WEAVING THE COMMUNITY:
AN ETHNOGRAPHY OF A FIJIAN VILLAGE
by Stephanie Sienkiewicz

Chapter 5
Life Stories:
Experiences of Village Life

Chapter 5

Life History: "Tila"

Life History: "Menani"

Life History: "Dili"

Life History: "Sulueti"

Conclusion

In Fiji...social action is guided by the tight affiliation of individuals with their communities. Fijian identity is grounded in one's connections to the immediate kinship group and social network. Ideally, individual activity is devoted to developing and reinforcing social relationships and promoting collective interests. (Becker 1995:16)

Individualism is loathed and discouraged for the sake of group solidarity and harmony. Few alternatives are available. Individual desires and wants are thus constrained, though everyone's basic needs are satisfied within the social and cultural framework. (Ravuvu as cited in Becker 1995: 17)

As these quotes demonstrate, the Fijian emphasis on community can have both positive and negative effects on its members. But most of the time, the effects cannot be described so absolutely; the results are not simply negative or positive. Instead, the communal Fijian life influences individual lives uniquely. This chapter looks into the lives of four women in Narewa koro. They value their village experiences differently as they each come from different places, have different pasts, and maintain different roles in the village. Personal life histories are unique just as village life uniquely impacts lives.

A certain pattern strongly emerges from these four interviews, however. Since the interviewees were of various ages, it is apparent that women experience the communal aspect of Fijian culture differently throughout the life cycle. Adolescent girls value individual freedom, especially when constrained under strict parents. Communalism at this stage can be stifling. Women find communalism most oppressive after marriage however. They feel that they have little control over their lives and that the community, often a new and unfamiliar one to them, does nothing to influence their particular situations for the better. My interviews suggested though, that as women grow older and more familiar with their community, their views of that community change. Their ideas move closer the ideal which Ravuvu described above, an individual who does not experience communal life as constraining but rather fulfilling of her individual needs. Women in my interviews have even pointed out that they are happier to follow community-mandated ways than they were when they acted out of their own desires.

I suggest there are several reasons for this change of attitude. Firstly, women gain status as they grow older. According to Fijian culture, one should respect his/her elders. Women also gain increasing respect as they bear children. A woman's role in the community is that of nurturing. Thus she fulfills her duty as she has children and therefore wins respect as a proper member of society. With this increase in status, women have more positive relations with their community. They thus see themselves as less forced to conform to communal ways and acting more voluntarily. This creates a more positive sense of self. A second reason that women's attitudes about their community change is that motherhood provides a forum in which women have less formalized interactions with members of the same community; this provides and outlet for them from society at large. A third possible reason that attitudes may change is that as women live longer in their community, they join various groups in which they may express partial autonomy, such as the church. They do not then feel like their husbands' control every facet of their lives. These various changes in lifestyle thus affect a woman's place in and thoughts about her society. Women experience communal obligations more positively as they grow older. They tend to see themselves as less forced to conform to communal ways and more as voluntarily doing so for the good of all.

Life History: "Tila"

A woman I call "Tila" is approximately 40 years old, married into Narewa from another part of Fiji. It is apparent that she approached the ideal Fijian relationship between community and individual. She did not feel constrained by her community but instead felt fulfilled as a part of that community. As I talked with Tila, she expressed great pride in Fijian culture. She appreciates the communal aspect of Fijian life. She is proud of the times in her life during which the community defined her individual life, such as marriage and the ritual of bringing her children back to meet her parents for the first time. These were mandated rites, according to strict Fijian culture. Tila doesn't feel negatively about the role of the community in her life though, or about her life as part of the community. This demonstrates that the collective aspect of Fijian culture has been supportive throughout her life. As Asesela Ravuvu, in The Fijian Way of Life, and Ann E. Becker, in Body, Self, and Society, suggest, individuals ideally feel fulfilled through their community interaction rather than restrained. Since individual perceptions and situations vary, this model does not work for all Fijians. Tila seemed to portray the ideal however. Her case might also exhibit that older women, who gain status with age and the birth of their children, are more likely to perceive their role in the community as satisfying. Younger women, new to their own low status, may experience communal demands as restrictive of their individuality and personal freedom. Tila describes her family:

My father had two wives. When my father's first wife died, all of the kids were [still young.] The very eldest of them was just 14 at that time. My father took my mother to his home to support all these 17 kids. They were very young to be alone. So my mother went there to support those 17. I was the child with my mother. [My father had 17 children with his first wife and just one, me, with his second wife.] Our source of living was coconuts. We had to cut coconuts and open up the thing and pull out the flesh and it goes to the sun for one week. After that we put it in bags and sold it to Suva. And that was our source of income. My mother and father would go fishing and sell fish in bundles. And when I was up to class 8, I was sent out to Suva. So I could grow up, up to secondary school, to form 4, in Suva. So that's how I came to Viti Levu.

I came by boat. School was not good because I was staying with my relatives and they were not being good to me. He was my cousin and plenty of times he was just drinking...They had five kids too. They all went to school with me. And two of us came from [far away], I came with my brother's son. And the problem was that our cousin was drinking all of the time. He was working at the government building. On pay day he would go out drinking. That was one of the big problems when I was going to school in Suva. I think if it wasn't for that I could have grown up to some very good education. I stayed in Suva and went back to Nausori for schooling. I took the bus from Suva to Nausori [every day.] It was about a half an hour bus ride. The problem with my relative was that since he was always drinking, he couldn't afford school fees. So after form 4, I left school. And later on, I went to one of my relatives that was staying in Lautoka. From there I went up to Mana Island. I was working a little bit there before I got married to [my husband].

This excerpt from my interview with Tila shows one aspect of Fijian communal life. Children move to live with their relatives, leaving their parents, for various reasons. One reason is for schooling. The emphasis on communality also means that people's fortunes are connected to other people's behavior, as demonstrated when Tila had to discontinue schooling because of her alcoholic cousin. In a culture where people are embedded in networks of relatives, all interdependent, each person's actions affect many others.

I stayed there in Suva [in school] until form 4. I could have gone up to some very high grade if it wasn't for my cousin there. When we stay with our relatives, it is our responsibility in Fijian culture to see if anything is wrong with this relative, support him. But the relative I was staying with was most of the time spending his money on drinking. It was five of his kids and two of us from my village. And we suffered a lot. Most of the time we wanted to go to school and there was no bus fare. So we missed a lot of lessons.

Tila's was an arranged marriage. This is the traditional Fijian marriage, wherein the husband's mataqali presents a tabua (whale's tooth) to the bride's family. The following excerpt demonstrates the pride which she felt about marrying in this way. This incident, although seemingly about an individual, is an important community function. Marriages unite two different families, not just two individuals. Tila reflects upon this positively. She is happy to be a part of the community and happy that the community plays such a large role in her life.

