French Polynesia
Family Ties
After 9 days across the astonishing vastness and emptiness of the Pacific Ocean (not even a bird!), upon stepping foot on the rugged island of Nuku Hiva in the Marquesas, I immediately felt the wonder that captivated numerous historic writers and artists who landed on these volcanic shores. Herman Melville, Robert Louis Stevenson, and Paul Gauguin all creatively captured their experiences here, blending reality and fantasy, which seem to naturally blur on these tiny islands.
French Polynesia is one of the most remote places on the planet, given the distance from any major land mass. Its people, so far-flung from the rest of the world, remain closely connected to their collective history and individual memories.
In Nuku Hiva, locals are covered in traditional patterned tattoos that tell stories with cultural, familial, and ancestral significance (in addition to looking pretty badass). My guide, Kimi, whose arms and legs were already pretty much out of real estate, said that if I came back again in five years, the work still wouldn’t be finished. He’ll keep adding designs until likely the end of his life.
In Bora Bora, the main village of Vaitape actually means “the place where bodies are taken at maturity” — in the past, deceased people of distinction were brought here for embalming on their way to Polynesian heaven. As on other French Polynesian islands, while there are community cemeteries, people are allowed to bury their loved ones on their own property. I passed front-yard graves visible from the road, with prominent headstones and decorations under shelters, safe from the tropical sun and rains.
In Tahiti (where the abundant black pearls were worthless until European explorers decided they weren’t), a tour that took me outside the industrial capital of Pape’ete was inadvertently ideal to help me understand more about death and remembrance in French Polynesia. [Internet connection, and therefore any online research prior to port, has been virtually impossible (get it?!) — a lesson in keeping expectations low and surrendering to the experience as it unfolds.]
The path in the Vaipahi botanic gardens is marked by a series of plaques, each successively describing the journey of the dead to join their ancestors, from embalming and purification with plants to bathing in the sacred waters. While that process is now more one of local lore than actual practice, ancient traditions still influence modern life…
Hundreds of years ago, the sacred site of Marae Arahurahu (meaning “the human ashes”) was an open-air temple where warring tribes used to come together in peace every few months to thank the gods through ceremony — and a human sacrifice. My guide, Ofilio, brought things back into the present and the personal. The land his family owns has been passed down through the generations for more than 600 years. Likely, an ancestor was the volunteer sacrifice, for which the relatives were granted land, the greatest rich possible.
Still in his 20s, Ofilio shared that he had lost his father a number of years ago, and this temple remains the place where he can reconnect. People come to these ruins to talk to their ancestors for wisdom and advice. For instance, if you’re grieving and finding it difficult to cope, they’ll be here for you. To channel them, you remove your shoes, sit on the volcanic rocks, and perform the ritual call. Tahitian is a powerful, expressive language, so there must be feeling in it, you can’t just say the words. You will then feel the mana (lifeforce / energy) flowing through you, easing your pain. While only Polynesians can call, anyone can receive the mana. It’s symbolic of the generous nature of this culture, which is meant to be shared.
Walking through the site with Ofilio, because of his own display of vulnerability, I felt comfortable enough to mention my own losses, letting him know I connected with his story. And somehow within that brief conversation, without my saying where I’m from, I discovered that he had actually been born in San Francisco and spent his childhood there! The rain picked up again, and I suddenly had the entirety of the space to myself. Freshly reminded of home, I paused to thank my family for bringing me all the way here. A place where remembrance is planted in the land itself, and shared with anyone who is fortunate enough to find themselves on it. I’m pretty sure I felt the mana.
