Niue

I’m guessing Niue is place most of us don’t think about often. A small (population is under 2000) island in free association with New Zealand, closest to Tonga, Samoa and the Cook Islands. Think about it now.

While this year Constitution Day celebrations are happening on 16 and 17 October, I’m writing this to mark the anniversary of the new constitution.

Okay. So people arrived in Niue from Samoa around 900 CE. About six hundred years later more settlers came from Tonga. So far, strictly Polynesian. During this time—until the early 1700s—there wasn’t really a national government. Chiefs and heads of families controlled things. But since there was influence from both Samoa and Tonga established, kingship was introduced into the mix. The first king of Niue was Puni-mata.

Contact with the wider world? Well, this is Oceania, and so James Cook can be credited with the first European sighting of Niue. He tried to land there—three times—but the Niueans refused him. Oh, and Cook called the island “Savage Island,” the name that stuck until relatively recently when the original name Niue became known on the world stage.

Now this is Oceania, so where discoverers… discovered… it is inevitable that sometime soon after missionaries much follow. Yes, the London Missionary Society agrees with me, and some missionaries showed up in Niue in 1846. And, yes, after a few years Christianity had spread. Way to proselytise.

And where did the British empire come in? King Fata-a-iki, who reigned from 1887 to 1896, was worried about the colonising spirit of the times, and offered sovereignty to the British in 1887, judging them more benevolent than many other colonial powers. It took till 1900, but soon the island was a British protectorate—for a year. In 1901 New Zealand annexed the island. And then 1974 saw self-government.

Something you probably didn’t know? Niue is one of the world’s largest coral islands. Also—weird fact—apparently the soil in Niue is really unusual, geochemically speaking. The soil has a “surprisingly high” level of natural radioactivity—no uranium, but some other radionucleides. Now apparently this kind of distribution happens on very deep seabeds and the theory goes that a combination of extreme weathering of the coral and a short-lived submergence in the sea 120,000 years ago caused this. That’s so interesting. Oh, and there’s been no evidence of ill-effects health-wise in the local population.

Today’s poem is actually a segment of a longer work by John Pule, who is considered to be Niue’s most important writer and artist. It comes from Nuanua: Pacific Writing in English Since 1980.


from The Shark that Ate the Sun

Earth. Time’s curfew desires only our attention
the landscape mirrors another reflection of
the other sorrow known on earth as life

the ocean is left behind as we walk to a dream
war is not known on earth but in the isolated
image human beings once ran naked in caves
carved out a history of a new birth
embellishing art to become blood and beauty
when mysteries poked at our brain, leaving holes,
and we dropped whatever we had in our hearts to
look at each other in amazement, and whoever possessed
the desire to live forever will never die, but we die, and suffer,
and the shock has long been forgotten
because the word death is only a gossip

and not when we carelessly describe to our
children how we love on earth, which ceases to
fascinate, and falls about our bodies like confetti

and standing naked to surmise a tranquil field
a city appeared to haunt the waterhole where
animals browse and drink. Years later
the remains of that lone figure are dug up
the position odd, the hands covered the eyes as if to
hide from some horrific vision, maybe a
revelation of what was seen is what we now live in
did the vision kill whatever his name and tribe is
staring out over the tranquil field?

the question glittered as centuries battled
in iron and the rain washed the blood away to
settle in small dark cities, which we tasted and
the smell caused a strange evolution to take
place in our emotions, and the change dressed
us in miraculous nights, the stars challenged
our answers

if they could glimpse into this present day
they would die in the presence of hate and emotion
that sleeps in every country

we contemplate distant illuminations,
yet the difficulty remains in
recognizing the true human
which is a dream the firstborn forgot and hopes
this earth will never feel

goodbye, said the captain. Goodbye, said the islander.
Next time test in your own country
perhaps New York or Paris

—John Pule
from Nuanua: Pacific Writing in English Since 1980

Equatorial Guinea

Independence Day for Equatorial Guinea! And you will be surprised to learn that Equatorial Guinea is not, in fact, equatorial. It just misses, lying one degree north. The nation includes a continental region (coastal, not surprisingly) and an insular region—Bioko island is where the capital (Malabo) lies. Wow. I’m learning stuff already. Independence was achieved in 1968—independent from? Spain.

