Wigley continued his drumbeat with one stick; with the other, he pointed to a large pile of stones, now overgrown by jungle vegetation. “A spark from the fire collected the dead man’s spirit and rose high above the banyan tree,” he said. “But our chief knew that this spark carried the man’s soul, so he used his magic to cause the spark to fly in a large circle. The spark curved around and approached this man’s village from the south, while our island lies to the northwest. So the people of the dead man’s village thought the murderers came from Uri Island. They launched their canoes and killed a man from Uri Island in revenge, and ate him. Then they were satisfied. Our people were happy, because our black magic was stronger than that of the dead man and we tricked our enemies.”
When white explorers and missionaries first encountered these violent, superstitious societies, some were killed and eaten. Others bribed their way into people’s hearts with machetes, beads, cooking pots, and other white man’s commodities, locally called “cargo.” Eventually, the vast majority of the locals converted to Christianity, and inter-tribal warfare ended. Today the country is one of the most peaceful places on earth.
Lost in my memories, I walked past the banyan tree and followed the trail to a clearing of grass and thatched huts. The local merchant was quietly chatting with friends in the shade. He led me to his store, which was indistinguishable from all the other small huts that blended in with the forest. Several onlookers followed. We stepped out of the bright tropical sunshine into a windowless room that smelled of trodden dirt and mouldy grass. Light filtered unevenly through gaps in the thatch. The merchant positioned himself importantly behind a counter made of driftwood.
The official languages of Vanuatu are English, French, and Bislama, an English-based creole, but he spoke a mixture of Bislama and English.
“So, what you wantem buy?”
“What do you have?”
“Most things in store go away.”
My eyes slowly adjusted to the dimness, and I searched the shelves: one rusted can of Spam, two dusty packets of ramen noodles, a large jar of red-hot Chinese jawbreakers.
“Well, you don’t seem to have much. I guess I don’t want to buy anything.”
“Then why you kam to store in fastaem [first time]?”
