Today’s the day the Economics Department had their picnic…

Saturday was the Economics Department picnic. At first glance, not an occasion to inspire excitement and anticipation, but in actual fact, a typically hilarious and entertaining Solomon Island staple. I’d already attended the Trade department picnic a few weeks back courtesy of Julia, a member of my ODI wantak, and on that day I’d eventually arrived back at home drunk on red wine and mind scrambled by kava (the local mildly hallucinogenic root drink most popular in Vanuatu). This day was no different. A big open back truck was acquired, negotiations on food quantities were finalised after discussions all week, families were assembled at a typically early hour of the morning (including the full quota of tiny pikininis) and with everyone in the back of the truck we headed down the coast to the beach. On arrival, there was no pissing about sitting enjoying the view or swimming in the irresistible waters (apart from the free-riding foreigner who simply couldn’t resist), but it was all action stations from the word go. The fish were descaled and gutted, the fire was lit, chicken, sausages, beef and fish were cooked on tables over the fire (see photo) and meanwhile the women whipped up temporary woven dishes from palm leaves. Needless to stay, all this was accompanied by consumption of Solbrew, wine and Fiji rum (56% proof no less).

The rest of the day flowed from the feast that followed, with drinking and storim till the late afternoon. After a suitable number of drinks, I also tried my hand at fish hunting for the first time. This, however, was not quite the image I had in mind. Instead of a high-tech state-of-the-art shining harpoon gun, the locals go armed with a rusty metre-long sharpened metal rod, and a thick piece of elastic. After watching my next-door neighbour Max successfully shoot small reef fish from amazing distances, I spent about an hour myself having a go. I was a natural, it has to be said. I rapidly went from being “not even bloody close” to “not even close”, but was so fun that I’m inspired to forego technology-assisted fish shooting, and work on this more humble practice. Perhaps night-time hunting is the way, as I am told that fish sleep at night and shooting then is a walk in the park, not dissimilar to pushing cows over when they’re sleeping standing up. More updates on my attempts to find and shoot Nemo at a later date.

By the time the rain came down, as it’s started doing with worrying frequency now that the rainy season has arrived, everyone was too merry to care, while others had simply fallen asleep (including wee Melissa, see photo). Later still, drunk and happily jabbering away, everyone clambered back into the trucks to be delivered back to their various houses. My own arrival was somewhat less smooth, as within seconds of getting into my house I’d somehow managed to lock myself out (I place the blame firmly on the temporal infestation of fleas) and had to spend the next 2 hours on a classic wild goose chase, driving round Honiara trying to find the mystery man with a spare key. But that’s another stori.