The Resiliency of Fijians After Cyclone Winston

There seems to be a striking difference in how native Fijians handle a natural disaster versus how people in the U.S. react.  After a devastating storm in the U.S. you commonly see all these people on the news who are just destitute from the loss of their property and possessions.  I can imagine the news footage now - people sobbing and in total despair of the loss of their house and things.  Many of us will identify with them and feel sorry for someone who has “lost everything.”

The difference is that Fijians didn’t have this appearance of despair after the worst cyclone in the history of the south pacific.  When locals talked about the loss of their house, there was no sign of sadness in their face.  They were neutral (not happy, not sad).  When they talked about having to cram their multiple families in a tiny house, they seemed to welcome the company.  One lady in particular, a local kindergarten teacher, was telling me how nice it was to be around all the people; telling stories, cooking and eating together.  It’s kind of like they just accepted the loss their house as a part of life.  This is a normal for them.  Storms come and destroy their shit…that’s life…it’s to be expected.

And, for the most part, there’s not a lot of “shit” to lose.  Their house is usually fairly cheaply made and is not filled with a bunch of extraneous possessions.  The house has minimal furniture and is mostly for containing the essentials for eating, drinking and sleeping.  They are poor by U.S. standards.

However, that’s a huge misconception to see them as poor…they are rich.  They are rich with the essentials.  They have food everywhere (plenty of cassava growing all around, coconuts abound, fruit trees everywhere, plenty of fish in the sea).  They have a big, loving support network (given that they normally live in communities that rely on each other to live).  And, they are content to just live, laugh and play.  They don’t need much else.  They are not missing their prized possessions, because they never put much value in their possessions in the first place.

I can remember what it was like to drive down the road near the villages the day after the storm.  There was devastated terrain everywhere; huge trees uprooted and thrown all over, plants and tree stripped bare of their leaves, obvious loss of village infrastructure and displaced families. 

You couldn’t tell by looking at the people though.  They were all sitting around in the village like they would any other day – smiling and waiving as we passed by.  “Bula” (the normal Fijian greeting) they said as we passed by.  Like nothing happened. 

This experience was very inspiring to me and reaffirmed to me many things I’ve been thinking about life from travel around other parts of the world.  This is how people were meant to live - relying on each other and age-old ways of living with nature (It definitely helps that they live in a tropical and fertile area, which is really what people are most naturally adapted to live in).  It also goes to show how putting value in material possessions is not natural and probably leads to a poorer life experience…especially in times when mother nature takes it all.  

Fijians put stock in land and family.  Not in the stock market.  Their wealth is real…it’s not just numbers in a bank account or on a piece of paper.  It can be seen in their farm and family.  After that’s all sorted, they’re content to just spend their ample leisure time relaxing, living and laughing with others.  No need to join the rest of the world in their endless quest for the latest gadgets and technology.  They have all that they need.

With this lifestyle, it’s probably true that Fijians are not going to be the next race to dominate the world with their industry or monetary wealth.  However, I’m convinced they’re leading the world in quality of life. 

What I love about the rural life

What I love about rural life is that time stops.  I don’t care where it is in the world, because it’s true everywhere.  If you’ve ever gone down a less-traveled path to a settlement that’s living close to how our ancestors used to, then you know what I’m talking about. 

My first memorable rural experience was in South Africa where I volunteered at a wildlife sanctuary on a large (many hectare) preserve in the remote Mpumalanga province.  It was far removed from the city and the nearest town (a 2.5hour drive away) was so small that it took about 5 minutes to drive from one end to the other.  I fell in love with the place as soon as I got there.  It’s likely that living with cool animals like monkeys, meerkats, jackals, etc. was a huge part of it, but the ambience alone was awe-inspiring. 

I felt like time didn’t matter there.  We kept occupied doing various projects, but things seemed to go at their own pace.  It was so relaxing that I can remember spending time just observing my surroundings; observing all the exotic plants everywhere in various stages of flowering; noticing things like the many sizes of thorns that seemed to be on every piece of vegetation.  I would sit and watch the Guinea fowl make their rounds near the dirt paths picking the ground thoroughly in their well-organized flock.  I’d watch the meerkats hunt around in the crevices outside the main house; making their unmistakable little purr.  I don’t think I realized it at that time, but I was living in the moment.  I left that place knowing that I loved it, but maybe not knowing exactly why.

