Oceania: Day 12: 7-15-94: Visiting Youth With A Mission And Declining Missionary Position

After yesterday's adventurous outing, John and I vowed to have a relaxing day. We said goodbye to Matt, Alex and Rachel (all of whom were headed for the airport), and sat down to a leisurely breakfast. As I started making suggestions for possible morning destinations/activities, John said he had to drop off some "post" at a Christian ministry called Youth With A Mission (YWAM) and would be happy to have me join him. I asked him how it came to be that he had mail for a Fijian mission. John informed me that he had spent the previous summer working for YWAM in Bolivia (they have chapters worldwide), doing a bible study and participating in outreach programs. While at the Bolivian YWAM, he met a woman who had recently completed a six-month stint at the Fijian YWAM, and she encouraged John to visit the mission and deliver some letters for her. And there you have it. (John went on to talk more about his faith, during which it became obvious just how fervently religious [and morally upright] he is). The mystery of the letters explained, John and I decided to start our day at the mission and then find a place to stay in the nearby town of Lautoka, where we could catch a boat the next morning to one of the smaller surrounding islands.

YWAM was an interesting place to visit. It was a remote religious commune and "discipleship training school" located in the middle of sugar cane fields. Lacking electricity or any modern amenities, the mission provided a modest temporary home for its international volunteers (most of whom were students, though I met several adults and one entire family -- a Canadian couple and their two young daughters). Life at the retreat consisted of helping tend the sugar cane fields, working a communal farm (which provided some of the mission's food), partaking in bible study sessions/prayer groups and bringing outreach programs to the native Fijian population ("Indians"). At the end of each workday, the volunteers would retire to one of several bures, where they slept on the floor (!). I was amazed by these people's spiritual devotion: they were completely dedicated to their religious training and ministering to the locals. Genuine warmth emanated from the mission volunteers, and I enjoyed talking with them (though, truth be told, I also felt strangely uncomfortable at times . . . it's hard to explain, except to say that something about the experience felt a bit surreal at times [even a tad eerie] . . . perhaps it's just that I was an "outsider").



---------------------------------------YWAM---------------------------------------

Of all the volunteers, Pate, Ame and Tara (three locals) were the ones John and I spent the most time with -- they "took us in," so to speak. They showed us around the facilities and invited us to join them for a simple, but satisfying, lunch. Tara was a preschool teacher and thus worked with children just a tad younger than those I taught. We exchanged addresses, and I proposed to her that our classes start a pen pal campaign (we both agreed it would be a rewarding cultural exchange for the children). Before we left YWAM, the friendly trio showed John and I the proper way to eat raw sugar cane (you peel off the bamboo-like bark, chew the inner contents until you suck out all the sweet juice [imagine munching on a sweet corn husk] and then spit out the remains) -- it was a tasty way to end our visit.

----------Sucking on Sugar Cane -- How Sweeeeet It Is!--------------

Now John and I were off to Lautoka, the largest city on Nadi Island (though you wouldn't think it, to look at it). It was same-old, same-old (a lot of stores, not much else). We booked lodgings at the Lautoka Hotel dorms and met our roommates. In keeping with a recurring theme here in Fiji, all four of them (Bill, Mirriam, Lisa and Safron [pronounced just like the rice]) were English -- however, it readily became apparent that these were not your stereotypical, reserved Brits. Three out of the four (Bill, Mirriam and Safron) were clearly high or drunk (or both) and they couldn't keep their hands off one another. They took turns massaging/groping each other, all the while describing their sexual fantasies, including some rather kinky new uses for toothpaste. It took a while to sort everyone out, but in the end I learned that Bill and Safron were married, and Mirriam and Lisa were friends who had just hooked up with the couple along the way (Mirriam may actually have hooked up with them in more ways than one, whilst Lisa seemed to be the least libidinous and most "normal" of the group). Although our "roomies" were decidedly a bit too wild for my taste (much less poor John, who looked as uncomfortable as I'd ever seen him), they were very friendly and downright amusing. They invited us to share their pot, which John and I politely declined. Mirriam then starting coming on to me (making me almost as uncomfortable as John -- though, truth be told, rather excited, as well) and before she could invite me to share in anything else, I noted the time and suggested a pizza dinner, which I quickly volunteered to go pick up.

