Dolphin Tooth Necklace

Solomon Islands, 1987

There were no tour buses in the Solomon Islands, no local Wonders of the World, no towering temples or Monkey Dances at the ends of well-paved roads. Roads themselves, in fact, were scarce. It quickly became obvious that I would need to find my own way.

The South Pacific nation is composed of 1,000 islands. Nearly 100 dialects have evolved across the archipelago, each spoken by a small, localized population. A powerful loyalty exists among people who share the same language; this is called the wantok (Pijin for “one talk”) system. Wantoks are tribal kin; one wantok will always help another out.

I knew that a writer—of any nationality—would qualify as one of my wantoks. In the capital of Honiara, I met and befriended a local author named Julian Maka’a. He had just published a short story collection (The Confession and Other Stories), and his dream was to return to his family’s village on the island of Makira and record the traditional tales of his clan. His uncle Moses was a healer; his great-grandfather, a sort of mayor. Julian’s mother, fondly known as “Sau,” was one of Makira’s revered mystics. “She ‘dream dances’,” Julian told me, “and awakens to teach these dances—and their enchanted songs—to the village women.” During the previous 10 years, Sau had brought more than 25 such dances from the dream-world to Makira.

There would be a ritual feast in in the village in three weeks; preparations were already under way. With Julian’s blessing—and his uncle’s phone number—I took the inter-island flight to Makira, and was welcomed as a guest in the tiny village.

One night, Sau and the women of her village assembled to perform the dream dances for me. Eighteen women swayed beneath the stars, clapping and shouting in synchronous rhythm as Sau and three village elders chanted the mesmerizing songs. The dances were simple, but full of pantomime and innuendo that I could not understand.

I was rapt for the first hour, attentive for most of the second, drifting off by the third. But the dances went on and on. The women began to giggle, and lose their timing. Even the irrepressible Sau began to sound hoarse. Finally, Julian’s uncle understood the problem. He leaned over to me and whispered that—according to local custom—it was up to the guest of honor to say when the dances should end.

They ended very shortly after that. I left the following morning, this lovely but somewhat disturbing necklace my parting gift from the remarkable Sau.