Watson Report III

The Village of Ranvetlam on Ambrym

I was about to explode. I was sitting on the couch of my new home in the Paicî village in New Caledonia enjoying good, recent Bollywood film, English Vinglish. It was getting old at this point as I’d watched it like 10 times in a row already and then another 10 more times alternating between it, 10,000 BC, and Chennai Express (these are the only entertainment movies that I have at this point). I could not stop scratching. My arms, chest, back, and legs were all covered with small red spots. I had gotten dengue.

These past two months (February and March) were intense to say the least. I’d gone from Urban New Guinea, to jungle New Guinea to Muslim Java to Hindi Bali to hyper-developed Australia to Urban Vanuatu and then out into the Vanuatu bush (which was really, really bush!) within the span of two months. At this point I was glad to be sitting in one place and as I settle in trying to keep the ultra-culture shock at bay, dengue crept it to remind me that “yes you are at the edge of the world” and “yes you will pay.” It was as if having such amazing experiences had to come at a cost otherwise the universal would be unbalanced or something.

I sat there scratching or in pain trying not to scratch. I was ridiculously tired and passed out early every single night. Two doctors’ visits, a drawing of blood, and four days later, the bumps had dried out and the scratching was over, but another symptom of the disease began: depression.

It was strange, because although my mind was “wanting” to feel down, the environment around me prevented it. New Caledonia or Kanaky as locals call it was just too beautiful. The flowing hills and incredible flora and fauna readily all around me created a place that was truly paradise.

The depression from the dengue seemed to be fast forwarding the “five stages” of culture shock for me. I was being forced out of the “honeymoon stage” into the down period. I had the feeling of dragging a bit, but when I looked around, the place was just too beautiful and the people were just too warm and welcoming for me to be down. During the day, I would be alright, but at night it would set in. I would have sad dreams and I was always on edge. Some animal (probably rats) would pound its feet on my roof top as it jets across to capture some sort of prey, would just cause me to flip out over time. Little by little, I started to shut myself away and only leaving when I need to go to town to use the internet or shop for groceries. And eventually I stopped even doing that as town going to town was an exhausting 2-hour walk. My mind and body seemed to be in retreat.

I’d felt the pressure of moving around so much began to creep in on my since my time in Papua. When I arrived, I’d visited a series of places and I was ready to stop and actually live some place for a while. Three or so weeks in Papua were great and really got me back in travel mode. But then all of the moving around again began to take its toll.

I felt like I was near the end of my tolerance for contact movement. I was about to head out into the bush of Ambrym, an island in the archipelagic nation of Vanuatu. My goal was to investigate how people use that mega-biodiversity of their natural environment, specifically looking at the use of the traditional knowledge in terms of medicinal use. I was going to be collecting different recipes, you might say, for making “leaf medicine” or lif meresin as it is called in the local vernacular and national lingua franca Bislama—an English based creole of Vanuatu. The name comes from the fact that it is a plant based traditional medicine that centers primarily on the use of various leaves. I also was really excited to be headed toward my second active volcano, Mount Marum. Instead of been a constantly exploding volcano like the one I’d seen on the island of Tanna (Vanuatu), it was lava lake so you watch the lava churn inside of the earth. Although I felt like I could not go any longer, I pushed myself and I was off to Ambrym.

In the middle of my passage to Ambrym, I discovered that the airline had left my baggage in the capital. All of my things were in my bags. I was left with nothing but a camera, an article I had for reading material on the flight, and the clothes on my back. In almost an instant, I went from being a self-sufficient adult with everything I needed to a helpless child wondering in the bush. Ambrym indeed was really bush. I went over to airport managers, but they could do nothing at that time. They said they would have my things sent to my village on flight that would arrive later that week (there are only two flights to Ambrym per week).

When I arrived I was thrilled. The thatched-roofed village in one of the most incredible natural environments was simple amazing. I settled in one of those village huts and began to prepare for my trip to Marum. I organized a guide and in two days I would see the lava lakes.

The next day, it was suggested that I hike to a nearby village where there was a man making tamtams—Melanesian wooden statutes. I went and hung out for a while until the topic of lif meresin came up. I was a bit nervous to mention it as even though it’s considered medicinal, it is tied to ancient notions of magic and there are some medicines that are taboo. The man helped me anyway and we went around collecting a few different samples of lif meresin. It was great.

Example of lif meresin from the nearby village of Ranbe (Ambrym)

What wasn’t great was the constant biting of mosquitos and flies. I was smacking my skin and scratching every day until my baggage arrived. I spent a week in Ambrym and learned a ton about the environment. But I’m also sure this is where I got dengue.

As I sat in my living room scratching in Poindimié, I could only have fond memories of my time on Ambrym. A friend once told me that “if you’re going to enjoy some of the rarest and most beautiful things in the world you have to suffer a little.”