Bubu Simeon

---

it's another cloudy day in the jungle. and another tuesday afternoon. perfect for blog uploading and homework. and a nap. =) i'm listening to a selection of songs sent by sher. i can understand for the most part the underlying message, which is sometimes humorous. have a good week - b

13 September 2009

I seem to find myself writing a lot about death and the traditions that surround it in these blogs. In a small village setting, death strikes close to home every time. People are so interrelated and interdependent that the death of one leaves an obvious mark. Here I wish to express that it’s not my fatalistic attitude that steers me towards yet another entry centered on the end of one’s life, but the sheer significance that such a happening has in our community here. My primary compulsion is to share the culture which is reflected in the events surrounding a death; events which reflect some of the beliefs that define the unique culture of Maewo.

The day after we got back from our workshop and volcanic hiking adventures on Ambae, my bubu Simeon died. Bubu is a rather vague term used to describe a family member who is separated from you by one generation. So, I could refer to my grandparents as well as my grandchildren, as well as any of their siblings or (I think) even cousins, as “bubu.” This bubu was my host papa’s father, so considered my “stret bubu” (straight grandpa). A year or so before his death, he suffered a stroke that paralyzed one side of his body. Regardless, he was always out and about, walking to and from church and other events independent of any kind of walker or other physical aid. His vitality in the latter years of life was impressive.

During the week that we were gone to Ambae, bubu Simeon retired to his bed and there he died one week later. A few times throughout that week, the family believed he was dead and were then surprised when he started to “pul wind” (breath) again. This caused my papa and his brothers to think that something was not quite right about his death. So when he died, they put a specific leaf with his body before wrapping it up for burial. This action started a chain of events that became the focal point of life in the village for the next week and a half.

The custom leaf that they put with him was meant to prove whether or not another man had “spoiled” him or taken any action to cause his death. The leaf put with his body was to cause any such person to die in the same manner that bubu did on the fifth day after his death. Four days later, a man, known in the village to be one who knew how to work poison, died. (To avoid later confusion, let’s call him J.) Even though it was four days and not five, it was still believed that J instigated bubu’s death. Rationales such as that J had poisoned and killed many other men before bubu and therefore it took less time for the leaf to work spread like wildfire.

There is a bit more history behind this coincidence that makes it seem all the more credible to believers in such custom. Here is the jist of the oral history as relayed to me. A year or so back, there was a disagreement involving the ownership of a piece of land between bubu Simeon and yet another man, also known for working custom. This second man threatened bubu, saying that if he caused a big deal about this land that something would happen. Bubu went ahead and took steps to set up a meeting with the chiefs so that the matter could be resolved. The day before the meeting, he suffered the stroke that paralyzed one side of his body. My family blamed this second custom man for making such a thing happen, thinking it was the result of his threat.

The two men who are known in the village for working custom and poisoning men are also believed to often work and plan together. Since we’ve been here, there have been a few village meetings bringing there so called “custom wok” into question. Such things are difficult to prove and therefore punish. But the nature and timing of the J’s death following bubu Simeon’s was considered to be a sure sign that J was the one who had caused bubu’s death.

When such conclusions are drawn, regardless of the reason, there are going to be some hard feelings. In this case, things were especially sensitive because one of J’s daughters is married to one of my papa’s brothers. Her house and kids are living on the same ground that bubu Simeon did. She was torn between going to mourn for her father and respecting her husband’s family. Indeed, this matter was taken so seriously that my family refused to go cry when J died; quite a strong statement in such a small village. There were some very awkward tensions to follow as well as the preparations for the two deaths would conflict for the next few days.

These details Justin and I were told in tidbits, as my family felt necessary. My host mami is very perceptive to our potentially different beliefs and always prefaced her news with “Mi save se bae yu no bilifem, be…” (I know you won’t belief this, but…). She, coming from Ambae, was very spooked by the whole ordeal. She said that before this event, she too was in disbelief about the extent of the powers of strong custom on Maewo. After J’s death, the family feared further action would be taken by the second man notorious for such work. My host parents and their three kids all slept in one bedroom, even though they usually spread out in three different rooms. My sister Sophie refused to sleep at the school. Justin and I were shooed home at dusk, no longer allowed to walk about in the dark.

Because of logistical reasons, namely time and money, my family decided to have a “gongei” for bubu’s 10 day and call it good, instead of the usual 100 days. Three days before the “10 day,” my host mami recruited me to help with all the work. First thing in the morning, we headed to a neighbor village to visit family there and ask them to help out by bringing taro and kava to the gongei. With the entire village coming to eat, the family relies on such donations. Then, we headed for the garden to cut leaves needed to wrap the taro and meat that would be baked as well as to wrap individual portions of food.

The trip took the whole morning and a bit into the afternoon. We roasted corn “on top” of the garden for lunch, not such a typical event for them, but I have learned to be very blunt about my needs here, especially concerning food. It seems that the Ni-Vanuatu eat when convenient and never feel the effects of skipping a meal. My Brock stomach won’t let that slide. It was not big deal for us to start a fire and throw a few ears on to roast while starting to work on harvesting the needed leaves.

Aldayer and I worked together and, though age separates us by nearly two decades, we are a fairly matched pair. I’m still getting used to walking up steep and unsteady slopes with a bush knife in one hand and can barely distinguish between the leaves we were sent to cut. Aldayer, on the other hand, scoots up the slopes like a pro and knows exactly what and where to look for our assigned leaves. He kept taking me up shortcuts, saying “Rod ia i fit, uh? Hemi fit from se hemi sot wan” (This path is fit, huh? Because it’s shorter). Thanks for those adventures, little bro. My only advantage over him is height.

