Kiaman Stories

Kiaman (or giaman) means to lie, liar, false, fiction, not real. Frequently, in Naviso and all-around Vanuatu, you hear these “kiaman stories”. They are a product of “coconut wireless”. When communication is so difficult, people gossip as much as possible when they get the chance and tell the story the best they can remember. As you can imagine, like the game telephone, this results in many falsehoods, tall-tales, and crazy stories; one example includes a Brazilian nuclear submarine arriving on the western coast of Maewo. Three, in particular, have struck me as amazing. Now I can share these amazing “kiaman stories” with the world.
The “JB” Package
Once upon a time I was sitting at the kava bar in Naviso listening to the kava and relaxing when some guys arrive from the other side and sit down next to me. They start to “storian” (storian = talk, chat, etc.) about the happenings on West Maewo and eventually come to a point of contention. Inquiring, I learn that there is a package in Nakoro, West Maewo, with the address: Naviso Village, East Maewo. But the name on the package says only “JB”. They start listing off possibilities of what the “JB” could mean and I, eventually, suggest that it could mean Jennifer Blount: JB. They respond nonchalantly and seem to brush off the suggestion. I agree, thinking that no one would address a package to Jennifer with just JB and Naviso Village.
Weeks pass and I start to hear stories about a package for Jennifer in West Maewo. I hear no confirmations and sometimes hear that the package is not actually there. Another week passes and I hear more and more stories about a package for Jennifer on the west side, but no one has carried the package to Naviso. The stories change and people start telling me that the package must be for Jennifer. Still, no one carries the package over to Naviso.
Another week passes and I am sitting down with some Mamas and they tell me that there is a package for Jennifer in Nakoro on West Maewo. I tell them: I have heard there is a package there, but no one has brought it over. They tell me there is a package there, they will get it when they go over, and, finally, there is a package… I have seen it.
More time passes and no one brings the package to Naviso, but I am headed over to the other side and will grab it on my way through and bring it back. I reach Bertarara, immediately find the postmaster, Paul Wrenn Tari, and ask after the package. He responds succinctly: I have heard about this package (word has spread), I do not know where this story started, but there is no package… Ale! Well, I am not sure what my Auntie saw, but it sure was not a package.

The Purse
Purse noun, verb, pursed, purs•ing.

Noun

1. a small bag or pouch, often made of soft leather, for carrying money, esp. coins
Purse, wallet, pouch, all of these can describe something that carries money, identification, credit cards, etc. In Maewo they refer to it as a purse and thus the story begins…
Once upon a time, at the end of August, Maewo hosted the PISSA games (for the first time). The PISSA games are a provincial secondary school sports tournament (including Soccer, Beach Volleyball, Basketball, Futsal, and Netball). I believe PISSA stands for Provincial Inter-Secondary School Athletics, but I could be horribly wrong. The PISSA games were held at Gambule Secondary School in Bertarara, West Maewo (close to Nakoro). Anyway, I attended part of the PISSA games and found that I lost something I never knew I had.
The day I arrived at the PISSA games, I met up with Nic, Jennifer (who had left the day before), and Melissa (who had followed her school, St. Patrick’s College, to the games). We immediately went to one of the various food stalls. We, of course, went to the one with ice cream. I have never seen ice cream on Maewo before. This ice cream was brought all the way from West Ambae. Anyway, shortly after leaving the stall, I was approached and asked if I had forgotten my purse. As soon as I understood what they meant, I quickly checked my island basket for my wallet. They were both there safe and sound. I told them I had, in fact, not forgotten either purse. At this they left, but I distinctly remember the conversation being strange and awkward, but I am not sure why.
As the days passed, I was regularly accosted and asked about my lost purse. Repeatedly, I told everyone that I had not lost my purse. Soon the story became that I had lost my purse and it had my name on it and my picture in it; neither of these are true of my wallet and yet the story continued. Again and again they asked after my lost purse with my name on it and picture inside. Again and again I told them it was not me.
One day, I found myself sitting on the Nakoro wharf and calling home to America. As I was talking to my brother a boat arrived. The boat driver interrupted the conversation to tell me that he was the guy who had found my purse with my name on it and picture inside. Surprised, I tell him: no, sorry sir, but that was not me. You would think that, if a picture of the owner was inside the purse, he would know that it was not me. Alright, there are five white people on Maewo normally, at PISSA there were seven. Only four were guys. That means he would have to remember the distinctive face of one of four white guys at PISSA; this is ridiculous.
As I make my escape from PISSA later in the week (you can only take so much high school sports and kava), I head back to Naviso to have some much needed rest and reading time. When I arrive in Naviso, I start to storian with my neighbor Mama Hanson. We storian go go and suddenly, Mama Hanson, who had left the PISSA games before I arrived, tells me that she heard I had lost my purse with my name on it and picture inside. Unbelievable, word had spread incredibly far and very quickly. Chances are very good that the entire island of Maewo believes that I had lost my purse at the PISSA games, no matter what I tell any one person to the contrary.

The Black Magic Man and D-Day
As I walked to the PISSA games, I was instructed on the history of America’s victory in World War II. As I walked to the top of the mountain, on my way to Ngota, an uncle of mine, Davis, told me a little story about the happenings on Maewo during World War II. Storian i go olsem ia:
Once upon a time, East Maewo had a man and this man had a sickness and a smell that was intolerable (the description sounded like leprosy). The village decided that he needed to leave, so they exiled him to the bush, but this was not enough as they could still smell his intolerable smell. Thus, they made him go on top of the mountain to middle bush, where he lived, by himself, until the Americans came. Apparently, the U.S. Army learned about this man and had also learned that he was a powerful sorcerer and had great magical powers. Of course, the U.S. Army desired his powers and came with helicopters and caught this man by throwing a net over him (so much for those magical powers). The U.S. Army took this Sorcerer back to America (where he lives to this day) and his powers are why the U.S. was victorious in World War II. Moreover, his powers still make America the World Superpower it is today.

I have heard this story three times now. The second I was being asked if this story was true and then I heard the story from Nic on West Maewo (his story had changed a little bit, but the essence of the story was the same). For a culture that claims America saved them from the evil Japanese during World War II, they are not humble in this regard. But I had lived in America for 23 years and have never seen this super powerful leper.