I was working with [my husband's brother]. It was a fixed marriage for us. My husband brought, in the Fijian way, some tabua to where I was staying. And that's how I came to be [his] wife. I came all the way from Mana, where I was working, to Narewa When [my husband's family] presented the tabua, all of my relatives took me up to Narewa. There we had the marriage...For me, it was good to stay in the village. Because I was brought up in a village. I was happy [to move back to a village]...I was happy [to get married] because it is our Fijian culture for a lady to be presented with a tabua to get married. It was our culture and I was happy to be one of the Fijian ladies who had a tabua presented to her family to get married. Because nowadays, that kind of life is going away. [People] are not with the culture that we were with in the last few years. They just go on their own behavior. When they want to get married the man just comes and takes the girl and they run away. That is not our culture.

[My marriage] was fixed according to Fijian culture. His brother was there, I was working with him. He came here. There was one festival at the Navatu school. And I came with his brother. That's how we came to meet...My relatives came from Lau [for the wedding. My husband's mataqali presented the tabua to] my cousin that I was staying with in Mana. And after they presented the tabua, [my husband] came back here. And later, we set the date for the marriage. And I came from there to here...Nowadays, [there are] no fixed marriages like [there] used to be. Now just the love marriage.

Here, Tila has explicitly drawn an opposition between a way of life where a person's life circumstances are tied to their community and one where individuals do whatever they desire. She clearly finds the former superior.

Tila also focused a great deal, during my interview with her, on the time she took her children back to Lau to meet her parents. This is a proper Fijian custom. Ravuvu writes:

It is customary to formally "introduce" a child to its mother's village. This is known as kau na mata ni gone. This may be done at any age, and depends on proximity and availability of resources, for the ceremony involves heavy expenditure. Contributions made at this time included whale's teeth, mats and tapa cloth, but today bolts of imported cloth, drums of kerosene and other commodities are commonly provided. The mother's group always reciprocates with appropriate gifts and food. The functions of the ceremony include expressing the deep appreciation of the father's group for the fact that a woman had been provided to bear their kawa or progeny. It also cements the relationship between the groups, and provides the woman with an opportunity to return to her people to demonstrate her worth. (1983: 61)

While Fijian culture primarily focuses on the patrilineal community, this ritual provides an opportunity for a woman to experience the community of her home village as an adult. Tila cherished this community interaction during her visit. She has now lived in Narewa for 19 or 20 years. Her family came from Lau for her wedding, but they returned and she did not see them again until this return trip. Afterwards:

I stayed here [in Narewa] and in 1984 we went back to Lau. When all of the kids were here [except the four-year old Finau], Rosi, Senikau, Lotu, and Sisi, we all went to Lau. And it was the first time for my kids to visit Lau. In Fijian culture, you have to take tabua, drums of kerosene, clothes and soaps and all to visit my parents. That's our Fijian culture. When I come to some place and get married and then go back to visit my parents I have to present Fijian things like that. So we all went to Lau. It was my first time once married to go to my island. [The ship took] three days and three nights to reach the island. And that was Christmas night. And my parents were waiting to see the kids and me. And my father was quite happy. We went home. We stayed there for three months. In Lau, at that time, the boat only goes for two times in one month. There was bad weather in Lau, so we stayed for three months. Only [my husband] stayed home. He left us at the wharf in Suva. Only the kids and I went to Lau. He didn't go to Lau. He was phoning us on RT, [like a telephone]. And he was sending our boat fare. The people in the village they collected mats, tapa, sasa and all for us to bring back to Narewa. We came back and [my husband] was waiting for us in Suva. From Suva we hired one taxi to take us back to Narewa.

I asked how she enjoyed the time in Lau.

Well, for the kids, we only bathe in salt water and the kids are not used to that. So it was quite nice for me when I stayed there, all my friends and family. But for the kids, they were telling me that they wanted to come back to Narewa. And they had a nice time. They were eating plenty of fish there. In Narewa, plenty of the time they were just drinking tea, tea and kasava. Oh, [it was] quite lovely [to see my parents again]. They were very sorry and they wept the whole night when they knew the kids and I were going to go back to Narewa. We never slept that night. My mother was weeping, and my father too. That night all my relatives came. We sat there all night drinking grog and yani (yani is the same as talanoa, telling stories.) We had a great feast...Then we came back. And we stayed here for two, three months back in Narewa, and they phoned me on RT to tell me that my mother died. It was a very sad story for me. She was crying that night and I told her, "You have to come. The kids want you to come to Narewa." And she said, "No. I can't leave your father on this island to go with you." My father was still alive so she had to stay home to look after my father. So we were here for two or three months and she had a sickness, diarrhea, and she died.

Again it is apparent that Tila thinks of her life as it is connected to her community. She is a product of her relationships with other people. Her entire life story focuses on the bonds she and others have formed.

Tila's story also illustrates that women experience a disjunction in their lives. They must create new communal bonds in their husband's community at marriage. Tila herself adjusted well during this transitional period since she has already left home at a young age, before marriage, to attend school. Although she had formed these new ties, she also made efforts to remain in contact with her own family:

One of my brothers wrote a letter saying I should come back to visit. They want to see me and see how big the kids are. I wrote back and said they are schooling and there is one small kid home. And I might go there some time, when all these payments and all are in good condition. And one thing too, [my husband] is going down. He's old and all the time he stays home. We can't go to Lau and stay for three months otherwise he could die and I would never know. So we might go back to Lau some other time.

My brothers and sisters are staying in Suva now. Some of them are staying in Lau. [I did] not actually [have a good relationship with my brothers and sisters when I was growing up]. But they are writing me letters that they want for me to come home and visit again. Sometimes we visit [the ones in Suva], when [my husband] goes there. They are nice people. Only one time we went to one marriage there and they wanted us to come over to Suva to visit. The problem is that the kids are in school. It might be on holidays.

Although she was upset to leave her community in Lau when she was young, she found life as an individual to be satisfying. In fact, despite her story's overall emphasis on communal life, she said that the happiest time in her life was while she worked on a resort island before marriage. This suggests that while people come to find their immersion in a community rewarding as they grow older, most experience a desire for personal freedom while in their youth. She continues,

I liked being in school. That day they told me I was to go to Suva for schooling, that was a very sad day to leave my school, my schoolmates, and my mother...And from that 1984 till now, I never went back to my island. My mother died and later my father died. And now I'm staying in Narewa.

I asked her what the best time in her life was.

The best time was when I was working there in Mana. I liked when I was working. I visited with a lot of people, people from Australia and New Zealand. I was working in the resort. It was a very nice time for me. When I was staying in Lau, we never had any visitors. So it was quite a nice time for me to see other new faces, black and white. In Lau, there are no Indians there, no other races, only Fijians.

