WHAT’S HAPPENING NOW
We’re at Funafuti, Tuvalu. We arrived two days ago after a 6-day passage from Tonga. We arrived on a Sunday and everyone knows you can’t do anything on a Sunday in the islands of the South Pacific, so we dropped the anchor and napped, cleaned up the boat and generally chilled the eff out. It was awesome. Monday morning we went ashore in our dinghy with its spastic engine and Harry handled it beautifully. The engine was Tonga-fixed, meaning that in Tonga it would be considered in excellent shape because it runs. But it dies at idle so Harry has to keep it revved at all times, even when shifting into gear. It feels like a ride with someone learning how to drive, which is to say it’s simultaneously nerve-wracking and hilarious. The replacement carburetor for the dinghy engine will meet us in Majuro, Marshall Islands, our next port.
Today we went into town to get diesel fuel in our six jerry cans. This is a big project masquerading as an excellent workout. Each jerry can holds 5 gallons/20 litres of fuel. This weighs around 35 pounds/15 kg. The fuel station, which is obviously a small blue shed next to a slightly bigger, green building with no obvious signage whatsoever, is about three blocks from the waterfront where our dinghy is tied up. We ferry fuel from the blue shed to our dinghy to the big boat, siphon it into the big boat tanks, then go back to the waterfront, walk to the blue shed to fill again until our onboard tanks are full and our jerry cans are all full. This is an hours-long project.
We ask the two young ladies working in the slightly bigger, green shop (which is where we paid for the fuel) if there’s anyone to help us get our jerry cans from the blue shed to the dinghy, or a hand cart or anything that will make this task easier. First they offer their “cargo boys” but it turns out they’re not around. So the two women set about solving this problem and come up with a cart to go behind a motorbike and one of them will drive for us. They are cheerful and kind and seem invested in making our project easier.
As we’re waiting for the jerry cans to be filled (the man pours it from a spigot on a big barrel into a bucket that he claims is 10 liters, then pours this through a funnel into our cans. It takes a long time.) one of them calls to me, “May we please ask a favor? Can you please take a picture of us with you on your phone?” I’m all over this. It’s like I’m back in high school and the popular girls want to be my friend. They’re giggly and delighted and after I take a bunch of pictures I ask them where I should send the pictures. So they can have them. Their faces are blank until I say “Do you have a phone with data? So you can see the pictures?” One asks if I have Instagram and she tells me her handle so I can find her and give her the picture that way. But I’m bewildered. It seems the taking of the photo was the thing, not the having of the photo. Even so, I’ve printed the photo on our tiny printer on photo paper and I’ll take one to each of them tomorrow. I’ll also post on Instagram.
HELLO FROM TUVALU
Tuvalu is the smallest country we’ve visited. There are 11,200 people on just 10 square miles of “land”. For context, Disney World in Florida is 43 square miles. Tuvalu is a sovereign state within the Commonwealth. This means it’s self-governing but still has ties to Britain as a constitutional monarchy. It hails King Charles III as its king. None of this makes sense to me on a practical, day-to-day operational basis. Who pays for roads here? Who brings a doctor here for a stint at the Princess Margaret Hospital? Are there any social services?
There’s something different about Tuvalu from the other small South Pacific countries we’ve visited. Today while waiting for the man to fill our jerry cans with diesel, a woman rolled up on her motorbike with her son, about 8 years old. After a few minutes of idling near each other she asked me if we’re from Canada. We get this a lot. People in the South Pacific assume we’re from anywhere but the U.S. Australia, New Zealand, England, Canada are common guesses. I don’t know why not the U.S. (Could be because we’re not carrying firearms and this is literally what people around here think all Americans do.)
I tell her we’re from the United States and she wants to know if we are on “the yacht.” We’re anchored off town, and the only boat here, so it’s a good guess. Her English is excellent and she’s so well-spoken that I get it into my head that this is the time to get to the bottom of my questions about Tuvalu, to understand the things that make it different from other South Pacific countries. Her name is Fenua and she is happy to talk about her country. She works in the government offices as a director. Her team is in charge of monitoring fiscal responsibility for the 7 public programs administered by the Tuvaluan government. I could’ve talked to her all day.
