Simon Sellars: Sleepy Brain Archives

Traditional Yapese art, Trader’s Ridge Hotel (photo: Simon Sellars).

Yap is the most traditional island in Micronesia. Some men still get around in loincloth; women often walk around topless. And everyone chews betel nut, a centuries-old tradition that is stronger than ever.

When my plane landed at Yap ‘airport’ (such as it is; the terminal is about as big as my head), I looked for my hotel driver but all I could see was a huge mob of people (mainly children), all laughing, joking and pointing at the silver lump that had just landed (yes, I know my hair is getting greyer by the minute, but I mean the plane). Then a mob of kids encircled me, their tiny hands touching mine and their high-pitched laughter ringing the air. I felt off balance and had a vision of being whisked away by these little demigods, like Richard Dreyfuss was at the end of Close Encounters. Before that could happen, though, my way was blocked by a hefty guy, who opened his mouth to speak.

“Hey, man…”

He paused to spit out something crimson red.

Ptooie!

Was it blood? His teeth were whittled down to black stubs and his lips and tongue were redder than blood.

“Where you going?” he said.

Betel-nut saliva, Yap (photo: Simon Sellars).

I told him the name of my hotel and he found the driver for me, and everyone turned out to be very warm and welcoming. All the same, this bloke’s appearance still threw me, even though I knew he’d been chewing betel nut. Betel nut is actually the seed of the betel palm and what you do is you split it open, sprinkle some dry coral lime onto it, warp it in a pepper leaf and maybe some tobacco, and then chew. It makes your mouth go red (and, for long-term users, rots your teeth) and gives you a vague, relaxed high. (Did I try it? Of course I did; but that’s for later). When European contact was first made with Yap, it was assumed that the Yapese were suffering from some kind of plague, or typhoid, and were constantly throwing up blood. More superstitious types brought out the crucifixes and garlic cloves.

But a more welcoming group of people you’d be hard-pressed to find. Yapese are shy around newcomers but intensely proud of their heritage and fiercely determined to fight the onslaught of Americana that has swept through most of the other islands. They are taking steps to control tourism and they are trying hard to deal with their garbage problem, whether it’s cultural or landfill.

Yap has a wonderful history, brought into sharp relief by Sebastian, a guide at the Trader’s Ridge hotel. To my eternal regret, I only had one full day on the island (due to Continental Airline’s totally inflexible schedule), so I had to make the most of it. Sebastian came highly recommended and that’s because he’s the best; a noble, intelligent man; a warrior; a man of conviction.

I told him I especially wanted to see some ‘stone money’ (known in Yapese as rai). Sebastian drove me to one of the ‘banks’ where he explained that stone money was originally carved from quarries 300 miles away in Palau and brought to Yap by outrigger canoe; some ‘coins’ are 12 feet in diameter and their worth mainly derives from the amount of difficulty in getting them home and the amount of lives lost on the journey. Even now, stone money is sometimes used to purchase land on Yap. The ‘coins’ are not moved around, however (rather like the gold in Fort Knox, which stays put no matter who ‘owns’ it), but are kept in ‘banks’ in the villages.

Sebastian and some Yapese stone money (photo: Simon Sellars).

Driving north, Sebastian filled me in on what happened to his people during the Japanese occupation. It’s a harsh and cruel tale, and I’m sad to report that by the end of World War II, the Yapese indigenous population had been decimated to 2,000 (today, it’s 11,000). The Japanese used to smash stone money as punishment if the Yapese decided not to co-operate (they used the broken pieces to pave roads); if that didn’t work, they killed. I hasten to add that these tales were not relayed to me with rancour, rather in a very matter-of-fact (though melancholy) way – mainly as historical fact. For Sebastian, what’s important is that Yapese culture has survived and that it remains strong in the face of new challenges.

Americanism is the new threat. The FSM is under some sort of Compact agreement with the US, which means they get financial aid in exchange for certain strategic and geographical rights. Yapese can fight in Iraq; Yap can be a target for terrorists; American popular culture can eradicate indigenous tradition. It’s a familiar refrain, and we’ve seen it so many times before, but remarkably Yap is still the real deal…for now.

Bechiyal Cultural Centre’s faluw (photo: Simon Sellars).

Sebastian took me to Bechiyal Cultural Centre to see the faluw, one of Yap’s “men’s houses” where elders gather to tell stories and pass on wisdom to the young fellas; this respect for the elderly blows my tiny little mind, coming as I do from a country where old people are bashed, robbed and killed all the time. The storytelling used to happen every night but now only on weekends, because people work during the week.

We passed a concrete and corrugated-iron faluw on the way back and I remarked that it was as ugly as sin; Sebastian roared with laughter and told me he liked the way I thought.

“Yes, that’s how they’re beginning to be built nowadays. And that’s why my culture will fall apart, because no one is taking the time to do it right”.

Bechiyal used to boast a few more faluw until the supertyphoon in 2004 blew them away. I asked Sebastian about the typhoon and he told me perhaps his most amazing tale. His house is by the water and he said that when the typhoon hit, everyone by the coast evacuated to higher ground. But Sebastian knew that if the waves swept through his house everything he had would be lost. So he stayed behind and pushed against the front door so that the onrushing water couldn’t get in. He held firm continuously from early morning to late afternoon, arms weakening, with water up to his chest, until the typhoon simply went away. He lost his bamboo porch, but his house, belongings and most of his furniture was saved.

“Jesus, you must be strong,” I said.

“No Simon, only as strong as you”.

“I couldn’t do it,” I said.

He laughed. “Simon, it was a great experience! The greatest experience of my life. Sometimes you have to look outside yourself and go beyond your own strength. And now I’m a better person”.

And with that, I couldn’t shake the image of Sebastian standing on the coast, repelling the forces of cultural imperialism with his own bare hands…if Yapese culture survives into the future, this man will have a lot to do with it.

And then we had a chew; I told Sebastian I wanted to try betel nut. He showed me how to prepare it and I chomped away. A bit bitter, but not too bad. But it’s true – it really turns your saliva red, and you generate buckets of the stuff; I was spitting every five minutes. And the effect? My mouth went numb, my angst about culture and politics dissipated, and I felt well and rested as I slipped into island life and saw things anew; I saw that everything was good.

Sebastian – thank you. All the very best for you and your people.

– From Simon.

Beachfront, Bechiyal Cultural Centre, Yap (photo: Simon Sellars).