We could not hope, during our brief visit, to sort out the rights and wrongs of the complex issues here, but we found the racial tension in Suva a disquieting contrast to that other crossroads of the Pacific: Honolulu. Jessica, for instance, found that although a Girl Scout may be “a sister to every other Girl Scout,” in Fiji her sisterhood does not cross color lines. There are Fijian Guides, Indian Guides, and European Guides—and never the troops shall meet, not even for an occasional jamboree.
Barbara and Jessica, however, visited them all and were warmly received. The Fijian Guides, wearing costumes of beautifully designed tapa, put on a program of native dances and entertained the visiting Scout from America with lemon tea (made by boiling lemon leaves in a tin can “billy”). They even invited her into a native bure, the Fijian name for the shaggy grass huts that are as completely closed and airtight as the Samoan fale is open. But this was about all the Fijian life they saw. True, the city of Suva itself is colorful, with its tall and picturesque Fijian policemen, hair trained to a bushy headdress, wearing red and white sulus with scalloped hems; its tiny, fine-featured Indian women in gauzy saris, with jeweled pins in their nostrils; its blatant Chinese shops; its bustling open-air market, like something out of the Arabian Nights; its colorful flower vendors. These sights are all worth seeing and remembering.
But over it all hangs a sense of tension. There are sharp contrasts in Suva between the principal ethnic groups: the dominant British, the cheerful Melanesians, the quiescent Chinese, and the restive Indians. The last-named are rapidly increasing their economic and political influence in the islands, and there is clearly a conflict brewing. There is no contact between Fijian and Indian, nor between these groups and the British. The British in turn have a patronizing affection for the Fijians, but a dislike and distrust of the Indians, which is reciprocated. The Chinese sit in the background and make money.
When we left Fiji we felt we knew even less of the people here than we had in other Pacific islands, and we regretted it.
7 DOWN UNDER:
NEW ZEALAND AND AUSTRALIA
“Ah-h-h, yes-s-s!...”
On the trip from Suva to Auckland, New Zealand, we had a marine hitchhiker along, a lanky, cheerful Australian, Bill Sherwood. Bill was on his way home to take part in the World Championship 18-footer races and, as we all liked him at once, he had little difficulty in persuading us to give him a lift for the first 1,100 miles.
The first few days were quiet. Once we had cleared the several islands of the Fiji group, south of Viti Levu, the course presented no particular navigational hazards and we settled quickly into our sea routines. With an extra man, I evolved a new system of watches to give everyone, including the cook, a bit of change and occasional relief. We continued our schedule of two-hours-on-eight-off, but each day one of the men was relieved from tiller duty and put himself at the cook’s disposal for such chores as peeling vegetables, washing the rice, or washing up the pots and pans. Mickey wasn’t too happy about this, evidently considering galley duty as beneath the dignity of a Japanese gentleman, but since the Skipper took his own turn whenever it came around, there was little Mickey could do but conform.
The missing ship Joyita was still on our minds and, in the early-morning darkness of the seventh day we had an encounter that gave me some moments of uneasiness. A ship passed us fairly close to port, only her riding lights showing. Changing course, she pulled ahead and stopped as we sailed by. I recalled that other boats besides Joyita had disappeared without a trace in this region and the thought of pirates flashed across my mind. As we approached, I began signaling with the flashlight: “Yacht Phoenix. American Yacht Phoenix. We are okay! We are okay!”
I sent this several times, but there was no response of any kind from the silent ship ahead. After we had passed, the vessel got underway again and moved on out of sight.