Accepting Cannibalism as history in Nuku Hiva

by Yazmin Malcolm (United Kingdom (Great Britain))

I didn't expect to find French Polynesia

“German Man Eaten by Cannibals on Polynesian Island” a national newspaper headline read. I looked up at my 24-year-old boyfriend and said sternly, “we better not go to that island.” Of course though, a few months later that’s exactly where we ended up. Stranded, after hitch-hiking on a Swiss couples yacht who we had met on the rickety docks of Panama City. It took us 21 days on the rolling Pacific Ocean to get to our destination, Nuku Hiva a French Polynesian island, part of the Marquesas Archipelago. It’s one of the most untouched islands of the fantasy honeymoon destination, with rugged terrain and luscious vegetation. We could smell the island before we could see it. The aroma evoked a similar scent to an overgrown greenhouse. The volcanic rock, shaped like a shark fin skimmed the surface of the blackened water and began to tower above our mast as we ambled closer to the marina. It is beautiful and so are the locals but the recent news of the German man’s body parts being found in a fire pit was haunting our thoughts. We anchored and excitedly jumped into the dingy. Local children laughed and waved at us as they threw pieces of bread into the water from the pontoon. Looking down we could see small black tip reef sharks splashing about and slithering over each other to catch the remnants of the kids lunches. Climbing carefully up the ladder we stepped on to solid ground for the first time in months, which turned our legs into jelly and blurred our vision. Like drunken, unwashed pirates we stomped to the nearest cafe and slumped into the plastic chairs to adjust to land living again. That’s when the Swiss announced that they were leaving us here as they wanted to explore the islands alone together. This was uncharted territory for us and with what we had read, not even the local rum could take the edge off our nerves. We needed to get on another boat fast. The next day we discovered a cheap homestay with the nicest owner, a local ‘rae rae’, which means a man who lives like a woman. We were told by locals that this is usually if a family has had three boys in a row, the third boy would be brought up as a girl and learn the traits and help the mother. we weren’t sure if this was true but we definitely saw and felt the celebration and admiration of women by the Polynesian people. The owner offered us his car to explore the island, but warned us to ‘be careful’. We brushed this off with youthful ignorance and set off, headed for the highest point to take in the views. On the drive we slowed down as we noticed concrete beds and statues disguising themselves in moss, blending into the dense forest. We got out the car and walked around what soon dawned on us was an ancient sacrificial site. Our ears pricked up to rustling noises and our hearts raced us back to the car when we saw an abandoned red jeep with all the doors open in the distance. Our car tyres screeched as we U-turned on the rubble road and headed back to the main part of town. We nervously asked the owner about cannibalism on the island. With a sorrowful frown, he shook his head in frustration and explained that the islanders were hurt by the portrayal of Polynesians as barbarians by western media. The German man was killed by a single villager who, to their account, did not eat him. The news was shocking to everyone on the island but they were more shocked by the headlines. We went to bed feeling ashamed that we were quick to jump to conclusions and judge the islanders who had welcomed us with open arms, brought us fruit and wanted to find out everything about us and our culture. It showed how important it is to go into any country with an open mind and it’s up to any traveller to make their own adventure and create their own headlines.