Saturday, November 06 1999 - Rotuma

This morning we risked life and limb - and I mean just that, no exaggeration - to visit the island of Hatana.

Hatana is Rotumas sacred island, which lies to the west of the main island. On this island the great chief and first king of Rotuma, “Raho” is buried. Raho was originally a chieftain from Samoa - but for the Rotumans he was not merely a chief - and over hundreds of years he has attained what amounts to an almost god-like status. Legend has it that Rotuma itself was created by Raho, who was on a voyage in search of a new home. He carried with him two baskets of earth, one of which he poured between two rocks - creating Rotuma.

Because the island is sacred, people are not normally allowed to visit it , including even Rotumans themselves, unless they are natives from the village of Losa. We were exceptionally lucky to be given the chance to go along with “younger brother”, whom I referred to yesterday (I have since found out that his name is Rocky), and some of the villagers, to the island.

According to legend Hatana is protected by a supernatural power which causes the waves to rise if people try to visit the island without permission. The situation to begin with is not a happy one because it is not really possible, and not allowed to land on the island by boat- although the villagers had managed to surf and manhandle their boat over the reef, we weren’t allowed to. We took the small tender in as close as possible to the outside of the reef and then on Trevor’s “now” we all jumped into the water. We were wearing snorkels, masks and fins - which in retrospect it would have been better to be without - especially the fins, because they prevented us from standing up and walking properly once we got to the reef.

A number of the locals had already swum onto to land so we struck out and headed for them - things started to get interesting as we realised that we would have to try and swim across the reef, which was partly exposed and over which waves were crashing - the first group, Willie, Rudi, Anne-Lise, Christof and I made it in without mishap. We stood on the reef waiting for the others to come in - Enrico, Hanns and DJ. Their job was trickier because in order to get all the cameras on land - in one piece and not wet, we had packed them in waterproof boxes and strapped them to one of the kayaks.


The sacred shrine on Hatana Island

Now, whether or not we had done anything wrong or violated any taboos, or whether it was simply just a freak of nature - at the very point when they were trying to swim over the reef with the kayak the water sucked back and three huge waves came crashing over the reef. I had a brief view of three heads bobbing desperately in the water before they disappeared in the wave and the kayak was catapulted into the air and flipped over. “There go all the cameras” I thought. Before we could even begin to do anything about helping the others or trying to rescue the stuff, the wave hit us, swept us off our feet and we went bouncing and tumbling across the reef (ouch). Moments later Hanns and Enrico staggered onto land helped by a couple of the locals who had also managed to rescue the kayak - a minute of panic until we saw that DJ had swum back to the tender and was climbing onboard, and then we all checked to see if we had survived and were in one piece - almost everyone had battle scars, Hanns particularly was bashed up quite badly, blood streaming from the cuts on his legs - although they were mostly superficial - scrapes and gashes from the coral. After we had rinsed down Hanns, we all had a good laugh at (with) Enrico who looked as if he had tangled with a shark, shorts partially shredded and hanging down in ribbons - his eyes were as big a saucers (I’m sure mine were too).

After this somewhat eventful arrival on the island - Willie (who was extremely shaken by the experience) told us again very earnestly not to violate any of the taboos otherwise we would offend the “spirit” of the island and would not be able to get off without serious mishap. The taboos were, no shoes to be worn, no one to relieve themselves anywhere on the island, do not shout, do not touch anything especially around the grave of Raho, and make sure you have a coin to lay on the shrine as an offering.

Still feeling a bit shaky and waterlogged, the locals lead us over the reef, up onto a sandy beach, and through the trees to the centre of the island. Here there were three old stone coffins, one of which is supposedly Raho’s grave, and also there was a sort of shrine to the great chief. There were two stones - shaped to resemble crouching human figures (the king and queen)- which Raho is supposed to have blessed before he died. In front of them was a flat stone shaped like an alter on which we laid our coins as offerings. Surrounding these, arranged in a circle, were a number of rounded coral blocks, which are called the servant girls. Laid out in a row in front of the sacred stones were bottles of perfume and oil.

We were not long at the sacred stones, after we had placed our coins Rocky lead us away through the trees to where the rest of the villagers were engaged in the other activity that they do on the island. Apart from the shrine, they come to island to collect birds and birds eggs. It was rather distressing for us to see this, but it is an ancient tradition of the village and we couldn’t risk offending the local people. It was upsetting, but the people collect these birds for food and so I shall report it here as it happened.

Young boobies were pulled from their perches among the bushes and then drowned in the sea. The villagers carried them along in big bunches over their shoulders, before piling them into baskets made out of palm leaf fronds. The boobies make good eating they told us - they are plucked and roasted like chicken, although they have completely different “fishy” taste. I asked why they were drowned and not shot or humanely killed and Rocky told me it is because you are not allowed to kill anything or spill blood on the sacred island and so they drown the birds in the sea so as not to violate the taboo.


Rotumans collecting Boobies

After they had collected about two baskets of boobies, Rocky took us out onto a headland where there are hundreds of nesting terns. As we went onto the island they rose up in a great screeching cloud and wheeled about above us. The villagers went across the island taking about every third egg. It wasn’t a difficult harvest because the eggs are lain in a hollow on the ground and are easy to find. Rocky showed us how they eat the egg raw - putting a whole egg in his mouth and then spitting out the shell afterwards. Rudi and Anne-Lise were brave enough to try it - breaking the egg and slurping out the contents, but I am afraid that the thought of it was just too much for the rest of us.

After they had filled two baskets with grass (for padding) and eggs, we collected the boobies and headed back to the reef for the great departure. There were still big waves rolling over the reef and we watched in awe as the villagers manhandled their boat over the reef and through the waves - I am amazed that no one ended up with a broken bone or concussion. After that they pretty much used the same treatment on us - first Anne-Lise and I, hanging onto the arms of the biggest guys, were pulled through the breaking waves to the edge of the reef, where we all jumped in together and swum like mad until we were out of the wave zone - I think I must have swallowed a bucket of seawater. After that they brought over the rest of our party and finally the kayak - all without mishap this time. On the way back it looked far more frightening than it actually was - but there’s no doubt about it, it was a dangerous venture and if we had known before what was entailed we perhaps would not have attempted it. We were very lucky I think, that no one got seriously hurt. Even Willie thought it was all a bit much, he said he won’t ever be going back to the island again.


Hofliua or Split Island

The afternoon was spent in a more sedentary fashion, we cruised form Hatana to the next small island down - Hofliua or Split Island. This does indeed have a great gash through the centre - a parallel sided crack with a giant boulder or ‘hanging stone’ about half way down it. There is an interesting legend as to how this happened; a hermit crab challenged a swordfish to a race from Tonga to Rotuma. By spacing his hermit crab friends along the route, right up to the beach at Rotuma, the crab tricked the swordfish into believing that he had won the race. Twice they raced and twice the crab deceived the fish. On the third occasion the swordfish was so angry that he put on a huge burst of speed and as he approached the Rotuma he was travelling so fast that he sliced his way right though the offshore island of Hofliua cutting it forever in two.

Now back at anchor in Oinafa at the north-eastern end of Rotuma,

Janet