A villages mourns the death of its Chief. For more than half a century he ruled over them, guided them, helped them with their problems until, at an age far beyond the average reached by people in this area, he dropped dead. Looking at a photo of him at a recent Rom Dance he looks ancient, decrepid, but still he had the energy to take part in this traditional event which takes place once a year in North Ambrym. Even from the photograph, taken by a tourist that attended the event and left as a present for the villagers, I can see the energy and vigour pumping through his limbs as he danced his last dance. His son, Sam, a tall, well-built but quiet young man who works as a welder in Port Vila, confides to
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