Exit into the darkness of the South Pacific

by Elisabeth Nesensohn (Austria)

A leap into the unknown Tonga

Pitch black was the night when the ferry turned off the engines and anchored in the middle of the South Pacific. The other passengers, almost exclusively Tongans, and we stood at the railing of the MV 'Otuanga'ofa and looked out over the sea. We didn't see far. My eyes searched the horizon for lights, but they were lost in the uncertain darkness. It seemed like there was nothing but black silence around us. The stars glittered high up in the sky and I felt as if they were closer than any solid ground. But the island of Nomuka couldn't be far. The MV 'Otuanga'ofa stopps near the 7km² island twice a week. The first time on its way from the main island of Tongatapu to the Vava'u group, the second time on the way back. Nomuka cannot be entered with anything but a boat. Even the ferrys anchor far out by the sea. It was 3am when we noticed two approaching boats in the immediate vicinity of the old-fashioned ferry. Fully loaded with all sorts of goods and a number of Tongans, one went first, then the other to the stern of the ship, in order to let the people on board, then to unload the goods and to take the freight in reverse order from the ferry. Everything that is needed on the island comes ashore by boat. Washing machines, cars and sometimes even horses. It took a while, but those who don't have time are in the wrong place here. With everybody and everything on board the boats went through the darkness to Nomuka, which still wasn't in sight. About 15 people stood at the edge of the boat, the goods safely in the middle. The railing reached up to my waist. The sea was calm and yet I had to think about what would happen if I tripped. Two backpacks strapped to my body, packed with 30kg of belongings. I would sink like a stone. The pressure and the rapid descent would completely destroy the chance of resurfacing alive. It would be too fast to drop even one of the backpacks. I took a step back and held on to the rail even more tightly as we moved further away from the ferry, the only light source I could see. Apart from the engine noises, only the splashing of the water could be heard. Nobody said a word. The stars glittered above us and I felt strange and belonging at the same time. We were expected in the middle of the South Pacific, in a place I had never heard of a few weeks before. And then there they were, lights in the middle of nowhere, not half as bright as I imagined. When our boat docked, dozens of dogs on the beach barked excitedly. Half the place seemed to be on its feet. Several people were waiting for their loved ones or goods that they had ordered. We were also expected, by Kaelo, who drove us to our final destination through the night in his old blue jeep. My concerns that we wouldn't find each other were for no reason. He spottet us right away as we were the only palangis (white people) in a range of 2km. We packed our backpacks on the loading area and then climbed up ourselves. In the light of the headlights we saw the unpaved road in front of us, lianas hung low and not only once did we have to bend down so as not to be whipped in the face by branches. It was like a fairy tale. Then we arrived at the Lolofutu Beach Barn. Five dogs sniffed us barking and after we had briefly met our host Tris, she showed us our hut. It looked comfortable, with a large bed, five meters from the Pacific. When we fell asleep we heard the waves crashing in the Pacific, calming though loud, and I could hardly believe where I was. First of all sleeping, I thought, and looked forward to the next day, when I would see where we had actually ended up here.