March 27 is always a special day for the people of Vabea Village on Ono, Kadavu.
It is the day they remember the 21 lives that were lost when Cyclone Meli rampaged through parts of Fiji in 1979, burying women and children in the church they had taken refuge in.
On the day, a special church service is held followed by the cleaning of the of the remains of the church which today serves as the graveyard of the victims.
Thirty seven years on and the memories of that fateful night still linger on in the elders’ minds.
For one man, even after all this time, when he retells the story, it was as if it happened only yesterday. The recall sharpens the memory of Joeli Veitayaki, who was then 19 years old.
“We had just returned from the plantation during the day, and after the warning came, we helped take our women and children to the church which has always been our safe haven in times of natural disasters.
“This was our evacuation centre back then during any cyclone.”
This has been immortalised in song by the group Waikoula kei Tavua as they sing: Ko Vabea e nodra vale ni soro mera laki vakaruru
Ra vakacegu kina na wekadra me nodra ibulubulu.
Little did they know their haven was going to be their graveyard.
As Mr Veitayakai shared his experience, slowly wiping his tears with a lot of pauses during the interview, for many they still regret having to have left their women and children and have slowly come to accept what transpired that fateful night.
“Many of us regret but what can we do, when we did not know that would happen.”
According to a report published on March 31, 1979, for 69 years the concrete walls of the Catholic church had always been the villagers’ refuge from the strong winds of cyclones.
“When one section of the church broke down by the strong winds, most of the villagers fled to another side where there was a small door, the people tried to get out but the falling roof trapped them.”
While some were fortunate to escape with injuries, 12 people of Vabea and nine from neighbouring Waisomo Village did not make it.
“When the winds had died out we went to try and rescue them but unfortunately we were too late. There were cries, and for all of us, it was hard to accept that our grandmothers, mothers, brothers and sisters had left us,” said Mr Veitayaki
On the same night on the other side of Kadavu, two boats — a yacht and trimaran (sailboat) anchored just off Namara in the district of Sanima.
In an article published by this newspaper on Saturday March 31, 1979, a seaplane flying on an inspection trip spotted a capsized trimaran and a dismasted yacht off the coast of Kadavu.
Later reports said the trimaran was the American vessel Ocean Rover and crew member Eric Morrison had struggled through high lashed seas to reach Namara Village.
His father and wife were missing but a body washed ashore at Kadavu was thought to be that of his father.
A couple from the yacht, the American Primera, were meanwhile reported to have reached shore safely.
As follows an account of Vern Clinton and how he and his wife survived the storm on board the Chimera — the third boat.
Little did Mr Clinton know that it was to be also the last time he would see the Ocean Rover.
This manuscript which was written five years after the cyclone hit was edited in 1992, and published in December 2009 on the digital library scribd.com.
This is his account.
It was fine yesterday afternoon when we dropped anchor here on the south side of Vanua Kula, the northernmost island of Astrolabe reef in Fiji. The anchorage had been calm, protected from the northeast wind that had built up during the afternoon. The rocky beach a scant 20 yards under our stern geysered fountains of froth as the building waves pounded it. I glanced at the wind speed indicator — 20 knots. We’d have to leave the anchorage soon.
A major storm was building which would bring sheeting rain and gusty wind, as only a tropical storm in Fiji can do. Maybe it would be better just to head back for Suva right away. We might beat the worst of the storm, and Dennis, finishing his two-week visit with us, had to leave in two more days anyway.
Twenty-four hours a day WWVH broadcasts a metronome tone marking the exact second for navigational purposes. Once an hour they give storm warnings for the South Pacific along with a synopsis of weather and a prognosis for the following day. I checked my watch. They were due to broadcast in one minute. I spun the dial of the radio and hoped the weather forecaster’s voice would come in clearly for a change. The voice was hopelessly garbled. Still I did hear the word “hurricane” clearly enough through the hash of static to raise the hackles on the back of my neck. I couldn’t make out the location of the storm or any of the other information.
A shout interrupted my thoughts. I looked over my shoulder. Ocean Rover, a 37foot trimaran was sliding up astern. For the last couple of weeks we had “buddy boated” with Ocean Rover.
Eric, her skipper, decided to anchor on the north side of the island. He anticipated the probable wind shift and expected the north side to offer more comfort during the night. Julie, Eric’s lady, all blonde, suntanned loveliness, stood at the trimaran’s wheel. Junius, his father, who was visiting for a week, was standing by her in the cockpit. Eric walked to the lifelines on the trimaran’s wing deck to talk to me.
