Visit to Vairaatea Atoll

Moshe Rapaport (1989)

It is only a few weeks since I returned but the memories of Vairaatea remain remarkably vivid. I still wake at dawn expecting to see the sun rising across Puka Runga. Opening my door, I half expect to step out onto the coral rubble in the tiny atoll village. Something calls me to head out toward the deep canyons in the reef edge and cast for fish. In the evening, I walk around Manoa Valley, listening for the young men vigorously playing the ukulele and guitar, chanting the songs of the gods and the heroes.

We arrived at the pier of Vairaatea Atoll on an early Saturday morning. There are only eight families on the atoll, all clustered in the tiny village at the northern tip of Puka Runga, the sole inhabited islet. They all came down to greet us and presented us with leis and coconut front hats. I was invited to stay with Kahui, the mayor's brother-in-law, who had accompanied me from Papeete aboard the copra boat. On our way to his house I noticed an old woman moving toward us rapidly. I knew it must be Nauriki, the village matriarch.

I had been told about her. Addressed simply as "the old one", she is the last of those in touch with the ancient knowledge of the land, the lagoon, the sea, and the spirits. "You are Nauriki," I greeted her."How do you know that?" "Kahui told me." "Very good. . .Welcome, welcome!" In the Tuamotuan language almost all the words are doubled. Some people think it is to make sentences easier to understand. I think it is an echo of the rhythmic motion of the sea in the subconscious of the atoll inhabitants.

I explained to Nauriki that I had come to learn about the life of the eastern Tuamotus. "You are most welcome," she said again. "In the past, the spirits of the ancestors used to walk the land in the evenings. The land would be blessed with frequent arrivals of migrating fish and seabirds. At regular periods massive schools of "ature" would move in the channels betweent the lagoon and the sea." "It is Nauriki who sent away the ature," put in another atoll resident, Andre. "She was disgusted with the way the local people gathered the fish for sport by the hundreds and let them rot. She walked out to the seafront one evening and commanded the ature, 'Go! Go!' They never came back."

The evening of our arrival a table was set up in the central square. Mati, the mayor, had been to Papeete since his election the previous March, discussing the development needs of the islands with government ministries. He explained to the people about the work he had been doing.

He told me, "The people have decided to honor you with a new name." "What is it?" I asked. "Wait," he said, "There will be an announcement." Then Nauriki stood to speak. All the population had gathered on the ground in the deep darkness of the atoll. Nauriki is small and she was engulfed in a mountain of leis. "Welcome," she said again. "Welcome to this land Vairaatea. Welcome stranger, whom we will give a new name." "From now on," she said, "Let nobody in this land call you Moshe. For your new name we have picked the name of an ancient kaito. Your name shall be Moeava. We have selected this name because this kaito, like yourself, travelled across many lands in the Pacific seeking knowledge. He faced many challenges, all of which he overcame. You too will face numerous challenges, which you will overcome easily." She warned me against revealing my name if I visited Hao, one of the larger islands in the Tuamotu Archipelago. "They are extremely jealous of this name. If they hear you are Moeava they will attack you immediately," she said.

Later that day after church services, Kahui, Tavana Haka and his wife, and Nauriki sat on the coral rubble in the center of the village, ukulele and guitar in hand, and began to chant the ancient songs, beginning with the songs of Vatea, Tane, Tangaroa, and Rongo. They sang of the migration of the rabbitfish and of nightfishing by lamp for flying fish, of copra work on the outer islands, of ancient wars, of Tahaki, Maui, Rata, and other heroes, of love, and of the long sea voyages. I wrote down each song and recorded them on tape, with explanations by Nauriki.

One afternoon, while fishing alone out on the reef between Puka Runga and Puka Raro evening fell suddenly and I took the wrong direction home, mistaking Puka Raro for Puka Runga. I walked across the knee deep water, careful to avoid the sea urchins and suddenly, barely ten feet away, a shark was startled by my approach. It bounded clumsily and noisily across the shallow water, more like a pig or a dog. Shaken, I found the edge of the reef, thinking, "I have never seen a shark this close to the village." I was glad to have reached dry land and walked hurriedly toward where I thought the village should be.

A chill went down my spine when I looked across the reef flats and saw lights on the distant opposite islet, where I should have been. I had a rain jacket with me and considered spending the night where I was. I was reluctant to enter that shark infested reef after dark, but I also realized how worried Kahui was going to be. I thought, "Well Moeava would definitely have returned across the reef flats at night." So I found a stick and started back across, fishing rod and basket of fish in one hand, and stick in the other. Fortunately, the moon had rose and I was able to look out for the sea urchins, though I did take a few spines in my heels.

Half way back I saw a lamp across the reef moving in my direction and I knew it was Kahui and Andre. I shouted, "O Kauhi! Andre!" They stopped and I walked across to them. Kahui said, "Don't go fishing alone again in the darkness." "Don't worry," I replied, "You forget. I am a kaito."

About a week before I was to leave Vairaatea, Nauriki, Maihaga, Kahui, Tanui, Teigo, and others began to tell me of their arofa for me. "You go and we stay. We have arofa for you. We will grieve. When you leave, we will cry." Mahiaga asked, "How will I send you money for your copra?" (I had helped with the copra work). "I did the work out of arofa," I said, "Never mind the money. You have all been very kind to me. I will write to you and will return next year."

One morning, during my last weekend on Vairaatea, we were visiting Pare Tavake, the southernmost point of the islet. Nauriki told me, "Remember that photo of Vavenga (an elder of Tokelau) you showed me? He appeared to me last night. My back had been severely hurting because of the pandanus mat I was working on last week and this Vavenga appeared to me and called, 'Nauriki!' 'O' I answered. He said, 'I have brought you medicine from Tokelau prepared from the bones of a sea turtle. Here it is.' I took the medicine and now my back feels much better."

The time had come for me to leave the islands. Everyone gathered at the pier to chant traditional goodbye songs, accompanied by ukuleles and guitars. They sang songs of departure to faraway lands, of mothers praying for the safe return of their children, and other songs I had not yet heard. I was too distraught to record the songs. I made a short goodbye speech thanking the people for my new name and for their kind welcome. They showered me with shell leis and gave me gifts of small pandanus baskets. I kissed the people who had come to wish me goodbye and descended into the speedboat. The boat set out on the channel and I waved for the last time to people who had been so hospitable to an unknown stranger.