Ijjiffian is a non-federated city state consisting of two main islands (one very big, the other quiet, small) separated by thousands of miles and years apart. Yet the history of each island is near identical, given time. The people of the islands of Ijjiffian can learn from each other how best to live on islands in the sun and the shade of impending doom. Voices from Ijjiffian assumes an eastern perspective that is neither black nor white but bound around big Ms – their uncommon bond. I decided to write about Ijjiffian after visiting a number of Pacific Islands and noting stark similarities between the issues faced by these islands and Australia. I believe that as Australians we can learn a lot from exploring the history and culture of our neighbours. I don’t understand where you’ve bin (On one island of Ijjiffian, the constitution recognises the role of the military forces in stabilising tension between races).
I understand where you are coming from I do, I think after visiting Just don’t know where you are going to In the shade
Lie still You will be burned
Run You will return
Turn over and play dead For a century or two The lava will ferment
Life is hard and getting harder Will we burn or will we Sink again into The abscess of a grin Feasting
Do what it takes For the family to survive, no matter what?
We are three upon The land we all love What will it take To marry a threesome
You will need a big wedding cake. In the big white house
Cheers, mate.
Green for life (In a tourist shop at the Shangra-la resort I met a delightful girl who had some pearls of wisdom to share)
Life is grim when you wait for the time past When giants stirred their pots and loins Wishing for a green life in the sun Wanting no more than a pot of rum
But time passes on, when life is unjust Like a bullet from a gun, shot over the trees Makes all nearby, tremble at the knees Whilst kneeling and pawning for trinkets
But the sun sometimes shines in the strangest of places Sneaking a look beyond the keys and coins Making life a little better, wetter and warm When seeking some shirts hanging, not torn
My, oh my, you sure look the part Twisting and turning like a slow propeller Green suits you fine, it makes you look thin Plus it’s green for life, or so our teacher said.
Sweating for a job (At a roof top eatery in Suva we watched a local being assessed for a job as a tourist guide. His assessor thought that he was good at the talk, but not sure he could walk the walk. We never did find out if he got the job).
There are many ways to make a living Driving a bus, rafting or swimming But the best job of all, on an island in the sun Is sweating for a job
Some might say it isn’t befitting To sweat for a job, whilst sitting Looking all bothered, prim and so neat What would they know, bet they smell sweet
So to land the job you have to sit At a table of tourists with pieces of meat And veges rolled tight All capped with coconut cream and hot spice
When you dig in The heat hits you so It pucks the pores at the base of your nose All of a sudden a storm breaks loose
It’s cool to sweat for a job We meet pauline We met Pauline at the fish market Well that’s what you would expect Isn’t it? Not in Ijjiffian
It seems so simple, to sum But not it seems in the sun When it’s time to make merry With a wedding cake waiting nearby
We came in the door, to see the sea That’s real fun, at night, you see Go pick your fish and bring it along The chef will cook it, all for a song
When its time to leave What is the best way To say goodbye in Ijjiffian Be creative
Best with pen in hand And a card of satisfaction Tell a story Get a reaction
Go the extra mile help them Earn the price, we paid Be nice That doesn’t cost at all
Pauline, we love you, like your land You took the time to explain to us The oh so simple To sum
Bet the two meter man doubled Over with a laugh, when he got his gong ‘I know how to meet a crab’ ‘But you didn’t meat the shell’, was his song
Not yet, but it will happen The time will come when the carapace will sing If we don’t watch out for each other I still love you (For the doctor)
Caressing palms bent by the winds of love Bounce back joyously with new life When given a shove or two or sixty
Like the palms, the time comes To yield back, calling to the fronds Acknowledging the strength of the string That binds arthritic hands and hearts
Two meter maid (Our worlds are full of interesting and startling people)
Like Surfers Paradise Ijjifian has it own One escorted us, the other Exhorted the benefit of the table
What fun we had listening, To a husky laugh Hanging low in humid air A dusky frown
Looking ever upward We see the meter maid’s knee All is not lost, so it is said The boys will feast On the two meter men.
