Death and the sanctuary of home

Ok, sex has been fobbed for the moment (well, personally for more than a moment !), and my observations and thoughts regarding the I-Kiribati and such things has been overtaken by  it’s cousin - Death, and the sanctuary of home.

The last few weeks I have experienced 2 more deaths and another outer island trip. As I have said before death is at my doorstep (2 graves just outside my door) and is a constant reminder of the fragility of life here along with it’s acceptance of being part of life’s journey.

I have now experienced deaths of people aged from 8 months to late 30s, three female and one male, one who took their own life. Apart from the baby whose death occurred early on in my time here I had had shared experiences with each of these people. One I flew to an outer island and back with, one I worked alongside in a mentoring role and the other was at my house the day before leaving this life.

 "Old life"

  

"New life"

 

A cultural thread and response binds the I-Kiribati people and each of these deaths.

The bodies were laid out in their given homes wearing their finest clothes adorned with flowers (artificial) as family and friends gathered. I have heard it said that people going to hospital take a set of their best clothes, they may be needed -and far too often they are.

I paid my respects to each of my friends families and sat alongside three of their bodies. In the process of grieving, funeral and burial arrangements family members and friends sit with their loved ones, they may cry, stroke them, talk to them, re arrange the flowers, or in the case of the baby I watched as the blind father tried putting his daughters hair into little pig tails.

On one occasion I spent 12 hours at the family village (some people will stay for days), many of those hours were alongside the body both sitting and sleeping. 

l cried and cried, how could a woman of such power and passion have died just hours after I has seen her (in hospital), what was done, or more likely, had not being done for something that was so preventable,  why do these people accept the non-acceptable ? My questions and emotions raged at the same time as I heard pigs and chooks being slaughter for the feast, watched the hole being dug for the backyard burial, played with kids including her son, smelt the food being prepared and listened to the voices of angels coming from her people, others with abilities that far outweighed their disabilities. 

It has taken me some months to write of this experience. It’s funny how and what a death does to ones being, offering reflections on past deaths, thoughts of ones that may come at any time and wonder at the cycle of life.

Two days after the last burial a baby was born to one of the people in attendance, I have yet to meet her but on inquiring as to her name was told “Junior Leigh” !

Two days before giving  birth to "Junior Leigh" 

The sanctuary of home

There are many things I have learnt to endure, enjoy and love about outer island trips with the I-Kiribati people I work alongside, this includes the joy of returning to my ocean view nest here on Tarawa.

I really am a homebody at heart, it’s where a balance can be achieved for my physical, emotional and spiritual being. After another week of collective living in accommodation run by the local island council, people that have never seen a kitchen sink, experienced a flushing loo (or toilet seat) and can sleep anywhere, my humble home is paradise.

What is it about bodily functions that seem to flow (or plop) much easier from ones own private loo, I’m sure hovering is strengthening for the legs but comfort and contemplation come much easier from a relaxed position.

Planning for the I-Kiribati is not part of their culture (neither is the letter “P”) but many “know” that a trip away means some things are needed such as toothpaste, toilet paper, soap, clothes etc. It’s just the planning part of actually taking them along that gets in the way. Being a westerner I pack these things and more, this includs the only torch and insect repellent in our group and simple food items such as sao biscuits, my version of muesli and powdered milk.  In the interest in having these when needed I keep in my room, the torch did shine the way to and from various kava bars (without me), the saos found a home by someone that recognised them as food and took to self serve, but I did struggle trying to explain what rolled oats were and why I was eating muesli when there was literally bucket loads of fish and rice.

 Outside window to my "Guesthouse" bedroom

One of the joys of being home is the quiet, just the sea, occasional dog squabble, or talking and singing from my neighbours. As much as I love the jubilant, frenetic, and joyful sounds of one or 200 odd I-Kiribati people singing my body can chill and mind can rest from the “OMG, will I have to dance for this one…”. Today it’s no Audrey Auld, Paul Kelly or String Chickens pumping out of my itunes, no white noise or I-Kiribati top 10 blasting out of bass induced speakers. Just the sound of silence.  

My day has been filled with washing in a twin tub where water needs to be bucketed from the kitchen, clothes manually moved from washer to spinner to rinsing bucket and back to spinner before making it to the cutest clothesline this side of the date line.  Meanwhile seven newly hatched chicks and muma hen wander past my door and stop at the water overflow from my kitchen (don’t ask) for a drink and any food scraps and it’s almost 3pm and I’m still in my sleeping attire. 

 A homemade mini hills hoist

This is my day, the breeze is flowing through the open doors, the sky is filled with clouds and the hammock awaits as does another meal of the fish and rice, a yoga session and a real coffee.

Up next : It’s in the lap of the dogs or gods