Our Island
/ 11 June 2011
Day 55. This is our home. This va’a (canoe), simple with inspiration from our Polynesian ancestors, its smooth wooden platform connecting two sturdy hulls lying below- this is our island… this is our world. I heard someone say recently “our canoe is our island, and our island our canoe,” as such the lessons and practices inherent on one are reflective in the other.
Gaualofa, this island which has sheltered us, transported us and looked after us all so soundly, has been able to do so only as a result of care and consideration from everyone involved. We are constantly reminded to look after her should we expect to be looked after in turn. On this va’a, all are aware of the finite nature of the resources we carry on board; resources which ensure not only our comfort, but our survival. With determined quantities of supplies (namely food and fresh water), we all must practise careful management and distribution of these stores in order to ensure that all are adequately cared for during the duration of voyage legs (i.e. between when such provisions become available once more).
We have been transported well over 6000 nautical miles on this current voyage, with only wind and solar-energy to propel us through the waters. Having such forms of energy available, and most importantly the tools to harvest these clean, renewable sources of energy, has been a blessing. Nevertheless, the wind which powers our sails, and the solar-energy (collected through solar panels and stored in battery banks) powering our small pods (motors) as well as everything else electronic on board is continually and consciously used in the most efficient way possible. Of course, any sailor should wish to use the wind received in the most effective way possible to direct the course of their vessel in the most proficient manner. The use of solar energy on board, while seemingly limitless, must still be used with care, ensuring our stores do not become completely depleted should we find ourselves for want of sun-filled, battery filling day. For us, renewable does not constitute acceptance for wasteful and careless management.
There is no place to hide on this island “Gaualofa”, no place to sweep things under the carpet and no room to take the easy way out hoping that problems will go unnoticed or be solved by others. We have no landfills to hide our rubbish, or third world countries to ship trash off to. There is no “out of sight, out of mind” on this canoe. All products brought on board were given careful consideration because of this, but still, in particular mind to plastics and other non-degradable waste, it is surprising the amount of rubbish generated that must be properly contained and disposed of.
“Our canoe is our island, and our island is our canoe.” Life on board is a magnified representation of life on land, with conditions exaggerated perhaps because of circumstance. But- how long before we realize that these conditions are not really so removed from our terrestrial islands? How long before we truly appreciate the determinate and restricted nature of the earth’s resources (renewable or non-renewable)? In today’s increasingly globalized world, the actions and consequences of our individualized canoes (family, nation, group, etc.) reach much further and with more obvious effect than ever before. The aftereffects of our actions in today’s world ripple across the globe at a rate faster and with greater amplitude than in the world of our ancestors (who too often suffered or perished as a result of poor resource management and environmental damage). We cannot watch other va’a, other lands, other beings and other peoples suffer without examining the effect of our own behaviour and consumption habits. Not only is it morally reprehensible to watch others suffer for our own, often exuberant comfort (when small sacrifices and changes could further the greater good substantially) but in the end we cannot deny that we are, perhaps, on the same course to a similar fate. We are, after all, of one canoe, one people, one ocean, one world.
