An Unwelcome Reality

In the face of a changing world
Where do you stand?
In the inevitability of our cultural extinction
What will you do?

Could you imagine yourself a refugee?
Assimilated into another nation
Just because yours lies hidden beneath the waves
Could you bear the harshness of asphalt under your bare feet –
And not the intimacy of sand shifting in the sun?

Can you imagine our children speaking foreign tongues –
But not the one spoken in these isles for thousands of years?
Our cultural heritage steeped in custom and tradition
Relegated to the dusty shelves of museums
Soon to be forgotten with the passing of time

The idea that our islands are sinking seems a farce
But the harsh reality seems closer than we had earlier thought
They’re giving us 50 years to move on to survive
Five decades to farewell our sacred groves
Five decades to mourn our dead long gone
Five decades to watch our land occupied over four thousand years ago disappear
50 years of heartache and pain
To set our house in order before we leave
This is our unwelcome reality

For Grog

This is my ode to the national drink
To the juice that makes you squint, squirm and lower your head in shame
Only to rise in proud stance to the call TAKI

This is for the first timers and avid fans
For those who wear their badges in scaled degrees
On their hands and knees (all over in fact)
This is for the conversations that flow along with the drink
Slowly winding down to a quiet contemplation
Each person wondering whose brave enough to call the next round

TAKI
The magic word sounds
The drink of the gods pours down
The poison spins round
This, well this is for the sounds of the frantic search for chaser
This is for the crackle of sweet wrappers
And the suckling sounds of mango skin sucked dry of all flavour

This is for the various ways of drinking
Some like they want to swallow the bilo along with the juice
Other’s like sipping hot tea
This is for the grimace and complaints of a strong mix, or the odd call that it’s too waicala
Served high tide, low tide, or in between
The levels dropping as the hours fly

This is for the different sized bilos used
And even the variety of substitutes
Ranging from mugs to porcelain bowls
Even the odd wine glass for the classy connoisseur
This is for the odd bucket, basins
And other odds and ends
That serves as the majestic tanoa

This is for reconciliation
For the weddings, funerals, birthdays, anniversaries
Class or family reunions, the odd encounter
The coincidental meet at the market
Rugby World Cups, Super 14’s and other rugby championships
And those moments when our thirst gets the better of us

This is for the yaqona of Fiji
The Ava of Samoa, Kava from Tonga
The Awa of Hawaii
And that potent stuff served in Nakamal’s in Villa, Noumea, Moresby and Honiara
Also in kitchens, grog shops, backyards, front porches
Vatuniloa’s, mango trees, village houses, sugarcane fields, University campuses
The list is endless
Those places where grog is served with relish
Whether five star or not

This is my ode to the magic of the call
TAKI