I was awoken on Wednesday August 19 to have breakfast – thinking of a good cup of tea and dalo or tavioka, it was far much better.
There was boiled ota and the meat of wild pig. But while feasting on my breakfast, outside was the sound of the pounding of yaqona.
The evening before I had arranged to start with the collation of my stories — a one on one interview with those concerned, however little did I know, I had indirectly invited a yaqona gathering that would start at 9am.
However after a few bowls Jone (Luvenitoga, thephotographer) was not satisfied with the pictures and asked the youths if they could go again to get more quality pictures.
Lucky for him he was in time to take the shot where a horse carrying yaqona bound for the Rakiraki market lost its footing uphill.
As they shared with me their stories, I had mixed emotions — first I was angry with all the false promises made to them.
I was saddened to hear how they had to carry the sick for hours to reach the nearest health facility. I was tormented by how women gave birth by the river with the assistance of villagers and many more.
However despite the absence of a road to the village, despite all the difficulties they had to endure on a daily basis, despite being alienated from the outside world, one thing was certain, there was an air of happiness in the village.
Everyone would carry a smile on their face, doing their usual chores — whether going to the river or to the farm.
This taught me a lesson — to appreciate life and what it had to offer.
In the urban areas we have a lot of excuses, “no transport”, “no bus fare”, “power blackout”.
For the people of Nakida they have to walk five hours to get to the highway, their only means of transport is either on foot or on bilibili, they don’t have electricity or live a luxurious life but they are happy.
They have produced professional people from doctors, engineers, university lecturers and teachers — all of whom lived the Nakida way of life.
The yaqona session continued until late in the evening as the stories kept coming, but sadly, all great things must come to an end.
It was time to say goodbye, our journey down river was to be on a bilibili.
A few young men had taken the lead to build the bamboo raft.
We crossed the Waicekena River seven times to get to where we were to board the raft.
This is the same route they use to transport their housing materials.
It takes them two days to transport their housing material, sleeping by the river, in the company of mosquitoes and covered by the blanket of cold and rain.
Now it was our time to follow the Waicekena river.
However my admiration of the tranquillity of the environment and beautiful surrounding was taunted as the bilibili ride was not as smooth as I had anticipated.
But just like a well-oiled machine, village headman Mosese Seru manoeuvred our way through the narrowest and shallowest part of the river.
There were a lot of stops, as the raft would have to be dragged from one side to another, past rocks and gravels and back to the water.
By this time the stomach was craving for food.
Little did I know that wild pig, dalo, lime and chillies were part of our journey down stream.
It was when Jone revealed that he was hungry that Mr Sevu said our lunch was prepared.
At one of our stops we decided to have our lunch.
The first village downstream is Wairuarua Village, their stories are the same — how they are still waiting on the promises made to them that a road would be constructed to their village.
It is at Wairuarua Village that the river splits in two ways — one flows to Nasukamai, Ra and the rest of the western division, while to the left flows to Naitasiri before joining up with the great Wainimala River.
We were zigzagging our way downstream.
At times the Nakida mountain range would be in front of us, other times it would be on the left or on the right.
After six hours on the raft and attacked by the rain, my body was shivering, luckily though, by then, we had reached Nawaisomo Village.
A delicious cup of tea was waiting for us before another yaqona session.
Our journey back to Suva was not yet over, we had to again cross the same Waicekena river six times to get to a small track, before walking uphill another 30 minutes; by this time the vehicle had arrived to pick us up.
This journey has got to be the trip of a lifetime, the best personal experience.
To track across on foot and on a raft from one end of Viti Levu to another — reaching the point where three provinces meet.
This journey that has taught me a lot — to hear their stories and their struggles and how they continue with life.
As I begin my journey with The Fiji Times, the journey for the people of Nakida to and from the village, continues.
I hope someone in a position of authority, through this story and that of others, will be inspired to look into their plight after hearing “their cries” for the construction of a road.
That is what they desperately need right now.
