Ready for a mix?” — in Fiji, these four words are far more than a casual invitation. They’re a cultural calling card. A call to gather. A moment to connect. A chance to put the world on pause and share a basin of yaqona — our national drink and in many ways, our unofficial social glue.
Now, for the uninitiated. A “baby mix” signals a quiet night ahead. But for those of us who have had talanoa sessions on nights with a bilo in hand, we’ve experienced it all — baby mixes, big mixes and those epic sessions that lasted until the cocks crowed and the sun came peeking through half-drawn curtains.
But truth be told, the richest mixes I’ve ever experienced didn’t just sit in a tanoa. They flowed from the friendships forged, the stories swapped and the laughter shared, especially during our flatting days at Brewster Street, Toorak.
It was the early ’70s. Bell-bottoms were all the rage. Flower power was still in vogue especially after the three days Woodstock Music Festival. And a ragtag group of teenagers, myself included, stepped into adulthood with a little too much confidence but with a lot of heart.
Our Brewster Street gang – the late Kenny Williams, late Michael Smith, my late brother Raoul, Bharat Jamnadas (my roommate and eventual best man), Naibuka Tuitaru and the legendary Rupeni Davui, one of Fiji’s finest bassists, formed a bond built on music, mischief and that all-important mix.
Our flat became more than just a roof over our heads. It was a hub for harmonies and hilarity. With our newly formed band Ulysses, joined by Henry Foon, Anil Valera, Patrick Chung and Raoul, Brewster Street turned into a launchpad for creativity, camaraderie, and some truly unforgettable parties. And one of the guys who was a constant visitor was Phil Blake.
Of course, money was always tight. And occasionally when we’d run out of food, Kenny Williams would jump in his car and drive down the road to his family’s seafood shop located on Toorak Road. He’d raid the freezer and come away with some of the choicest seafood.
By day, I worked at Radio Fiji. Life was full and at times, full-on. I vividly remember the night Cyclone Bebe tore through Fiji. While most people were hunkering down, some of us were on duty. I was one of the few tasked with drafting urgent bulletins for the public – messages that could very well save lives.
After one long shift, the FBC minibus was dropping us home. The roads were chaos. Debris everywhere. Corrugated iron sheets flapping like confetti. As we inched along MacGregor Road, the van snagged a live power line. We froze. Every one of us knew the risk. One spark and we could’ve been cinders.
But someone, somewhere, had the foresight to cut the power. And by some miracle, we were spared. To this day, I believe that moment could’ve easily ended very differently.
Even in the face of storms – literal and emotional – one thing remained constant: the kava.
At Radio Fiji, there were usually three separate yaqona stations on any given day. You’d finish one round only to be drawn into another. But somehow, the work not only got done. It got done well.
There was something about the shared space, the easy flow of conversations, the calm rhythm of the mix that made even the toughest days manageable.
And it wasn’t just about the drink. It was about the people around the tanoa. Indigenous, Indo-Fijians, Rotumans, Chinese, part-Europeans – none of it mattered. Around the mix, we were simply taus. Ethnicity melted away. Status meant nothing. The bilo didn’t care about background. It only knew brotherhood and sisterhood of belonging.
It was, and still is, one of the purest expressions of what makes Fiji beautiful: unity in diversity.
Now in my seventies, I look back often. Of our beloved Brewster Street brothers, three have passed on including our beloved band mate, Anil Valera who was a constant visitor. The rest of us are scattered across the world.
We see each other less, though in 2022, we reunited in Sydney to celebrate Ulysses’ 50th anniversary. It was emotional. There was music. There was laughter. There was silence, too, for the ones no longer with us.
And while we may never share another mix around the tanoa again, in my heart, those memories remain, like the sediment at the bottom of the final bilo. Rich. Deep. Stirred by time.
To my old mates – vinaka vakalevu. For the laughter, the music, the mischief, and above all, the mix. That beautiful, magical mix that brought us together, regardless of who we were or where we came from.
Long may it live on.
n COLIN DEOKI is a regular contributor to this newspaper. The views expressed in this article are his and not necessarily of this newspaper.
This boat was somehow left stranded opposite the Golden Dragon & the picture was taken only days after Cyclone Bebe. From Left to Right: Colin & Raoul Deoki, Anil Valera & Henry Foon. Picture: SUPPLIED/Colin Deoki
Ulysses taken in the early 1970s at the Church of England grounds, Suva. Back From left to right: Patrick Chung, Colin Deoki, Raoul Deoki & Henry Foon. Front: Anil Valera. Picture: SUUPLIED/Colin Deoki
Taken during a recording session with Ulysses in the main Recording Studios of FBC in the 1970’s with Colin standing & Dev Narayan Singh sitting. Dev was the Senior Recording Engineer & now lives in the US. Picture: SUPPLIED/Colin Deoki
