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Authors: J. Maarten Troost
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upon it seems acutely impermanent, is to view the ocean as other, more tethered, cultures perceive the universe. The ocean does seem infinite when seen from an atoll, by day merging with the blue sky, by night extending toward the stars, seamlessly. Just as many westerners cannot conceive of God without placing him within something—the black void of space, a puffy white cloud, the throne room at a Renaissance fair—the I-Kiribati could not conceive of life without it being immersed within the context of the ocean. But someone had to have crossed that ocean to be the first to set foot on the islands of Kiribati. I pressed Bwenawa.
“Some educated people think that the I-Kiribati came from someplace else. But most believe that we have always been here, as descendants from the spirits.”
We were sitting on mats. A kerosene lantern offered a dim light. Shadows flitted across the rafters of the
maneaba
. The ocean offered its usual white noise. It was easy to believe that what is always was. But the great Pacific migrations that brought people from Asia into the Pacific were all about change and movement. Beginning several thousand years ago, many of the remote islands of Oceania were reached by people whose feats in seamanship and navigation have never been equaled, not by Columbus, not by Magellan, not even by Cook. That these peoples took to the seas at a time when Europeans were still exploring the utility of femur bones is staggering, and one can only wonder about what would have caused these people to take sail, for these were no mere voyages of exploration, but of colonization.
But where did these people come from? And who were the first to arrive in Kiribati?
Bwenawa seemed amused by my efforts to discern a beginning that did not involve a divine spider. He was much more inclined to tell me more of the Nareau family.
“. . . and then Nareau killed his father and he cut out his father’s eye and threw it to the sky and it became the sun.”
“Do you believe that, Bwenawa?”
“We are all Christians now. . . . And then Nareau cut out the other eye and threw it to the sky and it became the moon . . .”
I asked him about any legends that refered to islands other than Samoa.
“There are legends that speak of high islands to the west. They are there to protect us from the westerly wind.” The westerlies are the storm winds.
And then he whispered, as if revealing secret, ancient knowledge. “Some think that the first I-Kiribati came from the west.”
I looked pleased. Bwenawa looked pleased.
“From where in the west, Bwenawa?”
“They say Sumatra.”
This was interesting.
“They came with the coconut palm tree and the breadfruit tree and the pig,” he said, listing trees that are not indigenous to Kiribati, but native to Southeast Asia. “And then, maybe a thousand years ago, men came from Tonga and they killed all the men in Kiribati, but not the women. And then, maybe seven hundred years ago, men came from Samoa and on some of the islands they killed all the men again, but not the women. And so you see,” he smiled beatifically, “that is why all I-Kiribati look different from one another.”
It was a heartwarming story. And possibly true. Grimble noted the similarities between the I-Kiribati sailing canoes and those found in the Moluccas Islands in Indonesia. The I-Kiribati language, like all the languages of Oceania (except those found in parts of New Guinea), falls in the Central–Eastern Malayo–Polynesian subfamily of the Austronesian language family, which originates in Taiwan. And though it is indeed a great distance from Indonesia to Kiribati, as the drifting fishermen from Papua New Guinea demonstrated, there is a strong west to east current in this part of the Pacific. While the predominant winds in Kiribati are the trade winds from the east, a strong westerly wind usually blows from November through February. Long-distance downwind sailing would certainly be possible in the large
“Some educated people think that the I-Kiribati came from someplace else. But most believe that we have always been here, as descendants from the spirits.”
We were sitting on mats. A kerosene lantern offered a dim light. Shadows flitted across the rafters of the
maneaba
. The ocean offered its usual white noise. It was easy to believe that what is always was. But the great Pacific migrations that brought people from Asia into the Pacific were all about change and movement. Beginning several thousand years ago, many of the remote islands of Oceania were reached by people whose feats in seamanship and navigation have never been equaled, not by Columbus, not by Magellan, not even by Cook. That these peoples took to the seas at a time when Europeans were still exploring the utility of femur bones is staggering, and one can only wonder about what would have caused these people to take sail, for these were no mere voyages of exploration, but of colonization.
But where did these people come from? And who were the first to arrive in Kiribati?
Bwenawa seemed amused by my efforts to discern a beginning that did not involve a divine spider. He was much more inclined to tell me more of the Nareau family.
“. . . and then Nareau killed his father and he cut out his father’s eye and threw it to the sky and it became the sun.”
“Do you believe that, Bwenawa?”
“We are all Christians now. . . . And then Nareau cut out the other eye and threw it to the sky and it became the moon . . .”
I asked him about any legends that refered to islands other than Samoa.
“There are legends that speak of high islands to the west. They are there to protect us from the westerly wind.” The westerlies are the storm winds.
And then he whispered, as if revealing secret, ancient knowledge. “Some think that the first I-Kiribati came from the west.”
I looked pleased. Bwenawa looked pleased.
“From where in the west, Bwenawa?”
“They say Sumatra.”
This was interesting.
“They came with the coconut palm tree and the breadfruit tree and the pig,” he said, listing trees that are not indigenous to Kiribati, but native to Southeast Asia. “And then, maybe a thousand years ago, men came from Tonga and they killed all the men in Kiribati, but not the women. And then, maybe seven hundred years ago, men came from Samoa and on some of the islands they killed all the men again, but not the women. And so you see,” he smiled beatifically, “that is why all I-Kiribati look different from one another.”
It was a heartwarming story. And possibly true. Grimble noted the similarities between the I-Kiribati sailing canoes and those found in the Moluccas Islands in Indonesia. The I-Kiribati language, like all the languages of Oceania (except those found in parts of New Guinea), falls in the Central–Eastern Malayo–Polynesian subfamily of the Austronesian language family, which originates in Taiwan. And though it is indeed a great distance from Indonesia to Kiribati, as the drifting fishermen from Papua New Guinea demonstrated, there is a strong west to east current in this part of the Pacific. While the predominant winds in Kiribati are the trade winds from the east, a strong westerly wind usually blows from November through February. Long-distance downwind sailing would certainly be possible in the large
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