Part
of the conference was a book launch. I loved it – it was so typical. Everything
had not been consigned to hell in a handbasket by the mostly unsavoury
disruptions of the ‘troubles’.
It
was held in the College’s Pavilion, a soaring octagonal structure at the top of
a steep and rugged road. The Governor-General and Lady Lapli were present,
together with the Honourable Chief Justice and Lady Muria (apparently a
sensational break with protocol), members of the diplomatic corps, local
parliamentarians including a former, actually admirable, Prime Minister, local
dignitaries, prominent intellectuals and others. The Prime Minister and Lady
Kemakeza are listed on the program but I don't remember them being there.
It
had rained, thus delaying things but not offering any relief from the heat. The
side walls of the Pavilion are exposed a metre or so up from the ground but no
refreshing breeze off Honiara Harbour stirred to cool our knees and ankles.
Dress
was 'tropical formal' which I think I got right. This was a matter of some
anxiety as it had become apparent that wearing a collarless white t-shirt to
the education and training conference was Wrong, Very Wrong. I must say I had
tried to rectify this mistake by rushing to the shops after the first day to
buy a perhaps colourful but not frivolous shirt or even a t-shirt With a
Collar. I tried the Colourful Shop, the Pretty Shop and the Beautiful Shop to
no avail. There was nothing smaller than an XL and I would have looked like a
drag queen doing Queen Salote (bless her memory) in the one or two I could
contemplate. It was too difficult. The shops were trying to close (it was
approaching five and the nightly blackout was imminent), many of the shirts
were slung from the ceiling and had to be brought down by a hook on the end of
a pole and the colours ... oh the colours. So I gave up and brazened out the
rest of the conference (apart from the delivery of my paper) in a series of
very clean (but alas wrongly collarless) white t-shirts.
However
I was very keen to get 'tropical formal' right at the launch. I mean, what if I
was presented, or something?
I
had taken a pair of serviceable dark blue trousers and a plain pinkish business
shirt and a pair of black shoes to wear while I gave my paper and I hoped this
would pass as 'tropical formal'. It did.
I felt I blended in with the crowd as much as could be expected. People
spoke to me. I confess I envied the leis the official party were given on their
arrival, particularly the lavish one placed around the neck of Alice Aruhe'eta
Pollard, one of the five authors whose books were to be launched. I felt I
needed it more than she did.
We
had been given a program which suggested a strict schedule - the guests were to
arrive at 5, the Chief Justice and Lady Muria at 5.35, the Prime Minister and
Lady Kemakeza at 5.40. His Excellency and Lady Lapli at 5.45. The official
party which included the authors was to be escorted to the stage by Pan Pipers
who, the program informed us, were to play 'one item' later on in the
proceedings.
And
so, despite the sudden, needed but useless storm and the vagaries of 'Solomon
Time', it more or less was.
Solomon
Islanders like their formalities. After a prayer, Everyone spoke and was
responded to. Sam Alasia responded on behalf of the authors. There was a
further speech by the Director of the Solomon Islands College of Higher
Education, a Word of Thanks and concluding remarks by an organiser, a closing
prayer and then Dinner - Island Style.
A
mobile phone did go off during the proceedings. It was the only one I heard or
saw during the two weeks I was in the Solomons. The culprit was the G-G's
aide-de-camp, after Mrs Aruhe'eta Pollard, the evening's most dazzling figure,
in khaki, red, black and looping gold braid.
'Dinner
- Island Style' means the important people go to the head of a queue to be
served and so on down the ranks until everyone has eaten. I was kindly placed
in the middle though my rank would actually have been just ahead of the
schoolgirls helping to serve dinner who came last of all and had to serve
themselves.
While
I was shuffling and chatting towards the servers I noticed a small beaming man
approaching from the nether end of the queue, shaking everyone's hand. He got
to me and said something warm and gracious and was onto the next person. It was
Him. I had met Royalty (or Its representative). And I hadn't even bowed or
whatever.
Attractive
though the Pan Pipers were in their naked and wonderful blue uniforms, they
would not shut up. I chatted away in the Pijin at my command and pretended to
hear what those behind and in front of me in the queue were saying but I
couldn't hear a word.
I
got to the servers, was given a plate and had to beg them to stop. They
certainly turn on the kai at a Kaikai.
Of course there was a pig. All the tropical tubers you could want. Traditional
'puddings' of who knew what - tapioca, sago? - and grated coconut. Chicken,
fish, even (what I took to be) beef. Fruits and cakes. All of which are piled
on one's plate. Managing a properly piled plate is an art, like paddling one of
their single hull kanoes. I maintain
you have to be born to it. Experience had taught me what I could balance and I
was insistent in my firm but polite refusals. I carried my plate back to the
audience seating where all gathered to enjoy their bounteous selections.
And
still the Pan Pipers piped and drummed.
The
officials left at an appropriate moment, leaving the rest of us to mill and
peruse and hopefully buy the books. Unfortunately, the price was in Fijian
dollars and no-one knew the exchange rate. (I bought some the next day when
that had been sorted out).
The
College bus was on hand to give the carless among us a lift back to Honiara.
If
this all sounds too droll, think how long is it since you've been to a launch
here where the launcher displayed any appreciation of the honour or knowledge
of the protocols of the occasion. How often have you heard a launcher say
something like, 'I haven't actually had time to read the book?' or 'I only had time
to skim X's book but ...' and proceed to talk about her/himself?
Give
me the grace of a Solomon Island launch any day and the colour.
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