Fijian Church and Lunch with the Chief (7/18)

Okay, now don’t pass out when you read this. The world has not come to an end, but... I went to church this morning. I know, I know, stop gasping. I didn’t WANT to. We HAD to by order of Ratu Jim. Let me say first off that Fijian Methodist church is even more boring than American Methodist church. Mainly because it’s all in Fijian… and it’s church. I made things up I thought he might be saying to entertain myself for a while. Then I resorted to reading a version of the bible apparently written for people with an IQ of a potato and the attention span of a gnat. After and hour it was all I could do not to run out screaming. It lasted for TWO HOURS!!!!!!! I was convinced I was being tortured.

After church, we went to a Kava ceremony at Ratu Jim’s house to welcome a new priest. I noticed (consciously) for the first time that they pick their feet while mixing the Kava. My stomach turned. Then we ate lunch prepared by Una, Jim’s wife. The taro root (or daloh) and breadfruit were really good, especially with salt and ketchup. But, out of respect, I tried the freshly killed chicken and fish. I admit, it was tasty, but I was riddled with guilt walking through the village and watching the mamma chicken with their biddies. And later, being mesmerized by the bejewled fish of the reef. No more meat. They know I’m vegetarian, so I think they’ll understand if I don’t eat it.

I gave up shaving my legs, its too much effort. Zach says I’m officially a hippy now. There was no wind today and it was hot. This equals mosquito heaven… I wonder if I can have a blood transfusion, but replace my blood with DEET. Jim and his wife came over for what appears to be their nightly visit. My conundrum? I’d cooked enough dinner for me, Zach and Sam, only because I had to cook the whole package of pasta due to our other houseguest, the rat. However, as I’m not a maid, or a chef, or a servant, or a “wife”… Zach and Sam were gonna have to serve themselves. Then, Jim and his wife came over; I HAVE to serve them. It’s like the law or something, and I want to continue my experiments on his reef (social politics). I felt like I SHOULD serve Sam if I was serving Jim and his wife (since Sam is technically a guest). I didn’t want to serve Zach, but I knew Jim would think me very rude. So, I made a point. I said, “Zach, am I going to have to serve you too?” He said, “Of course!” I said, “you aren’t getting crap if I’m EXPECTED to do it.” He said, “Sara, can I please have some pasta.”
“And?”…
“And I’ll do the dishes since you cooked tonight.” Okay. Here’s your pasta. After dinner, Jim grabbed me by the throat (pretty firmly) and mumbled something in Fijian. It seemed affectionate, kinda like Dad’s “love spankings” but it freaked me out a little. I think he was happy that I actually cooked for the men-folk. Hmph.
We have to do another freakin’ frackin’ bricken bracken Kava ceremony tomorrow morning at 9 am! I’m gonna be half baked before I get off this island.