Tuesday, March 27, 2007

Wantok (part two)...

As I was saying several moons ago…

In one sense the wantok system is admirably egalitarian. In village communities it is a social security net, with villagers providing care and food for those in need, ensuring no-one goes hungry. These days in Honiara it provides those of the rural population who come seeking work (85% of the population here live in rural areas) with a roof and food while they find their feet and if they’re lucky a job. It’s also extremely common for parents in the provinces to send their children to stay with wantok (often distant relations they’ve never met) in Honiara, where they will be able to attend secondary school. This was the case for quite a few of my colleagues at the Bank and another typical example is little Luku, a wantok of Luke Forau (my friend who left for Australia). When he was about 5 his parents sent him here to Honiara from distant Tikopia, and for the past 4 years he has been looked after by Luke, in that time not once returning home or seeing his parents, and now addressing Luke as ‘dadi’.

Wantok rules also play a Robin Hood-type role, robbing from the rich and giving to the poor, as in today’s monetary economy simply asking for money handouts from those of your wantok with jobs is an everyday practice. This can’t really be seen as voluntary social assistance either, for it is essentially obligatory if you have any spare cash whatsoever; it is virtually impossible for anyone except the highest highest earners to save money in the Solomons, as it all gets sucked away feeding extra mouths and sorting out wantok with cash. I find something almost amusing about the automatic nature of the process. When certain of Fiona’s friends ask her for money there is no shame whatsoever, even though they earn a similar income but just happen to have spent all theirs already on booze – it is an innocent request for something that you want, like a kid saying ‘Mummy, can I have an ice-cream’, except with little chance of refusal. On her part, when it’s her cousins and closest friends asking she doesn’t seem to mind in the least, but even when she feels someone is taking liberties and is reluctant it is still clearly very difficult to say no.

It is the obligatory aspect of wantok behaviour that really defines it, and which becomes problematic when applied outside the traditional setting. In the village environment there are natural limits to demands on a particular individual or family; if someone asks for food then you have little to lose in providing it, unless you are running short in which case it is straightforward and acceptable to refuse on the grounds that you need to feed your immediate family. In Honiara, however, if someone asks for a bag of rice or a few bucks it is altogether more difficult (and totally unacceptable) to say, for example, “sorry, but I was hoping to save that money in order to buy a new outboard engine/start a business/go on holiday”.

The failure of curbs in today’s environment is most evident in the common problem of wantok overstaying their welcome in Honiara. My colleagues, and the management of the Central Bank in particular who are seen as particularly successful, invariably have at least one or two wantok stopping with them, and often many more. For the young men from the provinces in particular, the appeal of coming to Honiara is all too evident.. They get to stay in a decent house, sponge a bit of cash, go for walkabaot in town and the inevitable betal nut chew, and get spaka at the weekend in the clubs (perhaps hooking up with a sophisticated Honiara lady). Thus their stays can be extended for several months, and is very difficult to ask them to leave. One colleague, however, has found what he sees as a foolproof and unconfrontational way of getting the young men to scarper… when they arrive set them a nice list of gardening and other household tasks to do each day, and you can be sure they won’t hang around very long.

There’s something funny in the canniness of this solution, using as it does the same idea of wantok (since they can’t refuse the tasks given them) to get back at the young men who are exploiting the system by overstaying their welcome. But openly defying wantok codes of behaviour has serious consequences. I’ve heard mention of a few people who outright refuse to engage in the game, who reject the visits of wantok and decline to give money to wantok less fortunate than them. The price for this behaviour, though, is a heavy one; word will soon get out that you are a ‘selfisman’ and the respect and warm welcome in your home village that you would otherwise receive as a successful earner and a ‘bigman’ would be exchanged for relative coldness.

