HAMING IT UP

(This event happened in Mid-August but due to problems loading photos there has been a delay. I think it's my favorite post yet and contains the best photo since the shot of the baby falling off the bed next to his distracted brother listening to my iPod)

We were told, just in passing, that Vanuatu Prime Minister Ham Lini would be making a visit to the White Beach Bungalows – the place where I’ve been living since arriving in Tanna. More specifically it was to be a “cocktail party” (even though I know that they don’t know what a cocktail is. Made me suspicious) On the other hand I did know he was on the island since he had earlier in the week made a speech at a humongous circumcision ceremony sponsored by the Presbyterian church. But I still didn’t think he would actually be coming to the bungalows. I mean… why would he? And the way information travels around in Vanuatu it was more likely that someone was confused or joking.

So I’ve learned that it’s best to ask several different people several different questions from several different angles – you need to cover your bases – and then compare all the answers.

And sure enough the word on the street was that Ham would be having a little party at the bungalows in just two night’s time. No one said we weren’t invited so we just assumed that since I lived there that we would be welcome.

Matt and I were excited – would there be a dress code? What would we wear? What kind of party would this really be? Do you think we can get him to buy us a drink? Does he travel with a big crew or just a few aides? What could a Vanuatu Prime Minister motorcade look like? Would this be a “custom” affair, or a more business-like deal? Most importantly… Would there really be cocktails???

Strangely the staff themselves didn’t seem all that excited. I personally knew the cupboard was bare, the fridge was void of any cocktail ingredients and it sure didn’t have any beer either. What was really going on here? Why weren’t preparations being made, why weren’t people in full Our-country’s-Prime-Minister-is-making-a-special-visit-to-our-little-bungalows party planning mode? Ni-Vans are funny people – you just never know what to expect and they do so much stuff behind the scenes that you’re never really sure what’s going on. I suppose they were on the ball to some degree, but it just never happens the way it would in America. Here they probably talked it all out at custom nakamal over a few shells of kava.

On the morning of his visit (he was due at 6pm) I ran into Chief Nako at the Co-op store. He’s the primary owner/manager of the bungalows. He had been loading cases of beer into his truck, but was now deep in thought over a bottle of vodka. With my own selfish needs in mind I immediately went to his aide and explained exactly how many bottles of wine, vodka and rum to buy, and which mixers he would need for each. This guy is a character – one of those old fellows whose eyes are always red and glassy, several missing front teeth, kind of a frumpy build and a fumbly walk, making him appear perpetually tanked. And maybe he was. Good for him. Just be sure to buy plenty of vodka.

So I’ll just skip ahead to 5:30.

I get home from the coffee factory where we had a big day with the farmers. I was tired and needed a shower. Matt had already headed down to the bungalows an hour before. As I arrived I could see that things were in full swing. A string band was re-hearsing. Some other boys were practicing a custom dance. The kitchen staff was setting up three large banquet tables outside and another guy was hanging a couple lights up in some trees. A sound system was being tested. Food was being cooked. The fridge was being stocked. It seemed like a party was actually going to happen.

So I start taking a shower. Thankfully got my hair washed first, because as soon as I got my body all soaped up the water trickled to a drip. Some bastard had forgot to check the water tank. The entire compound was, I now knew, out of water. This bathroom doesn’t have a sink with a faucet so the staff always puts a tub of water on a shelf where the sink should be. I never use this tub of water and curse them every day for not installing the sink that had been sitting on the floor of the kitchen for over a month. In this case, however, it saved me – I used that water to rinse off. I than quickly ran down to the kitchen to alert them that they didn’t have water. A staffer had to run back and flick on the water pump located behind the coffee factory. The line from the pump fills a water tank that supplies the factory.

So while I’m trying to get ready the PM arrives, everyone else gets seated, and they begin making a ton of speeches always preceded by an opening prayer. I get dressed, grab my camera, and arrive just as the prayer is ending.

There are three rows of white plastic chairs filled with about 40 people, including Jeff and Matt and a few other people that I knew. The surrounding area is a smattering of about 30 Ni-Vans sitting on the ground, walking about, or still working on getting things ready. Most people are silently and patiently sitting and listening.

