An Arranged Affair

Part 72 - Negotations

"The drum is called a Lali. Its carved out of a single trunk.

There are different beats to call the village for different things. Deaths, funerals, weddings, church." Akanisi explained.

For all the modern communication, this form had stood the test of time and would last generations to come.

The beats of this drum were certainly different, it was more organic, the undertones of the wood it was made from resonated in every beat, it was an ancient sound that called to the soul, and had been a source of communication for the locals for centuries.

It was almost like it called to something very primal and we were drawn to the meeting house almost without our own accord.

The inside of the meeting house was impressive, an ancient structure built traditionally before any sense of the modern world had landed on these shores. There was minimal lighting provided only by a few solar powered bulbs. The thick trunks that supported the structure were bound together with fine handcrafted rope and the panels were made from hand woven panels, the skills of the artists clearly on show to all to see.

The workmanship that went into making the structure was impeccable and it was a structure that had survived generations.

It was sad to think that those skills were slowly dying away, as the young generation looked to the modern world and turned their backs on the skills and lessons of the old.

Akanisi had called some of the village boys earlier in the local language who had unloaded the boxes from the car and were now carrying them to the meeting house.

Although it didn't have many windows it was well lit with solar powered lights, the walls were covered in a traditional hand made cloth called Tapa and an array of traditional carved implements hung off the walls.

Considering this had been built before the aid of modern machinery, its construction was to be admired.

This was after all the heart of the village, where everyone gathered at any of life's milestones.

The whole atmosphere served to inspire awe and wonder, and also dread and apprehension.

We ushered into the building and were instructed to sit down and I watched as Akanisi handed Victoria a scarf to wrap around her shoulders. Although her full length maxi dress was fine, her bare shoulders were not. I watched as the village ladies draped the piece of cloth around Victoria's bare arms, it seemed to be disrespectful to show so much skin in the presence of the Chief and I almost laughed out loud. She was by far the most modest woman I had ever been with.

What did this chief have in store for me?

I watched with curiosity as fresh root were pounded into a large ornate bowl that looked like it had been carved out of a piece of wood that must have come from an impressively large tree. Water was mixed to the pounded roots and them the fibres were dredged out. A young man then took a small quantity of the remaining liquid out in a polished coconut shell cup and after a tradition blessing, the drink was offered to the chief followed by deep hollow sounding claps.

Then it was my turn. I looked ominously at the tan mud coloured liquid and looked at Victoria with trepidation. I am sure the water used to mix this came from a local creek and then there was the stark realization that the coconut cup was the same that had been offered to the chief.

The thought of that alone was enough to make my skin crawl.

But I also realised that every set of eyes in the building were on me and I had no other choice but to down the ominous looking liquid.

So mirroring the young man who held the coconut cup to me with both hands, I accepted the drink and like the chief had, I drained the cup in a single mouthful. The liquid had a strong earthy taste and was almost muddy. It was certainly an acquired taste, but after a few bowlfuls I couldn't help notice my tongue felt thick and almost numb and my body seemed to relax .

And as if the chief had been waiting for me to reach this state of relaxation, we entered into a negotiation of sorts.

He told me how his people had suffered over the past year and how it felt that, although the hotel was paying more than minimum wage, that they were being exploited. After reflecting on conversations between Victoria and Akanisi I had to agree, they were paid more than the minimum wage, but not a living wage and were trapped in an endless cycle of poverty.

He of course left very big hints of what he expected as certain donations to himself personally to ensure his unhindered support of the village and our efforts to help.

But that was to be expected.

As I had learned long ago, the piper had to be paid if you ever wanted anything done. This was a country where jobs were done, not tough conventional channels, but rather with the influence from one person who had connections with another, an interwoven spider web dotted with corruption, nepotism, societal rank and tribal feuds, fuelled with just how deep your pockets were and how many people you were willing to pay to get a job done, often pitting one side against another to obtain a satisfactory outcome.

And the more I listened, the more I learned. These were a simple people, God fearing and just wanting what we all wanted.

Respect.

Respect for their land and their rights as landowners.

Respect for their natural resources.

Respect for their culture.

Respect for them as a people.

It was the first time I had ever engaged in talks with the indigenous owners of the land, and while I owned the hotel and its chattels, the land was leased from the village.

The hours ticked by as we drank and talked, well I listened mostly, and it was close to midnight when bowl was drained. The people in the meeting house had slowing thinned as the hours passed and I walked on jelly like legs to the car, grateful for the cool night air and the soft mattress of my bed as sleep claimed me.