Organically Yours

This last month I shoveled a lot of shit. Yes, yes, yes, I can hear the comments from the peanut gallery all the way from Fiji…”But Bubba, you did that every day when you were in the U.S! You didn’t have to go all the way to Fiji in the Peace Corps to do that.” I also packed a lot of sand. Again, I can hear the comments of “But Bubba, we would always tell you to pack sand when you were shoveling shit, but you never did, so why are you doing it there?” Ah, it’s nice to have such good “friends”… First, let me clarify that the two preceding described activities were literal, not figurative metaphors. Second, they were borne out of necessity to ensure that Michelle and I aren’t subsisting on a diet comprised solely of starchy native root crops. Lastly, gardening, the activity resulting from those two activities, in the tropics is more difficult than you might imagine.

As part of our Peace Corps Training, we were encouraged to start our own vegetable gardens once we arrived at our sites. The idea was in part to ensure we received proper nutrition ourselves, but also to encourage others to observe, question, and potentially engage in growing their own vegetable garden. I should explain that this is not an effort to reduce hunger in our village or even in Fiji. Unlike many of the places where Peace Corps operates like Africa or some places in Latin America, there is an overwhelming abundance of food in Fiji. So apart from small pockets in urban areas where hunger may exist as a matter of access, for the most part people in Fiji never go hungry. Of course, that does not mean that they are not malnourished.

“Sega ni lavo, sivia ni kana.” No money, but plenty of food is a motto in Fiji. Thanks to the tropical climate, rich volcanic soil, and abundant rain, lots of stuff grows quite well in Fiji. Their staple crops are dalo (taro), tavioka (also called tapioca, manioc, or cassava around the rest of the world), and uvi (yam). These represent the “root crops” that yield a big, starchy root that, pound for pound, provides more energy than virtually every other crop on the planet. If you happen to be watching your carbs, the Fiji diet will definitely not be one you want to follow, but it will keep your stomach full. The root crops are also ridiculously easy to grow, literally requiring that you just plug a cutting in the ground in all cases. Furthermore, the root crops are resistant to virtually all pests, which makes it easy to understand why the crops are ubiquitous throughout Fiji.

Unfortunately, while the root crops pack loads of calories and really do grow like weeds, they are relatively nutrient poor. Hence Peace Corps’ focus on vegetable gardening to encourage the consumption of those brightly colored and vitamin packed veggies including beans, carrots, cucumbers, squash, peas, and other delicious plants that are the bane of existence to every 4 year old sitting in a high chair, but are critical to ensuring proper nutrition.

I have to admit that I was pretty excited about starting a garden and growing something with my own hands. We recently watched the film “Food, Inc.” before coming to Fiji and gained a new appreciation for industrial food production in the U.S., so I was looking forward to growing something that had not been subject to massive amounts of fertilizer, pesticides, hormones, transgenic manipulation, or antibiotics. My intention was to do everything organically…that was my intention…

Not long after we arrived in the village I asked if we could stake out an area for our garden and we were offered a sufficiently large area, approximately 40x40 feet. The only problem was that it was literally in the middle of the jungle and covered by multiple varieties of vines, ferns, palms, and other vicious jungle plants. Michelle and I set about clearing the area before shortly being joined by a number of the children who were just finishing school. The kids were thrilled to be helping the valagis and brought a variety of garden tools to help. Michelle and I were equally thrilled to have the help given that it was oppressively hot and humid.

Nonetheless, those precocious little scamp’s efforts, while appreciated, ultimately resulted in one of the biggest headaches in tending my garden. As we were forking with the kids in the garden (that is using a digging fork to turn over the soil…that was not a misspelling, perverts…), we would occasionally pull up small bulbs attached to ornamental plants called “elephant ears” in the states as well as small roots that belong to the ginger family that smell a little like Kellogg’s Froot Loops when you cut them open. Interestingly, the kids, either out of curiosity or just boredom, would cut each bulb into about a thousand pieces and pitch them about the garden plot. There was only one problem with this…it has the same effect of cutting the arms off a starfish and throwing it back in the ocean. Even the tiniest little shaving leads to a new plant that shades everything growing beneath it. So I’ve been continuously pulling these evil (insert your own series of graphic expletives here) plants since I started my garden.

