Warning: Some vegetarians may find this blog distressing

I needed to say thank you to everyone who has been an amazing friend to me during my time here in Auki. How better to do this, than a party.
A good party in the Solomon Islands is all about the food and if you want it to be special, then you have to buy a pig. This was the start of an adventurous weekend that was more about the pig than the party.

It had taken a couple of weeks to arrange and by the time the great day of the pig collection arrived it had turned into quite an adventure that seemed to involve most of the hospital. We were planning on bringing this pig back alive so as nine of us packed into the hospital truck, we joked about where we would put it. We were driving to a village in West Kwaio, a two hour journey up mountains and across rivers along a muddy, bouncy dirt road. Everyone was in a great mood and the laughs were plenty as we jostled along.

Carrying on like a pork chop.

We arrived at the village and were led down to the pig pen to the adlib words of Shaggy: “baby you’re my pigpig, you’re my darling pigpig”, everyone laughing and dancing to the beatbox sounds as we slip and slide through the mud. The whole village stand at a distance to watch, possibly in fear. Never have they witnessed such a spectacle.

The pigs begin to squeal and panic as the heavens open. They understand that this is the beginning of the end. As if struck by a force of lightening, the mood shrivels and burns as reality sets in. Suddenly it is not quite the joyous occasion we thought it would be. This pig is going to die today and by the sounds of it, he knows it.
There is silence as the pig is finally tied to a long stick and lifted slowly out of the pen. The tension is finally broken by Kate who, up till now has been the most excited of the group, laughing and singing all the way. She has hit something. To be honest, I am unsure what she has hit but it looks confusing. Her face and body has crumpled as if in pain, half laughing and half crying. Tears are spilling out of her eyes. Slightly hysterically she is muttering about how she was a vegetarian before she came here. Why did she think that this would be anything less than a nightmare? The villagers continue to stand at some distance, some hiding behind trees, as if afraid that this bizarre behaviour may somehow be contagious.

Luckily the pig remains quiet as we all load back into the truck in the pouring rain. Kate sits inside the cab, hands wringing, head slumped as we start a very different journey back to Auki.

Between a rock and a hard place

We plan to cook this pig in a traditional moto oven. To build a moto oven we need rocks and apparently the only place we can get the right rocks is from the river. Luckily, Kate is back, does not need to be admitted to the psychiatric unit and is keen for the challenge. We have driven passed plenty of happy pigs having a lovely time frolicking about the country and she has convinced herself that this is OK. The pig has had a happy life. So we dive into the next task with positive enthusiasm. Within about 5 minutes, we are knee deep in a torrent of water as the rain pelts down on our backs, hands grappling the floor of the riverbed for large rocks to build our moto. A group of children crowd at the far bank to watch the show. Someone mutters that possibly considering catering next time would be a good idea. Kate, again, loses her shit and this time, we all join in. Thankfully, the absurdity of the situation striking everyone as totally hilarious. 

The rest of the journey is uneventful and quiet. It has already been quite a day and we still have the worst to do. The pig is still alive. In a wise move, we pack Kate off to see some friends for wine and therapy.

Slaughter: the killing of animals for food

The men are keen to crack on, doing manly things and I can tell they are in their element as they build bonfires and talk tactics. When the time comes, I wimp out and head to the kitchen to make food. I am told it was sharp and sweet and our happy pig felt nothing. I do, however, return to watch the butchering and I am amazed at the deftness in which this is accomplished.

 In less than 20 minutes it is all over and the rest of the evening is spent telling tales around the campfire. I am told that the next day is a big one and the boys will back at 7 am sharp to build the moto.

Solomon Time

Despite grand words the night before and in true Solomon style, we actually start to build the Moto somewhere around 11.30. It is built on the ground with a layer of stones, then wood, then stones, then wood. This is then set on fire and left until all the wood is burnt and the stones are like hot cakes. We have so much food it is ridiculous.

15 coconuts, 4 pumpkins, a woven basket full of potatoes, two huge yellow fin tuna, mangrove fruit and of course a whole pig have all been loving prepared. 

The fire is removed and the stones are layed at the edges as the food is placed on the bottom layer. We then cover the food with the rocks and a thick layer of banana leaves are placed over the top to seal the oven. It is then left for three to four hours.

The Party

It is a great party. The food is amazing and plentiful. 

We are amazed to be left with only the cleanest pile of bones. Kate spends sometime time trying to locate the pigs’ snout until she is informed that this one will have been taken first, the best bit.

 By nightfall everyone is a little loose and the ladies are taking charge of the dance floor. Sorry, I stand corrected. The ladies and our security guard who may have got a little looser than he should. That, however, is another story. In defiance of true Solomon style, I tried to make it as informal as possible and the speeches, thankfully, were kept to a minimum. I know I will have to make one eventually but I’m not yet ready to say my goodbyes. I didn’t get away with it totally and my most amazing and special friend Mary made sure I looked the part in my Solomon Island outfit and crown. 

This crown, I imagine, will be most prized and special gift that I will take with me. It is a traditional crown made of shell money from Mary’s village in Langa Langa Lagoon. Tiny round disks have been lovingly carved from coloured shells and strung together to spell my name. A star hangs from each ear and a small triangle compliments my nose. I am told that I am now ready to find a husband. What I lucky girl I am.

The end

This weekend was a special weekend. It has taken eleven months to get to this place and even now, there is still something that causes an initial unease and discomfort that is palpable at first. Thankfully though, with a little work, this dissipates and once you are let in and everyone begins to relax, you will find the warmest, funniest and friendliest folk you would ever like to meet. Like I said, a great party.