In Lau, we didn't have any cars. The first time I came to Suva, my face was surprised. I looked and said, "what's this?" It's a car and buses and all. And electricity, at that time there was none in Lau. We used the kerosene light. And it was amazing to see...and see a lot of faces like English people, Indian people. The last time I saw one in Lau was a Chinese man. He was doing business there. Our chief wanted all the Chinese people to leave the island. So in Lau, we don't have any Chinese people. Only the Lauans. I don't like that because I wanted to see a lot of faces and make friends with them. So that was an exciting day for me to see new faces and other new things, cars, light. Electricity is there now today, but not while I was there. So it was a happy time for me to see all the faces.

However, even while experiencing individual life, separate from the tightly knit community of a village, Tila thought of her communal ties. She felt responsible for her family in Lau. This demonstrates that her beliefs have been shaped by the culture she grew up in. She feels that she should work toward something of communal interest; she feels a responsibility to support her home village:

After I left school, I came to Lautoka. One of my brothers was there working in the hospital. I stayed with him, then I went to Mana island...I knew that I should work and earn some money because my island is far away and my mother is there. I knew I should earn some money to support them. I worked in Mana at the bar as a waitress.

Seven years I was there...We had a bure there for all the workers, I stayed there. They have quarters for married couples and quarters for single ladies and single men. Most of the time, we just went to the hotel, to see the meke and all. We had mekes on Saturday night. We had rehearsal every Friday night and there was a lovo night on Thursday. I was friends will all of the workers there. There were big quarters for the single ladies that were working there.

Since marriage, Tila has been reinstated into a closely connected group that highly values kinship and social ties. Tila does not think negatively of the obligations to the village. She prides herself on her community's culture. She says,

Yes, I was quite happy [to move to Narewa]. When my relatives left and my workmates left [after my wedding], I felt a little bit sad. And now I'm happy. I've got so many kids. I enjoy being a mother. I look after five kids, and [my husband] too. He's an old man now. Which is quite different from [other places]. If you are an old man in Australia or America, they won't give any food to the old man (laughing). Here in Fiji, if you are old, you still can eat, drink. If there is no food here then we go there to that relatives house. Ask for some money. Still they can give because that is our culture to give, to be giving things to others. We are not rich, we are still poor. And still we can give.

Instead of reflecting on social pressures, she focuses on her contributions to the community. Her contribution is her children. Motherhood has provided her with a defined role in the social network. This has been fulfilling for her. Moreover, after talking with several women, my impression is that women eventually experience their role in the community as much more rewarding through motherhood. As young wives they receive little recognition or respect; their actions are guided by other's demands. However, age and motherhood earn them increasing respect in the community. They are also granted a certain autonomy, at least within their own household, as their status improves:

I've got five kids and they are all going to school except this small one. And I'm happy going to the market every day for bazaar. That's how we earn our living and I'm quite happy with that. I always used to go fishing, catching beach-de-mer. It was quite a hard job. So it's good to go and sit down and sell at the market.

Motherhood may be extremely fulfilling for Tila because of her strong relationship with her own mother. A woman's relationship with her mother and that with her own children provides a forum for individual ties rather than those that span the entire community. This connection is the least formal of all kinship relations. Women deal with the social pressures of a communal life since they have this outlet for personal expression. She says,

I had a strong relationship with my mother rather than my father, mostly because I was the only one of my mother's children. And my older sisters and brothers, they were not good to her when she came...Mostly I stayed around my mother, and my father always went with the other kids.

In the village they always knew that she was one of the best fisherman in the village. One day we went together and I was clinging to her and she was swimming. We went from the coral rock right to the deep blue sea. And I was clinging to her. After that we came back out and I was tired, my legs. Because we were swimming for two or three hours. In the deep, she would go fishing...And another time we went fishing in one Fijian canoe. And I was just sitting and my mother was rowing that canoe. I was having fun with that. We caught a lot. The Fijian canoe was loaded up with fish. I don't know how she did it, most of the time I was sleeping. My mother was fishing. And they say she was one of the best fishermen in the village. And most of the time we ate fish.

I went to school. She took me to school, left me there. When school was done, I saw her coming back to the school to take me home. Most of the time she did that.

The intense community life of a Fijian village puts many social constraints on villagers. Tila accepts these and trusts that her community and culture provides for her and her family. The fondness with which she talks of her mother and the happiness that she receives from her children indicates that motherhood is the most important thing in her life. Women find this role fulfilling since they gain respect through nurturing others. This is a woman's place in the community. Furthermore, they have more freedom in this role because the mother-child bond is much less structured than many others. Because she has this forum, she can embrace individually restrictive village life.

Life History: "Menani"

My interview a woman I call "Menani" also suggested that motherhood is a fulfilling role for women. As mothers, women both gain respect and have some autonomy to make decisions instead of being controlled by others. Menani is a woman in her late forties who has lived in Narewa the majority of her life. She embraces the relationship between mothers and daughters. The informal aspect of this relationship also provides an outlet in a highly structured and community oriented atmosphere.

Menani grew up in the house in which she lives now. She has one brother and one sister. Menani is the youngest child. She used to live in another village, Rakiraki, with her husband but moved back to Narewa, her father's village, when her husband left Fiji and went to New Zealand. After primary and secondary school, through form 4, she went to Suva to take a one-year course offered by the YWCA. There she learned sewing, cooking, and the making of other handicrafts. The she came back to Narewa after the one-year course. Her commitment to the community is evident. It is also apparent that she found it more fulfilling to make an active contribution to the community than to be controlled by others.

I taught the ladies [in the village] what I had learned...My ambition was to teach [them] how to do cooking, sewing, like that. Another year I went to Nadi [to learn the same things]. So I have to stay in the village, look after parents, like that...So I got married, 1978 I was married.

Because Fijian life is structured around bettering the whole community, rather than individual interests, relations between children and their fathers are strained at times. A daughter must show proper respect to her father. As villagers are closely intertwined, one family member brings shame upon her/his entire family if she/he acts inappropriately. Menani explained that her father was very strict because he was a high ranking Fijian chief. A chief and his family should strictly adhere to social rules. This aspect of Fijian community caused stress on the relationship between Menani and her father:

My father was very strict when I was small...couldn't let me go out in the night time, I had to stay at home...He couldn't let me go out everywhere, no. He didn't want me to run around...Because my father was the chief of the village...So my father, if he hated somebody, he had to face [that person]. He had to talk to that man, or boy, or girl, or what. One talk. He was in charge, he had to tell people how to act. When he was alive, he couldn't let me go anywhere, like this nowadays, people go everywhere... I couldn't. When he went somewhere, Suva, Lautoka, he wanted to see me, because I am the youngest. You know, he always wanted to see me every time. Myself, when I translated this, I [thought] that he didn't want me to [have a] free life. He just wanted me to be a prisoner. But I obeyed that.