Terri, be damned (You can have fun, but you can’t hide on Ijjiffian)
Bula, its been fun in the sun All day, lazing by the pool That reflects the loss that tears At the heart of the palm
Darkness descend on a land Once loved by all But some things never change The whit of the sneaky grin
Visetaka Terri What does it mean, not hear What really do I care It can’t happen here
Bula, I like your shirt Green for life in Ijjiffian, Terri There it comes again floating From the mouth, like a whisper on the sand
What does it mean, is it as I think Can’t be surely, I ask the chef quick
Hey man, U R the BOSNIAN
Makes sense, I think Sitting in a sulu Waiting for the sun To set another
Of cause, I am
Bula, again now, slower If you please, slower now As life thrusts you into the down light Upon the coral key
U R the BOSMAN
Bula, What did they mean Being bored of studies Not boss of this show Little did I know
No its seems, More simple than that Look up your dress It stares right back
Once, there was an albino Ijjiffian Who talked the walk, not walked the talk But, not, I am afraid now
Of what he might say About the day he met The cocks of the show
One was a star, a puncher, a prince To blackmen all over Ijjiffian
The other a czar, some think a ghoul But under his skin, he might be a jewel
A land in turmoil, it takes a hard hand To bring it together, to make it stand For what is right for all, and then some It may take some time, I hope it does come
The cats of Ijjiffian Are like cats The world over They won’t do what You tell them
Ask Mum.
They wander here and about Sitting softly on their space Ever watchful of impending doom That stares them the face
Butting the wind they brace Against the gusts of coming disasters That will haunt them For years to come
Hark, cats have nine lives So it seems All is not lost There are more to ream
Boys from ooze (Ijjiffians from the big island can be tiresome at times)
We’ve been to countries That often close down It happens you know When a clown is in town But no matter you say It won’t happen here
We don’t call Australia home, anymore
All the sons and daughters Sunning in the sun Away from, the land they first came We’re in it together Around and afar When will our journey end
Later or sooner the world will be free Of carbon and mites that eat at the scree But no matter what happens All over the lands
We are loud to be Australian
Overseas
Oi nk, Oi nk, Carspace race (Most tourist resorts on Ijjiffian run a crab race for guests. The crab pot should be donated to charity not pot)
Would you like to win, like big Bigger than most, a top pot Potted My friend
Of course How done today down here We race carspaces Along the sand
Today when its late You can win a pot in hand To cast upon the wind Or wherever you stand
Good show I’m in for the spin Lets see if I can win The carspace race
Can I bet on the side A little bit more Twelve to one Makes sense my friend
Sure
Ten thou sounds good Can they cover the mat What it takes Just like that
On no not that You’r too fat Were little here You must be a Bosnian
The carapaces ran along the sand, I never did win a carspace in this land
Freddy (According to Joe Keresi there will be a casino on little Ijjiffian pretty soon now at Momi Bay)
I met Freddy, by a pool Darkened by life, in the sun. ‘How r u, mate’, he grasped Lushing his eyes on pearly peaks.
I can show you the real little Ijjiffian Listen to my song, it will make you bright First, let us think, what it takes To make a life like yours and mind, last forever.
Sinew woven, wrapped round mind of steel And a heart of gold, if you can get it The answer my friend is not in your hand As you lay lusting on the land
Some come and chatter, rafting, heading down The river of streams, lined with sparkling frogs Muses tinkle the Kava, mugs Holding the dharma, but not XXXX
The bonds to land, loosened, ten percent here Then percents there, where will it end Any way to make a living Leaving their heart behind Within the lines of ashen faeces
Good thing, bad thing, who can tell Ask Joe!
