Go Finis

A mass exodus has occurred. On Wednesday last week, a significant number of my friends in Honiara left for Australia for good. Olketa go finis distaem, as we say. So here I sit, in my empty house (which so recently was a seething hive of social activity) and write.

Outside the snarling, biting and yowling has begun. Is yowling a word? A ferocious canine battle takes place outside my window every night without fail. At first it was perturbing to hear the dogs ripping each other to shreds, now I manage to zone it out.

My house may be empty, but it is never quiet. In the mornings I wake up to the sounds of mango-thieving pikinini creeping through my garden and squealing as they find fallen booty. My neighbour’s latest entrepreneurial pursuit is a betel nut stall next to the abandoned car outside my house. Until midnight people come to story and chew betel nut by the rusty car, shrieking with laughter olowe.

I love it here. I love the repeated rituals of my day. I love the pikinini stealing my mangoes and our repetitive and fruitless negotiations. “Spos iu takem samfala mango, iu save bringim kam samfala lo mi tu, ia?” I say. They raise their tiny child-sized eyebrows at me, indicating that we have an agreement. Mangoes are an infinitely valuable asset here. I have five mango trees, which makes my backyard “the place to be” for all pikinini within a 10 mile radius.

A year once felt like a very long time. I see now that as volunteers, we are visiting for a short time, nomoa. Long after we go finis, the pikinini will steal mangoes, the dogs will scream murder and the geckos will klaemapem walls yet.