In terms of pre-European history, we don’t know a lot. It’s believed the first inhabitants were Pygmies—and there are still small populations of Pygmie peoples in the north of Rio Muni, the continental part of the country. Bantu and Fang populations migrated between the 17th and 19th century. It’s thought that the Bubi—the first inhabitants of Bioko, may have come from the Fang. From my understanding, though, none of this is absolutely certain.

In terms of Western contact, it’s said that Fernão do Pó—a Portuguese explorer—was the first European to discover Bioko island, back in 1472. He called it Formosa (for “beautiful”) and then it took on his own name before, more recently, becoming known as Bioko. Portugal colonised the island and nearby Annabón in 1474, and then in 1778 the islands were ceded to Spain.

Independence? Well, as well as pressure from Equatoguineans, Spain was also under pressure from the United Nations to grant independence. On 11 August 1968 a referendum was held, with 63 percent of the electorate in favor of the constitution that had been drafted. Before the official “Independence Day” Equatorial Guinea elected Francisco Macías Nguema as president. The next part of the story? In 1970 the country became a one-party state. In 1972 Macías took on the title President for Life. Under governmental neglect the basic infrastructure of the country—electricity, water, roads, health—fell into ruin. The economy went south, and foreigners left the country, along with skilled Equatoguinean citizens. Pretty bleak.

1975: the schools were closed. 1978: the churches were closed. Colonial names were all replaced with native names.

Then in 1979, Macías’s own nephew Obiang led a coup d’état. Macías was arrested, tried and executed. Obiang is still in power today. Elections have generally been considered fraudulent, and government corruption is still rife.

There was an alleged coup attempt in 2004, but it failed. This recent coup attempt is a weird one—it’s been called “the new Kuwait” by some. It was led by mercenaries, and most financied by British-based backers. The goal? To open the country’s mineral wealth. Among the backers? This is where is gets a little weird. Margaret Thatcher’s son, The Hon. Sir Mark Thatcher was involved. There’s also speculation that Jeffrey Archer was involved. It just seems weird.

From the weird to the poetic—today’s poem, “Delirium,” is by María Nsue Angüe. It comes from Marvin Lewis’s An introduction to the literature of Equatorial Guinea: between colonialism and dictatorship.

Delirium

In the mirror of my past
there appear ghosts enmeshed
in a dark curtain, where my present

is shattered, and my future
crumbles in nothingness.

Faces of shadows swarm
in my mirror!
Your faces sketched by hunger
carry a stamp of misery as deep
as the revolving song of my sadness
that shouts at me to the depth of my bones
that I shall die like the offended Christ
who having been born in his time
those of his era did not recognize him.

—María Nsue Angüe

Spain

I almost went to Spain five years ago—but then my friend Felicity and I opted to go for Corsica instead. And while I have no complaints (Corsica was beautiful) I am a little sad I didn’t make it to Spain. Still, someday I hope to take the pilgrims walk to Santiago de Compostela in Galicia. Someday. In the mean time, today is Spain’s Dia de la Hispanidad.

So, back during the days of the Roman Empire, the Mediterranean coast of Hispania was under Roman control, with other parts of the country displaying various degrees of Roman influence. Apparently agriculture was big business, as Spain acted as a granary for the Romans, as well as exporting gold, wool, olive oil and wine. Hey! I never knew Seneca was born in Hispania! I also didn’t know that the name “Andalusia” tells the history of the area’s separartion from Rome. When the Vandals established a kingdom, it was named “Vandalusia”—later transformed to Andalusia.

Fast forward a few centuries, and there’s the Muslim conquest of sections of the Iberian peninsula. The capital of the caliphate—Córdoba—was the important in the Europe of the day. Important? The superlatives largest, richest and most sophisticated have been applied. And let’s not forget that without Arabic scholars—including those present in Spain at this period—Greek learning would have been revived much more slowly.