Good thing, says Freddy, I can see, past the three The ocean’s roar, we need the greed For pots and bedpans and man’s right to learn To live the dread! Broken hearts (There has been a tradition of social unrest on little Ijjiffian)
Long waiting For the time they will be wholed Again
A new dawn will descend When its time to leave Again and again
A thirty-five year old heart Is fine when locked In with the centuries
Pick me up Turn me over And do it again, and again, and again
When will we ever learn The wisdom of the swamp
Bakers delight (The Reverend Thomas Baker was a missionary on little Ijjiffian, he is renowned as being the last missionary in that country to be killed and eaten. The feasters didn’t leave much – just the sole of his shoes)
King Kong Kat I smell a rat
Who says that Baker say that
Who pushed him in Was it the king Of the great big bin He didn’t push him in
I said the stalk With my bony fork I took him out With a horrendous shout
What say him now All left is the cow
Hmm, yum,
My fat tum
A soul is never lost Whilst laces boot The rumps Of a depressed land
Hot tasty palms (There is one resort on little Ijjiffian where one groundsman knows the individual taste of the 835 coconut trees in his care. On another resort the staff resort to ironing trees before a big event)
Sticky and itchy For the caress Of a dusky, husky Wendy
Palms wait, for touching The steam of hot desire The drink of oil, poured
Like bathers in the sun Waxing and wafting Odours of joy
Soon to be touched heavily Limpid made upstanding Arching to the heaven
The sound of the surf To another, of lust Forever, hot biscuits and curry
Frankly, at or nearby Waiting to flatten Ijjiffian In the embrace of the cobra
Lube up everyone It has been fun in the sun All day, lying Round the pool of blood
Darkness descends On the land Once loved By sailors upon the sea
But some things never change
Lube Up Bye, Bye Terrine What does it mean Check out time
Lube Up A very Frank person (ode to satendra) (The politics of little Ijjiffian can be quite confusing to outsiders. However, there is one man, a sifter of words, who shined bright on the horizon. Just hope his star does not shift into the valley of wisdom wrankled)
Ijjiffians are a very frank persons Mind you, so would you be If you were tanked so often
Nevertheless when all is said and done Can we really tell The Knowing from the Knowledge
Listen to the young men Waiting their turn on the potty The time has come to raise their standard
What they say may well have been What has been said, before, Will it also be said, after
The old men of fifty are fine They lie in wait and drink kava Waiting for the sun to shine again, from where it has always shined
But the younger men of eighty-four Huddle, together, not Li-brains, not lions Whilst a carapace drags it shell above beady eyes
Oh! girmitiyas
Does passion turn to pus When frankly turns the key To a sudden death of heart
We die always in three ways
Arise, oh Ijjiffians, come back Take the land forward to the sun Mend the hurt to save the dirt
The knowing is in the knowledge There has to be an answer Do not lose hearts
Sigatoka bones and stones (The Sigatoka Sand Dunes on Viti Levu shield the bones of ancient sea goers who brought their pottery and way of life, probably from the north some 2,600 years ago. At this time it is believed that the site contains the oldest remains of an early Ijjiffianan society based on the Lapita culture) For eons they lay, waxing and waning Neath a scorching sun, rubbed By the winds and wash of time
They had come, who really knows when Sailing or drifting from antiquity Why
They landed upon a foreign shore Drenched in light, washed by the rains Of a new existence
Some is known of this darkened race Of giants, rambling the world Near the sunrise of stories
Did they pot it here or bring from there Time may tell as the researchers search For meaning among the dunes
They left a legacy Of bones and shards of clay That clearly articulates their stay
Some all rigid, lined by the touch Of heavy hands, lovingly posed Perhaps after death
Others a tumble of bits and pieces Ravaged perhaps when the big tide Came to town, who knows
Their pots and their pans Can be seen, even today Some of them whole, many holed
Walk at the dunes and kick at the sand You soon might discover Pretty sharp pieces of clay all around
Some of them marked By the touch of a hand They now lie forlorn, often hidden by sand
What happened to this lustrous race They seemed to go the way they came Softly, silently, ever onward
All that is left are the bones and the stones And the stories they tell As the warm wind blows
Beached wales (Today, little Ijjiffian is host to many tourist who come from all over the world to luxuriate in the sun and sand. Many are from big Ijjiffian far to the east. Other are from well afar, the land of the cold, sleet and unwelcome sheep). They arrive, stirred and carousing, loud as thunder Their thighs jiggle below tummies of lard They plonk themselves down, get stuck into the plonk They are English it seems, so don’t give a damn
Back home all is awry, the lands gone to junk There are poor on the streets that are turning to muck But some it so seems, can still travel afar To lands of the sea and sunshine and luck
Around the pool of listing laments Where fronds are ironed daily To get rid of the crinks They loll and they loudly call for a bun
Beached whales, more likely belugas All tumbling white, soaped and smelly They roll around on wicker beds
Thunder thighs.
