Martin Johnson, Borneo (Malaysia) 1936, Terry Todoroff, Malaysia 2004

My Cannibal Adventure

By Terry Todoroff

. . . a strange place. My God, how my tired back aches. Inside my backpack are 40 lbs. of camera equipment and 100 lbs. of anxiety. It has taken me so long just to hike to this point. The area ahead narrows to a portal. Standing there are three stern-looking men. I approach and momentarily pass through the gates, but then, with narrowing eyes, they stop me in a brisk manner. One dances around me with a staff of some type. Without delay, I am directed to take my shoes off. In preparation for what, I wonder. The nervous sweat streaming down my neck betrays my calm demeanor. Then suddenly, the indignant men allow me to pass. I wonder how much more exciting it will be to meet the Big Namba Tribe as I finish going through Los Angeles airport security.

I saw a televised documentary on Osa and Martin Johnson many years ago. At first I thought their travel adventures were exaggerations to improve a good story. However, the proof was clear in their photographs. Osa and Martin were the real deal. After seeing photographs of the cannibals they had taken in New Hebrides, I knew I wanted to duplicate their travels. I already seemed to have similar tastes for adventure. In 2002 I had gone to Rwanda to visit the mountain gorillas. When Osa and Martin saw the mighty apes, people believed them to be fierce, man-eating creatures. Although Dian Fossey's research has shown that idea to be a myth, meeting the primates face-to-face didn't lessen the thrill. But the Pacific Island chain of Vanuatu was going to be different. Unlike Africa where there are many safari tour companies to help plan a trip, there are very few in Vanuatu. The Lonely Planets travel guidebook offers some assistance. But I have to say most of the information gleaned for my other trips was from generous travelers, something that was lacking for this trip. Anyway, with a general agenda in mind, I finally found a travel agent with some Pacific connections and made tenuous flight and hut reservations.

I departed from Buffalo, New York on Aug 12th. After 24 hours of sleepless flights and transfers I arrived in Auckland, New Zealand for two nights. From there I flew to Port Vila, the capital of Vanuatu. But my adventure didn't really start till the next day when I traveled to one of Vanuatu's more southern islands, Tanna.

My first day on Tanna is a hopeful precursor of things to come. My guide takes me to one of the island’s villages where the Iiatiapu tribe will perform their Kastume dance. I am their lone audience and hope it doesn't hamper their enthusiasm.

I wait in the clearing when about a dozen men and boys march through a tunnel in the base of a magnificently huge banyan tree. They are in their traditional dress of namba-leaf coverings. The dance ceremony consists of four songs, the first one being "welcome." Their circular dancing is thunderous as they stomp their feet in unison with the music. However, it is the singing that impresses me most. From old to young they sing their hearts out. The songs are not mere chanting, but beautiful and melodious. The boys' higher voices blend with the men's deeper voices to complete a full choir. After the songs are completed, I am shown a feat of impressive arrow shooting by the chief.  

Finally, we break into a casual conversation with my guide acting as interpreter. They ask where I am from, and although they hesitantly accept America as an answer, I wish I had my small inflatable globe available to confirm their understanding.

I think about these villagers until dusk and it is time for Tanna's most famous attraction, Mt. Yasur. One night in 1774 when navigating Vanuatu's Islands, Commander Cook saw a red glow from afar. He landed on Tanna to investigate only to be turned away by the villagers who said it was taboo to climb the active volcano. Today there is no such restriction. During our climb, my guide and I pass open fissures that bubble with sulfur-tainted steam. After a sweaty hike we finally reach the rim. For the next few hours, I watch the fiery lava fireworks made more spectacular by the blackness of night.

The next day is my most disappointing day during my stay in Vanuatu. The women's Toka dance is performed three days of the year and starts nearly unplanned. I tell myself "the dance starts at dawn and I don't leave Tanna until the afternoon. How lucky my brief stay overlaps the start of the ceremony." Unfortunately, my guide could not secure a truck-taxi to the faraway village on this busy day on the island. So with disappointment, I miss out.

However, my sadness is short lived. After another transfer through Port Vila, I'm on my way to see Osa and Martin's mighty Nambas on Malekula Island. The Big Nambas were one of Martin's prize photographic goals. I feel this way, too.