I’m wandering around the perimeter of the area trying to get some good shots but the lighting is so bad that I can’t get the camera to focus. Plus, I don’t know which guy is the PM. The guests are all dressed like people at a basic middle-class American cocktail party (or maybe a BBQ) – polo shirts, island shirts, khakis, and women in island dresses. Certainly no suits, Certainly no ties. Myself - I put on the best outfit I packed – just a button down long-sleeve shirt, untucked thank you, and green slacks with the brown leather shoes I stole from Andrew. Matt did the same. We were so anxious for a chance to dress “up” for a change, and attend what we thought would be a “normal” function. I guess we half expected something like what you might find in the US. What the hell did we know about the Prime Minister of Vanuatu? I mean… we know Vanuatu is pretty laid back. We know we are just a speck in the south pacific. We know this is a developing country. But still – when you’re attending a party for a “Prime Minister” your mind just assumes there to be a certain level of decorum, a certain gravitas about the affair. Alas, there was none. I mean… None.

Brotha, I said none.

He did have a nice speech though. I can’t remember what he said but he was frank about subjects like bad land deals – watch out for the white man!. And he talked briefly about AIDS – make sure you only have sex with women! And he was excited about a new trade deal with Indonesia (but we’ve nothing to trade so I’m not sure what’s so exciting). In between speeches there was a string band and all I could do was think how absolutely sick to death he must be of string band serenades. Certainly I was sick of them and I’ve been here little more than 4 months (at that point).

And when he was finished we had to listen to several other windbags – a local chief, a regional chief, president of the province, another prayer and blah blah blah.

Where ARE those cocktails?

Finally - the talking was officially over, people started moving around. So I set about lining up some drinks. I was leaning over one of the banquet tables and sort of loudly asking Annie where the hell is the damn vodka!

Someone taps me on the shoulder.

I turn around to face Matt – “What?! I’m trying to get us some damn drinks”

Then I turn further and see whom he’s talking to.

“Well hello Mr. Prime Minister.” (shit, shit, shit)

As soon as the speeches were done he came right over to meet all the white people – Jeff, Matt, a Dutch aide-worker named Renco, and myself. While I was yelling about getting some vodka they had all done introductions and were just looking at me waiting for me to say something. Since I had spoken in English the PM, face all contorted and scrunched up, blasted me:

“Bislama, bislama, bislama!” he said.

“uh… OK, sorry. Um… ah…” (shit! – I just got smacked down by the PM!)

I sheepishly look over at Matt. Jeff and Renco are just looking at me. I’m suddenly speechless – not like me to be flustered by power, money or fame – but I guess I was caught off guard. Matt was no help.

“Go ahead, talk to the Prime Minister” he says. Gee thanks.

I turn back to him and tell him something entirely forgettable. Something stupid and fumbly – I can’t get my bislama to come out right and as soon as I recognize that I’m flustered I decide best to just keep my mouth shut. I shake his hand and introduce myself, explain that I’m with the U.S. Peace Corps and then just leave it at that. Not that it much mattered – by this point he’s looking around for the kava.

And kava he gets.

First the girls bring out all the food. A pretty typical spread. And Matt and I had already snuck off to my bungalow to share a small bottle of vodka a friend had offered us. Now they were pouring some wine. Music was playing. Things were starting to get going.

But you don’t eat before kava – it spoils the effect. And often you don’t want to eat for at least an hour after kava. The PM and his crew wanted kava but didn’t want to pass up all the food. They asked the staff to load up a bunch of food in take-out containers and give it to the local police (the three rent-a-cop looking goofballs whom doubled as our Prime Ministers security force). But the bungalows don’t have any such containers.

“Brett! Brett!” Lucy came running over to me just as I was about to load up my own plate of food ( I wasn’t drinking kava).

“The Prime Minister needs to borrow your plastic storage containers!”

Eh?

Well. THIS was a special privilege (sarcasm). I get to give my Tupperware for the PM’s use, so he can more adequately get tanked on kava, and the odds were quite high that I would never see my stuff again. But I couldn’t say no to Lucy – it would make the bungalows look bad and they were trying so hard and things were going so well.

“Of course. Take whatever you need”. By-by Tupperware.

So I have myself another glass of wine. Or maybe it was two more. Either way some time had passed, alcohol was working its wonders, the party was really starting to roll… and look over there!… It’s the PM sitting all by himself with just one harmless police officer standing behind him. One empty chair on either side of him. OK, here’s my chance to redeem myself. Straighten up my back. Clear my throat. And firmly walk right over to him – wine glass in hand. I give one glance back to Jeff and Matt, who are looking on with amusement and the gleeful hope that I would do something horribly embarrassing. The potential was high.

