two down, four to go, and with each higher level, the showmanship of the men increases. They actively engage the applause of their admiring local audience and their awestruck visiting one. They call out to us. They contort themselves balancing precariously on their narrow perches. They preen and flaunt their daring to the world. They are totally enjoying themselves!
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Finally, when each land diver feels he has built up enough suspense, he launches himself outward to plummet earthward. Immortal dream to mortal truth, each reaches the end of his tether to be cruelly yanked back into reality, hopefully with nothing pulled out of joint, broken or amputated. The First Mate is positive that a life spent doing this activity would ruin the body and muddle the brain.
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Traditionally, the whole village would be there to bear witness to the annual blessing of the yams. Grouped on top of the hill is a representative gathering of men, women and children who sing and dance, beating out a frenzied rhythm. As diver after diver is tied to his vines, the chanting, drumming and dancing starts building to a stronger and louder pitch. The man may be doing the diving, but the whole village is there to support and praise. What a glorious moment!
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The third diver does not fare as well. The vine had gotten twisted, and his leg was pulled awkwardly. An anxious mother leaves the chanting group to rush over to inspect her son. Judging by the smiles, he appears to be fine.
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The last land diver starts his assent of the tower. He will be diving form the uppermost platform. Look closely at the vine-woven construction of this tower. No wonder it takes 2 weeks to build.
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Standing alone at the narrow and precarious end of his diving platform, how small he looks up there!
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The tower has been ingeniously constructed to absorb the weight of the diver at the critical point when his plummet downward is abruptly stopped by the vines attached to his ankles. As we watch each dive and study the movement of the tower, we realize that it is not the vines that stretch like a bungee cord that is the secret to each dive’s success. It is the tower that gives and moves just enough to absorb the shock. From the rear of the tower, long vines run down to the ground where they are securely anchored. The weight of the diver pulls the tower forward. The long vines in the rear keep the tower from being toppled and allow just enough movement to absorb the whip-lashing break the diver would have received without its movement. This may have been the ah-ha moment for bungee jumping, but it took a huge leap of imagination to get there.
We are invited to walk up to the tower for a closer look, though us women in the group are told that it is taboo for us to touch anything connected with the tower. The First Mate would never break that taboo, but she does wonder what would happen if she did.
After the performance, The
First Mate has time to ask a few questions. As the women and young
girls of the performing villagers hurry past her to quickly change back
into their Mother Hubbard dresses and blouses, she queries an older
woman near her. When does the land diving ceremony occur that is the
actual blessing of the yams? She figures that it must be a private
ceremony just amongst the villagers. She is told that they do not hold
the ceremony anymore. Then what is the significance of this event?
Land diving is something they continue to do only because it is now a
fun sporting activity for the men and tourists are eager to pay money to
see it. The First Mate is left feeling somewhat disappointed, but not
surprised.
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We all make our way back to the thatched roof hut where we first were gathered. The threat of rain had held off for the morning. The First Mate is impressed with this home-grown umbrella! How nice to never have to worry about being caught in the rain!
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The chief’s daughter
addresses us before we leave. Normally, the chief would have done so
back at the tower, but, being a woman, it was taboo for her to do so up
there. She tells us that the women will be cooking a dinner for any who
would like to partake. A local band will be there for our enjoyment.
It will start at 3:00. We are told the price. How many can she count
on? A few of the boats plan to leave this afternoon, but there are
about 10 of us who decide to stay for the event.
Later that afternoon, we
dinghy ashore for our dinner. What a delightful event they put on for
us! We all had such a wonderful time sharing the late afternoon and
early evening. There is such a huge cultural gab to cross before we
could ever begin to know each other. It certainly cannot be done in one
day. The First Mate is struck by the fact that watching an event like
the land diving may give us glimpses into the past, but it is the
sharing of present-day mutual interests and concerns that will bring us
to closer understanding. In the too short time we were together, The
First Mate saw the beginnings of it in action:
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In the mutual love of children,
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in the preparation and presentation of food,
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in the music, rhythm, and dance,
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and in the willingness and eagerness to work together.
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This was a day to remember.