The first full day's activity is hiking to the former cannibal area, Botkos, in the hilly interior of the island. Things have not changed here since Osa and Martin first stepped onto this island eighty years ago. I easily imagine I am one in their original expedition. It is a tough hike. I drink almost two liters of water while my guide Joseph watches in amusement. Joseph is terrific. Throughout the day he often stops to show me plants and animals. We often sample the island's bountiful food including freshly sliced cocoa pods, juicy grapefruits, and refreshing coconuts. Although the island's only indigenous mammal is the flying fox, which I saw on Tanna, we also see many small wild pigs that Europeans introduced long ago. Also, with wide-eyed amazement, Joseph stops and shows me spiders the size of an adult's hand. Yikes! I'll remember them when I go to sleep in my open cabin tonight. We reach the cannibal site after several hours. There is a gathering of placed rocks to sit on, the highest one being the chief's throne. Close by is a type of memorial to a failed missionary. There, placed on top of some rocks, are very weathered remnants of old shoes. Apparently, they are the only remains not wholly edible. It completes the eerie feeling to the area.

The next day I am eager to meet the Big Nambas. A different Malekula guide, George, escorts me into the village. Once there we move to a clearing. A clan of about a dozen adults (one man, the rest women and children) comes to me while they sing. One woman with a grass necklace in hand continues toward me and places it around my neck. I am directed to a sitting area and prepare my camera for their ceremony. The dance steps, though much lighter by women, were similar to the men in Tanna but with less drama. Also unlike Tanna, I note that the songs aren't quite as inspired or melodious. Was it my misunderstanding of their culture or were they just going through the motions? I couldn't ascertain. Perhaps I expected too much from a once large and proud tribe whose culture and existence has been so decimated by European disease, missionaries, and the difficulties of embracing modern life while retaining their heritage. Could the Big Nambas' customs eventually be lost? As I consider these thoughts very young children amusingly try to keep in step with the dancing adults. I consider myself lucky to have seen the Big Nambas now if their future is uncertain.

I wonder if my visit to the Small Nambas will also cause somber reflection. My guide George gives me a "just you wait" grin.

Two European tourists, Eli and Sergie, join me this morning. Just a small hike from our base camp, we arrive and are told to wait in the forest wing until the villagers are ready. Soon, we hear a drum beat and are told to enter the clearing. Small children run underfoot. A ten-minute drum overture whets our appetite. Finally, a large band of men and some boys in traditional dress make their way from far right doing the "paddle dance," representing their journey to their current island home. Like the villagers in Tanna, they show obvious joy in their culture. Everyone is visibly celebrating their heritage through song and dance. Their enthusiasm is contagious. I am suddenly struck with a "lucky-to-be-alive" feeling.

After an exhausting performance, it is the women's turn to entertain us. They treat us with a creative "dance" that involves singing while passing a grapefruit to each other in unison. Again, there is something undeniably upbeat in their voices that transcends their undecipherable words. The men and women continue to trade dances, never combining in the same performance like the Big Nambas. I am surprised by the variety, pageantry, and presentation of the dances. For example, the men's "fan dance" is so professional it seems like a Broadway dance choreographer helped them in their performance. The final "circumcision" dance was aptly their best for the finale. It includes an exaggerated scene where an unhealthy costumed man covered in black ash and frazzled leafs is tended by a medicine man. During its drumming and singing conclusion, the women and children join the men center stage. Happily, dripping in sweat, they receive our heartfelt applause.  

By tradition, although they understand little English, each male tourist is asked to give a small speech describing their appreciation to the Small Nambas for allowing us into their joyful ceremony. It is then the villagers turn to clap for us after each speech. Afterwards, the charismatic chief, in broken English, gives a question-and-answer period. He ends our visit by giving us a men's hut tour, describing its functions and activities inside, including a traditional fire-starting demonstration. We hike back to our camp with silent smiles reflecting on what we had just seen.

Before leaving Malekula, I visit nearby Wala Island and their former cannibal site, and a brief visit to Vao Island where Osa and Martin stayed while waiting for ships to take them to other parts of Malekula. I conclude my last days in Vanuatu on Epi Island. However the wonderful Small Nambas’ performance overshadows the rest of my trip. 

On my long flights home, I reflect on how incredible it was to see so many sights as Osa and Martin did; the shorelines, the undisturbed island interiors, and the natives in traditional dress. The world is getting so small. How sad the day will be when there is a McDonald's or Starbuck's on every corner. I urge all people, despite their sometimes nationalistic tendencies, to appreciate the world's diversity and history as the Johnsons did. It was Osa and Martin's naturalistic vision to respect and embrace all living things. Although too briefly, I am happy that I shared their thoughts and footsteps so intimately.

Johnson Wait-A-Bit News  2003