Goodbye to Drinking Coconuts

At the bus station in Nuku’Alofa, you can buy a coconut from a street vendor for $1.

He’ll bring one out of his cooler, dripping with melted ice, and with a quick movement, cut a hole in the top and insert a straw. The coconut milk is cold and refreshing, thirst-quenching and a little sweet.

The man also sells cheap snacks, like peanuts (a local crop), and packages of raman noodles – which the locals crush up and eat raw, like we used to as children.

We happened to witness an important event in Tonga’s history: on Tuesday, the first-ever session of Parliament opened. This was the beginning of a new government in what had been, until now, a basic monarchy advised (but not necessarily influenced) by village chiefs.

To celebrate the country’s first democratic process, all of the citizens decked out in traditional garb. There were parades and costumes, music and dancing, food and drink. Throngs of people crowded the streets.

Needless to say, the bus station was packed, and since Tonga only runs eight busses, we’d have to wait for quite awhile. We stood in the sun with our bags of vegetables, and drank the sweet water of green coconuts.

Luckily, by a happy accident, we met up with Carolina, Sven’s wife, on her way from the fish market, and she offered to drive us back to the resort.

The groceries were to last us for the remainder of the week. Our diets had become very simple - fruit, bread, vegetables, rice, meat, and rainwater. We prepared our food in all of the various ways we could think of using a hot plate, oil, salt, and herbs.

Our time in Tonga seemed to slip away. We did some gardening, cleaned up the beach, and built a shelter in our last days before it began to rain. I managed to speak to my family on Skype, for the first time in months. I felt that my return home was around the corner, and at the same time, I began to dread returning to New 

Zealand. I did not relish the thought of lasting out the winter months, pruning orchards or working in a factory for minimum wage.

Too soon, unfortunately, our last day in Tonga was upon us.

The dawn was pale and overcast; and then the sun came out, as if to wish us well. 

Of course, we spent the day at the beach, snorkeling and laying in the sun, reading aloud to each other and enjoying the heat. We ate lunch as late as we could.

In the afternoon, when the shadows grew long on the grass, we took the bicycles for a ride to the next village.

I wove awkwardly around potholes (my bike tended to lean to the right – like a stubborn grocery cart), and as I passed the small tin-roofed dwellings, I noticed the gardens full of medicinal plants; in the yards I saw abandoned cars rusting to soil, and here and there, crumbling foundations of houses , which the jungle was slowly reclaiming. Everywhere, there were plantations of taro and tapioca, pigs, dogs, children; and colourful laundry lines in the spaces in between. Giant fruit bats began to take flight as the shadows grew cool under the mango trees.

It was the hour before dinner, when children are free from chores and have nothing but games until dark. They called out to us as we passed: “Bye!” Sometimes running toward the road in packs, as though watching a spectacle. They yelled to us from across yards, interrupting village soccer games, called out from porch stairs and from weelbarrows, every child and many aduts called to us (perhaps the only English word they knew):  “Bye!”

The peace of the evening was prevalent. From the open windows of churches, we heard congregations of many voices blending in harmony, drifting over the road. The bells rang out for the Monday evening service, and in the background, we could hear the distant, rythmic sound of women beating tree roots, slowly making tapa cloth from the fibers.  

We arrived home in time to watch the sunset.

For dinner, I made chicken soup from scratch (amazing what you can do with chicken bones and water, salt, a handful of pasta, half a carrot and some beans). John pronounced it to be the best chicken noodle soup he’d ever eaten, and I was surprised myself. Considering that I had literally thrown all of our remaining food into a pot, it actually turned out well.

Well, not all of our food: we also had a single cucumber, which we cut up, and left in tuperware in the fridge, for a snack.

Outside, the colours left the world as darkness crept into the corners.

As I surveyed the situation, I realized that, for the first time in my life, I was heading towards relatively dangerous waters.

We were totally out of supplies and short on money. We had no jobs, and for that matter, almost no prospects. Not only did we have no food at all – besides the cucumber – we had no soap or toothpaste either.

What we did have was a flight to Auckland – which would leave at midnight – and $20 Tongan in cash.  We had enough money left in the bank to pay for bus tickets, and a week’s accommodation (maybe two) and some basic groceries. With this in mind, we put our ears to the ground, listening for whispers of work. We decided on Tauranga, in the Bay of Plenty – we’d have to take a leap of faith and try our luck, hoping for immediate work.

On the plus side, Carolina offered us a ride to the airport, so we wouldn’t have to spend any money on a cab. 

We had to spend the $20 somewhere, though, so we decided to spend our last hour in Tonga having a beer and uploading our photos.

Sven wanted to thank us for all of our work, so he brought over two slices of cake and insisted that we didn’t owe him a thing – not even for the beer.

We paid him anyway.

We were sad to leave. We had both fallen in love with Tonga – but an income couldn’t wait.

So we boarded our flight at midnight, back to New Zealand.

It was only when we felt hungry that we remembered we’d left the cucumber – and the tuperware – in the fridge.

After nine months, we were becoming forgetful; things were getting lost. I had left my jeans and touque in Wellington; John had also left his shorts and fishing rod behind. It was a worrysome trend, especially considering that we didn’t own much.

However, things began to fall into place, in the end – as you will see.