So with round one of planting I selected a series of seeds that included pumpkin, zucchini, carrot, corn, pinto beans, and Chinese cabbage. But here’s something that I learned the hard way about seeds…always buy new ones. I just assumed that the seeds the previous volunteer left would work fine, and I’m sure that he did too, but everyone knows what happens when you assume. After 5 weeks and nothing popping out of the ground, it was more than a little disappointing to discover that the plants didn’t even germinate. To add insult to injury, bugs were annihilating the plants that did germinate, especially the okra. Those that weren’t getting destroyed by the bugs were getting uprooted by the birds. And those that actually reached maturity seemed to have their own problems thanks to some other kind of worm, fungus, or mildew. My first attempts were less than successful...

As I said before, my goal was to have an organic garden. After an impromptu trip to the garden at dusk, I discovered that the mystery marauders attacking my okra were actually big, fat, gross jungle slugs that despite lush vegetation in every direction decided that they liked my okra the best. They also ate my Chinese cabbage down to ground level before it even had a chance to really even get started. Once discovering that these slimy pests come out just after dark to feed on my hard work, I made it a nightly ritual to go out in the evenings with a thin, sharp piece of bamboo to make “slug kabobs.” I would routinely fill 3 or 4 12” pieces of bamboo with at least 15 slugs each before conceding that it was a losing battle, so I went to step two…the beer trap. It turns out slugs love beer (I’m sure to some women this comes as no surprise). The beer trap worked, but would overfill so quickly that it too was a failure, not to mention a disgusting ball of slime in a bottle. Thus, I was only left with one option…screw the organic method; I had to go nuclear on the slugs!

My next trip into town I went to some of the agricultural supply stores looking for something for slugs and came across a product called “Blitzem.” Blitzem is slug bait produced in Australia that is apparently irresistible to those slimy, brainless blobs of goo. Moreover, they had a brilliant marketing campaign. On the front of the box there was a statement in bold letters that said, “Now with Child Taste Deterrent!” I don’t know about you, but this was exactly what I was looking for in my slug bait, because the last thing I needed was some kid picking through the dirt in my garden and nibbling on the morsels intended for my invertebrate arch-nemeses. In any event, that night I went home and spread the almost certainly toxic green pellets throughout my garden.

“Hallelujah! Hallelujah!” [angels singing and light shining down from the heavens]. As I stepped into my garden the next morning I witnessed something that made my heart swell and compelled me to dance with joy…hundreds of squishy land mollusks writhing in agony from ingesting a poisonous concoction that they simply couldn’t resist. Even more satisfying was watching them bake into leathery, black crisps as the morning sun rose higher on the horizon. Finally, I thought that I might be able to get something in my garden growing successfully…oh, but I was wrong.

By eliminating the competition from the slugs, I just made way for the cutworms to move in and take up the slack. Nothing, and I mean nothing, organic deters cutworms and there simply ain’t enough bamboo to make the requisite number of kabobs. The organic hot pepper and garlic au naturale pesticide concoctions mixed with soap seemed only to spice up the cutworms virtual buffet of my okra, bell pepper, and corn. Once again, it was time to go nuclear on the next round of pests.

Michelle and I had to go to Labasa for a training session for a few days, so I just figured I’d wait until I got back to take the next step of eradicating the cutworms with a healthy dose of Orthene (which is at least somewhat less toxic than other options), but not before I husked some coconuts to keep the mynah birds from plucking the plants from their roots. I have no idea why these obnoxious birds do this, but they have a habit of simply uprooting any seedling that happens to be planted in a garden. Since I cannot be there every moment to plug them with a slingshot, I have to put split coconut husks around the base of the seedlings to keep the bastard mynahs from causing me yet additional frustration.

We’ve learned a lot about coconuts since coming to Fiji. We’ve made coconut cream, coconut chutneys, and virgin coconut oil. The basic conclusion that I’ve come to regarding cooking with coconut is that it is the equivalent of bacon in the U.S. Just like using bacon in any American recipe, you can cook anything in coconut cream and it will taste good. Of course, there are a variety of types of coconuts that are used for different things. The “bu” is a green coconut, which once opened yields a delicious and refreshing coconut water that once saved hundreds of U.S. soldiers lives in World War II as a substitute for blood plasma. “Niu” is the familiar brown coconut, which yields coconut cream/milk and the familiar grated coconut. For those of you who are wondering, grated coconut does not fall out of a coconut shell magically dusted in powdered sugar…that is the job of their version of the Keebler elves that live inside a Dakua tree. There is also the “vara”, which is a coconut that has started to sprout, creating a spongy web of coconut inside the shell that is a little like dense coconut flavored cotton candy. Then there is the “niuca” or the “bad coconut”.

