A strange, fantastical creature is cavorting in the water at the edge of the beach...he is arrayed in a short banana-leaf skirt, and has a crown of banana leaves. He kicks his knees up high and leaps...he is like a seahorse come to life. He blows a trumpeting call through the large conch shell he carries...and laughs, like Puck. He is joy incarnate.
As our dinghy comes to shore, the children rush out to "attack" us with their miniature spears. So I wonder, is the laughing seahorse god the seductive enticement to enter the palisade? And then the "guests" are eaten? I never receive an answer to this....but I feel the truth of it. Although the ceremonial greeting may be out-of-date in these times, I suspect it had its uses in times past.
Santa Ana is densely wooded, and Port Mary is a charming village carved out of the woods, with each home having large gardens. We walk into the open central square, and people have put up tables and mats to show their handicrafts. There are gorgeous bone fish hooks, and elaborate fishing floats, and tiny replicas of outrigger canoes. The large church building is next to the small bar. All the buildings are made of woven leaves and have dirt floors. The gardens are organized, and full of produce.
We even finally see the elusive megapode, a black chicken with big feet. One of our shipmates brings back a megapode egg, which the chef cooks for him for breakfast. It is about the size of a goose egg, and is about 98% yolk, with a thin white rim. The megapode bird uses a heat source other than its own body to incubate it's eggs. It creates a compost heap to hold the eggs during the incubation period - it has a sensitive gland at the base of its head which detects temperature, so it sticks its head into the compost heap to check if the temperature is correct. Isn't nature amazing?
We walk a path to a large cleared circle, where the villagers will gift us with their dances. They have arrayed benches and flower-garlanded arches for seating. As in every village we have visited, the dance and singing styles are unique. Three elders keep the music going, with a variety of sustained tonal notes, not exactly harmonious, yet arresting. The women create a very quiet, very soft dance which honors the yam, and the harvest of the yam. They have an element to their costume which I have not seen before, which is strung shells worn bandolier style, criss-crossing their chests. I very much would like to have some of these decorations, but they are not for sale - they are part of family wealth and only to be passed along from generation to generation. They are wonderful.
The men approach from a distance away, out of the woods, and dance for a long time, in uniform rows and columns, their grass skirts swaying over their modern shorts.
Sorry, I have no still pictures, and the videos of the dancing will not upload. Apologies.
Day 8 on the Clipper Odyssey, 28 November 2010
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