[S]ometimes, when I was old enough, [I disobeyed my father]... Sometimes I disobeyed him, his laws. Because he wanted me to do his own ways, but myself I would like to do my own ways. Because when I became a grown-up I want[ed] to see [things], so he couldn't stop me. Yes, got in trouble [when I was younger], he beat me, like that... I ran away from home, to my uncle's place, in Naivuvuni... I went to some social party at night. I went to some church meeting. [And], I got some hidings. He beat me so I ran away. [I] was 19 or 20 at that time. My mother came to get me from my uncle's house. I said [to my father], "If you promise not to beat me again I will come back. No more hidings. I can't sit! My bottom is swollen up."... So he promised me that he would never beat me again.

The structure of Fijian society caused Menani's father to be very strict with her, as he worried about the community's impressions. This aspect of Fijian communal life caused problems growing up then. Menani coped with this because she had a strong relationship with her mother. She clearly finds some kinds of communal bonds more satisfying than others. She could escape the confines of community regulations while spending time with her mother. In the following excerpt, Menani explained to me why she must tend to her mother now:

She is lucky because I am staying with her. I am doing the same thing to her. She looked after me properly so I am doing the same thing. She wasn't like the other mothers [that gave] hiding[s]. I can say it, she is very special to me. That's why I'm doing the same to her. When I was very small she looked after me properly so I am doing the same, exchange... She did not even tell stories like other mothers... She would tell stories when I wanted to hear them, like a story book in Fijian. Not always, when she had time. Because she was a very busy lady, doing the housework. Sometimes not always... But sometimes, I wanted to stay at home. In primary school level, [after going for] one week, two, three weeks, I had to stay at home. I missed my mother. I wanted to be near her always. I couldn't leave her. By the time I went to school I felt like going back home. I missed her when I stayed at school. I usually cried. My first day at school, she would stay one week with me at school. That was a very hard time for me. I couldn't stay without her. So by one week, two weeks going, I got to know [the] other children. [But] when I remembered my mother, I left school. I had to catch another bus to come home. The teacher knew that when I left, I was thinking of my mother. One week, two weeks like that. I would not go to school for two weeks. I would stay home. She was very strict with me at that time, she had to take me back to school. So I went back. The teacher talked to me. "You can't go home, you will not take your mother with you all the time." So by one week, two, one month, I [became] used to it. When I came home I wanted to see her. If I couldn't find her, I started to cry. So I asked her to leave a note so I could find her. My father is a good man but very strict. When I was teenage, he was very hard. Those were my hard days. So I had to go on my own. I knew [that] when I came back, I would get the hidings. I went to my uncles because I was crying all the time. I spent one week at my uncle's place, and my mother came to get me.

As the rules of respect in Fijian social structure influenced a formal relationship between Menani and her father, they have led to a similar relationship with her brother.

My brother is on the other side of the road, the elder brother. I am the youngest. Two died, brothers died, when they were young. My sister [attended] the high school in Ba. She passed her exam and attended the nursing school in Ba. She is there now, doing nursing work. And my brother went to Lautoka [to school]. At that time I was very small, I didn't know them. So they left us, one to school in Lautoka and one in Ba. So I stayed with my parents. I was very young, [five or six], when they left so I can't remember... [Now], my sister comes to visit us and my brother is here. Since he is getting older than me you know we can't [hang around each other.] When [my sister] needs something, I help. She calls me, [and] I [go]. And my brother's wife, it's a bit different. My sister-in-law is not like my sister. I know my sister. My sister-in-law usually doesn't come here much...She's not like my sister. We come from different families, [have] different attitude[s], [and] different ways. Some people like to talk to you, some no, because we are not like each other. We are from different families.

Menani's relationship with her sister potentially offsets a formal distance that she must retain with her brother. Her sister does not live nearby however. The relationships which effectively counterbalance the rule-oriented community are those with her daughters. Menani explained to me the most important times in her life.

My times when I was young, I was very happy. I met all the children over here [in the village]. I went places that my father took me...But my important times when I am married are the children. I just have to see them. My husband was staying in New Zealand. For those ten years I looked after them. They were small [then], they are in secondary school now. Emi is at F.I.T. and the other two in high school. I have to see them all the time. I have to see them happy and [see that] nothing happens to them. Because I love them. So that is the most important thing...When I was young, when my brain was still young, I didn't know what the most important thing is. [But] when I became a mother, that is the most important thing. The most important thing in my life is my children. I stay with them every time, I look after them. I play with them. Emi is staying with her uncle. But the happiest time is when they are all sitting here. When one is missing, she takes away part of my life.

I stay at home all the time...Being a mother is not very hard for me because I stayed at home all the time. I was always with my parents. Not like other girls who run around here and there. Even when I was in Rakiraki, I left my husband and came [here], [because] my father was very sick.

Menani has lived in the tightly knit village community for almost her entire life. She has found the institution of motherhood, both as a child with her mother and as a mother with her children, a comforting retreat from the formal, controlling nature of most social relations. This exception to the rule of Fijian society allows Menani to participate in her community while dealing with its regulation.

Life History: "Dili"

My interview with a woman in her early twenties who married into Narewa from her home village elsewhere in Fiji, a woman I call "Dili", demonstrates how young married women have little control over their own lives and over their role in communities. Young married women are least likely to experience the community's influence as fulfilling. Yet, Dili did find her role as a mother rewarding. It is not the communal nature of Fijian culture which she thought problematic. She found that her particular role and specific situation in the community she married into to be unrewarding.

She doesn't enjoy living in this village as much as she enjoyed living in her home village. Much of her fondness for her home village is related to her life as a single woman there. Living in Narewa also deprives her of an opportunity to attend her church. She can only attend the church to which she belongs when she visits her home village; there is no church of the same denomination near Narewa. She continues,

How these kids play around in the village behind houses, we couldn't do that in my village, or scream, play the radio loud. It's different, I came here and it's different. I hear the kids play here and I just don't like it, I'm not used to it. In my village it's so quiet. If the kids want to play, they go up to the playground.

In my village we don't keep the pigs staying around our houses. It's away from our village. Every week once a week, every Tuesday, they used to do cleaning up in my village. All of the young girls and the young boys who had no job were called to do village work. They cleaned up the surroundings of all of the houses. And the drains, they had to go nicely. They cleaned the river, clean-up inside the village. And once a month the Ministry of Health would come around, doctors and nurses, and make sure that no pigs were around or cows were here. Only chicks could be around the village. Pigs stink like this. Sometimes the wind comes into our room and it bothers me. We cleaned up once, [my husband] and I cleaned up. We washed all of the things. And after a while the smell didn't come. But we have to do that, go and clean it up with a hose and water. Because the smell doesn't go in [the owner's house] it comes in here. When we are eating it bothers me.

