Cook’s Bay and North Ambrym Island, Vanuatu
Vanuatu (formerly New Hebrides) is a nation of 83 islands; about 2/3 of them are occupied and well over 100 distinct languages can be found, although estimates vary. On Ambrym Island alone five languages or distinct dialects are spoken. This linguistic diversity evidences a long history of human occupation. Adding further complexity (some might say confusion), before independence was achieved in 1980 Vanuatu was administered under a bizarre Anglo-French compact, so people in some areas learned English in school, others French. Lacking a common native language, the “national language” is Bislama, a ni-Vanuatu version of “Pidgin English”, with some words of French origin tossed in. It is both a spoken and a written language, and it serves its purpose well. A uniting element of society is a renewed emphasis on traditional and customary lore (Kastom in Bislama), a respect for the old ways of their ancestors. With great pride, the people of Vanuatu perform “kastom dances” for us, and speak of “kastom medicine” – the use of natural products of the forest in healing. In performing for us and sharing the ways of their ancestors they are keeping alive their Kastom; they do it for themselves, and we are witnesses.
Our morning was spent in Cook’s Bay, a spot protected from the wind between the small Maskelyne Islands and the large island of Malakula. It was an idyllic setting for water sports – snorkeling over a beautiful fringing coral reef, admiring colorful fish and one very cooperative cuttlefish, languidly paddling a yellow kayak over the reef to a stand of mangroves, or simply strolling along the beach talking to the villagers.
Shortly after our arrival an open boat packed with men from Malakula arrived, and they offered a “Kastom dance”. Arrangements were quickly consummated, and we gathered in an opening in the forest for their performance. Clad in conical headdresses and the traditional nambas, or penis sheaths, their bodies decorated in patterns of charcoal and ash, the men circled to the rhythmic beat of the slit-gong drum.
Over lunch our ship moved to the north end of Ambrym Island where we were witness to a performance of the Rom dance. The Rom is a secret society of men. Entry into the Rom requires payment of money and pigs; further payment must be made to advance in status and earn the right to wear the robes of dried banana leaves and to carve and wear the large bird masks of the dance. Only those within the society can witness the construction of masks and costumes, and these are traditionally burned after the performance. The costumed dancers entered the arena in the company of senior members of the Rom, whose chanting and stomping directed the proceedings. Any masked and robed dancer who deviated from the proper pattern was quickly tapped into place. After the Rom we were free to wander through the village, listen to the music of a string band (a more recent Vanuatu tradition), and peruse the fine carvings offered for sale. It was a day rich in Kastom.
Vanuatu (formerly New Hebrides) is a nation of 83 islands; about 2/3 of them are occupied and well over 100 distinct languages can be found, although estimates vary. On Ambrym Island alone five languages or distinct dialects are spoken. This linguistic diversity evidences a long history of human occupation. Adding further complexity (some might say confusion), before independence was achieved in 1980 Vanuatu was administered under a bizarre Anglo-French compact, so people in some areas learned English in school, others French. Lacking a common native language, the “national language” is Bislama, a ni-Vanuatu version of “Pidgin English”, with some words of French origin tossed in. It is both a spoken and a written language, and it serves its purpose well. A uniting element of society is a renewed emphasis on traditional and customary lore (Kastom in Bislama), a respect for the old ways of their ancestors. With great pride, the people of Vanuatu perform “kastom dances” for us, and speak of “kastom medicine” – the use of natural products of the forest in healing. In performing for us and sharing the ways of their ancestors they are keeping alive their Kastom; they do it for themselves, and we are witnesses.
Our morning was spent in Cook’s Bay, a spot protected from the wind between the small Maskelyne Islands and the large island of Malakula. It was an idyllic setting for water sports – snorkeling over a beautiful fringing coral reef, admiring colorful fish and one very cooperative cuttlefish, languidly paddling a yellow kayak over the reef to a stand of mangroves, or simply strolling along the beach talking to the villagers.
Shortly after our arrival an open boat packed with men from Malakula arrived, and they offered a “Kastom dance”. Arrangements were quickly consummated, and we gathered in an opening in the forest for their performance. Clad in conical headdresses and the traditional nambas, or penis sheaths, their bodies decorated in patterns of charcoal and ash, the men circled to the rhythmic beat of the slit-gong drum.
Over lunch our ship moved to the north end of Ambrym Island where we were witness to a performance of the Rom dance. The Rom is a secret society of men. Entry into the Rom requires payment of money and pigs; further payment must be made to advance in status and earn the right to wear the robes of dried banana leaves and to carve and wear the large bird masks of the dance. Only those within the society can witness the construction of masks and costumes, and these are traditionally burned after the performance. The costumed dancers entered the arena in the company of senior members of the Rom, whose chanting and stomping directed the proceedings. Any masked and robed dancer who deviated from the proper pattern was quickly tapped into place. After the Rom we were free to wander through the village, listen to the music of a string band (a more recent Vanuatu tradition), and peruse the fine carvings offered for sale. It was a day rich in Kastom.