For me it’s especially interesting seeing how the notion of wantok sits with the idea of economic development and a modern democratic economy. For example, it is common knowledge that one of the main reasons ALL retail shops in town are owned by waku (Chinese) is because if an entrepreneurial Solomon Islander opens a store they’ll be inundated with requests for freebies. More problematic still is that when perfectly acceptable wantok rules are applied in the political arena and in public institutions such as the police force, you end up with deep-rooted corruption and nepotism. Looking to the future though, trying to stamp out wantok is an undesirable solution from a cultural perspective and probably futile anyway. Instead a balance must somehow be found in Solomon society, enabling the incredible social ties and belonging that wantok engenders to be maintained, whilst also ensuring a democratic system of governance and business activities can thrive. Unlikely to be witnessed in the relatively short time I’ll be here I suppose, but perhaps one day…



(The photos are from a weekend trip not long ago to a piece of land down the coast that the Central Bank owns. Not owning a car the only option was for us to hire a Central Bank vehicle... which happens to be a big blue truck)

Friday, March 09, 2007

Wantok (part one)…

Wantok to rule them all, wantok to find them,
wantok to bring them all and in the darkness bind them”

Old J.R.R must have spent a bit of time in the Solomons to come up with that little gem, but in this case it will take more than one furry little hobbit to come along and wipe the all pervasive wantok system out of existence. From the moment you arrive it is impossible to ignore the constant references to this mysterious concept, and to be honest, after just a few months living here I am far from grasping the complex subtleties and full implications of how it shapes one’s world and human interactions.

Now I’m sure there have been extensive books written all about the wantok system, and that copious (Scandanavian?) anthropologists have filled libraries of journals dissecting its meaning and role from every possible perspective. I won’t aim to compete with these experts for accuracy or completeness, but instead simply offer a few observations I’ve noticed relating to how the notion of wantok affects the lives of friends and colleagues in the Solomons.

The word wantok is Pijin for ‘one talk’ – and traditionally your wantok was simply those who spoke your language, i.e. your tribal group and immediate family. These days, at least in Honiara where people from all over the Solomons (and even the world) live side by side, your wantok is a slightly more flexible concept. Wantok customs of behaviour, for example, often extend to close friends regardless of where they’re from. Similarly, I’m often told that not only good old Brits, but also Aussies and sometimes any white-skinned folk whatsoever are ‘wantok blo iu’. None of this is particularly unusual. Visit any multicultural city in the world and you find whole neighbourhoods dominated by a particular nationality and culture. In fact, given the huge ethnic diversity in the Solomon Islands, society here is incredibly integrated and tolerant. What is unique, though, is the role that wantok rules and customs play in shaping human interactions, in particular related to property…

... sorry, gotta run...to be continued

In other news:

  • Peter’s back: I’m slightly concerned by the number of people who’ve told me how much I actually do resemble Crouching Peter. Jeez, I was only joking guys, but then all the fellahs in the photo do happen to be under 4ft 6” so I don’t blame you. Anyway, my back is now better and I’ve recently made a return to green pastures with the Bokolo bulls.
  • Vegetable planting has commenced, and I am now waiting with bated breath to see whether tomatoes, peppers, cabbage, aubergine, lettuce and broccoli will thrive or wilt under the Solomon sun. Germination was a cinch, and transplantation not hard either, though a little back-breaking. Unfortunately, the night after all the labour Mbokona experienced an almighty storm, and for a couple of hours in the middle of the night I lay on my back listening to the rain pounding on the roof and picturing what it was doing to my little green babies. Three days later and we’re still getting spectacular downpours. Each morning, expecting the worst, I inspect the damage. Incredibly, the little blighters are hanging on in there. They look pretty frail and sad, to be sure, but they’re hanging on. I may be setting up stall in Honiara Central Market yet.

Tuesday, February 27, 2007

Creatures...

Sunday evening, and I am way too full and sleepy to write about history, or politics, or Solomon life, or even the spectacular waterfall four friends and I marched to on Saturday, and from where we splashed and floated our way downriver, through narrow and high gorges with towering green walls on either side. There is good reason for my current state of horizontalness… several kilograms of Vanuatu beef. Last week Fiona went to Vanuatu, the nearest country to the Solomons, and returned with 25kg of gorgeous Vanuatu beef, the stuff of legend in these parts, and which a friend who is living there favourably compares with Argentinean meat. So this weekend I’ve been making the most of the huge chunks of prime steak that have fortuitously found their way into my fridge. I kicked off proceedings with the old pub classic of egg, chips and steak yesterday eve, such a belly-filling success it was promptly repeated this morning for brekkie and followed by an Oriental style beef stir-fry for lunch and delicious beef curry for dinner. I sound like a greedy pigpig, but believe me, this kind of eating is a rare luxury for me over here so I make hay while the sun shines.

I have not seen a single cow here on the Solomons, as apparently all were eaten during the tensions, but these isles are teeming with other creatures great and small. Crocs twice the size of me or you, beetles that whirr towards your head like toy helicopters, and moths the size of cats. Below are a few photos, including a couple of my beloved geckos.


































Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Politics, football and the new Peter Crouch…

For the last few weeks things have been pretty busy at work. Busy, that is, for the Solomon Islands (since by 5.45pm each day everyone in CBSI has scarpered and security have locked up, scope for really busting a gut is limited). One of the main reasons for this burst of activity is that we in the Economics Department are currently undertaking end of year consultations with all the major companies, NGOs and government ministries in the country, a fascinating close-up perspective of what makes the wheels of the economy turn (albeit creakingly) and which I hope to describe a little more at another point. Another reason has been the government’s attempt to slip through new legislation raising the minimum wage by the small matter of 470%. This caused a predictable amount of consternation among local businesses (even the trade unions were concerned this might not be the best idea), who requested that the Central Bank submit a report on the likely impact of such a policy change, and for which I was responsible. Which finally brings me in a roundabout way to the first of the photos; informed by Labour Division that the Minimum Wage bill would be discussed on the opening day of Parliamentary sessions, I popped up and took a peep. There was no mention of the Minimum Wage of course, but was great to see the various larger-than-life political characters here in the flesh, and the building is quite pretty on the inside.

About the same week as I made my debut on the political scene here, I also pulled on a Bokolo Blues football shirt for the first time. Each year in April there is an inter-bank soccer competition in the Solomon Islands, and last year, to everyone’s surprise and after years of trying, the Central Bank team succeeded in snatching the trophy from under the noses of the larger commercial banks. In the months since then, however, the blue shirts have remained tucked away while their victorious owners have tucked into plentiful quantities of motu fis, pigpig and SolBrew, losing a bit of zip in the process (I am told). So we’re starting our training early this year, and the return to action was much anticipated. In the days leading up to our first game there was a blizzard of correspondence on the intranet: discussion of tactics, optimal playing positions, and much lewd cackling about the magical properties of Deep Heat, or even better, Coconut Oil. Transport to the game had me chuckling to myself too, as twenty Central Bank workers all in uniform crammed into the open back of our blue truck and whizzed down the road. Our opponents for the game - the mighty Telekom Hypers.

So what of the game itself? To roll out the oldest of football clichés: t’was a game of two halves, both for the team as a whole and for the red-faced Englishman. We raced to a 3-0 lead, only to get torn apart in the second half but still clung on to win 3-2. Two aspects of the game here will take some getting used to. First, the heat is unbelievable, even at five in the afternoon. After just a few minutes of the gentle warm-up jog I was (not the only one) wheezing away, struggling to gasp in enough of the muggy air. By the second half I was completely gone, but wondering if this might still be better than an icy January morning trudging out onto the half-frozen mud of Hackney Marshes, awaiting with trepidation the first smack of the football onto wet and cold thigh. At least I wasn’t the only waetman with a beacon for a face – a friend of mine here who’s from the East End works for Telekom and was sweating it out in their midfield. The second big difference is the rock hard ground, which makes the ball bounce and bobble around like crazy, and which made me look a wally on a number of occasions.

Did I mention that I was a striker? Well I was, for the first time in my playing career. And surprisingly, I seem to have cemented myself in that position. The reason, it became clear to me after five minutes, is that they see me as their new Peter Crouch (a lanky praying mantis with a magic touch and a toothy grin, for those not familiar with this English icon). I showed a willingness to actually head the ball a couple of times and that was it: as the goal keeper and defenders hoofed the ball in my vague direction I was being urgently urged to “flick it on”. Fortunately, and again just like our man Crouchie, I also revealed a hitherto undiscovered ability to score spectacular goals. Well, one to be precise, in the single game I’ve played so far, a looping volley from outside the area catching the goalie off his line. Clearly, my talent was wasted playing out of position in the tangerine of Acland Burghley, the white of Mullet Argyle and the green of Monj Too.

That’s all for this evening folks. If any of you are totally bored hearing about football, and would rather read about some other specific aspect of life here, whether it’s “how to eat a mango” or “why are the Solomon Islands so darn poor?” then email me and I’ll do my best to oblige. If anyone is dieing for further updates on Peter Crouch’s surprising move to the Solomon Islands, then let me know and I will be happy to give blow-by-blow accounts including injury status (currently sidelined with a slight lower back pain from an unfortunate water skiing incident).