I grew up in .... a big village. I went to the district school and then to secondary school. I left school and worked in a hardware shop in town. There was plenty of fun in [the village] when I grew up, it's different from here. I grew up working, going to dance, going to night clubs, and meeting lots of friends. Then I was married. He doesn't want me to go anywhere, no nightclubs, just stay home. We lived together in my village. Then we had [my 3 year old daughter]. We came [to Narewa] and I gave birth to her. He went to prison and I didn't want to live here anymore. So we went back to my village until she was 2 1/2 years and he came out of prison.

The two women already discussed in this chapter, Tila and Menani, each attend church regularly. The church community can provide a subculture within a Fijian village. Between such a group of people, new rules apply. This community can be a retreat from the norms of the overall society, an escape from community control. Dili lacks this outlet, as she does not belong to the village Methodist church or one of the nearby churches of other denominations:

This village is so different from my village. I don't go to this church on Sundays. In my village I went every Sunday. I had to go into the city to go to church. It is the Word Christian Fellowship. The way they serve God is different from [Methodists]. We don't smoke or drink yaqona or listen to all sorts of music. It's different, I can't cut my hair. But before, when I was young, I used to cut my hair. But when I came into this church, I knew it was the truth and I didn't want to cut my hair. The Methodist church, they do a lot of things. You have to cook for someone who's preaching on Sunday. We don't do that... My mom used to ask me, "Why don't you do this, why don't you do like married women do. Why do you put your hair up. You aren't supposed to put your hair up in the village." They just growled at me like that. But I didn't care, I just put my hair up. When I joined the church I started putting my hair up [and not following the tradition of the village]. They would say, "Take that out. Everything has changed about you, you don't cut your hair, you don't do this." And I said, "It's my church. I have to do what the Bible says."

Married women in my village play netball. Their husbands don't stop them... And when I see that, I want to play too. They're married, I'm married, what is the difference?. I used to think that way. But I don't have to play. Because we come from different churches. It's different... That's ok with me. When I was in my village, I wouldn't watch t.v. because I was going to church. I just felt like I didn't like watching t.v. Then after we came here and we don't go to church every Sunday, you just feel like watching t.v. all of the time. You forget about the church. When there is nothing to do you just feel like watching t.v. all of the time.

Dili converted to her present religion because she was looking for community. Her husband was in prison at the time. She can no longer be a part of that group of people with whom she feels sure she belongs because she lives in Narewa. She describes her position:

When [my husband] was in prison, just this year, April of this year, I went out for a walk after I woke up. And, it was like someone was telling me, "You have to go to church today, you have to go to church today." So I came back and had my breakfast. It kept coming into my mind that I had to go to church that day. I had to go. [My husband] used to tell me about this church in Lautoka. So I had to go and look for that. He went first to this church. He was in prison and telling me that the church was there. That Sunday I cooked my lunch and [my daughter and I] went to look for the church. Behind the Lautoka sugar mill we took a walk. We went on the wrong road, I asked someone. He said, "No, I don't know, just go and look." And then we came across the church. And when I looked all the ladies had put their hair up and I knew it. I knew that this was the church because ladies didn't cut their hair and even young girls. And everybody was staring at us. That was the first time we went to the church. After church we just introduced ourselves. And from there we started going to church. And then we came here. Since we've been here we've only been to the church once. No job, going slowly. He doesn't earn a lot of money, so we just stay here. And there is no church around here like that so if we want to go to church we have to go right to town. Even [my husband's] uncle used to say to us, "Why do you go to church there? You are spending a lot of money, why don't you just go to church here?" It's just different. The church service is different. Last Sunday, [my daughter] went with them to the AOG church. Even here, when she goes here, she doesn't finish the church. She comes home because she wants to eat or she feels sleepy. I was just looking at her and it reminded me that in Lautoka the church went from 11 to 2. When she was there, she didn't complain for that time. But at church here she comes home and wants to eat or wants to drink tea. It's just different from our church there.

The situations of the other two women previously discussed, Tila and Menani, are also different from Dili because these women have been married for many years; Dili was married only three years ago. Also, Tila leaves her husband each day as she works in the market and Menani does not live with her husband. These three women, therefore, each encounter village life in a different way. The communal aspect of Fijian life has not protected Dili from an unhappy existence; she regrets marriage. She also has not found a subculture within the village to belong to. Dili's life shows, in some ways, how Fijian community life can dominate an individual, particularly young married women adjusting to a new community. Her life history shows several examples of her lack of control over her own life:

At home I have four sisters and three brothers. We got along very well. And my father left us when I was five years old. I'm the third youngest. I was five and my sister was three and my youngest brother was just born. And he went and stayed with my new mother. And my mother kept us at home. She went out to catch big crabs in the mangrove and sell them so she could feed us and put us through school, right through secondary school. And all of our sisters, we knew each other very well. We grew up very well. We would go to night clubs together and come home together. So I'm used to having my sister by my side. We would talk and talk and talk and then fall asleep. We had to know each other's secrets, my boyfriend, and your boyfriend. My younger sisters were twins. I was working, they went to high school. They got pregnant at the same time and left school and stayed home. And now they are married. They live in the village too.

Dili described that although her family didn't like her husband, they could not stop him from seeing Dili. Once she became pregnant, it was proper to be married, according to social codes. Her mother didn't like her husband yet decided that Dili could not stay in her village. She had to go to her husband's as it is traditional Fijian custom to move to a husband's village after marriage. The rules of the community thus asserted control over Dili's life in this instance. Her mother, following the rules of custom, sent her daughter away. She continues,

So we got on together until I met [my husband]. My mother and my big brothers didn't like him because when he's in a good mood he comes home and talks nicely, but when he's drunk he will bang the door, kick the door. And every time he would talk to me he would say to just leave him, don't come near him. And I just couldn't stop him from coming. And then I got pregnant. And when I got pregnant they just didn't say anything. "That's it, you just have to go to Rakiraki." Before I got married I got pregnant. When we came here I was nine months pregnant. We got married on the 13th of August, 1996 and Siteri was born the 14th of August, 1996. I was married today and gave birth tomorrow. When we were going around in my village, before we were married, he was good. He didn't give me hidings, like punching me like that. And after we got married, he started doing serious things to me. When he was angry he took a knife and used a knife at me.

As a married Fijian woman, Dili has much less individual freedom. She correlates marriage with imprisonment, in which a person has no control over their existence. This suggests that young married women are most aware of and discontent with the constraints of communal life. They are least likely to benefit from its rewards. She reflects on her own position:

It's different from before we got married, in our younger days. I just...hate to get married. Just hate it. Because everything is just...he doesn't let me wear earrings or do my hair. Everything is different. Sometimes I think, "I wish I didn't come here." I wish I just didn't get married and stayed home to have a free life, going here and there. And he comes here and goes out, goes to night clubs. Goes out with somebody else, other girls; he sleeps with girls. And all of my friends used to come and tell me because they used to see him with other girls. Then we came here. He did it here once, [his cousin-sister] came and told me. It was one girl from Rakiraki. I just wanted to pack my clothes and go right home to my mom's. And I did, I went home. He came there and asked me to come back. And my mom said, "No matter what happens you have to go back because you are married. You have to go back to him. He's your responsibility, not me. You have to go back." And then we came back. Now we're here. He's been good. He doesn't go out with anybody he just stays here. I don't know maybe it's true and he's lying...When we got married, it says that no matter what happens, poor or rich, sick or not sick, you have to love him.

