Worse Than Any

Mother-In-Law

The Feti'i of Tahiti

By A.C.R.

rpHE writer of that now moth-eaten X theme-song of South Sea tourist bureaux — A tropical moon, A romantic lagoon And You-u-u . . . very cannily stopped there. But in all fairness, he should have added a stanza about the Feti’i of Polynesia.

The Polynesian word Feti’i is a general term signifying relations of any degree up to one’s tenth cousin twice removed.

To the European spouse of one of our South Sea damsels, the word Feti’i —at first a dim cloud no larger than a man’s hand on the horizon of romance— becomes a grim shadow, blotting out all hope of tranquility.

The technique of South Sea Islands- Feti’i is suave and subtle. There is never an avalanche of Cousin Harriet with five children, a mountain of baggage, two dogs and a parrot descending on the household for an indefinite visit. On the contrary, the process in Polynesia is one of infiltration by gradual and stealthy approaches.

The European husband becomes dimly conscious of a flitting presence about the place, who is casually mentioned as a Feti’i from somewhere. The presence is never obtrusive. It flickers, but never wholly vanishes.

Then, one day, it will dawn on him that there are two flickering shapes instead of one, and that there is a gradual increase of the drain from his exchequer. Later, the number will be three, and will gradually increase to, and often beyond, “all the traffic will bear.”

The most Feti’i’-ridden man we ever knew had his home in a neighbouring island. On that' small piece of territory there was no place of refuge; so at irre gular intervals he and his wife would flee to Papeete.

There is only one boat a week, to and from the island. Our friend and his wife were sure, therefore, of that period of respite. But as the weeks came and went, the Feti’i would ooze in one by one until, in due time, the whole tribe was established in the Papeete household.

Our friend would then suddenly depart to his out-island home and the process of infiltration would go into reverse.

By thus shuttling back and forth, our friend was able to enjoy periods of peace and privacy.

Not so another of our friends. He is fettered by necessity to his domicile at Papeete. His wife is from a very distant island, where schooners seldom go. Her Feti’i have trickled in during the course of the years and have taken root —deeply, immoveably.

One day, in a spirit of mischief, we recited to him this little poem of a sophisticated society:— “How very nice it is to see Our dear relations come to tea.

But better still, it is to know That when they’ve had their tea, they’ll go.”

He looked at us with blood-shot, despairing eyes:— “Not in this blankety blanky place— Not forever and forever and forever.”