Why is Tuvalu solely a cash economy?
In our experience other small countries offer some credit card services, even if their credit card machines are broken every other day. Mostly cash is going to win the day everywhere in the South Pacific, but for big-ticket things like fuel or hardware parts and sometimes groceries, credit cards can be used. Not always and not everywhere, but just often enough that we started to count on it. But Tuvalu is cash-only no matter what. There’s no ATM machine. There’s one bank and it does currency exchange at an exchange rate that suits them. Tuvalu uses the Australian dollar for their currency. Fenua tells me credit cards are in the 10-year plan for Tuvalu. “You must think we’re so old-fashioned.” She says it’s taken so long because the cost for credit card infrastructure is high and her country is poor. “The people here don’t spend a lot of money so to put in an ATM or have merchant services would cost a lot and we wouldn’t regain that expense for a very long time.” This is so sensible.
I ask Fenua how much money the average Tuvaluan makes. She tells me a government worker at the base level, sweeping the floors, makes about $10,000 AUD. “A director – and here I know she’s referring to herself because her eyes focus inward for a minute – makes at the top level about $20,000 AUD.” I ask her how the other people on the island make money, those who aren’t lucky to have a government job. She says there’s fishing, and this means men leaving home to work on big fishing boats and sending money home to their families.
Why are Tuvaluans so good at speaking English?
Fenua tells me English is the second language of the country and it’s taught from the early grades of primary School. Then in secondary school (high school) “it’s required to speak English in school.” This is a significant difference from other small countries where English is taught in the schools. In Fiji for example, English language learning is required in primary school but happens after mastery of Fijian and sometimes Hindi. There appears to be no requirement that the language be spoken exclusively in secondary school. It’s interesting to see how government policy impacts the opportunities of its citizens.
Why is there so little Internet access in Tuvalu?
There are Tuvaluans ogling their phones, sure, but it’s about half what we saw in Tonga or Fiji. At the (only?) hotel where we had lunch, the wi-fi signal was down. Nobody seemed fussed about getting online. I asked Fenua about this when she mentioned that one of the public agencies she monitors is the telecom company, called TCC. “The government won’t let any telecom companies come into Tuvalu. People can buy SIM cards and data plans from TCC, the public government agency. It works pretty good.” Her nod seemed to indicate all 10 square miles of the country. “But now they are thinking of letting some other companies help with the infrastructure because it’s very expensive.”
Why do Tuvaluans have such beautiful teeth?
Their smiles are bright and white. Everywhere we’ve been, including New Zealand, dental care is poor. But here I notice right away that so many people have really good teeth. Of course not everyone. But in comparison to Fiji or Tonga, where most people had something going on with their teeth, the Tuvaluans shine. I ask Fenua about this and she says she sees plenty of people with poor teeth but she didn’t let her son have “lollies” until just recently as his teeth are bigger and stronger. (When he smiles at me I see his two enormous adult front teeth.) We’ve only visited a couple of small grocery stores but I didn’t see big displays of candy (“lollies”) or soda as there is elsewhere. I wonder how much the government has to do with this.
WHAT’S NEXT
We’re really enjoying Tuvalu. This place was meant to be a quick stop, and it will still be that, but now I feel it prying into my heart with its perfect little road for motorbikes edged with palm trees and flowering bushes. The land of this country is impossible, a narrow strip about 700 feet/200 meters wide and 7.5 miles/12 kilometers long. There’s one main road traveling this arc and at night we can see the jumpy lights of mopeds as they motor at responsible, slow speeds from one end to the other. It feels restful, relaxing, peaceful here.
We’re keeping our eye on weather windows for our next hop to Majuro, Marshall Islands, about a 9-day passage. Right now a departure from Tuvalu on Saturday May 27 looks good. Will keep you posted.
Love forever,
Joy