When you are young and going to work, you buy what you like. You go somewhere if you want to do something. Then when you get married, everything is gone. You are locked in the house all of the time and don't ever go anywhere. I used to put lipstick on and earrings. After I got married, I just quit everything else. He just asked me to leave all of those things so I did. All wives have to obey their husbands [according to the church to which I belong.] It's different to me. I want to brush out my hair and buy shampoo and conditioner. He doesn't want me to. He doesn't want me to buy these things or put earrings on. So everybody in my village says, "You look like an old mother when you don't clean up yourself. Why don't you put lipstick on like you used to do it before. You look different." I just say, "Yes, I know." And I keep quiet and don't say anything.

Dili's commands in life as a daughter-in-law again emphasize the lack of control she has over her individual life. Her husband's family no longer lives in her house, yet she remains constantly under community pressure and under the dominance of her husband. She describes how that goes:

My grandmother on my mother's side and [my husband's] mother were sisters. [My husband's] mother and I came from the same village and the same family. I was not supposed to marry him because he is my uncle. In my village, my father and my brother didn't like me to get married to him because we are in the same family. But [my husband] didn't care so we just kept on going and got married. And his mom, she's good, but sometimes when she is angry about something [involving him], she used to go on me, not him. Because sometimes if she would talk to [him] angry about something, he would get angry at her and nearly smack her. That's why his mother doesn't want to talk to him now. She wouldn't go on him, she used to go on me. "You have to talk to him." I'd say, "Yes, I talk to him. He doesn't want to listen to me." He used to tell me, "You aren't supposed to order me like this. You are supposed to keep quiet and obey me. It's written in the Bible," he would say. I said, "I know it's written in the Bible but if we love each other we have to do things together." And that's why his parents don't care about him all of the time. When he was in prison they didn't go to visit him. They are away now (living in Australia). When they call, they call in one house in Vitawa and the family there sends us a message. They don't say that [he] should go wait for their call, they just want their granddaughter to come to talk to them. I don't know why. Sometimes when he is drunk, he comes home and says, "I don't know why my parents do this to me. They don't want to talk to me on the phone or write me letters." He will say that only me and my daughter are a part of his life. No one is around him here. His sister and brother are away too. So we have to stay with him; we have to be part of him. "Don't leave me. If I go to prison, visit me." And I used to do that all the time when he was in prison. He's been to prison everywhere in Fiji. He went to Ba, then Lautoka, then right to Suva. [He has run] away from prison. They put him in Lautoka and then he did a serious thing to one police officer. So they sent him to Suva. He ran away. Then they caught him again and put him in one prison that's right in the bush. And I had to go right in the bush. He felt sorry for me when I had to visit him there. I had to get off from the main road and walk, walk, right in the bushes. And he felt sorry for me, I might meet someone in the bush and they could do something to me. I believe God, he'll go with me like that and come back.

Dili could not stay in her village even after she built a house there for her and her family to live in. Her husband did not want to do this, and it is against the rules of tradition, so Dili had to come back to Narewa. This demonstrates how little control she holds over her own life. She can make very few individual decisions. She continues,

When he was in prison, I had to go and visit him. [If] I didn't go one week, he would just be out of his mind like I'm going out with somebody else. I don't do that. I just stay home with my daughter. And I worked. When he came out of prison, I built our house. It was a one bedroom house with a kitchen. When he came out of prison, it was a surprise to him. He saw the house and asked, "Who's house is this?" I said, "It's our house; I built with my own money." He started to cry. "Why do you have to build this house? We have a house in Rakiraki, in Narewa. It's a big house. Nobody is staying there." I said, "I know. But sometimes when we go to Lauwaki we have to spend the night in this house, when we come for church and spend the night."

Another event in Dili's life with her husband exemplifies the control he exerts over her and that the community allows him this control:

He came out of prison in May. We got along well at home [in my village], through July. [Then] he started to drink again. And when he came home, he would do serious things to me. When he wouldn't catch me, he'd go for my dishes, break all of them. Like [our] freezer doesn't close on top; we have to tie a string around it. And then, that Friday he came home and started growling at me and breaking all my things. My brother came and said, "Why do you do this to Dili. You make her cry all of the time. And we around here don't like the way you are treating her." That Sunday morning he was still upset. I took my daughter went to town to do some shopping. And he was at home, he said it was ok for us to go. In town we met a friend of mine who said that [he] was looking for [us] around [there]. I said, "What?!" We met him in town. He just grabbed her from me and said, "That's it. I have to take my daughter up." I said, "Where?" He said, "to Narewa. You just go home and stay with your mother and your brother." I asked, "What is going on here." He said, "I'll just take her, take my daughter. You just stay away from us." Then I followed them to the bus. They got on. I was staring at them. Tears came into my eyes. He was taking her out of me. He left us when she was just 3 months old and came out of prison when she was 2 1/2 years. I said, "Look, how about we go home and get some clothes for her." He said, "No. I've got my family there, they can take care of her and dress her." I just stood there as the bus came. Everyone was just staring at me because it is a busy town and I was crying. Then I just went home. I told my mom what had happened. She said, "Just wait. Let them go back to the village and see if he's going to come back for you or not." That night he called again. I felt angry, like I didn't want to talk to him. I went and talked to him. He said, "Just forget about us, the two of us. Don't ever bother us again. We are here in Narewa and happy now in our own home." On Sunday, I was getting ready to go to church and he came back to my village. I asked him where my daughter was. He said, "She's with [my cousin-sister]." I said "What is she going to wear?, she doesn't have any clothes." He said "she's wearing [another child in the family's] clothes." And then, he apologized and he wanted me to go back. I said, "I'll think about it. I'll just leave you two alone and come by myself if I want to." Then on Thursday morning about 5 in the morning, [his] uncle was knocking at my house. He said, "I've come to pick you up to go to Narewa. [Your husband] called me on the phone and said to come pack you up and bring you to Narewa." And I just did. I just packed my things and went in the van. I woke my mom up and she just couldn't believe it. I said, "I'll come around and visit." My mom said, "You go there and be good. Don't you ever do anything serious that he might do something serious to you." So we are here. Sometimes when I am alone in the house, I feel like going home to my mom.

Dili made a conscious decision to return to Narewa and live with her husband. One must consider however, that in the context of Fijian culture, a wife should stay with her husband, as Dili's mother's advice indicates, no matter the marital situation.

