We've just left Makogai en-route for Lautoka.
We spent three nights in Makogai - rather more than we planned - with six other yachts from the Rally (Andante, Jus'doit, Quasar V, Strega, Talulah Ruby, and latterly Asolare). It's a beautiful, peaceful, sad, slightly spooky place with a curious history. It was a leper colony from 1911 to 1969, providing for patients from all over the South Pacific. During this time, the infrastructure was built up to cater for a population of over 5000. There was an administrative centre on the sheltered western side of the island, where there was a hospital and accommodation for the doctors and nurses who ran the colony; many of these were French nuns. There was an outdoor cinema (the first cinema in Fiji), and a power station delivered electricity to all via a high-tension network of overhead lines. There was even a little prison, with four iron-barred cells. A dam in the hills above provided plentiful water, and a decent jetty and landing ramp were built in the bay, sheltered by the reef. Around the shores of the main island a proper metalled road was driven through the jungle, leading to the village across on the western side of the island and, for less obvious reasons, out to the island's northern tip. Along this route were several outlying settlements where the lepers themselves lived in segregated communities. These included Australian, New Zealand, Fijian, Indian and several other South Pacific Islanders. They all had their own little rooms in concrete or wooden huts, with a Hindu temple and other places of worship built to serve the different faiths. What could have been spartan accommodation (many of the buildings were 1920s concrete construction, with steel-framed windows) was probably made comfortable by the inhabitants, and no doubt they supplemented the stunning views across the lagoon to the neighbouring islands with their own gardens - the island is as fertile as anywhere I have seen. A large grave-yard, with reportedly over 1000 graves, lies to the North of the main village. Though many of the inhabitants had what was then an incurable disease, the island was undoubtedly a busy and vibrant place.
After the Second World War, a cure for leprosy was found, and in 1969 they were able to close the colony. Reportedly there are now only six leprosy sufferers, who are looked after in the main Suva hospital. After closure, Makogi was abandoned and quarantined for 10 years, after which a marine research station was established there by the Fijian government. They did research on such things as pearl production, on clam breeding and turtles, developing new techniques for other communities to commercialise. But successive coups in Suva have led to the money for research drying up, though they are still trying to run a little project breeding turtles. What is left, though, is a sad shell of what was there before. Led by Watson, ex barman of the Royal Suva Yacht Club, the little community numbers about 85, 26 of whom are children at the little primitive, decaying primary school in the village on the East of the island. It is a spooky walk now along the old road through the jungle. The track is barely wide enough for one person, but you can see what a decent road it was. You can pick out the leaky water pipes, and see the broken wires dangling from concrete or timber pylons. And you pass the old leper settlements. Most of the old buildings have fallen into disrepair and have been reclaimed by the jungle, with palm trees growing through them. The road is so overgrown that it is impassable to any vehicles; there are anyway none left on the island. There is still lots of water in the dam, but much of the pipework has corroded beyond use, and most people rely on collecting water off their roofs. The electricity distribution system no longer works, even when they have fuel for the generator - the transformer that went for repair four years ago has not yet returned. If and when this transformer ever finds its way back, the system won't be capable of handling it without a lot of repair work. And the graves in the multi-denominational graveyard are overgrown with the headstones now mostly unreadable, despite the rather poignant notice (lying in pieces on the ground) that says its upkeep is sponsored by the French Government. When there is fuel, they run the generator, when there is none they do not. When there is fuel, the children (aged 6-14) make the trip round the island by boat, when there is not they walk the three and a half miles along the old road, and back again in the afternoon. There are signs of some attempt to cultivate bananas and other fruits, but what the inhabitants do was not obvious, and they were reticent to say.
But what of us? We dinghied ashore on arrival, bearing with us traditional gifts of Kava, supplemented by the odd bottle of rum or whisky. The island's chief, Watson, was there to greet us; he received our offerings formally and made us welcome and free of the island. We snorkelled and dived the reefs during the day, and the first evening we went ashore for our first Kava evening. The Skipper ducked after drinking two rounds for politeness sake; it is, as they say, an acquired taste! But most of the rest of the five crews stuck grimly to their task, though the reports next day were mixed. It makes one feel relaxed and happy apparently, and very inclined to sleep for the next day or so. But the next morning we all assembled on the beach, and Watson guided us through the village and along the road around the island, pointing out the sites and explaining the history of the island. And when we reached the village, the impressive Headmaster of the little school suspended proceedings and bade the children welcome us. They introduced themselves in impressive English (all education in Fiji is conducted in English), and then sang songs and danced for us. Despite the decaying structure of the buildings, there was plenty of evidence that this school knew its business. They teach the three Rs and some history and culture, proving that to supplement their own personal inspiration and imagination, blackboards and chalk are all that good teachers need, with pens, pencils and an exercise book for the children. At fourteen, all the children are destined to go away to secondary school on the mainland; everyone in the school is quite clear on that. The walk back gave us food for thought.
That afternoon we had arranged a barbecue, which the Chief suggested we held on the steps of the old hospital in the middle of the village. All the island seemed to attend, and all the World ARC yachts mustered as much meat as they could, supplemented by pastas and salads. We all got - just - enough to eat; the competition was fierce! And as a piece of magic, Norfy produced Elizabeth's birthday cake at the critical moment, complete with lighted candles. All the village sang the traditional birthday song, and then she set to work to cut her cake. And within fewer seconds than it takes to read or write this, it was gone, every little piece, including all the chocolate icing scraped from the board. Wielding her knife skilfully, Elizabeth just managed to salvage a small bit for herself (which she ate with her pasta and salad), but the rest of us did not get a look in! Then the party continued, with the Skipper being lulled to sleep by the raucous singing from nearby Jus'doit. Next day was a strangely quiet one, with the odd groan emerging from various members of the crew. There were bits of Elizabeth's birthday, including the aftermath, which they'd rather forget.
Off early this morning - before 6 am - because timing our passage to Lautoka in and out of the reefs and passages is not going to be easy. We'll report further.
(PS. I know that within the last 3 years I have read an absorbing book about a Fijian family written by a Fijian lady. As I remember, in part autobiographical, it included a great deal about Makogai. If anyone can help me with title and author, I'd be most grateful. I think there is a copy of this book at home - James)
All well with us, and best wishes to everyone.