I soon returned with two humongous pies, which we all attacked with gusto. The randy Brits offered me a liter-sized bottle of Fiji Bitter Beer, which I accepted with gratitude. Dinner was good and greasy! The conversation was good, as well -- we all talked a bit about ourselves and our various (mis)adventures and laughed at one another's anecdotes. Even John, growing more at ease by the moment, got into it.

The lot of us had such fun during dinner that we decided to continue our evening together at a local nightclub. I forget the name of the place, but the interior was designed like a cave. The crowd was sparse and the music, severely limited (they kept repeating the same two tapes), but it was enjoyable enough. I ordered another beer (though only ended up getting a few sips in) and talked to John and the girls (Bill was out cavorting with a pair of shady Fijians in an attempt to purchase more pot).

Then the moment I had been anticipating/dreading arrived. Mirriam asked me to step outside with her, ostensibly to "find Bill". I acquiesced. Naturally, we found Bill just as soon as we exited the club (he was still huddled with the dealers in hushed conversation), though Mirriam barely glanced in his direction as she invited me to accompany her on a walk. Almost immediately, I started stammering inane thoughts and she started seducing. Before I knew it, Mirriam's hand was holding my own, and she dropped all pretense and went for broke: "Do you think they'd miss us if we went back to the room? . . . We could have a good time . . . Do you want to?"

Hmm . . .

At this moment, I felt like the guy in Animal House who has an angel over one shoulder and a devil over the other. The devil struck the first blow, grabbing me by the hormones and arguing fiercely for a quickie with this hot, willing stranger. As tempting as the offer was, however, I never more than briefly considered it. (I'm neither prude nor saint and Lord knows I've made my share of mistakes, but having sex with a girl so obviously wasted [who I just met, no less] is not my style. Maybe if we had traveled for a few days together and formed a sober friendship it would have been a different story, but as it was, I wasn't about to take advantage of this girl just for my own gratification. Moreover, something just didn't feel right about the whole thing -- it was like she couldn't help herself). So I cleared my throat, pushed the devil away and earned my wings: "I'm very flattered, really . . . I mean, you're very attractive . . . but, I don't think that would be a good idea."

Thus began a 45-minute conversation in which I explained my reasons for rejecting Mirriam's offer and she explained her reasons for making it (other than the fact that I'm an incredibly attractive individual, I mean). She completely opened up her emotional flood gates and tearfully explained to me the self-destructive path she had recently been on. It seems her boyfriend of four years -- a man she had hoped to marry -- had unceremoniously dumped her right before she left on this globetrotting trip almost a year ago. Mirriam confessed that in that short span of time, she'd slept with 27 (!) men (often unprotected -- am I the only one who fears AIDS?!) , had one abortion and generally been mistreated by her "lovers." I told her, quite sincerely, that I'd rather be her friend than #28. She hugged me, pecked me on the cheek and said it had been the best night of her trip. "I wish there were more guys like you," she said. I'm not sure how much I was even a "guy like me" -- the devil's argument had been pretty tempting, after all, and I instantly felt guilty for even momentarily considering it.

When Mirriam and I got back to the club, her friends gave me the "knowing eye" and John's face held an unmistakable tinge of disappointment (surprisingly, his look really hurt me, and I found myself oddly craving his approval). I went right over to him and gave him a quick synopsis. When I was finished, he patted me on the back and said, "I'm proud of you, bloke." (Only later did I discover that John is a 24-year-old virgin who has vowed to save himself for marriage.)

At this point, the evening became much more lighthearted. I danced the night away with Mirriam and Safron and Lisa. Bill, now more stoned than ever (his drug buy clearly successful), lumbered over to the dance floor, swaying awkwardly for a bit before returning to his pot-induced catatonia. Even John joined us after a while, which was a pleasant surprise.

The tide had turned. Mirriam's proposition had been the climax (alas, only figuratively) of the Brits' attempt to control the tone of the night. Their advances spurned, our roommates were rendered toothless -- their hearts were no longer in it. There were no more sexual innuendos, offers of physical/pharmaceutical pleasures or group gropes. Just peaceful sleep (and a good feeling inside) awaited me back at the room.