Of course, Muslim rule didn’t last either, and over centuries it broke up leading eventually to the Spanish Empire. Which of course came to include large swathes of South and Central America, Mexico and sections of what is now the United States along with plenty of islands. Of course, within Europe Spain faced plenty of challenges from Barbary pirates (pirates!) to new threats of Islamic invasion.

So, Spain has had plenty to do. The twentieth century was no difference—following the establishment of the Second Spanish Republic came the Spanish Civil War from 1936 to 1939. The Nationalist forces—under General Franco—emerged the stronger side. Who was on their side? Nazi Germany and Fascist Italy. Sometimes the Spanish Civil War is called the first battle of the Second World War. Franco came out of the Civil War as dictator. He died in 1975. At a Davis Cup match in Australia a few years ago the officials committed a major faux pas, playing the Spanish national anthem from the Franco years, and not the current anthem. Not surprisingly, the players were very upset. Oh, and Spanish tennis players? All kinds of amazing.

More recently, we think of the bombs that exploded in commuter trains in 2004: initially Basque separatists were suspected, but last year it was concluded that the perpetrators were from a local Islamist militant group.

And when we talk about the Spanish language, we’re referring to Castilian, which is the only language with an official status through the whole country. Other major languages are Basque, Catalan and Galician—and there are plenty of other languages spoke.

The arts? Well, Don Quixote is one of the greatest works of literature ever written. Velázquez’s paintings are amazing, as are El Greco’s. And, yes, we know Picasso was one of the most influential artists of the twentieth century. Still, for me the greatest Spanish artist will always be Goya. There’s cinema—including the greats Luis Buñuel and Pedro Almadóvar. And then there’s flamenco. I took flamenco lessons for a year. I want to go back to them. Time, money. The eternal inhibitors.

For a poem I have chosen a piece by Lorca. I love Lorca. This is actually the opening poem to his early volume Poem of the Deep Song. The book is a wonder.

Little Ballad of the Three Rivers

             To Salvador Quintero

The river Guadalquivir
winds through orange and olive trees.
The two rivers of Granada
descend from the snow to the wheat.

Ay, love
that went away and never returned!

The river Guadalquivir
has whiskers of garnet.
The two rivers of Granada,
one weeping and the other blood.

Ay, love
that went away through the air!

For ships with sail
Sevilla has a route;
in the waters of Granada
only righs row about.

Ay, love
that went away and never returned!

Guadalquivir, a tall tower
and wind in the orange groves.
Darro and Genil, dead little 
towers rising from the lakes.

Ay, love
that went away through the air!

One could say that the water carries
a will-o’-the-wisp filled with cries!

Ay, love
that went away and never returned!

Carry orange blossom, carry olivers,
Andalusia, down to your seas.

Ay, love
that went away through the air!

—Federico García Lorca
translated from the Spanish by Carlos Bauer
from Poem of the Deep Song

Fiji

When I was about 6 I got my first passport: my family was thinking of taking an overseas holiday. I was thrilled. Even then I was, apparently dreaming of the sheer number of fascinating places in the world. I admit that my first thought was Europe (hey, as Australians we had a heavily British influence… especially since I grew up watching the ABC, with all its BBC programming)—but the plan was a trip to Fiji. Unfortunately it never happened, and I still haven’t been to Fiji. Though I plan to make it to that corner of the world sometime. So let’s celebrate Fiji Day, and keep your fingers crossed that someday I will realise this first-proposed international sojourn. (My parents went a few years ago and brought me back some Fijian black peppercorns. I’m a pepper-fan.)

From archaeological evidence, it looks like there have been people in Fiji for around 3000 years, though it took until 1643 for Europeans to show up. The intrepid voyager in this case? Abel Tasman, while he was looking for the Great Southern Continent. It took until the 19th century for outsiders to settle in the islands, starting in 1822, and Fiji became a British colony in 1874. (Incidentally, one of my most vivid memories of a lecture from my undergraduate Arts degree was from Robin Grove’s closely reading of a passage of George Eliot’s Middlemarch—part of the passage mentioned “Feejee.” Middlemarch was published serially in the few years before Fiji was officially made a colony, and published in a single volume the same year. Middlemarch was set during the early 1830s.)

