Outer Islands of Fiji The People of Paradise

BBC Four Collections - specially chosen programmes

from the BBC archive.

For this collection, Sir David Attenborough

has chosen documentaries from the start of his career.

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are available on BBC iPlayer.

FIJIAN FOLK SONG

When we arrived in Fiji

and said that we'd come to look for old customs and rituals,

everyone said to us, "The place you should go are the Lau Islands."

The Lau Group lies 100 miles or so to the east of Fiji,

and between us and the main island lay this sea,

which has a bad reputation for sudden storms and hurricanes.

We decided we'd cross it in two goes, so late one night, we left Fiji

and sailed towards the island of Koro.

There are over 300 islands in the Fiji group,

and nearly all of them are surrounded by reefs,

so that as you approach one, you can see, in the crystal waters

beneath the bows of your boat, clumps of many coloured corals.

Once past the reef, you are in the lagoon,

and ahead of you lies a beach of brilliant silver sand.

Along the beach, a line of swaying coconut palms.

In fact, this is the South Seas paradise of everyone's imagination.

Beyond the palm trees stands the village.

A group of thatched huts in between pawpaw trees,

mangoes and banana palms.

We had come to this particular island, Koro,

for a very special reason, for the people of Koro are reputed to possess

an astonishing power over the creatures of the sea.

The tribal priest took me up to a cliff to demonstrate it.

He claimed that at his call,

a turtle and a white shark would appear from the depths of the sea.

According to legend, the turtle is the embodiment of Tui Naikasi,

the ancient founder

of the tribe, and the shark is his wife, for when he died,

he promised that he would stay close to his island,

and whenever his people wished to see him,

he would appear at their call

in the shape of a turtle to show that he still watched over them.

HE CALLS OUT IN FIJIAN

TRANSLATION: Tui Naikasi, who lives by the shore of our beautiful island,

who comes when called by the people of Nacamaki,

come to the surface, come to the surface.

HE REPEATS CALL

There was no doubt about it.

There, dimly in the waters below us, was the ghostly outline

of a large white shark cruising slowly in the bay.

HE CONTINUES TO CALL OUT

Remarkable though this was, I was not yet entirely convinced,

for the turtle had not yet appeared.

I was astonished.

The turtle floated lazily in the waters 300 feet below us,

gulping in lungfuls of air.

An obvious explanation for the extraordinary behaviour

of the turtle would be that perhaps it was trained

by rewards of food to come at the call of the priest.

But I'm fairly sure that isn't true, that isn't the correct explanation.

The people said they never gave it food, and I believe them.

Another explanation occurred to me the day after.

After the turtle had been called,

I went up to the cliff with the priest just to have a look

at the place. It's a very beautiful place.

And he said to me halfway up, "I think I'll call the turtle."

And I said, "No, don't bother, don't tire it out,

"I don't want to see the turtle today,

"I just want to look at the place."

And we walked on, and when we were closer, he said,

"I think I will call it."

And I said, "No, please don't bother."

We walked on, and just before we got to the top, he ran ahead of me

and he started calling, and sure enough, up came the turtle.

And it did occur to me that maybe the turtle just lived there,

maybe this bay was a very good place with a lot of food for turtles

and, after all, turtles aren't fish, they have to come up to breathe.

But that didn't explain the big shark.

And there was another extraordinary happening which I heard about.

The turtle flesh is taboo for the people of Koro.

They're not allowed to eat it.

A few months before we got there,

the women wading in the lagoon had accidentally in their nets

caught a very large turtle.

And they were struggling with it,

trying to get it on board their dugout canoe

which was floating nearby,

when suddenly a great white shark turned up and began to attack them.

They kicked and they shouted and they splashed,

but this shark wouldn't go away, and they became very frightened.

Then they took the turtle and threw it back in the sea.

And as soon as the turtle was back in the sea, it swam away,

and the great white shark swam with it and they never saw it again.

That's what they told me.

Well, after we'd spent a little time in Koro,

we continued onwards towards the island of Vanua Mbalavu.

And we were going to stay there for a month or so,

and on the second day that we were there,

we were greeted with a special dance.

THEY CHANT IN FIJIAN

In the old days, these were war dances,

performed either before the men went into battle,

to give them courage,

or else after the event, as a dance of triumph.

The words of the songs told of famous victories.

In fact, they were the means of passing on the tribe's history

from one generation to another.

But these chants have changed with the times.

And although there are still many which tell of the old battles,

there are now others which deal with more recent events,

with the sinking of a Japanese submarine in the last war,

or the exploits of the Fijian battalion in Malaya.

'We lived on this island for over a month, and one of

'our particular friends was the chief of the village.

'Whenever you visit a Fijian household,

'the first thing you are offered is a drink of kava.

'And there are several rules which govern how you must drink it.

'Before you accept the cup, you must clap as a sign of respect.

'You must drain it at one gulp.

'Throw out the muddy sediment at the bottom - that's optional -

'and then clap several times as a sign of thanks.

