Nadi. International airport for Fiji. I arrive, go through customs and
straight to the domestic counter to get my air link to Suva. Problem number
one. I am off-loaded from the plane despite having a valid ticket. Sorry,
says the smiling face. It's full. Planes are often over-booked in the
Pacific. Priority people (those more important than me gets seats, as they
know someone in the booking department or they throw their weight around).
In the seven weeks since the George Speight terrorist action of May 19, a
great deal of heavy weight influence had been tossed around this country.
The next plane to Suva is several hours away and booked to the last seat. I
make a major error of judgment by saying aloud that it is quicker and easier
to go by taxi than to try and fly. The truth is to emerge later. I know
there are only two road routes to Suva. Speight supporters control the
Tailevu side of the country. That is a non-starter. To go that way is to
seek trouble. A police station is already in the hands of Speight
supporters. Soldiers and police are hostages at a village. The choice is
simple - go through the Coral Coast side of the island - beloved of tourists
and fast drivers. The airport police officer assures me that all is well on
the tourist side of Fiji. But, I am advised to find a taxi with a proper
army pass. Some have them he says, and, some don't. You might pay a few more
dollars for the trip, he murmurs. We smile and exchange mutual thanks.
Vinaka vaka levu.
As I look for a taxi, two Indo-Fijian women with a small boy, lobby me. We
too, were also off-loaded from the plane, they say, will you share your
taxi? We hear you say you go to Suva. They go to find a taxi that had a
valid army pass. Thirty minutes later we are set. The taxi wants to
overcharge us by at least seventy per cent. Despite a lengthy debate in
Hindi we agree to pay most of the robber's fees. Because, say one of the
women, he has proper army pass. The taxi is loaded with all our bags. In
less than four hours we will be in Suva safe and sound.
Much of the trip is uneventful. Horses casually stroll over the road and are
missed by the driver. A stop at a shop to buy us all an ice cream and coke.
We then hit the last kilometers of the highway. Suva is less than an hour
away.
The first roadblock we encounter is manned by numerous posturing barefoot
youths dressed in an array of hats and old clothes. There is not a policeman
or soldier in sight. The youths are courteous. Accompanied by several old
men they ask us where we are going. I would imagine everyone in the long
queue, said they were going to Suva. It is the only place to go to without
turning round and retreating to Nadi. Our driver produces his pass. It is
scrutinized by several youths in turn. Go now, shouts one of the smaller
boys. Several of them wave us through a maze of stones, logs, and old oil
drums. Before we drive on I ask the road guardians why the roadblock is
there? This is our land, growled one of them pointing to the road at his
feet.. Our land. He glares. Go, snaps another youth waving us on with
impatient gestures.
There is hardly time to get into top gear with the taxi before we see yet
another road block. A long line of vehicles is snaked on the road before us.
The taxi driver hit his brakes with a screech and slows to a stop. This
scene is different to the first one. The roadblock stretches over four
hundred metres. The logs, old drums, and tree branches were the same, but
there is also a bright blue tarpaulin stretched over the road. It creates a
makeshift tent. Under the tent sit a circle of older men. The same types of
posturing and poorly dressed youths are all over the place, but there are
more of them. They won't let anyone through at all. So we sit. After fifteen
minutes of waiting in the sun I notice several soldiers, policemen and a
prison officer talking together. All seem indifferent to the ever-increasing
queue of vehicles.
Another thirty minutes in the sun, a longer queue. A police bus arrives with
a number of uniformed men inside. The bus stops at the barrier. An officer
talks with the old men in the circle, returns, and gets into the bus.
Nothing happens. One hour later there is still no progress. The car queue
grows longer. A child is crying. Several are complaining.
I wander about asking questions about why the roadblock is on - they're
supporting Speight, says an elderly man. When the Speight meetings are over
in Parliament this afternoon, we'll all be able to go on. But we stay
now. It's their road, said another, and their land. They say they
haven't been paid for it. So we can't pass. A scruffy looking man
approached. "Where you from?" he says? "You got some cigarettes?
Give my
chief some Kava, some money. I get you to other side."
The taxi driver is now impatient. He wants to get to Suva, take on new
passengers, and return to Nadi. He suggests we take our bags and walk
through the roadblock to the other side, hire another taxi and go to Suva.
Then, you pay me less, he says. It seems a strange scenario. He says he'll
go and check it out with the people manning the blockade. The Indo-Fijian
women in my car don't say anything. The boy is asleep. Nearly a hour later
the driver returns. OK, he says - you pay me now. I help you walk with the
bags. My passengers shake their heads. It's not safe as far as they are
concerned. So we sit in the hot car while the driver sulks.
Some time later the roadblock is suddenly moved. Noisy youths wave us on.
The taxi reaches Suva. It is over seven hours since we left Nadi. The radio
news announcer is saying the Speight meeting at the parliamentary complex is
still on. So why did the landowners let us go, and what were their
complaints about land all about? I never found out. Neither the radio news
nor the evening television reports the roadblocks. Bigger news is pushing us
off the headlines. A hotel owner is now a hostage. Villagers are surrounding
another police station. The local airport is being threatened with a
take-over by angry landowners.
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