Life and Death in the Jungle of Tanna
Life and Death in the Jungle of Tanna
Tanna is one of the last untouched paradises in this globalized world. Read about Alex’s experiences with the locals, the special cuisine and living with total dependency on the bush. ((Disclaimer: Contains non-vegetarian parts))
28.03.2020 In the Jungle of Tanna
I walk barefoot through the warm rain, my feet gently touching the black earth, which consists of converted volcanic ash. At the Banyan trees, I stop for a few moments. These centuries-old giants reproduce through aerial roots that reach from the treetops to the ground. I arrive at the palm plantation. Here, palm leaves pile up on the ground, which are interwoven to build huts.
30 metres away from me is the tree with a crack in it, in which a colony of bees lives. I still remember the taste of the coconut pieces pickled in honey, which we shared after the joint honey harvest, and of the maggots, which we grilled afterwards in the embers. At that time, Jackson also showed me how to peel a coconut with a machete without chopping my fingers off. The food here is nearly completely regional, only rice is imported from neighbouring New Caledonia. From sweet potatoes to bananas, papayas and cassava everything is grown in the middle of the jungle. None of the vegetation has been industrially cleared here. Now and then the men of the village catch a forest animal. Low-flying bats are knocked out of the air on a hilltop above the bee tree, birds are stunned with thick arrows. Only very rarely do they manage to catch wild pigs. On Felix' birthday we buy a pig from the neighbouring village. It is slaughtered, according to tradition, by the village elder with three blows to the head. We watch the hands perform the actions with the ease of routine. After gutting and burning away the fur, it is roasted on a stick over the fire. The ensuing feast becomes somewhat of a special happening with speeches, somehow comparable to what our holiday roast might be like.
I grab the 15-metre-long stick leaning against a palm tree and get to work. With a few fresh coconuts under my arm I make my way back to the village of the Iakapas family, where we have been allowed to stay indefinitely due to the uncertainty of our return journey. Fresh ash lands on my face, the volcano is only one kilometre away and the rumbling heard at irregular intervals never lets you forget that it is always up there on its high throne. Yasur, who is holy to the locals, creates very fertile soil through mineral-rich ashes, but it can equally bring destruction. Two weeks before our arrival, the prevailing west wind turned to the east and the poisonous sulphur fumes destroyed the entire harvest of our village. Fortunately, the friendly neighbouring tribes help us with the most necessary things. This sense of solidarity is especially important for survival in times like these, as the declared state of emergency means that there will be no supplies arriving for weeks on this island, which only has a size of 20 by 30 kilometres. A bit over 20.000 people call Tanna home, most of them living very simply. The same has been true for us: We sleep in simple and not always rainproof wooden huts. Drinking water only flows about once a week, and electricity is only available when we turn on the generator to charge the cameras and transfer the recordings of the day. The footballs, with which the village youth amuse themselves, are carved out of the rubber-like wood of a tree trunk. We play on a rodeoline between two palm trees and install some normal slacklines for the locals after the project.
I’ve been here for a week now and I’ve come to feel at home and at rest. It is a place of deceleration and freedom: we are liberated from the hustle and bustle and the oversaturation of stimuli that we know from everyday life at home. Even the curfew enforced on the main island feels worlds away from our peaceful jungle life. Here we’re running on Tanna time. None of the locals ever stress about being late or getting to places, most of them neither own a watch nor a mobile phone anyway. Disagreements are not left floating in the room, but are openly discussed and debated until completely solved. Always with the goal of restoring the joy of life and the laughter on their faces. Now we understand why we can see smiles everywhere. The simple life away from worries about money and the strong family and tribal cohesion are certainly among the reasons for this happiness.
With 20 days of rain a month and an average temperature of 25°C the climate is typically tropical. Because of the warm and humid environment even our clothes and backpacks start to get mouldy. Though this mould problem only becomes a minor annoyance in the face of the approaching cyclone Harold. At prognosticated 250 km/h wind speeds, we would only be safe if we flee to the school's cyclone bunker. However, to our great luck, but the bad luck of someone else, Harold turns to the east right before reaching us and devastates the northern islands instead.
Despite the heavy rain, we remain quite active. During the day, I often accompany my father on hikes. The omnipresent Yasur shapes the landscape here: A 30-minute walk away, at the foot of the volcano, is the ten-square-kilometre ash field where a river has carved out spectacular miniature canyons. Two kilometres further on it flows into the sea at Sulphur Bay. The name comes from the scalding hot sulphur springs, which mix with the river 100 metres before it reaches the sea, providing a pleasant bathtub feeling with panoramic view of the Yasur.
On days where we’re not up at the volcano, our highlight is climbing up the stairs to the tree house after dinner and watching the orange-red glow from there.
Conclusion:
We stored all of these deeply moving impressions and memories of this incredible adventure in the jungle deep within us and took them back home. Once again we became very aware of how incredibly lucky we are. Since we have returned, we have been more mindful of all the luxuries that surround us in europe and we have grown to appreciate them more - even in times of crisis.
It’s all too easy to fall back into unhealthy patterns - but we can always take a moment to think back and make more conscious decisions: I, for example, want to simplify my life and give more space to the all-important value of humanity.
I hope that Vanuatu will remain Corona-free forever or at least until after a vaccine is available and applied to the people of the archipel. But I am optimistic, because they have made it until today!
I want to thank Jackson, the Iakapas family, Phillip and the rest of the villagers with all my heart, we won't forget what you have done for us!
A big shoutout goes to our sponsors and partners, without whom LavaLine could not have been realized: Casio, Blackmagic Design, EVOC, Stubai Bergsport, Balance Community, Quadratkollektiv, Cooke Optics, Lacie, Ledlenser, Fujifilm, DJI, Michael Radeck - flyingshots, Bebob, Archiware
Special thanks go to my mother Margit for her infinite support, as well as to Johannes, Marinus, Felix, Rafael and last but not least my dad Raimon for joining me on LavaLine!!