'The chief and I often talked about the old times and the ancient wars,

'for the Fijians were not only great warriors,

'but also notorious cannibals.

'The chief's grandfather had fought in these wars,

'and he still had some of his grandfather's weapons.

'This was a war club, and I asked him what the pointed end was for.

'Although his English was limited,

'he was able to make it quite clear that it was a very efficient

'instrument for knocking a hole in someone's skull,

'quite apart from its use in belabouring your opponent

'round the body.

'But he had an even more impressive club to show me.

'This one was extremely heavy.

'It was also obviously a lethal weapon.

'In the old days, big clubs like this one were famous,

'and, particularly if they belonged to a great warrior,

'they were given special names.

'The Disperser, the Damager Beyond Hope.

'The chief told me that up in the hills behind the village,

'there were some other relics of the old times -

'caves full of skeletons.

'If I wanted to see them,

'he said he'd get a guide for me who could take me up and show me.

'Although the islands are quite small, there are nevertheless

'mountains several hundred feet high in the centre of many of them.

'These mountains are of coral limestone

'and are usually covered in thick forest.

'The people themselves seldom go there,

'for it is much more convenient to have their vegetable gardens,

'banana plantations and coconut groves down on the flat lands

'by the edges of the lagoon, close to the villages.

'Indeed, our guide didn't seem to be very sure of the way.

'Eventually, we came to this cliff with a crack leading up its face.

'The crack ended on a ledge.

'And at the back of the ledge, we found a cavern which seemed to go

'deep into the heart of the limestone mountain.

'Inside, it was cool and dank and a little eerie.

'And at first, I could see no signs of any skeletons

'or any human or animal remains of any sort.

'And then at last we found what we had come for.

'Whatever else these skeletons were, they were certainly very old,

'for no-one in the village had been able to tell us

'exactly how they got there.

'I thought it was therefore worthwhile trying to find out

'what sort of people these had been.

'Maybe there were some pieces of pottery

'or something else which could give us a clue.

'This cave could hardly be a cemetery,

'for the Fijians these days bury their dead in the ground.

'In addition, these bones had been much disturbed,

'lying as they did in a jumbled heap,

'something which the islanders would scarcely have allowed

'had this been the grave of their recent ancestors.

'It was more likely that I was looking at the remains

'of the old tribal wars,

'for when there was an invasion,

'the warriors of the tribe would engage in battle

'while the rest of the people fled to the caves in the mountains

'for shelter and safety.

'If the invaders won,

'then they would seek out these caves and slaughter the survivors there.

'Perhaps these were the relics of such a massacre.

'And then I did find two objects which suggested that these skeletons

'were at least 100 years old.

'Two small axe heads, one of stone and the other - the white one -

'of whalebone ivory.'

And I don't suppose anyone for 50 or 100 years in Fiji

can have made any of these beautiful things,

for now they are all being replaced

by the much more efficient iron and steel.

In the mountains just beyond that cave,

there lies a very curious still lake.

It's a lake is associated with an odd legend.

The story is that if you go up there and perform the right rituals,

the fish that live in the lake are compelled to give themselves up.

And the story which explains it is this.

A long time ago, there was a goddess living in Tonga

and she was in love with a man in Fiji.

And one day she decided she would go and see him

and take him a present of a fish.

So she got a leaf with some water in it

and put the fish inside and set off.

Now, of course, all goddesses can fly.

And she started flying this way towards Fiji,

and when she got over Vanua Mbalavu, this island that we were on,

one of the men working down in the mountains saw her go by.

And he looked up and he said, "Where are you going?"

in a perfectly friendly way. And she ignored him.

So he asked her again. He said, "Where are you going?"

And she refused to reply, which annoyed him.

So he picked up a stick and he threw it at her, trying to knock her down.

But all he succeeded in doing was knocking the fish in the water

out of her hand, and it fell into the mountains,

and the water formed the lake,

and the fish multiplied until now the lake is full of these fish.

But the privilege of fishing in this lake rests with the descendants

of this man who threw the stick,

and he is the priest who governs the ritual.

So, with all the islanders who lived in the villages

close by the lagoon, when the time for fishing had come -

which only comes every six years or so, we were very fortunate -

we went up together

and we camped on the shores of this strange black lake in the mountains.

The people had built themselves

a complete little settlement of shelters

in the forest on the shores of the lake.

And at noon on the second day,

the rituals began with the ceremonial presentation of kava roots

to the senior chief.

It seems that it's impossible anywhere in Fiji

to have any sort of a ceremony

which doesn't start with kava.

The chief himself was an old man, now blind,

and after he had received the kava and given his approval

for the beginning of the ceremony,

more kava roots were taken and presented,

this time to the head priest, who governs the fishing ceremonials.

He had his own small hut slightly away from the main settlement.

The root having been presented to him,

and he also having given his approval,

the kava was taken away to be pounded.

The broken root was then mixed with water in a special wooden bowl.

The bundle of shredded fibres is used as a strainer to retain

the broken pieces of kava and prevent them

from getting in the drink itself.

