Initial Impressions of Tarawa, Kiribati
After two hours flying over the barren Pacific, the pilot informed the passengers on Air Nauru Flight 222 that we were about to land.
On what?
Having not seen a speck of land in two hours, I began to wonder if the king tides that struck Tarawa last week had sunk the entire atoll. But moments later, a narrow string of coconut palms and sand emerged into view. The long, thin strip of land separated the deep blue Pacific from a rich blue-green lagoon, almost the milky colour of a glacial river in the northern Rockies. It is amazing people have on these narrow strips of land out in the middle of the Pacific for centuries. It is more amazing they found the land at all.
A cynical reading of the history of foreign influence on Tarawa would go as follows: First, we commandeered the land and enslaved the people (blackbirding, phosphate mining). Then, we fought our battles on the sand, killing many local people and polluting the soils and waters (WWII). Next we buried the land in our waste (proliferation of modern packaging and trade). Now, unable to bear the sight or stench of the mess, we have devised a plan to just sink the whole damn place altogether.
I have seen some poor, destitute places before, but the overcrowded, trash-filled stretch of South Tarawa is a different thing entirely. You can see that it was a beautiful place: a narrow coral-ringed strip of sand and palm trees snaking along giant blue-green lagoon. Due to the overcrowding and lack of planning, the basic thatch-roofed homes preferred by most people are mixed among blown out old concrete structures, WWII relics, rusting old cars, appliances and even planes, and endless festering piles of garbage. Tarawa appears not so much poor as post-apocalyptic, like a civilization scratching out an existence among the detritus left behind by a nuclear holocaust.
The i-Kiribati have been complicit in creating the mess. Poor governance and planning has led to the over-population of narrow South Tarawa, and the related waste and pollution problems (a stroll, a careful stroll, along the beach near Betio will tell you why I always said no to the shellfish). The construction of a causeway, connecting the communities of Betio and Bairiki at the southern tip of Tarawa with the rest of the atoll, further exacerbated the problems by cutting off the natural means for flushing the lagoon. It also facilitated the rapid growth of Betio and the increase in vehicles, virtually all older Japanese cars which failed that country's more stringent safety standards. The public transport system is now among the best in the Pacific if who value frequency far, far, far above safety and comfort. Every couple minutes, a crowded minivan with a hand-written sign declaring "bus" on the front dashboard and blaring local radio or remixed reggae comes barreling by. The rides can be fun, among the highlights of a visit to Tarawa, provided you are seated in the vicinity of a secure hand-hold, not the speakers or a large bucket of tuna from the market.
The garbage situation has actually improved in recent years, thanks to a can and bottle recycling program spearheaded by Alice Leney and the Foundations of the Peoples of the South Pacific (though people still use old bottles to decorate graves!). There are plans to eventually expand the program to include cardboard, steel and organics ever come to fruition. Like everything, here, it will take time. Half the homes do not have toilets. And people are simply not used to dealing with large amounts of waste, especially inorganic waste. The traditional waste management system -- sweep up the "house" (mostly outdoors) in the morning, and deposit what you under the coconut trees -- is perfect if you live only off the resources of an uncrowded tropical atoll. Add to your home the extended family from Abemama hoping to find work and a smattering of western packaged goods, and the traditional system will fail miserably.
Of course, it is not all thatch roofs and garbage. A couple nights later, I was invited to a government banquet in honour of two retiring members of the Fisheries Department. The van came to pick me up at the hotel, two hours late, and made about ten more pick-ups, in which the driver would navigate down laneways, pocked with potholes deep enough to penetrate the water table, with the van lights off so as not to bother the people in their homes, then honk the horn ten or twelve times to signal our arrival. Shortly after 8 pm, we arrived in front of the Central Pacific Producers shipping facility near the tip of the concrete pier in Betio, the crowded town at the tip of South Tarawa.
There, I listened to a variety of incomprehensible speeches in the local language, pretty much forcibly ate a large quantity of eel, and was prodded incessantly by the Fisheries Minister and the CEO of the government-run seaweed company with fresh cans of Victoria's Bitters. The speeches were interrupted every few minutes by some deafening music, the typical Pacific mélange of remixed reggae and island music, to which one of the honorees or the head of a fisheries division were forced to dance with a sulu-wearing young woman for the amusement of the inebriated audience.
After toasting an elderly Japanese man I have never met with a large plastic cup full of scotch, I escaped the government-sanctioned binge drinking to chat with the Ghanian-Australian marine lawyer -- could there be a more jovial combination of nationalities? -- visiting Tarawa to review fisheries policy. I should call it the lack of a well-centralized policy, allowing foreign companies to making deals for live reef fish with the individual Island Councils, who have never had to worry about issues like maintaining a sustainable harvest.
I could call the evening strange. But there is no sense assigning standard labels in a place that, by any rational measure, should not even exist. The blend of people here, the fact that people are here at all, is a testament to the ability of humans to live in the most isolating environments. I woke up each morning wondering whether the entire experience was just one bizarre dream.
