www.mikesmack.com
Community
Photo: Shutterstock

Photo: Shutterstock

After sharing a fat J on the beach and throwing back three schooners at the first bar off the boat, I walked around the corner to find Vincent leaning against his 1970-something stripped down white Mercedes cab. He nodded toward me and asked, “Taxi?!”

I nodded back and hopped into the front passenger seat. I was barefooted and sandy sitting in wet boardies, still trying to fathom the day of surf I had just experienced. The single greatest surf day of my life: lines after lines of pumping lefts had sent me flying through Visine-clear water above Fruity Pebbles dotted reefs.

Vincent was very quiet the first few minutes of our ride. He was an early 40’s Indian-Fijian fella with a happily round belly. Born, raised, living and working in Nadi, the island’s main transport hub, Vincent was as Fijian as the bits of coral stuck in my leg. My still pumping adrenaline combined with the ganja and Fiji Bitters running through my body had me in the zone to chat with him. I made a somewhat odd request to him on our way to the airport to stop and buy some shoes. In my stoned and happy state I had left mine in a van with the surf crew that was halfway back to the Coral Coast by that point. The Buddha-statue driver claimed he knew of a shop on the way. Then he took a silent moment to size me up and mull it over. With a nod, he offered me a pair of flip flops he had in his trunk. They were a size seven and pink. Needing them just long enough to walk into the airport, I accepted. From there we began to chat some more. I interviewed Vincent about the island and how it’s changed through his lifetime. He said it’s growing, Nadi especially. People come from other Pacific Islands for work and wind up staying. There’s continuous construction going on between new resorts, vacation houses and new roads to support the influx of tourism. Vincent thinks it’s growing too fast, and the city can’t keep up with the amount of people coming in. Though the jobs are plenty, the pay is very little. Most workers, including himself, earn $10-30 Fiji dollars per day (about $5-15 USD). And he works six 12-hour days every week to make that.

Despite the outpaced growth of his city and the underpaid hard work, Vincent was happy with his life in Fiji. Then, about six weeks earlier, Cyclone Winston hit. It was the biggest cyclone to ever make landfall in Fiji. It ripped through the islands, puffing down houses and flooding lands. It took the lives of 44 beautiful smiles. Adults and children were trapped by uprooted trees, drowned in enormous tidal surges, decapitated by flying aluminum roofs, and crushed under their own homes. Vincent couldn’t comprehend why God (yes, despite his Indian descent and my racist assumptions, he was a Christian) would send such a terrible punishment upon his homeland. I couldn’t give him an answer why, but I think he sensed the sincerity in my concern and grief for Fiji.

His own house was severely damaged, losing an entire bedroom and half the roof as well as the deck he built himself. During the cyclone, Vincent and his family of five spent six hours hiding in the washroom, because it was the only room made from concrete. He told me it took a long time to build his home. Not because it was an obscene mansion or the construction company was taking their sweet time or the mortgage took forever to come through. It took time because he had to buy the supplies for it piece by piece on a weekly pay equivalent to what we spend on a decent dinner date. And it would take more time to rebuild. But Vincent was grateful to have his family, the pieces of his home that can’t be rebuilt.

We arrived at the airport. Vincent presented me with the sandals from his trunk. I tried them on. My toes bulged out from the flip and my heels hung over the edge of the flop. But there was no way I was going to refuse them. I asked him what I owed for the ride and the shoes. He responded with, “How much do you want to pay?”

I gave him the rest of the Fiji dollars I had in my backpack; money I needed, but was better served remaining on the island. He thanked me respectfully. I reached to shake his hand and say goodbye. Vincent grabbed my hand and pulled me in for a hug instead. I hugged Fiji. Fiji hugged me back.

 
Newsletter

Only the best. We promise.

Contribute

Join our community of contributors.

Apply