The first cup was served to the priest.

Then, all the men sitting in the ring around him were given a cup each.

The first time you drink kava,

it tastes rather like some sort of gritty mouthwash,

but by now we've got used to it, and I'd come quite to enjoy it.

While all these ceremonies were going on, the women were making

these special skirts which must be used in the ceremony.

The leaves they use are those of the ngaio tree, for it was

a stick of ngaio wood that the man in the legend had hurled

at the Tongan goddess flying above

and had knocked the water and the fish from her hands.

The kava presentations having been completed,

the priest's assistant made a public announcement.

HE SPEAKS FIJIAN

TRANSLATION: The fishing of the lake will now begin,

but respect the taboos.

Every man and every woman who is here today must go down

and swim in the lake.

The only clothes that may be worn are the skirts

of the ngaio leaves that the women have prepared for you.

Anoint your bodies with coconut oil,

for if you do not, the waters of Lake Masomo will bite you.

You must swim in the lake all today, throughout this night

and the next day. No-one must attempt to catch any fish

until the proper moment has arrived and the fish rise to the surface.

When I tell you, take spears down to the lake and gather in the fish.

ATTENBOROUGH: By now, most of the men had put on the skirts

and the girls were anointing them with sweet-smelling coconut oil,

perfumed with crushed flower buds.

Each man took with him a log which he had cut in the forest

and which he will use

as a float, so that he can swim for many hours on end without tiring.

THEY LAUGH AND SHOUT

Soon, all of us were in the lake.

The water was very warm and the lake was really quite shallow,

but if you tried to stand up,

your feet sank up to your knees in a sticky ooze

which covered the bottom of the lake.

So, kicking slowly, we swam in lines across the lake,

chanting and singing.

THEY SING IN FIJIAN

After an hour or so, however, things began to liven up.

The swimming and the laughing, the chanting and the horseplay

continued throughout the whole of that day.

No-one swam for more than two or three hours at a time,

but went ashore for a rest and refreshments

whenever he wanted to,

for there was a gay holiday atmosphere

about the whole proceedings.

Nonetheless, there were people in the lake at all times throughout the day,

kicking and splashing.

As the night fell and the moon rose,

so many of the people came in from the lake.

Fires were lit outside the huts and dances began.

THEY SING IN FIJIAN

This sitting dance tells a comic story

about a mischievous water sprite who kept playing tricks on people.

Each one of the gestures of the dancers meant something

to everybody in the audience.

Everybody, that is, except me.

All night long, the singing and dancing continued.

Occasionally, people would get up and go back to the lake

to continue swimming, and others would come in, either to sleep,

to carry on dancing, or more likely still, to drink some more kava.

When morning came, there were still people swimming in the lake.

And, at midday, the priest gave the order

to take down bundles of fish spears,

for the time had now come

when, according to legend and custom,

the fish would rise to the surface of their own accord

to be taken by the swimmers.

And indeed it was true.

Some were floating belly up, almost dead, others were swimming

so close to the surface that they were easily speared,

and some were leaping high into the air.

The people harpooned them with such enthusiasm

that it was quite a hazardous business, swimming there

with spears flying in all directions.

The explanation of the death of the fish was quite clear.

This lake is normally very still, and the leaves

and other rotting vegetation sink to the bottom,

where they normally lie undisturbed by any current.

As a result, the sulphurous gas

produced by the decomposing vegetable matter

is entrapped by the mud.

But when 200 people swim in the lake,

stirring up the ooze at the bottom, then this gas is released.

It dissolves in the water and partially poisons the fish

so that they come up to the top.

Indeed, some of them were so asphyxiated

that you could pick them up by hand.

I suspect that this gas can't be absolutely lethal,

for if it were, then all the fish would soon be exterminated,

and there would be none to gather at the next festival.

Even so, the proportion of survivors must be very small.

So it was obviously important that this ceremony should not take place

too often, to allow the population of fish to recover,

which explains why, by tradition, the priest controls the festival,

and only allows it to be held every four or five years,

and why there is a taboo against fishing here

unless the priest has given permission.

Indeed, the whole ceremony was governed by taboos and rituals,

even the exact way the fish were brought in is ordered by custom.

Normally, a Fijian will thread the fish on a string which passes

through the fish's mouth and out through its gills.

But, in this case, tradition insisted that it must be done

in a different fashion, with a string passing through the eyes of the fish.

Why this should be so, I couldn't discover.

In all, nearly 200 huge, shining fish

were brought out of the lake that day,

and there was going to be great feasting in the villages that night.

To be absolutely honest,

the flesh of those fish was perhaps a little woolly,

and also there was just a faint suspicion of the taste of marsh gas,

but I enjoyed eating them very much.

They made a very welcome change after all the sea fish we'd been eating.

The other strange thing about those fish is that the only other place

where they occur, as far as I know, is the island of Tonga,

but that you might expect from the legend.

We ourselves were on the way there,

but what we found there, I'll tell you next time.