Cook Island Medicine-Man

By Edwin Gold

rE Cook Islands, New Zealand’s tropical fruit garden, have long been neglected by writers; though upon “outer” islands of the archipelago still continues, and flourishes, a native village life (without European guidance) that differs very little, in its funda mentals, from that of Cook’s day.

We have, here on Mangaia, an inde pendent native kingdom, ruled by its “Ariki” and “Aronga-mana” (king and The land on the island is. curious to relate, not actually a part of the British Empire, for it has never been surveyed, and may not even be rented, either by Europeans or “outside” natives.

The Mangaians, however, are the most loyal of British subjects, and the authori ties. by confirming the native landowners in their ancient laws of heredity, have made no error of policy.

The result is seen in the non-existence of social problems; for every man has his plantations and his chickens a)nd pies, his hut and fishing-canoe, etc., which suffice for all his needs, with the exception of clothing and tools, or can ned eatables. To purchase the latter, the local Polynesians pack oranges each season for shipment to New Zealand, and the money obtained is spent with the traders. (The average income of the Mangaian is £5 a year—and he calls that wealth, simple fellow.) rIS preamble would not appear to have any connection with the noble profession of healing. But the ex clusion of Europeans from rental or pur chase of land, plus one of the worst reefs in Central Polynesia, has been the cause of many a curious survival of ancient native usage. The old heathen gods, however, took the count when John Williams instituted missions m the Group (in 1826), and were replaced by Chris tianity: every native to-day is a very pious church-goer.

Native custom, however, has proved tougher than native gods; and the prob lem of the village “ta’unga” is one that still gives the missionary a headache, and even brings him into occasional conflict with his flock, for most of the native deacons are “ta-uneas” as well.

The word “ta’unsra” originally meant an adept, or a witch-doctor; now it means a native masseur and herbalist, such as sick Polynesians call in at need.

Naturally, brown brother is no more free from illnesses than we are: in his case, however, stomach-troubles and rheumatic

pains, caused respectively by injudicious eating and damp huts, are his standard ailments. To such sufferers the “ta’unga” motif” a treatment ’ called in Maori, “te This ‘ motu” is neither medical nor surgical, and the patients who recover do so—in every local European’s view anyhow—not because of it, but in spite of it. The “motu,” in brief, consists of a most violent massage and wringing of the abdomen (where that locality is the seat of the trouble), intended to expel the demons responsible.

The patient (a singularly appropriate word, that!) is laid recument upon a mat. The “ta’unga’s” equipment, which the unclothed victim is to enjoy in ap plication, is simply two big horny hands toughened by plantation-work, and a bottle of coconut oil (the latter used as a lubricant). There is no record of a patient having burst into flames under a “ta’unga’s” ministrations, but without coconut oil I, for one, would not care to finance a fire insurance policy.

When our Maoris eet the tummy-ache, they seem to think along homoeopathic lines—that is, to drive away one pain with another—and they don’t hesitate to express dissatisfaction if the “motu” ex pert appears too gentle. rIS is typical dialogue on such an oc casion : “Ta’unga” (prodding): Is the pain here?

Patient: Yes, and there, and also there (etc.). (The “ta’unga” commences operations, after pouring coconut oil upon his hands . . . Ten minutes pass, while patient grunts, and groans, or even emits a quite audible yelp at intervals. Then the “ta’unga” ceases a moment, to rest.) Patient: Here—what’re you stopping for I’m not feeling better yet! (The “ta’unga” sets to work with in creased vigour, grasping double-handfuls of his victim’s flesh, and twisting the tis sue with renewed violence. Ten more minutes pass.) Patient: Ugh! Gr-r-r-ooh! Phoof!

“Ta’unga”: Thats better, isn’t it? (It ought to be! The “adept” is covered in perspiration, and nearly as short of breath as his patient; both, in fact, look as if they had been wrestling for the world’s championship in a Turkish bath.) Patient: No —I’m not better Your “motu’s” no good—you didn’t HURT me!