On what?
Having not seen a speck of land in two hours, I began to wonder if the king tides that struck Tarawa last week had sunk the entire atoll. But moments later, a narrow string of coconut palms and sand emerged into view. The long, thin strip of land separated the deep blue Pacific from a rich blue-green lagoon, almost the milky colour of a glacial river in the northern Rockies. It is amazing people have on these narrow strips of land out in the middle of the Pacific for centuries. It is more amazing they found the land at all.
A cynical reading of the history of foreign influence on Tarawa would go as follows: First, we commandeered the land and enslaved the people (blackbirding, phosphate mining). Then, we fought our battles on the sand, killing many local people and polluting the soils and waters (WWII). Next we buried the land in our waste (proliferation of modern packaging and trade). Now, unable to bear the sight or stench of the mess, we have devised a plan to just sink the whole damn place altogether.
I have seen some poor, destitute places before, but the overcrowded, trash-filled stretch of South Tarawa is a different thing entirely. You can see that it was a beautiful place: a narrow coral-ringed strip of sand and palm trees snaking along giant blue-green lagoon. Due to the overcrowding and lack of planning, the basic thatch-roofed homes preferred by most people are mixed among blown out old concrete structures, WWII relics, rusting old cars, appliances and even planes, and endless festering piles of garbage. Tarawa appears not so much poor as post-apocalyptic, like a civilization scratching out an existence among the detritus left behind by a nuclear holocaust.
The i-Kiribati have been complicit in creating the mess. Poor governance and planning has led to the over-population of narrow South Tarawa, and the related waste and pollution problems (a stroll, a careful stroll, along the beach near Betio will tell you why I always said no to the shellfish). The construction of a causeway, connecting the communities of Betio and Bairiki at the southern tip of Tarawa with the rest of the atoll, further exacerbated the problems by cutting off the natural means for flushing the lagoon. It also facilitated the rapid growth of Betio and the increase in vehicles, virtually all older Japanese cars which failed that country's more stringent safety standards. The public transport system is now among the best in the Pacific if who value frequency far, far, far above safety and comfort. Every couple minutes, a crowded minivan with a hand-written sign declaring "bus" on the front dashboard and blaring local radio or remixed reggae comes barreling by. The rides can be fun, among the highlights of a visit to Tarawa, provided you are seated in the vicinity of a secure hand-hold, not the speakers or a large bucket of tuna from the market.
The garbage situation has actually improved in recent years, thanks to a can and bottle recycling program spearheaded by Alice Leney and the Foundations of the Peoples of the South Pacific (though people still use old bottles to decorate graves!). There are plans to eventually expand the program to include cardboard, steel and organics ever come to fruition. Like everything, here, it will take time. Half the homes do not have toilets. And people are simply not used to dealing with large amounts of waste, especially inorganic waste. The traditional waste management system -- sweep up the "house" (mostly outdoors) in the morning, and deposit what you under the coconut trees -- is perfect if you live only off the resources of an uncrowded tropical atoll. Add to your home the extended family from Abemama hoping to find work and a smattering of western packaged goods, and the traditional system will fail miserably.
Of course, it is not all thatch roofs and garbage. A couple nights later, I was invited to a government banquet in honour of two retiring members of the Fisheries Department. The van came to pick me up at the hotel, two hours late, and made about ten more pick-ups, in which the driver would navigate down laneways, pocked with potholes deep enough to penetrate the water table, with the van lights off so as not to bother the people in their homes, then honk the horn ten or twelve times to signal our arrival. Shortly after 8 pm, we arrived in front of the Central Pacific Producers shipping facility near the tip of the concrete pier in Betio, the crowded town at the tip of South Tarawa.
There, I listened to a variety of incomprehensible speeches in the local language, pretty much forcibly ate a large quantity of eel, and was prodded incessantly by the Fisheries Minister and the CEO of the government-run seaweed company with fresh cans of Victoria's Bitters. The speeches were interrupted every few minutes by some deafening music, the typical Pacific mélange of remixed reggae and island music, to which one of the honorees or the head of a fisheries division were forced to dance with a sulu-wearing young woman for the amusement of the inebriated audience.
After toasting an elderly Japanese man I have never met with a large plastic cup full of scotch, I escaped the government-sanctioned binge drinking to chat with the Ghanian-Australian marine lawyer -- could there be a more jovial combination of nationalities? -- visiting Tarawa to review fisheries policy. I should call it the lack of a well-centralized policy, allowing foreign companies to making deals for live reef fish with the individual Island Councils, who have never had to worry about issues like maintaining a sustainable harvest.
I could call the evening strange. But there is no sense assigning standard labels in a place that, by any rational measure, should not even exist. The blend of people here, the fact that people are here at all, is a testament to the ability of humans to live in the most isolating environments. I woke up each morning wondering whether the entire experience was just one bizarre dream.
