As A Kid I Remember…

Like many families in Fiji in the 90’s and maybe even 80’s, I grew up in an intergenerational household under my dad’s family home. Back then in Nausori, Fiji, it wasn’t necessarily secluded but it was defs more rural and less developed.

For example, I remember my grandparents always burning their rubbish in the backyard. My Pohpoh (grandmother) always had stray cats roaming around, and she would leave bowls of milk out for them. She often took me to see her chicken coop and would get me to help collect the eggs. I also remember her tying ropes around all her fruit trees, and it felt like within a week they would be overflowing with fruit. Suddenly there’d be buckets of oranges, that we’d be giving away to the neighbours or visiting relo’s. We’d all be drinking soursop juice, yum. It was so good and honestly addictive. I can still remember the smell of fresh caramelised guava jam stirred on the stove, the sweet, sticky aroma filling the whole house. I remember them having a wee tree, not sure what it’s called in Australia but in Fiji it’s known as the Wee tree, it had like a crunchy sour flesh and the middle seed was spikey. My grandparents always turned it into chutney, garlicky, tumeric, spicey blend. Oh, another thing I remember, drinking milk fresh from the neighbour’s cow. My grandmother would always boil it first; apparently that was how you got rid of the bacteria. I don’t know, but that was what was done back then. After it cooled, she’d scoop the layer off the top and pour it into our tea. I am here today to tell the tale. Though we didn’t have a lot in terms of material things, we were rich in love, family, community, noise and laughter.

I’ll never forget when my Koong (grandfather) would wake up early in the morning and because he worked in the local Chinese bakery, he use to make us fresh cheese and bacon buns, he would pack it in my lunch box too and I always looked forward to eating my lunch when I was in Class one, because it was so special to me. I’ll never forget when my Koong rounded up all my cousins and siblings in the backyard, to help catch a chicken. My Koong even set up a booby trap made of rope, trying to pull and catch its legs, patiently waiting for it to step into the loop. Only for us to realise later it was destined for the curry pot. The thrill, the chaos, the laughter, the sweat, the mud in my toes and the memories have stayed with me and I’ll cherish forever.

Eventually, my parents bought their first home in the city, moving away from my grandparents place and the rural lifestyle and into our own family home. It was bittersweet. Nausori had been our home, but the new place brought even more special moments. I remember during power outages, Mum would light candles throughout the house and we’d have a spontaneous dance party in the living room. I remember watching endless amounts of cartoons. I remember extended family gatherings, drinking grog (kava) where everyone was shouting at the TV, watching Fiji in the Rugby World Cup. Those nights would sometimes even flow into late Sunday roasts, plates full, laughter loud, everyone lounging around binge watching The Lord of the Rings. I’ll never forget those days. I hold them close, because in those moments I felt warm, so close and so loved.

I’m forever grateful that my grandparents and my parents raised us to know our family (even if we didn’t personally know them, we knew they were related to us somehow), to remember our roots, and to stay grounded in the humble beginning of where we came from.

I dedicate this first blog to my grandfather. I was so heartbroken when he passed away, he left a huge painful hole in our family and only time and distraction has suppressed that pain. I love you Koong. Rest In Peace.