GIFT FROM THE GODS
Our host Timei eagerly waits for us as we exit the plane. He left Tarawa 6 years ago to escape an uncertain future and living conditions made worse by the relentless rise of sea level and overpopulation. Incidentally, he waited for us on the same flight one week ago, in vain. “I mixed up the dates” he says laughing, showing a bright white smile that contrasts with his dark Polynesian skin.
“Our family is so impatient to show you our little piece of heaven. Christmas Island is a true gift from the gods” he says mischievously, as we pile up in his rundown minivan. “I want to show you why I love this island so much, which is the largest atoll in the world … and I believe I know where to find what you are looking for” he concludes, enigmatic, as we drive along the only asphalt road of the island. It runs through a forest of coconut trees, surrounded by water. On one side, the deep, dark blue of the Pacific ocean and, on the other, a pale and blinding blue, almost white, characteristic of a sandy lagoon.
Between the two, a narrow stretch of coral. Scattered along are pile dwellings almost entirely built from coconut trees. The trunks for the structure and foundation and dried and weaved palm leaves for the roof. All in perfect harmony. Under the shade, women are cooking over wood fires, men are logging bunches of coconuts and kids interrupt their games to call out to us: “Imatang, Imatang” (The white men, the white men). Our arrival seems to be quite an event. We are indeed on an island lost in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. And that’s exactly what we were hoping to find.