The three of us climbed into the dinghy and rowed over to Ocean Rover to talk with Eric and his crew. “It’s about time you got here,” Eric said and tied our dinghy to the life lines. We clambered on board and ducked below to get out of the rain. Julie greeted us in the aft cabin with cups of tea and freshly baked cinnamon rolls laid out on the dinette.
Dennis waved at Ocean Rover as they chugged on past us out of the anchorage heading south the five miles to Namara. They were motor sailing with just the staysail set. Dennis said to me “Vern, there are not too many people I’ve ever envied. Eric is one of them, though.”
“What do you mean, Dennis?” I asked. “Well, he’s 27 years old. He’s sailing the South Pacific in a boat he built with his own hands. He’s got Julie with him who is the most beautiful, together girl I’ve ever met. What more could any man ask for?” I didn’t try to answer that one.
At sunset, darkness enveloped us with a malignant vengeance. The wind, strong before, now became a ripping, screaming obscenity of power. The darkness, combined with the overpowering, irresistible wind, cut us off from the outside world as completely as if we were trapped in a submarine on the bottom of the ocean. We were even denied speech. We had to shout directly into each other’s ear to communicate. We were saturated with sound.
We couldn’t measure the wind speed. The anemometer disappeared shortly after registering 60 knots. According to the last report we were able to receive, the centre of the storm was still hours away. I wondered to myself, can we really stand six or seven hours more of this punishment? I didn’t consider then that Meli’s centre passing would only mark the halfway point of our torment. Then we would face again all that we had survived already, only in descending levels of power as the storm centre moved on.
Suddenly we all stopped to listen and suddenly realised it was quiet. The noise of the storm was gone. For a few moments we remained frozen in place without understanding what had happened. It was as though God had forgotten to start the second reel of our movie on time, and abruptly the tumultuous fury of the storm had paused for an intermission.
Dennis was the first to speak. He said with a tone of awe in his voice: “It’s the calm, we’re in the calm of the middle of the hurricane.” I must have heard somebody shout on Ocean Rover.
He climbed out into the cockpit. I followed him into the flickering lightning lighted darkness and also heard a shout. I couldn’t hear the words, but it was surely from Ocean Rover. I looked up and the stars shone bright and clear. The sea still heaved around us, though, and chivvied by the chop, Chimera wallowed. “Let’s get out of here,’ Dennis said emphasising each word.
“Yes,” I agreed, “Joyce, c’mon,” I called, “we’re swimming for it. Hurry, babe.” I looked around but couldn’t make out any lights from the Ocean Rover.
Even if it were impossible to find the beach it was better to attempt to land on the rocks than stay with Chimera. I didn’t know how long the eye of the hurricane would last.
“Here.” Joyce handed me a pair of Levis. “If we’re going in over the reef you’ll need these.”Within three minutes we added fins, mask, and snorkel to the gear we already wore. I clutched the waterproof flashlight, and Joyce carried the water proof camera bag with the hastily gathered passports, traveller’s cheques, and journal. Four hundred dollars cash lay forgotten in the book case. I jumped in the water then grabbed the gunwale of the boat as the residual current from the wind tried to sweep me away. It would be a tough swim, even with fins, and especially with so much clothing, life jackets, and equipment.
“Hurry!” I was anxious to get moving.
“Dennis and Joyce were in the water with me in seconds. The water was rough. It was very, very, dark. Joyce held on to my life jacket strap so we would not separate. My clothing, life jacket and the big flashlight dragged in the water, still I resisted the desire to swim harder.
A shout from Ocean Rover reached us when we were about half way to the beach’”‘ . I shouted back into the blackness that we were heading to the beach, but we did not slow our efforts in an attempt to communicate. We all had one goal. Get to land and safety.
We tumbled over the little reef a few feet from the beach. If the wind had been onshore building up the surf, instead of offshore, we’d have been smashed into the coral, and wouldn’t have had a chance. We scrambled up away from the surf in the eerie darkness. I shone the light around us. Fallen coconut trees, coconuts, and fronds littered the ground. Dennis said: “We’ve got to get off this beach and find some shelter. That wind will be strong enough to lift us right off this island.”
Cyclone Meli was reported to have wind speeds of more than 200 km/hr and by Monday April 2, 1979, this newspaper reported 45 people died as a result of what was recorded back then as the strongest natural disaster to hit the country.
That fateful night is still mentioned in talanoa and kava sessions around the country.
On the island of Nayau in Lau, elders talk about how waves brought on by Meli ravaged the island.
Now there is Severe Tropical Cyclone Winston and all it entailed. As we go about rebuilding our country, let us the remember the words of theologian Reinhold Niebuhr: “May God grant us the serenity to accept the things we cannot change, courage to change the things we can and wisdom to know the difference.”