This is an important word of advice. If a 10-year-old girl tells you a coconut is “bad,” listen to her. I did not, I paid the consequences, and they were dire. In my quest to find coconut husks to protect my plants I went about picking up coconuts to split and place around my plants. I found a half dozen or so and carried them to my garden where I planned to cut them in half with a single swipe from my cane knife. At least two of the coconuts were “bad” as had been shown to me by the young girl, but my thought was, “well, I’m not planning on eating them, just using them in my garden, so how bad can they be?” Famous last words…

Buka, the young Fijian man who had been tending the Methodist minister’s coconut plantation nearby, was busy cutting coconuts for sale to the local mill for use in low-grade coconut oil production as I walked past to my garden. We exchanged greetings in Fijian and I set about lining up my coconuts to split the husks. Buka was watching nearby as I raised my cane knife and brought it down hard on one of the bad coconuts. What happened next can only be described as simply awful.

As my cane knife pierced the husk of the coconut and made contact with the interior coconut shell, there was a sound akin to someone opening a soda can, only what emerged from that shell was nothing like soda. As the pressure released from that coconut it spewed the most foul, putrid substance that I have ever experienced short of the inevitable results of a friend of mine in high school who downed a bottle of rum along with two McDonald’s McRibs. It reeked like a mixture of vomit and sour milk combined with the juice you might find in the bottom of a dumpster next to an Old Country Buffet. As a result of the direction in which I swung my knife, this pressurized putridity sprayed over me from head to toe. To add insult to injury, it was also filled with squirming maggots…

Covered in a foul stench the likes only Andy Duframe of The Shawshank Redemption could imagine and holding back a gag reflex that I was sure that would qualify as “projectile” were I to let it go, I calmly picked up my cane knife and walked back past Buka…who had seen the whole thing transpire…and who I could tell was trying desperately not to burst into laughter. With my head held low, I made the walk of shame back to our shower where I proceeded to wash with multiple applications of soap and shampoo to ensure that every particle of stink or maggot was removed. Unfortunately, stupid doesn’t wash off.

Eventually, I recovered and placed my coconut husks around my seedlings and carefully mulched every part of the garden using leaves and grass from around the house and garden. As I stood back and admired my work, I looked forward to soon having some vegetables from our own garden upon our return from a week in Labasa. Again, I was mistaken…

As we walked into our village from the bus stop after returning from Labasa, what was once my garden looked as though a D-9 Caterpillar bulldozer had plowed right through the middle of it. A pig…a (insert extreme colorful metaphor) pig…had all but destroyed the months of work that I had put into the garden. Angry doesn’t even begin to describe how I felt at that moment. I had beaten the slugs, I was winning against the insects, I had deterred the effing mynahs, and now this. Michelle just stood clear and timidly walked away, understanding fully that no consolation was appropriate at that moment. I set about trying to recover whatever I could…and that bastard pig reappeared about 10 minutes later.

This was not a wild pig…it belonged to someone in the village, but I did not care…that pig was going to die, get butchered, and be gift wrapped and distributed throughout the village. I sharpened a bamboo pole to a razor sharp point, aimed as carefully as I could, and slung the spear with everything that I had in me. Dammit if it didn’t glance off the branch of a small breadfruit tree and just graze the pig’s back. It squealed and went running into the jungle with me shortly behind carrying the sharp bamboo pole in hand. After about a half mile running through mud and dense undergrowth, the pig won and I watched the vegetation jerk and sway as that terrified pig fled squealing and bleeding through the jungle and I struggled to catch my breath.

At the next village meeting, I brought up the problem of loose pigs, how the law in Fiji says you can kill them on sight if they are not tied up, and how people should be more considerate of other’s hard work. In another cultural learning lesson, the response from the pig owner was like BP to the fishermen and sportsmen of the Gulf Coast…”I’m Sorry! I promise it won’t happen again!” This is little consolation to the people who’ve put all their work into something that’s been destroyed by someone else’s irresponsibility in a matter of seconds. Nonetheless, I’ve been clear with others in the village that the next pig I find near my garden becomes community property, except that I’m keeping the loin for myself.

Despite all the challenges, we now have a variety of vegetables growing that includes tomatoes, pumpkins, lettuce, cucumbers, eggplant, zucchini, carrots, Chinese cabbage, green beans, long beans, sweet corn, cantaloupe, bele (Fijian spinach), and bell peppers, not to mention basil, coriander (cilantro) and mint. It is still not an organic garden, but at least we’ll have vegetables to supplement our limited diet. But I'll be damned if the papaya tree I've been nurturing for the last 5 months has turned out to be a male tree that bears no fruit...worthless males...