Where in the World is Farhana?: Old Polynesia (Fiji & Samoa)

The roosters aren’t silent,
Cock a doodle doo-ing in the village grass,
On an island in the outskirts of Southern Fiji,
The lady that sized me up and sewed the blue dress with the hibiscus flower print to my exact size,
Without. Taking. One. Measurement.
 
The sun hitting the green grassy pastures,
The wooden shacks for the chickens,
The church that was bright and sunny,
Where I met the woman there from Kandavu,
And she had on the same type of skirt the lady had sewn me.
 
Across to Samoa where the homes have no walls,
A bright pink sheet hung with clothing pegs dividing my room from the rest of the platform,
The fried reef fish Fanny’s relatives cooked, wondering if I should avoid eating it,
Lonely Planet said avoid all fresh reef fish because of the toxins.
 
This is what it looks like,
Driving to the kids’ school,
Their white shirts and red short uniforms,
I can only remember the last time I remembered,
Was it red shirts and white shorts?
Needing to be accompanied at all times in those parts,
Because a single woman cannot not be attached to a family unit.
 
This is what it looks like,
Back to Fiji,
Royal blue starfish off the reef,
Juxtaposed against our fuchsia kayak,
The island nights Tim provided,
The fishing we did in between,
Freshly caught Yellowfin tuna,
The Fijians calling dibs on the head and tail, the most coveted parts of the fish
Just like my dad,
Like true Bengalis they just know what’s good.
 
This is what it looks like,
A spire of green grass,
The cackle of a chicken,
Village huts,
Homes with no walls,
Seamstresses that can sew a perfectly fitted dress at the bat of an eye,
This is what it looks like,
To be in Old Polynesia.


Inspired from travels in 2010 & 2011 to Kandavu, Fiji and Savai'i, Samoa