The culture seeps into my soul, like coconut oil being gently rubbed into my skin. The smells of salt, rotting rubbish, raw fish, sugar, bananas, dirt, sand, dead dogs, sweet toddy, bars of velvet soap, coconut oil, salted smoke fish, soy sauce and fresh bread buns. The sounds of cards slapping the floor on the…
I’ve been writing long enough to know that the writing mojo comes in waves. Sometimes it’s there and sometimes it isn’t. It’s so frustrating when it isn’t, but it will pass. So, I’ve decided to pass the buck somewhat. Instead of forcing something that’s not there, I have asked my mum to write down her recipe for Kiribati donuts.
Kiribati is such a tiny country and if you don’t know about the country, then why would you care if it sinks or not? THIS is why people like David Katoatau are so important to Kiribati.
There is no hiding that like so many other Kiribati men, my grandfather was abusive to my grandma. He was physically overbearing over Terira. There is a story that my grandma spent a night clinging to the inside of a well while my grandfather, in a rage, raced around looking for his wife.
If I can’t recognize the power storytelling and the advice my elders are passing onto me, how can I expect my future children to understand?
The canoe is made by the men in the village, but this couldn’t be done without relying on the strength and quality of the women’s rope. A thought which I find so wonderful 🙂
Anywhere else in the world, it is a luxury to live by the sea. In Kiribati, it means that you are the first to be without a home.
I have written a children’s book. It is a Kiribati story, with Kiribati characters and told with a Kiribati heart. It is called Teaote & The Wall.
People say they love hearing about my culture and all I am doing is talking about Kiribati food, language, religion etc. It may not seem it but I have worked hard at making sure I am connected to my culture.