After nearly 100 years as a British colony, Fiji gained independence in 1970. Unfortunately after 17 years things democratic rule was tripped up by a pair of military coups. And of course that wasn’t the last coup—the new millennium brought a new coup. Ouch. That was followed up most recently with the coup of 2006, which really occurred after the pressure continued to build after the 2000 coup, and 2005-2006 political crisis. Fiji has been suspended from the Commonwealth of Nations a few times—after the 2006 coup the nation was suspended again, and it remains in suspension. Following the coup, human rights groups such received reports of human rights abuses such as arbitrary detention and torture of critics of the coup into the early months of 2007. Meanwhile it’s reported today that the interim leader, Commodore Frank Bainimarama, seems to be determined to resist any return to democratic rule.

Today’s poem, “Ballet for a Sea-bird,” is by Satendra Nandan, and comes from Nuanua: Pacific Writing in English Since 1980.


Ballet for a Sea-bird

in the blue lightning-lashed sea
the black wave-thrashed rock
entangle, entwine and mock
perhaps some common destiny!

the dark waters rise to fall:
the rock resists, bits crumble;
the waves hiss, boil over, tumble
above it all, a lost bird’s call!

from the green sea it rose—
an extension of the sea foam?
to rest its breast on a craggy home—
the immensity of death still so close!

it wobbles, flutters, loses its hold:
cries, crashed into the marbled ocean
an act larger than its last emotion:
the sleepless sea rocks it in its fold!

but in the cracks of the rock, moss
had seen the bird search for an answer
with the myriad movements of a dancer
touched by another life’s tenderness!

the waves swirl to reach evermore
the infinity of a blind, birdless sky;
only in my heart, the tiny gull’s cry
sings as I scuttle from shore to shore!

—Satendra Nandan
from Nuanua: Pacific Writing in English Since 1980

Cuba

Cuban cigars. Cuban heels. I admit, I’m a fan of the latter. (I’ve only smoked two cigars in my life—I don’t think either of them was Cuban, though I wasn’t really paying attention. I bought the one recommended by the cigar-guy in Melbourne. Cuban heels, however, are wonderful.) And I guess I don’t really need to say “Castro” or “Bay of Pigs” or “Cuban Missile Crisis,” do I?

Hey, I never really knew that Cuba consisted of a several islands! I shouldn’t be surprised, I know. Oh, and 10 October, Cuban Independence Day, celebrates Cuba’s declaration of independence from Spain on 10 October, 1868. The republic was declared on 20 May, 1902 and of course there was that whole Cuban revolution in 1959.

Yes, being back in the Caribbean means we’re back in the territory of Christopher Columbus. While he was roving around on his first voyage of discovery he sighted Cuba and claimed it for Spain—I’m guessing he did at that stage inform the Taíno and Ciboney people who called the island home (descended from migrants from South America—and possible Central and North America—after a series of migrations centuries before—and perhaps thousands of years prior to Columbus’s explorations.)

So, we’re in colonial Spanish territory. And, since this is the Caribbean, there were also pirates. (You remember how much I love it when pirates show up, right? It feels like it’s been a long time without pirates.)

It took a while for Cuba to gain its independence after the declaration—and it also took quite a long time for Cuba to abolish slavery. The latter happened in 1886, under pressure from the US, though it didn’t mark a huge improvement in conditions for the African-descended minority. Oh, and actual independence? That arrived, formally, in 1902.

Hey! Cuba smuggled sugar to Britain via Sweden during World War I. That’s so cool. They also supplied sugar during World War II, and upped the ante by providing manganese as well.

And Castro? Well, we know that as a result of the Cuban Missile Crisis there’s been a trade embargo in place since the 1960s. My understanding is that President Kennedy obtained a large supply of Cuban cigars, and then put the embargo in place.

Most recently, obviously, there’s been the Castro to Castro transfer of power, and Raúl took over from his brother Fidel.

