For two days I've been leading workshops on preaching for clergy and lay leaders at the Diocesan training college round the corner. Nothing happened as I expected, sessions shrank or expanded without warning and I spent much of the time wandering around in a cultural fog. Nevertheless, everyone (as you'd expect in the islands) was exquisitely polite and I hope I did some good along the way. When in doubt I took the 'let's form ourselves into groups and discuss that' approach. Amazingly, people went along with it. I have even (and this might come as a shock to some of you) been asked to speak at a youth rally tomorrow afternoon. On Thursday evening we had our session in the open as night fell, flying foxes (fruit bats) beginning their excursions overhead. One minute after we finished, a torrential tropical rain-storm hit. They've been quite a feature of recent days, reducing the temperature and humidity for a short while. Rain is very much on or off here - there are none of the Irish 'soft days'.
Weekend nights are noisy - the more so as my bedroom faces the all-night liquor store across the road. As night clubs close late into the night, taxis, apparently without silencers, bring people to stock up on booze. Heated discussion in the street is not unknown! When Winston and I set off for our walk this morning there were still a few clubbers wandering the streets. By the shore, couples sat together on the sea wall or walked hand in hand: the Pacific reluctance to show affection in public has apparently eroded in the last 30 years. The market was getting into its stride just after 6; we bought perfectly ripe pineapples and a bag of pawpaw. I was fascinated by the vast array of fish on offer, all colours, sizes and shapes were there, just landed by the small boats tied up at the wharf and already attracting the interest of the local fly population. I'll be sure to take my camera to the market before I leave.
Our last session of the day was held in the open-sided dining hall, the teaching room having proved too hot and sticky even for locals. As the last group exercise came to an end, a few young people silently transformed the space into a chapel with altar, candle-sticks, cross, lavabo and even sanctus bell. Winston presided, but asked me to read out some paragraphs on St Patrick at the start of the service. The singing was, as always, full and heartfelt with the Fijian Lord's Prayer an especial highlight. To sense a relationship with these people from very different cultural backgrounds after only a short time together was real gift.
Today is the anniversary of the death of Daisy's husband, now many decades ago. We went out for a meal in his memory to the Mango cafe where everyone made a fuss of her: great age is revered here and she is treated with respect and affection everywhere.
I shoould be going to Tonga on Monday, but the plane on that route is out of service for repair, That means a much longer route on Tuesday. I may get another chance to post before then, but in the meantime, happy St Patrick's Day!.
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