“Mind if I sit down?” I say to the PM (in Bislama, of course) while giving a furtive, but friendly glance to the cop who may or may not have been paying any attention until just that moment. The PM sort of makes eye contact (but not really) and gives a grunt. I take that as a “yes” and happily sit down. I look across the way and give a beaming smile to Jeff and Matt. They are grinning - waiting and praying that I some how screw this up.

I turn to Ham and start in with some little speech about how I’ve only been here for four months and that I consider myself very lucky to be in Vanuatu because the people here are so wonderful and blah blah blah. He looks straight ahead the whole time. Barely acknowledges my presence. I say some other silly stuff. He ignores me, but I’m undeterred. I glance back at the cop who is looking blankly off into the distance. My Bislama is just flowing – Now I’m feeling pretty damn good. So I decide to force him to engage me. I start asking him questions – Have you ever visited the United States “no”. Which island are you from? “Pentacost”. You enjoying your stint as Prime Minister? “grunt”.

I start feeling like my time is up, so I casually down the rest of my wine and mention that it’s time for a refill. I get up and scurry over to Matt and Jeff who had been making speculative guesses at our conversation. Jeff - “so... you come here often?” We started cracking up laughing and it occurs to me that Ham was looking over at us. In the US if someone you were just talking to then walks over to other people, makes small talk, and then they all burst out laughing, you might assume they were just talking shit about you. I was paranoid that Ham might be thinking that so I broke off from the group and wandered into the diningroom.

Here I saw a jolly, round bellied, good-humored man who was clearly the center of attention for the several people lingering about the room. He was just about to walk out the door when someone whispered to me that he was the Minister of Health. At that I immediately called out to him, and offered my hand for a shake (who did I think I was? Oh wait.. I know… I’m an arrogant American and in my mind these people weren’t really high government officials on any order I was expecting – tonight they were just a bunch of party guys). He stopped and very happily shook my hand and we introduced ourselves. I was sitting on the corner of a table, Matt and a few other friends nearby. After our introductions he loudly called to the bartender, waving his hand in the air, to get us all a round of drinks.

I liked this guy!

I asked him similar questions as I ask Ham, but turns out this guy has traveled to the U.S. on several occasions, gave me informed and interesting answers, asked questions of me, and never once grunted.

Hey, get these boys another round!

He then went on to explain that he planned on being PM some day, and he implied that it wouldn’t be too far in the future. He then showed us a tattoo he had on the inside of his right forearm. It was a word in bold letters “UNBEATABLE” it said.

Another round!!

[PHOTO: Prime Minister Ham Lini on the left wearing the santa beenie, Minister of Health on the right, getting the party going]

I was pleased he was buying us drinks, and as I looked at the cigarette hanging out the side of his mouth I amused myself by thinking that maybe he should change his title to the Minister of Bad Health. Or the Minister of Unbeatable Parties.

Suddenly the music volume just went up. People were starting to dance.

But first I had to check up on something Matt and I had joked about before. We had taken notice that the Prime Minister was traveling with the Minister of Health, and maybe one other Minister I didn’t meet, and their wives. As well as three police officers. But what, exactly, was the extent of the Vanuatu Prime Ministers motorcade? I know a U.S. President will travel with no less than 30 vehicles including press car, Secret Service and even an ambulance, not to mention all the aides and support staff and such. A result of wealth, prestige and power as much as a result of necessity. But what about here? Before they arrived we joked about whether or not his vehicle would have the little flags on the hood of the car. We weren’t being judgmental but I guess we were being arrogant little bastards (our motorcade is bigger than yours!).

But still… I was curious. And I took my camera.

[PHOTO: The truck in the forefront is THE motorcade. The little flag was attached with brown packing tape. Love it!]

Then it was back to the party. It was time to dance. I looked around the area – momma’s, small kids, youths, Matt, the Minister of Health, and many others were all tearing up the dance floor in a hodge-podge of different styles. I can’t remember the music, but maybe because it too was a hodge-podge of different styles. I looked around some more.

Low and behold who did I spy sitting all by his lonesome?