The government has been accused of human rights abuses, ranging from arbitrary imprisonment and unfair trials to torture and extra-judicial executions. According to Human Rights Watch the number of political prisoners in Cuba may be vastly understated—and prisoners are held in jails with substandard, unhealthy conditions. With tourism a big industry in Cuba, I’m guessing most visitors don’t engage in this side of Cuban society. That’s natural—there are human rights problems all over the world (Australia is no exception)—and there are a lot of wonderful cultural things to experience, by all reports—especially the music and dancing. But it’s good to keep in mind things that can be improved.

And a Cuban poem? I’ve chosen “A Story” by Reinaldo Arenas. This piece appeared in the Anthology of Contemporary Latin American Literature 1960-1984 and was translated by Anthony Kerrigan and Jeanne Cook.


A Story

Already 35 years old, with his stomach empty,
and his dozen books only in manuscript because
given their bias
they would never be published by the State,
Roberto Fernández decided to commit suicide.
          Then the Devil appeared.
          Naturally he appeared in uniform, numberless
decorations glittering along the length of his chest.
          Man and Devil chatted for several hours.
          Fernández altered all his manuscripts. He added, subtracted,
obliterated, emended, eliminated everything which might,
by the present generation, which is zealously building the Future.”
          His works were published at once in the de luxe collection
Unidimensional Belle-Lettres. He was awarded, ipso facto, 
by express order of the Devil, the grand prize “Aurora Medal,”
and he was allotted—a great privilege—a spacious house.
          A few days later he died “unexpectedly.”
          His exequies ere in the nature of an apotheosis. Honor guards
were posted at civil and military ceremonies.
The Devil himself, who presided, climaxed
the funeral eulogies with a moving oration which was carried
around the progressive world. 
          His body was cremated, along with his manuscripts—those
he had carefully corrected as well as all his originals.
          Without a doubt, the Devil is a reliable guard.

—Reinaldo Arenas
translated by Anthony Kerrigan and Jeanne Cook
from Anthology of Contemporary Latin American Literature 1960-1984

Uganda

On 9 October, 1962 Uganda gained its independence from the UK. So—Ugandan Independence Day. I admit that when I think of Uganda I can’t help but think of Idi Amin. We’ll get to that. So Uganda is landlocked, in East Africa—not to far from the centre of the continent really. Its neighbours are Kenya, Sudan, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Rwanda and Tanzania. Just looking at that list you can see another history of turmoil. Oh, and while the country is landlocked there are a lot of large lakes. So. No shortage of water.

The first known inhabitants came to the region between 2000 and 1500 years ago. These were Bantu peoples, bringing in ironworking skill—and new social structures. Still, it wasn’t until the 14th or 15th century, with the Empire of Kitara, that these ideas translated into a more formal societal and political structure. I guess that means before that these structures were on a smaller scale, less formal.

Being part of the African interior, Uganda came into contact with the outside world—both Arabic and European—later than the coastal regions of Africa. In the 1830s Arab traders were the first to move inland, from their posts along the Indian Ocean coastline. Thirty yeas later British explorers ventured into the region, as they were searching for the source of the Nile. Of course, once the explorers had arrived, missionaries had to follow. That’s just the way it goes, apparently. What comes next? The desire to profit. So Uganda came under the charter of the British East Africa Company in 1888, leading to its political emergence as a British protectorate in 1894. It took another twenty years for the final shape of the protectorate to emerge—more territories were integrated—and this is what became modern-day Uganda.

So independence led to a long period of coups and military rule. And, yes, the most famous instance of the latter was Idi Amin’s rule from 1971 until 1979. His rule ushered in human rights abuses, political repression, extrajudicial killings and ethnic persecution—including the expulsion of Asians (in particular entrepreneurial Indians) from the country. Estimates on the number killed during his rule vary—they range from 100,000 to half a million.