Dili returns to her village to visit when she and her husband have the money to do this. She cannot go without asking him however; she cannot ever spend money without asking him first. In the following excerpt, Dili's husband allowed her to go to Lauwaki (on the return trip from a wedding in his mataqali). She was supposed to go solely with her daughter, but her husband arrived at her mother's house:

[My husband] wasn't supposed to go. That night in my village, I was having my cup of tea before sleep and he knocked on the window at my mother's house. So it was good for me. I stayed for three days at my mom's. I talked to my old friends. They still live in the village. Some they aren't married, they just work. Some are married. So we just met again and talked about old times, going out, going to night clubs...Even the young girls in the [Narewa] village say, "How about we go to your village one day." And I say, "I can't go. [My husband] is here. I have to ask him. If he says yes, I can go. If not, no."... If anyone comes, like they used to come to collect one dollar from each house for the village, I can't give it if he is not here; I have to ask him first. I have to ask him first before I do something, like lunch or dinner. If I did something that he doesn't know, he has his temper. He might do something quite serious.

Dili's religious conversion was a grasp for control in her life. She chose a church with strict rules. But in so choosing this strict following, she exerted control in her life. Now that she has been removed from this community, she has no escape from the communal dominance of the village. The collective identity of the village hasn't provided her with a coping mechanism for married life either although it sufficiently provides for her economic needs.

Dili's mother is Methodist. Her elder brother is Seventh Day. Her sister goes to the Salvation Army. I asked Dili how her family feels about her religion.

They say I'm lying, it's not true. You can cut your hair, it's not written in the Bible. You don't have to wear those clothes... It's different from their church. They can wear what they want, short skirts. Before I used to do that too. I used to play netball... And when I came across this church, it is different. You are not supposed to play games... [My husband] is not supposed to wear shorts. I used to talk to him, "Don't wear shorts. If we see someone who goes to church with us and you are wearing shorts, what are they going to think?" You have to cover yourself. No drinking... but he's drinking, most of the weekends. I just pray to God to help me, to change this. Like one day he could change this life, [and my husband would] quit drinking and everything.

Dili prays for change because she feels that she has no command over her own life. While her husband rules over her, the community hasn't provide a counterbalance to this effect. Moving to Narewa has caused complications for Dili. Certainly many of these are due to her relationship with her husband. One cannot neatly classify her life experiences as negative or positive, yet it is beneficial to see how different individuals accept the role of the community in their lives.

Life History: Sulueti

"Sulueti" is a woman in her mid-twenties who also married into Narewa. Her village experience, in many ways, contrasts with that of Dili. Sulueti represents a woman in transition from a low-status role, as a new woman in the village, to a gradually higher status role as she ages and more frequently involves herself in the community. Also, Sulueti is Methodist and her move to the village initiated a life transforming experience. She values her present interaction with the church as a group in which she is a part; this grants her partial autonomy. The church and various other village dimensions have also affected her family relations, including those between herself and her husband.

Sulueti's family is originally from the Lau islands, but she was born in Suva. She went to primary and secondary school there. She moved to Sigatoka to start her first job. Then she went to Nadi, back to Sigatoka, to Lautoka, and again back to Sigatoka. She describes what followed:

That's where I met [my husband. Well before him, I had a boyfriend. That's when I had my first kid. My first kid with my boyfriend, then we split up. Then I met my husband in 1992. He was working in the hotel. From 1992, 1994 that's when we had our first kid. Then we got married. After I had our first son, then we got married. Some usually get married before they give birth and some they get married after giving give birth. Then we started our family. So we have two kids now, two boys. Well, it's nice having a family, especially at a young age. The time we got married we were about 23. Well, it's nice having a family at that age. Because for us, when they are 20 we will be 40, and it will be easy.

Sulueti's interview reflects an appreciation of the nurturing village. She enjoys that she does not have to work and her family is still supported. The communal aspect of living has positively influenced her life. Her case also confirms that women view their identity in the village more positively as they get older:

And right now we aren't working... We sell kava, cigarettes, and that is supporting our life. And I really enjoy living in a village over living in town. Living in town, you have to have a job. In a village there is nothing to... we don't pay rent. All we do is pay electricity. That's the disadvantage of living in a town. You have to pay rent and water. And if you are not working, you can't survive by that. Rather than in a village, like us. We have to two kids and we still survive with the little business we are doing. In a village, us Fijians, if we are short of salad oil or something, we go next door to get it. You can't do that in town. We really enjoy life in the village. Me I really enjoy life in the village rather than in town. Because I was brought up in a town. But my husband, he was brought up here. In the first place, it was a bit difficult for me because I wasn't used to it. Then after a while I got used to it. Then I started to like staying in the village. Just for Christmas I go back to my village... in Lau.

While Sulueti enjoys her present life in the village, she also valued her time growing up in town:

My parents were in Suva, they were both working. Then they split up. And my father got married again. I've got three brothers and he got married again with a few kids and went back to Lau. I've met my step brothers and sisters. They're ok. But my Mom stayed in Suva. She went to Sigatoka but went back to Suva where she passed away.

The education is good in Suva because it is the biggest area. In the rural areas, the education level is not that good like in bigger places like Suva. There is plenty, we get more advanced.

[There] was a lot of drinking and going out dancing [in town when I was younger]. When I was in secondary school, we started going out drinking and dancing. It was fun during my teenage time. You make lot of friends, especially when you go to a boarding school. From form 3 to form 5 I was in boarding school, a Methodist school. I enjoyed my school days there. There were people from [many from the outer islands of Fiji] and people from the Pacific. I enjoyed boarding school. I met people of different races and we'd learn their cultures. It was nice. And from the boarding school I ended up in a government school, Suva Grammar. It was boys and girls. For the first few weeks, I wasn't used to it because there were only girls at the boarding school. But I got used to it. All different races were in that school, Europeans, part-Europeans, Indians, Samoans, all kind of races. It was a nice place too. The parents of the Europeans were executives in the big companies in Suva, like the t.v. I had one friend in our form, she was from America...Oh she was a really nice girl. Her father was a doctor in Suva for the mentally ill. She was really nice. She brought all these fashions from America. We started copying her...And just a lot of dancing, drinking. I enjoyed my days. Then I went to work.

Sulueti's feelings about the daughter she had before marriage indicate that her own mind set coincides with that of the whole Fijian culture. It is not an uncommon practice to give one's children to someone to raise or have one's parents raise them rather than raising them oneself. Fijians think of themselves as extensions of the large community. Following this idea, parents need not raise their children themselves. Kids will learn to act according to tradition by living in a community. She describes having her first child:

I had a boyfriend and ended up having a baby. We were living together and we split up. So my mother brought up my kid. I went back to work and met my current husband. My boyfriend's parents came and wanted to raise [my daughter] but mother didn't want to give her up because that was her first grandchild. They went to court. His family wanted to take her. He pays F$25 per week. [The daughter] has a bank book and she can get the money when she turns 21. My mother [has] passed away, [so] a cousin of mine is looking after her now. She's got only one daughter and she's married so she's bringing up my child now. They treat her as her daughter. She usually calls me by my name and when people ask her, "Where's your mother?," she says, "My mother passed away." She called my mother mother and me Sulueti...It doesn't matter. They treat her like a daughter and they spoil her too. When I want her to come for holidays, they won't let her because they are afraid that she won't want to come back to them. She knows that she has got brothers and she thinks that Joji is her father. I don't want to tell her until she's a bit older. Her father is married again with five kids. The eldest is a girl and she looks like twins with my daughter.