So again I walked right over to Ham and took a seat. The cop wasn’t standing guard behind him anymore. Not that I ever really cared. These people don’t pull any of that “threaten you with a stare” stuff that the U.S. Secret Service like to employ. I suppose they don’t really have to. Not much threat going on here.

He’s frumped in his white plastic chair. And I mean Frumped - slouched, double chinned. And now he’s wearing a hat that keeps reminding me of a Santa hat. He looked only semi-conscious. The kava was kicking his ass. So I brought out my camera, held it out with one hand and took this photo:



I ask him how he’s doing, if he’s enjoying himself. I think he farts, and then mumbles something. I turn to see all the people dancing and notice his security guard is out on the dance floor shaking his hips like a fool. I laugh and point and Ham actually gives me a smile. I ask him if he’s gonna dance and he says that he’s thinking about it. So then I just chill for a moment to see what happens. After a moment he grunts so I look over at him.

“I’m really drunk on kava, so if you want to dance please don’t wait for me”.

[PHOTO: Taken right before he said the above quote. He wasn't wearing the santa beenie before, or the gray sweatshirt. I heald the camera outstretched with my left arm to take this classic image. He didn't flinch or turn his head when the flash went off]

Of course he says this in Bislama. Again, I take my cue and get up to walk around, maybe snap some more photos. Earlier I caught Matt dancing with the Prime Ministers wife who he had very gentlemanly approached as she sat on a chair, offered his hand, and asked her to the dance floor. She has such a stoic look about her. And she’s a large woman! And holy cow, once she gets going watch out! Jeff later said that she was manhandling him – just swinging him around like he was a rag doll. But it was Matt who got her warmed up. Here they are, Matt and Vanuatu’s First Lady.

[PHOTO: Matt with the usually stoic First Lady, tearing up the dance floor. ]








At some point in the middle of all this we were gathered to pose for an “official” photo with Ham. We were lining up and Ham was trying to tell me where to stand when someone shot this classic photo. A special prize to whomever comes up with the best caption:



The night continued on for hours. We drank, danced, danced and drank. It just got more and more crazy and out-of-control as the night went on. And all the women were just going all-out on the dance floor. Mary Jack, a province official and the Chairwoman of the Coffee Organization of Vanuatu was non-stop action – just tearing a hole in the ground, hootin’ and hollerin’ the whole time. The Minister of Health never let up. At one point the sound system went out and he started yelling that the party wasn’t over yet. He just kept carrying on, thrusting his one arm in the air while his other hand negotiated the bottle to his mouth while his lips tried not to lose his cigarette, always just dangling out the corner of his grinning mouth.

At some point I called it a night, but the party continued on probably until dawn. Not sure what time Ham went to his bungalow – at a pricier establishment closer to the airport. When I got up in the morning I realized that many of the local Ni-Vans had simply slept (crashed) on the beach, or in the bush, or on the grass outside my bungalow. Some of the momma’s had already started cleaning the grounds and one gave me a knowing look as she pulled two bottles out of the bushes near the front of my bungalow (they weren’t mine). The aftermath sure felt like the day after some of the parties that I’ve thrown back in San Diego – certainly not the kind of parties you would have invited a Prime Minister to, but then again this is a funny place.

A place where you can look into the mouth of an active volcano on one day, and the very next day you can be drunken dancing with the Head of State.

This is Vanuatu.

This is Tanna.
[PHOTO: From left, Jeff Robinson, Matt Dewitt, some looney-party-crashing-guy that found his way into no less than 6 of my photos, Prime Minister with drunk security guard protecting him from the looney guy]

[ a few notes: 1. I stole the title to this post from an email Matt sent on the same subject – gotta give credit where credit is due. 2. Vanuatu has a Prime Minister and a President. I’m not exactly sure who is referred to as Head of State, and I don’t really know if either man’s wife is referred to as The First Lady – probably neither. But it makes for better copy. It’s also possible that the President has a bigger and better motorcade than the Prime Minister – again, probably not. I’ve recently been unofficially informed that the President is more of a figurehead position for Vanuatu. It’s also come to my attention that Matt has a different memory about the smoking habits of the Minister of Health, but I’m gonna stick with my version since it’s more fun and since he bought me so many drinks it’s plausible that I was seeing things that weren’t really there. In other words, it’s all the Ministers fault. ]