When Idi Amin was overthrown, there was still a period of instability—it took until the 1986 deposition of General Tito Okello and the establishment of Yoweri Museveni ‘s rule for the situation to stabilise. It took a further decade for elections to occur: Museveni was voted back in—international and domestic observers stated that the vote was valid, though the opposition candidates rejected the results. He has won two subsequent terms, though the 2006 elections were cause for concern—the Supreme Court of Uganda, though voting to uphold the election results, noted that the process had involved intimidation, violence, voter disenfranchisement and other irregularities. So, while he has been praised in the west, it appears that the system isn’t perfect. (An understatement?) Museveni’s tenure has also been subject to allegations of corruption and embezzlement of public funds. Also, torture is reported as a widespread practice among security organizations. Rights for refugees and immigrants has been an issue too—apparently there have been forcible deportations and violence directed against refugees.

Today’s poem is by Taban Lo Liyong. He was born in Northern Uganda, studied in the United States, and taught in Nairobi. The poem is “Song from the Congolese.” I admit, I like this melting pot. I'm afraid I'm going to have to check up on where I found it initially and update later.

Song from the Congolese

When I was young mother told me to shut up
     or else the ten-eyed giant would hear me.
When I was young mother told me to finish my food
     or else daddy would spank me dead.
When I was young sister told me to steal
     or else I would not get my meal.
When I was young mother told me to bathe
     or else the akula would catch me at night.
When I was young I was told to be home at night
     or else abiba would eat my liver.
When I was young teachers told me to pray at night
     or else Satan would be by my side.

Now that I am old the giant comes and visits me:
     I can see his red ten eyes and bloody teeth;
Now that I am old I can feel the hand of father
     when with rage he beats me as if I was a foe;
Now that I am old I still remember sister 
      when hunger comes and gnaws my entrails;
Now that I am old I know the Black Maria for sure
     as the truck to take me for cutting up;
Now that I am old I know the eagle overhead is for sure
     that bird which eats my life while I am alive;
Now that I am old I go to pray
     in order to get some quiet.

—Taban Lo Liyong

Croatia

Croatia has a lot of dates. Founded in the 7th century. Became a medieval duchy on 4 March ,853. Was recognised by the Pope on 21 May in 879. Elevated from Duchy to Kingdom in 925. United with Hungary in 1102. Became part of the Habsburg Empire on 1 January, 1527. Gained independence from the Austria-Hungary on 29 October, 1918. Joined Yugoslavia on 1 December 1918. Declared its independence on 25 June, 1991. And on 8 October each year Croatia celebrates Dan Nezavisnosti, or Independence Day.

Leading up to 8 October in 1991 were the speech made by President Tuđman on 5 October, calling on the population to defend Croatia against what he termed the “Greater-Serbian imperialism.” On 7 October there was an explosion in the main government building in Zagreb—though Croatia’s leaders survived this event. The following day Croatia cut all ties with then-Yugoslavia. This didn’t stop the war—in particular, Vukovar fell to the Serbs after a siege lasting three months. This resulted in the Vukovar massacre (not the only massacre during the period by any means), when 264 people were killed by Serb militias, who were aided by the Yugoslav People’s Army. The victims were mostly Croats, but the community was a mixed Croat-Serb community, and there were victims on both sides—the only positive outcome here is that this event contributed to the move toward a resolution of the war. It took till 1992 for the ceasefire to hold. Still, it didn’t all end there—there was intermittent conflict in 1993 and it took till 1995 for the war to end—after most eruptions of violence. At the end of it all, tens of thousands of Croats had been expelled from their homes by force, with nearly 12,000 killed and 1348 still missing. 118,000 Croats were expelling from Serb-held parts of Bosnia, most of whom continue to live in Croatia. On the flip-side, around 200,000 Serbs fled from Croatia at the end of the way, and only a small fraction of these have returned to Croatia.

Now Croatia is starting to get a reputation as a tourist spot—especially those beaches on the Adriatic. (I’m yet to set foot on them, but have high hopes that moment will come soon.) There are thousands of islands that belong to Croatia too—including the beguilingly vowel-less Krk.

I have a short poem for you today by Anka Zagar. I found it online here.

Vermeer

she has come in from all sides
into the water that makes you from all sides
alone wanting to remember
how she had come in,
that girl that would like to
put pearls on her neck

—Anka Zagar
Translated from the Croation by Sibila Petlevski