Mbokona life...

Two weeks now gone and just one hundred and two to go. As my awareness of the complexities (and simplicities) of Solomon society grows each day, it is a relief to have the luxury of so much time. Rarely in my life have I felt such a lack of urgency, and with this mentality it is possible to observe with a bit of distance and a lot of fascination all the goings on in this condensed capital of 50,000 people. For the most part I have chosen to avoid the swathes of Aussies who subtly dominate so much of the political and economic world over here. They are not hard to find. Hit the beaches at the weekends, or the yacht club at pretty much any hour of day and you will stumble across thick clusters, sipping beer, taking the piss and enjoying life in the unique way that Aussies do. No doubt in a couple of months I’ll be as much a Brad or a Matt as any of ‘em, happy as Larry just to be chucking hunks of meat on a barbie. But not just at present.

For now the separation and isolation of most expats from the real world around us grates like a handful of nails on a blackboard. Particularly as they seem completely oblivious to the hostility towards them that is so evident in many of the local Islanders. Just as in the middle-east when people established I wasn’t American, a look of relief flashes across peoples faces here when I say I am from Britain. It is dawning on me that contrary to popular belief, Brits are actually strangely appreciated in many countries around the world, even (or perhaps particularly) in countries such as Jordan and the Solomons which Britain once controlled. More psycho-analysis of the British character abroad at a later date perhaps.

So anyway, these first two weeks I have been more than content to ease into island life up here in green Mbokona, the area in which my shack (as some kind soul branded it) is located. To naïve outsiders, “central bank staff residential quarters” conjures images of grey concrete and greyer inhabitants. Far from it. The community of perhaps 25 wooden homes is in fact a colourful and lively microcosm of the country’s nine provinces and hundreds of disparate and far-flung islands. Next door, for example, lives lovely Jennifer from the distant Western Province and her husband Lakoa from tiny Polynesian Tikopia which is about 1,000 miles to the east. Also in the household are four of their own kids, Lakoa’s sister with husband and various children and at least two guys my age who are apparently unrelated to anyone but nonetheless wantak (from “one talk”) and therefore firmly ensconced. Relative to households here, keeping track of the Laurier Road Ghani family seems like child’s play.

Though shy, everyone seems incredibly keen to welcome me to the area. On several occasions I have just rustled up some grub for dinner when one of various neighbours (or the little posse of kids they have sent) comes a-knocking on my porch with a plateful of steaming fish or crab, and almost before I have time to thank them they bashfully disappear into the night. As is so often the case, the kids in particular have taken the lead in befriending the white man, hanging about outside my house, climbing my guava tree then running off screaming and giggling when I actually talk to them. My afternoons after I finish work are blissfully low-key and peaceful affairs. I have taken to joining the guys and gals who play volleyball each afternoon after work, learning fast that sweating doesn’t stop mosquitoes and that my feet are made of some other substance to those of the locals, who bound around on grainy concrete like it’s grass. But the games are entirely uncompetitive, all are welcome, and winning shots and foreigner bloopers are greeted alike with great hoots of good natured laughter. In the evenings, after an eye-opening blast in my waterfall of a cold shower, I sip a gin and tonic, cook a bit of food and answer the sporadic visits as the boldest of my neighbours pass by for a chat. Already I find myself revelling in the peace and leisurely pace of life for which the Pacific Islands are renowned, and which is such a contrast to the intensity of Honiara below. As the island vibe takes an ever-stronger hold, these tales, I suspect, will shorten in length just as my hair grows gradually longer. In the meantime the determined among you will just have to wade through these lengthy ramblings.