5:05pm.The blue CBSI pickup is already overflowing as the last few stragglers come strolling out of the bank and clamber aboard to find a nonexistent space to squeeze into; the laughter is raucous and the betal nut and lime are already 
being passed around as the driver Alick pulls away. This has been the scene every day after work for the last couple of weeks since I returned from Singapore, and indeed no doubt also for the two weeks I was away. Our destination today… Riffle Range, where the Central Bank owns a property and some land. This is pronounced Rifle Range, named after the large numbers of guns found on the land after the Japanese fought their way ashore at this point during the Second World War, but I have only every seen it written as Riffle and don’t want to fall into the trap of neo-colonial grammarisation. So Riffle it will remain.
But why are these office workers from as prestigious institution as the Central Bank all packed in a pick-up, all armed to the teeth with dangerous looking bush-knives, and careering down Mendana Avenue, whooping with glee like a raggle-taggle army of rebels heading off to war? Well, funnily enough in a way we are going off to war, but our enemy ain’t the government. Nope, these past weeks we have been waging a determined battle with a far more durable and persistent adversary… the Solomon Bush. I’ve mentioned previously the tendency for my own garden here to explode out of control if not kept under close guard. Well similarly, around all the Central Bank properties there are large areas of communal land that grow ferociously and freely throughout the year, but which about once a year are cut back by a hired group of young men before they swallow our houses completely.
This year, however, some bright spark at the Bank cleverly suggested that the Bokolo Blues football team and the Bokolo Hornets netball team could together take on the task of ‘brushing’ (as the activity is called), with the money earned going towards a joint trip to Vanuatu planned for next year. Just before I left for Singapore we began the work, with the coordinators talking confidently about 3 days for Mbokona and 2 days for Riffle Range to finish the job. In fact, almost everyone in the Bank has pitched in, and a good thing too; four weeks later we find ourselves still battling away, and I’m starting to wonder whether this could be another Forth Bridge scenario, so that by the time we finish the last clearing it will be time to go back to the beginning and start again. It is tough and sweaty work, but also great fun, as we march to the latest frontier, before each zoning in on our own particular patch, accompanied only by the shared rhythmic thwack- thwack of the 
forehand-backhand sweep of the bushknife. Only the sudden descent of darkness forces a halt to proceedings, when the scattered individuals make their way back slowly to the truck for the ride home, stopping here and there en route as one-by-one people jump down accompanied by cries of ‘gudnaet’, and those of us less accustomed to brushing (not just me I hasten to add) return to nurse hands blistered by the labour.
being passed around as the driver Alick pulls away. This has been the scene every day after work for the last couple of weeks since I returned from Singapore, and indeed no doubt also for the two weeks I was away. Our destination today… Riffle Range, where the Central Bank owns a property and some land. This is pronounced Rifle Range, named after the large numbers of guns found on the land after the Japanese fought their way ashore at this point during the Second World War, but I have only every seen it written as Riffle and don’t want to fall into the trap of neo-colonial grammarisation. So Riffle it will remain.But why are these office workers from as prestigious institution as the Central Bank all packed in a pick-up, all armed to the teeth with dangerous looking bush-knives, and careering down Mendana Avenue, whooping with glee like a raggle-taggle army of rebels heading off to war? Well, funnily enough in a way we are going off to war, but our enemy ain’t the government. Nope, these past weeks we have been waging a determined battle with a far more durable and persistent adversary… the Solomon Bush. I’ve mentioned previously the tendency for my own garden here to explode out of control if not kept under close guard. Well similarly, around all the Central Bank properties there are large areas of communal land that grow ferociously and freely throughout the year, but which about once a year are cut back by a hired group of young men before they swallow our houses completely.
This year, however, some bright spark at the Bank cleverly suggested that the Bokolo Blues football team and the Bokolo Hornets netball team could together take on the task of ‘brushing’ (as the activity is called), with the money earned going towards a joint trip to Vanuatu planned for next year. Just before I left for Singapore we began the work, with the coordinators talking confidently about 3 days for Mbokona and 2 days for Riffle Range to finish the job. In fact, almost everyone in the Bank has pitched in, and a good thing too; four weeks later we find ourselves still battling away, and I’m starting to wonder whether this could be another Forth Bridge scenario, so that by the time we finish the last clearing it will be time to go back to the beginning and start again. It is tough and sweaty work, but also great fun, as we march to the latest frontier, before each zoning in on our own particular patch, accompanied only by the shared rhythmic thwack- thwack of the 
forehand-backhand sweep of the bushknife. Only the sudden descent of darkness forces a halt to proceedings, when the scattered individuals make their way back slowly to the truck for the ride home, stopping here and there en route as one-by-one people jump down accompanied by cries of ‘gudnaet’, and those of us less accustomed to brushing (not just me I hasten to add) return to nurse hands blistered by the labour.One day of brushing last week that I felt happily justified to miss was Tuesday and my birthday. This I celebrated the previous weekend when Fi organized a (genuinely surprising) surprise party for me at a little colourful cabin on a beach down the coast, where a big spread of food, barbecue and of 
course booze was waiting. We all had a merry time, drinking, singing and watching the electric storm sweep over from Savo Island to our left and descend on Honiara, somehow avoiding drenching us. Inevitably, once the food had been consumed and more importantly the drink drunk (but not us), our next step was to hit a packed Bula Bar, where we danced the rest of the night away to island grooves. Was a great night, and would only have been bettered if a few of you folks in England had suddenly materialized from the ocean, perhaps arriving on canoes filled with mangoes and cider. But you can’t have everything in this life.
course booze was waiting. We all had a merry time, drinking, singing and watching the electric storm sweep over from Savo Island to our left and descend on Honiara, somehow avoiding drenching us. Inevitably, once the food had been consumed and more importantly the drink drunk (but not us), our next step was to hit a packed Bula Bar, where we danced the rest of the night away to island grooves. Was a great night, and would only have been bettered if a few of you folks in England had suddenly materialized from the ocean, perhaps arriving on canoes filled with mangoes and cider. But you can’t have everything in this life. 
1 comment:
Will the wild man! You look funny with your big machete! xxx
Post a Comment