Being a good foot taller, I can reach over his head to leaves that are bigger and better for baking with.
The leaves we were cutting, I just lump into one category referred by me as “laplap leaves” or, in my greener days, “banana leaves.” They all have the same general shape, long ovals with pointed ends, and grow vertically from the stem of the plant. But there are key differences. The women seek certain leaves depending on what they’re doing. Small things like flexibility, thickness, and the strength of the stem make one leaf better than another for a given task. Meat is usually baked in one kind of leaf, laplap in another, and taro in another. Small intricacies that make this business of baking with stones seem not so primitive.

The next day, the day before the gongei, people started to bring their taro contributions to the family’s cluster of houses. A bamboo stand was set up to keep the mass amounts of taro off the ground. My mami and aunties told me that it is tradition for the food to be baked in the kitchen of the one who has died. That way, when the person’s spirit follows the light (which, if you remember from earlier blogs, is kept lit above the grave each evening for the entire 100 days) they can find their food. This follows the belief that the person is not completely dead until the whole 100 days is over, so his or her spirit is still seeking food.

As the taro kept piling up, the women prepared to bake a small meal for the men who had come to help. The men were sent in two directions, some to kill a pig and some a cow. The meat would be baked with hot stones today and kept warm until it would be served the next afternoon. The cow was brought to the yard to be pieced and wrapped in leaves for baking. Another tradition is to wash the clothes of the one who has died in the blood of the animal so that they can be used by another. If this is not done, the clothes are supposed to be burned and never worn again.

As men worked to string the cow legs up in a tree and piece out the meat, dogs gathered around to try to score a snack. The small kids helped by dragging the skin through the village to the shore so that it would be taken away by the ocean. Once the women had started baking the meat, they peeled taro in advance for tomorrow’s huge baking. The taro would wait, peeled, over night and be baked first thing in the morning. One kind of taro that I only notice at special ceremonies, like this one as well as weddings, was there. It is easily the size of a six or seven year old child.

One more nuance would finish off the busy day. As the preparations went ahead for tomorrow’s big day, J’s daughter was nowhere to be found. As a woman in the family, she is expected to be a significant help in the preparations. But, given the compromise that the nature of her father’s death had made on her relationships with her husbands’ family, she probably felt it easier not to be around. Her husband, also, was scarcely seen that day. News of this circulates quickly and by that evening, the chief had called for a peace making ceremony between the two families. Male representatives from both families were gathered in the yard off to one side of the taro peeling party.

The ceremony was in language, so I had to read between the lines as to the goings on. With the chief as emcee, first men from my family had a chance to speak their piece. Bubu Simeon’s brother (also referred to as a bubu of mine) and a few uncles said what they needed to say. Their tone was solid and harsh. Then the chief allowed the other family’s representatives to speak. I was impressed by the sincere emotion and tears that were shed by these speakers. It was clear that they truly believed J had caused bubu’s death and that they were genuinely sorry. To close the ceremony, the families exchanged custom mats and then lined up and shook hands, much like the end of a sporting event, only this time there were mutual tears. During this, I sat and looked on with the women; our hands were still busy peeling the skin off of taro. The ceremony concluded, the families were to coexist in peace and forget about the past events. The next day, the gongei for bubu Simeon would also be for J.

The next day was filled with baking for the women and kava for the men. I spent a bulk of the day in my mami’s kitchen with a handful of other women, baking taro we had peeled the night before. The taro is usually chunked up into individual portions. This time, one was kept whole. This my mami made sure happened so that they could prepare a special basket of “kakae” for J’s family. The whole taro and a choice cut of pork would be respectfully presented to the family. Mami also had one of the women weave a basket from a green coconut palm with which to present the food.

As we women baked and sweated, the men sat around and drank kava. I didn’t have to wonder long as to Justin’s whereabouts as my papas, brothers, and bubus would filter in with updates. Seems Justin has quite the reputation for grinding strong kava and the men who know him well were getting a kick out of surprising unsuspecting others with his talent. They kept coming in with updates, like that they decided to nickname his grinding stone “shark” because of its sharp and impressive teeth that can grind strong kava, and that they guy he just made kava for could barely keep his eyes open.

That afternoon, the food was shared by the women of both families in the church yard. The women sat together in a long row, easily 100 yards, their taro spread out on leaves and meat at their sides in metal wash tubs. I learned this go round that it is key to be “in” with the women if you want a sizable chunk of meat. As the women parcel out the food, they usually have in mind who it is for. They will parcel out a few leaves and send a “yungfala” teenage girl to deliver them to the other women who are gathered. For the men, the parcels are given out at random at the nakamol. So, when we got back to the house, the parcel made specifically for me had about three times the amount of meat that Justin’s did.

To close the evening, I relaxed with the women I had been baking with that day over kava. We lingered as long as the sun would allow us, and before it was completely dark, Justin and I made our way home. We are still processing the beliefs and their relationship to us and our time here. I am thankful as ever to have him around so we can talk through these things together.

---

Photos

On Top
Aldayer taking a small break (at my request), posing on a stone in the garden.

Taro
The bamboo stand full of taro to be baked on the "10 Day"

Bigfala Taro
The special, huge taro reserved for special occasions. I still have yet to see someone dig one of these out of the ground and carry it.

Beef!
The men string up the bullock in the trees to cut it.

Skin blong Bulok
Two boys running the cow skin to the ocean shore.

Baking
Mami Mariah and Auntie Annieyes put hot stones on the leaf wrapped pieces of meat to bake.

Coconut Palm Basket
Made to present to J's family, a further sign of peace between the two families.

Sharing kakae
Loads of taro to be paired with meat, wrapped in leaves and shared.