A Yankee doctor in paradise

by S. M. Lambert

These were long, long thoughts. But before his retirement Montague saw two of his dreams, and mine, come true. The third was partially realized and may be worked out fully in the end. I hope so, for the sake of a million patients.... I know that no man was ever more generously helped than I was, with the friendship of Montague on the Government side and with Sir Maynard Hedstrom backing me in the Legislative Council. Hedstrom, by the way, always stood ready to act as interpreter for my Yankee lingo and Yankee methods when I had to argue before cautious governors.

The practicability of a modernized native medical school came home to me. I had had a white man’s peep into the Melanesian mind; anthropologists rank him as the mental equal of the Caucasian; the Polynesian stands a grade higher intellectually, with the Japanese; while the Chinese heads the list. Environment, geography and tradition have held so many races back that it is impossible to compare them with our own ingenious and self-destructive civilization.

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I had gone over all this when Malakai, N.M.P., was sent to me, and my mind was made up.

Malakai had been made Native Practitioner by the hit-or-miss of the old school. More than half self-educated, his inquisitive mind would never let a subject go until he had mastered it. He was a cannibal’s grandson, I have no doubt; so many of the best ones were. His favorite dish was scientific books, which he devoured.

He came to me, a slim young man of twenty with the fine bronze skin of the Melano-Polynesian mixture. Something of a dude, he wore a silk lavalava down to his good Fijian knees. His English was imperfect then. In 1924 when I went out on my series of group surveys, I showed him around as a model for the proposed Native Medical Practitioner. He became the best microscopist among the thirty-odd I have trained; his accurate eyes became mine in a work for which poor sight unfitted me. Moreover, he was father, mother, son and valet to me. It was unseemly to set him to small drudgery. Malakai settled that question; when we were in the field he invariably laid out my clean clothes, and did laundry work among savages who were too ignorant for such things. At night he gave me my quinine, and he was always the first up in the morning. The old-time missionary who spoke of the Fijian as “inclined to indolence” should have met Malakai. Once when we were out in the jungle my model N.M.P. fired the native cook and took over the job. Could he cook? Of course!

I’m showing you Malakai, but not as a great exception among Fijians. There are thousands of him on his home islands, only awaiting their chance; they’re the handiest people I’ve ever seen, adaptable, clever, willing, loyal, dependable in emergency. Never once has a trusted Fijian let me down, or failed to put up with hardship and smile in adversity. Treat them with the consideration they deserve, trust them as they should be trusted.... Well, I’ve seen many of their fine young men come on, and I’m watching many on their way up....

On my return visit to Sikiana I was troubled by the number of enlarged spleens I found among the people. Malakai was the first to suggest a wide infection of malaria, but I pooh-poohed. Where were the anopheline mosquitoes? Malakai disappeared and came back smiling. “Doctor, I’ve let them bite me. They stand on their heads to feed, and they have spotted wings.” He showed me several captured anopheles and saved me from being ridiculous in my report.

I shall never forget his appearance when he came back from a later mission to the New Hebrides. He had served for a year and a half as the only purely Condominium medical officer. Suddenly there came a cable: “Have quitted Condominium, Malakai.” It was a matter of color. A newly-appointed official had been born on an island where nobody was exactly lily-white; so he was extremely race-sensitive, and insisted on putting the boy from Fiji in his place. We welcomed Malakai back to Suva because we had let him go at a sacrifice in order to demonstrate the efficiency of native doctors.

The picture of his getting off the boat was something to remember. He had discarded the proud lavalava for a pair of trousers. He merely said he liked them, and nobody could pry the real reason out of him. About a year later he showed up with a new silk lavalava, and was ready to tell about the trousers. Down in the New Hebrides he had experimented once too often with mosquitoes; an attack of malaria had made his legs so thin that he was ashamed of them. The Fijian dandy’s pride is in his swelling calves and slim ankles.