If anyone had told
me that on my 23rd birthday I’d be sitting in the sand in a shady
grove of trees at the edge of a beach on a remote island kingdom in the middle
of the South Pacific watching two guys slaughter a pig for me…I probably would
have told you that pigs are my friends, not food.
Except for bacon.
Bacon is definitely food. Food from the Gods.
After almost four
months of repeated attempts at befriending (sometimes aggressively) the
abundant sows and their baby piglets that cross the street in greater numbers
and with greater authority than people here do, I’ve given in. One day I will
have a pig friend (probably named Sherlock), but for now, I’m content roasting
one over an open fire to reluctantly celebrate turning another year older.
 |
| Pote and Sala slaughtering the pig to be roasted. |
Not that I really
contributed to much of the cooking.
Corinne, Bailey,
Sammy and I watched on as the guys—Nepote and Lisala, two of Corinne’s friends from
‘Ohonua who we’ve also started hanging out with too since moving to
‘Eua—slaughtered what we hadn’t realized was a live pig in the sack that Sala
had carried the whole way over on our walk to the roasting spot.
 |
| Pote carrying the dead carcass to burn the hair off of it in the fire. |
When it was
finally dead, they set to work gutting it, and then burning the black hair and rubbing
it from the pig’s flesh. They spitted it with a long wooden pole, and began to
cook it, slowly turning the body over the flames.
Corinne, Sammy,
Bailey and I just sat there and watched, drinking coconuts and passing around a
bag of gummy worms.
Pote made a tepile for us to eat on—a pile of
luscious green leaves torn from some trees farther down the beach—and Sala
brought over the puaka tunu (roast
pig) and set it among the leaves. Using a bush knife, Pote began hacking at the
now crunchy pig-skin and ripping apart its limbs to make it easier for us to
eat.
“Kai taimi!” he said, “Time to eat!”
 |
| Sala holding the pig in place while Pote split it with a bush knife. |
Sammy and Bailey briefly
recited a Tongan blessing for our food, and then we all went at it, tearing off
the fatty skin—the best part—with our fingers, juices running rivers down our
palms and coating the sides of our mouths, which we just wiped off with the
backs of our hands. Sammy added some fresh pineapple, and Bailey some lobster
and crab into the mix too.
After a rendition
of “Happy birthday” and “Happy long life” to me, it was taimi kaukau tahi, time to swim in the ocean.
Nepote did some
cannonballs into the shallow coral-bordered pool, splashing us all, then
retreated to the shade of a rocky ledge with Sala to hide from the vela la’ã (hot sun).
We’ve decided
Tongans are afraid of it.
Sammy, Bailey,
Corinne and I sat back, letting the waves and sun wash over us, in shallow
pools of salt water, at the edge of a beach, on a remote island, of a kingdom
in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
Bliss.
 |
| Corinne relaxing with Sammy, Bailey and I while the boys worked to prepare our feast. |
 |
| Sala and Pote bro-ing out after swimming in the ocean. |
 |
| Bailey and Sammy rocking their sassy Tongan beach hats. |
No comments:
Post a Comment