Something I really dread.
Nuptials (Most, if not all, Pacific Islands attract couple from all over the world as a place to join or rejoin [in one way or another]. To facilitate, there are luxurious resorts and often a white chapel by the sea). There may be many ways to skin a cat If you think laterally, and used to being thin On the ground but quite sound of mind, mind you
Think about it, it’s quite good A cheap airfare and food and a bed To while away the time some seem to dread
What if we offer an incentive or two See what happens to in the life in zoo Where they prattle and play but never do wed
Here’s how it goes, a holiday or two For all in the show plus some from the zoo There’s only one catch, the monkeys must rattle
Saves time and money and the heartbreak of loss Of life all alone in the city of gloss Plus many advantages if you don’t give a toss
Invite them all, so few will come We can really enjoy
Weddings in the sun Song for little ijjiffian (To my mind there are strong similarities between little Ijjiffian [Fiji} and Australia)
In a land torn asunder, often by hatred, more often by plunder They set up a way to calm such things down Enshrined in a way that lets clowns come to town
They come all puffed up, wearing uniforms, so proud Pushing their tanks, driving democracy underground It’s all for the best though, or so it might seem
Nandan was a man, who took it no more Was beaten and bashed, then made for the door Only to return when the time was ripe, to grab the limelight
Frank is a man, a chameleon it seems No matter the name, the costumes the same Stephen King would be pleased
Leave us alone, we know what to do It’s time to wait till we can agree, real soon Or so we hope, in this land in the sun
A gorilla says Clarke, the worst of his kind That raped Africa land killed all the deer People waiting to hear that the land isn’t theirs
The chiefs have gone soft, rolled over and fled Leaving the void that is where hatred was bred Between girmitiyas and the two metre men
Can it happen here, in the land of the cross No way, we all say, we aren’t such a toss It can’t happen here, we value so much
Are you sure it can’t, have you stopped to think Maybe it can if our world’s in a stink Where balance is thrust out the door, down the sink
Red, white and blue has traditionally been The colour of justice and life so serene But the world is a-changing and things may so too
The balance is now, upon the land of the cross Will it be used to change the hue, from red white and blue To green giants that will eat at our hearts, to our loss Falling stars in spirt vale (Legends are wondrous things) Along the Sigatoka coast is a legend so grand It deserves to be heard in this place writ by hand Taken for granted, by some by the shore It tells a story about a strange back door
Often at night you will see a star upon high Suddenly stumble and dip and drop from the sky Streaking wondrous and clear all the way to the sea Touching the heart of all that see
This star represents a life now lost On the firma below, where seldom is frost But what happens next is the part I like best Legends are wondrous things in the west
Sit high upon the dunes of Sigatoka Waiting for that star to fall from the sky Then wait and listen to the swirl of the breeze Its likely you will find you tremble at the knee
As the breeze rushes by, look close and wait For the wail of a soul, looking for its mate As it wanders all over the sands and the bones
A back door to hell, heavens, who knows. Vuda (Little Ijjiffians believe that they originated from the shores of Lake Tanganyika in East Africa. Fable records that Lutunasobasoba, a powerful chief and navigator, guided his people in their huge ocean going canoes to their final landing place at Vuda on Viti Levu’s western coast near Ba. Interestingly, one of the largest coastal river systems in Tanganyika (now Tanzania) is the Rufiji.Science tells a different story with the island of Lakeba (in the Lau Island group) located between Viti Levu and Tonga being the first base of Polynesians and Melanesians who travelled south and settled here some 3,000 years ago. Ancient carbon-dated pottery found on Lakeba dates back to about 1500BC. Scientists believe they were the first Fijians) The kings of this land came from afar A long tome ago They came on the waters Pushed by a fan of desire To land on the shore near Ba
They came from Tanganyika They were black The wind blew them here Now they will never go back To the land from where they come
Our bones do not lie Rotten in the sand We are strong Stand tall and proud Known as the two metre men
From our lions Came much fine issue To sit on this land A paradise found Amongst the palms
We made mistake We will admit Taking other to our bosom Has left mouths of grit That we must spit out
Our lands are ours alone Not to be shared With newcomers Or foreigners From a foreign land
We must resolve or dispute Move forward toward A return of sun A sea of tranquility Within a stormy void
Joe’s story I met Joe at an ice cream stand On the top floor of a department store Manned by Wendy Not Wendy’s After Indian food Too hot to handle But not Joe who was the man
Joe it seems was the man of the day Having shaken Frank’s hand on a deal (In the shade) That would change, perhaps forever, The lay of the bay
His story is queer, almost surreal A boxer who won glory Filled with zeal and a desire To succeed, beyond his means
Enticed to big Ijjiffian He married a girl and settled on Perth Working with disadvantage youth Because he was black And blue from the From years of taking
Now it was time to give Assisted by others His country in need Of riches To stem the slide Into the oceans
He saw a chance Grabbed it with gusto Pushed the agenda To save His islands in the sun
Not all agree His method for salvation But what options are there For a dwindling Island of palms
Ask Freddy and Frank.