The next experience I had was a couple of years later when I stayed on a ranch near a rural town in Montana.  Absorokee, Montana was the town and it had a population of about 1200.  Every one knew everyone and you would have to burry your head in the ground to not hear all the gossip.  The local economy was so interdependent and close-knit that people would often not pay directly for services, but would instead keep tabs with each other.

It was such an experience living on a ranch and working in the community.  Things slowed down.  It didn’t seem like you were always busy.  You would stay occupied, but it didn’t seem like you had to rush from one thing to the next.  It was common for me to take a break in the day to drop a line in the well-stocked river.  And, the scenery was immaculate.  Pine tree forests crawling up the surrounding mountains and wide, green valleys crawling with life.  I would see deer and other antelope every morning out the front window of the house grazing near the horse pasture.  Animals that were normally a rare sight, like bald eagles, were as common as dirt there.  There was also an abundance of livestock as ranching was a huge part of life in Montana. 

As a “city boy” I was obviously out of place there, but I still really enjoyed it.  I could see the appeal that brought city folk out there to settle-down and start their own little hobby ranch.  They were after the quiet life.

I visited other remote ranches in the subsequent years and had a similar feeling of content.  The real village experience was yet to come though.

I returned to Africa as part of a military assignment a few years later and had an opportunity to visit various villages (rural/rustic settlements) in Djibouti, Kenya, Uganda and Tanzania.  One experience that really stuck out was the Masai village I visited near Arusha, Tanzania.  The drive up the long dirt road was something out of the jungle book; beautiful lush, green forests growing out of the richest red/brown soil.  It was immaculate in a way that only nature could display.  On the side of the road you’d occasionally see a Masai villager slowly walking in their traditional red robes and bare feet.  The village I visited was at the highest point on the green rolling hills spread out over a large area of acacia forests with bits of cleared land and small, dirt paths.  The village houses were small, round, mud-walled structures with thatched roofs.  Right away I could feel the stillness.  The unrushed/relaxed nature of the people living there and the feel that mother nature was doing her thing.  The scenery was indescribable and impossible to accurately photograph, but I felt like I could just sit in one place and stare at it for an entire day without feeling bored.  Again I was living in the moment and I was starting to realize it. 

It was especially apparent to me when I returned back to the U.S. after having been gone for a year.  All of a sudden things became less genuine.  I remember being disappointed seeing all my countryman walking/sitting around glued to their smart phone.  I’m not sure if I never noticed it before or if it just got worse over the year I was gone, but it saddened me.  It saddened me every morning when I rushed off to work and see the kids staring down at their phones, not talking to each other and looking somewhat depressed as they waited for the school bus. 

The individualistic culture of the U.S. seemed to be so much more obvious now and I couldn’t help but long for the quiet, communal environment of the village.  I missed living in the moment.  Life seemed to just rush by way too quickly with the city life. 

I’ve lived outside the U.S. for the past two years now and I’ve continued to have village experiences in India and now in Fiji.  The feeling is still the same.  The feeling of serenity.  The feeling of less distractions and more living.  I haven’t ended up living in the village yet, but I do envy them.  They have something that us city folk have lost.  They are in the moment and know more about living than we can comprehend.

I love the village, because it’s as close as I can get to living naturally.  We all know that our environment in the city is obscenely unnatural, but when we are raised there, it somehow seems natural.  In reality, it is just familiarity of it that is natural.  We innately want to get back to nature.  We grow plants, move to the suburbs, buy large parcels of land, keep animals and develop exclusive communities.  This still falls far short of living natural though and it’s incredibly apparent when you spend time in the village. 

The village gives a natural high.  It’s like turning a horse loose to pasture.  Like freeing Willie.  As a veterinarian, I am well aware that every animal is happier when they are exposed to environments most closely related to their nature.  We people are no different.