When Sulueti first moved to the village, she resented the constraints of village life. She didn't like the lack of privacy. She has grown to accept and welcome this interwoven aspect of life in Narewa however. Her increased activity with the church has changed her life for the better, as she told me.

But right now I like living in the village. It's really easy going. Even when we are not working. [At first] I wasn't used to [living in the village.] I was brought up in town. Like, we'd go out dancing, go out drinking and all. In the village you can't do those kinds of things. We enjoy life when we are teenagers. In the village, if you want to drink, you have to go somewhere where no one will see you. Because these days, you've got marriage and religion. When they see married women with children drinking they don't like that. I told my husband that I did not want to come to the village. He said, "You have to take it." So we came to the village because we were not working. But for the first month, I was not used to it. And I got used to it now so I enjoy living in the village now. I moved here in 1997. I had my children before I came to the village. And my husband's elder brother, they used to live here [in this house]. And once we came here, they moved back to Sigatoka. They moved back to go and work.

So I really enjoy my family. Even though we don't have an income. In Fiji we have a department for social work. If you really don't have anything to survive on you can go there. We just have the yaqona and cigarettes. [Joji] plants tapioca on his farm. And it really saves a lot of buying at the market. Because there you buy F$2 a heap and sometimes F$3 or F$4. That really saves us a lot.

Sulueti considers religion to be the reason that she now enjoys living in the village. She became used to living in Narewa because she changed her ways of living. She now follows the community-deciphered rules rather than secretly breaks them. The church enables her to do this. It has provided her with the outlet she needed to cope with village life. Sulueti heads the church women's/mother's group. Her activity with this organization involves her in a subculture of a Fijian village. New rules apply in this community, aside from those of the society as a whole. Her life history suggest then, that being a part of a community and adhering to communal norms is more fulfilling than acting out of personal motivation.

[One] thing [I really like about living in the village is that] we really got close to our religion, Methodist. When we stayed in town we would hardly go to church. And there was a lot of drinking. Both of our families usually go to church, but we were just disobeying the law. Once we got here, the church is just near. And that's how we became closer, worshipping God. And once we were worshipping God, we found it easier too. Nothing is difficult for us. When we have that faith worshipping him, we find nothing difficult. Before, my husband and I, we both drank and we would start fighting. I usually whacked him with a stick (laughing). That was during our drinking days. We used to be heavy drinkers, the two of us. But once we got in the village we really changed. He has changed a lot. He used to be a really heavy drinker. Because during those days, we were working, that's why we were heavy drinkers. That's the second think that changed when we came to the village. We changed by going to church; and by having faith, we don't find anything difficult. Then there are no problems. And we are enjoying everything. Before we used to fight a lot, just because we weren't going to church. And now we just do the same thing every day. He goes to the farm and I have to stay home and just do everything, cleaning up and all. [I like] having the same routine every day. At times I get bored. I really get bored and tell him I wanna go find a job. He says, "Leave that." As long as you are eating and all. But he's doing a computer course. He wants to go back and work, to Sigatoka, because my oldest is going to school next year. I'm not sure. I told him. I prefer staying here. He said we could come back for the weekends. But I prefer to stay here. Just in the first place I wasn't used to it. So, we enjoy our life.

Sulueti again indicated the importance of religion in the lives of villagers. I asked Sulueti if splitting up of couples happens in the village as well as the town.

So many people, once they get money, they forget about God worshipping. They forget about worshipping him, then they end up drinking and sleeping with some other person...A married couple, if they go with their religion, they will stay together. This is a Fijian saying. Me and my husband, we could see the difference. Once we got married and left our jobs and started worshipping him, we didn't have a hard time anymore. We find that, in the village, [people] hardly split...it's because of religion, that's what we usually say, if they go with their religion, they will stay together. Like him, for me, you hardly find in the boys. I think he's nice because if I feel sick some days, he does the cooking, washing and things. That's the thing I like about my husband, he's very understanding. He reached form 6 too. He has education. He is very understanding. When I am sick, he does the cooking. You hardly find a man like that, so it is nice.

When I asked Sulueti what the most important time in her life was, she told me that it was her wedding. Weddings are community affairs and focus on the connection between two families as well as two individuals. That Sulueti chose such a communal ritual shows that she feels supported by that community; she appreciates its sustenance.

When I got married was the happiest. It was a double wedding, me and my husband, his older brother and his wife. We both got married on the same day. All of my relatives and from the other wife's side and my husband's family came. And they had the tevutevu at the same time. That was an important day in my life. We usually get to other weddings and see what happens but for me it was really nice [to have my own]. You get to meet all the new family members. And so, I think that was the most important day of my life. I met my husband's whole family and my sister-in-law's family. We had dancing and the guitars. I really wanted to dance more but my baby was just two months and I had to run back to feed him.

Sulueti's perceptions of her life in the village are positive. She does not want to move away from the village although she did when she first arrived. Village life has a quite positive potential as has been shown in the life history of Sulueti. She relies upon its economic support and appreciates interwoven community life. In fact, she described the course of her life as a progression from individualistic thought and action to a more positive state of community interaction in which she is embedded in and conforms to village rules.

Conclusion

Ideally, a Fijian works toward the good of the entire community. A villager thus often finds that she/he has little room to exert her/his personal desires as these might be witnessed in opposition to the well-being of the neighborhood. Principles of Fijian culture mandate that community members share with one another. This sharing includes food, labor, and discussion. Villagers are tightly intertwined then. And, such constant interaction creates intense communalism.

This can smother a woman if she does not have any source of release from this close interaction. The informants included in this chapter have demonstrated that there are many dynamics to village life which influence individual lives diversely. Interviews with four women of different ages indicate that a woman's views of the community and its restrictions become more positive as she progresses in the life cycle. Older women are happier to take part in and be controlled by their community because they see themselves as having more a part in that community and its decisions than do younger women. Young married women typically feel that they have no control over their lives; their husbands control them and the community does little to help them.

With the onset of motherhood and increase in age though, women gain status. Thus they feel they have more control in the community and more influence over their own lives. Motherhood and the church also are outlets wherein women experience some autonomy. Women develop more positive self-images as they age, bear children, and find their own place in the community. They find communal demands less restrictive than they did in their younger years and take greater pride in involving themselves in the community.

On to Chapter 6...