Patterns in the sun Why do men get to do all the fun stuff While women lie in the sun? Joe story This actually happened, believe it or not I met Joe Keresi, the boxer, at an ice-cream stand in a department store in Suva, Fiji.
We had taken a sightseeing tour from Yanuca Island (Ngadura) to Suva to visit the Museum. After an excellent set of Indian foods I went to get us some ice cream. Joe was standing talking to the Fijian girl behind the cart. After I placed my order, he accosted me. “How are you, mate!’ Here we go again thinks I, another tout, even in a place like this. Turns out I was wrong.
Joe Keresi was born in Fiji, probably around 19___. In 1974 he won GOLD at the Christchurch Commonwealth games. He also won another Gold Medal later. An Australian boxing promoter (?? Lewis) bought him to Australia in the late seventies?. According to www.chdhsdkhj.com, as a professional boxer he fought eight bouts, winning seven including four KO wins. He also met and married an Australian girl and settled in Perth WA.
In Perth, because he looked black, Joe was roped in to ‘mentoring, Aboriginal youths in East Perth. They said I was fit and a good bloke and someone the men would take notice of. He used to train them in the gym and take them for training runs in a nearby park where he would often notice a Japanese couple sitting.
One day he flopped down, not far from the couple. The Japanese bloke accosted him and asked him what he was doing always running around the park with a group of black boys? Joe explained what he was about.
Later the Japanese bloke offered him a job in his company (Asaka?) that Joe claimed is the largest Japanese Corporate in Japan.
Early on, the Japanese asked his advice on how best to do business in Fiji. There specific interest was for a Casino. Joe laughed at thought. He told them, it can never happen. There are fifty Chiefs who would need to agree.
When Bainimarama came to power Joe told his boss. Now it can happen.
About two week ago, Joe met with Bainimarama to discuss a deal. If the Japanese purchase the failed Resort at Momi Bay for F$200M they will be granted an exclusive Casino license. The Casino would be managed by the Japanese but staffed by Fijians. The project would be sold to the Fijian people as the way to return to financial prosperity and to provide the funding for social welfare programs such as free medical services.
Joe indicated to Bainimarama that such a deal would be acceptable to his company. They shook hands to seal the deal. Joe rang his CEO in Perth who jumped on a plane to Headquarters in Japan. The plan is to bring the Japanese management to Fiji in the coming months, accompanied by thirty or so of the highest rollers in the world who will validate the sites potential. Watch this space.
I asked Joe what he thought his people would think of the idea. He said many would not like it. They will argue that a Casino will bring crime and other problems. He agreed that this was a problem for American run Casinos but not, he said, of the Japanese Casinos.
Later I told a 57 year old pool attendant this story and asked his opinion. The Chiefs will not like it, most people will not like it but it is a good idea. We need the jobs and the money in Fiji.
On the surface, Joe’s story sounded so outlandish that I was inclined to think, this has to be a take. But the detail was there. Ask anyone in Fiji. They all remember Joe Karesi the fighter. I did asked our 35 or so year old tour guide. I asked the pool guy. They knew of Joe and that he was a good guy who went to Australia. He checked on as a registered boxer.
Life follows Songlines 