of the Big Nambas

The One Pound Story

Adventures in the land of the Big Nambas

By George Balkanyi

The empty glasses are beginning to clutter up the mini-table in front of Edouard’s Snack Bar, the pastis* with its inoffensive looks, its charming colour and its unpredictable effects has eliminated all barriers of language, race and Condominium policies, and we are all happy and excited.

“We” are two Australians, one Frenchman, one Englishman and one American, called, of course, the Yankee.

I am the Yankee. The fact that I was born in Hungary and that I speak with a thick Hungarian accent does not seem to make any dif ference. I am still the Yankee.

Anyhow, today I am quite happy.

I am in the New Hebrides, in Vila.

My boat, the Nirvana, is anchored in one of the safest harbours I have ever seen and tomorrow will be the big day.

Tomorrow we shall leave at 6 a.m. and sail to Malekula to pay a visit to the Big Nambas. This has been decided by the chief of the ex-

pedition, my good friend Claude Mitride, the Frenchman of the group, Claude was born in the New Hebrides and is a man of many talents. He can quote the latest price of copra (his plantation is one of the most important in these islands), rope a cow like a professional cow boy from Texas, and is an outstand ing photographer. Claude is going to take us to a place on Malekula, from where a native of that island will guide us to the village of the Big Nambas tribe. * * Hs We have been planning this ex pedition for two weeks now, but something always went wrong or was missing. . . . And then, of course, the moon wasn’t right.

“Be patient,” Claude told me. “We must wait. You just can’t get there and walk in as you do in my home.

We must prepare everything.”

“But why?” I asked.

“Oh la la,” was the inevitable answer. “I told you a hundred times.

These are not ordinary people. These are the Big Nambas. A few years ago they were still cannibals and most of us here in the New Hebrides believe that even nowadays, on certain occasions, they—how do you say it in English?—they indulge in these practices.”

Then looking at my big smile, he added; “Oh, you crazy Yankee. . . .

You don’t believe me, do you?”

But tomorrow will be the big day.

The native guide has sent word that everything is—“go”. Contact has been made with the Big Nambas and they know we are coming. This

* Fastis is an aniseed aperitif.

is more than a lot of expeditions have achieved.

One more round of pastis and the details are ironed out. The chart is in front of us but it is not of much use. The western coast of Malekula is virtually uncharted.

Like an elephant

“Do not worry,” says Claude in his perfectly grammared English, “the place we are going to is only a few miles south of Elephant Point. This is a big rock that looks exactly as an elephant. From there you can see a village. Our guide will meet us there and will take us inland to the Big Nambas.”

“But Claude, how do you know?

Have you ever been there?”

“No, but I know.”

“OK. We shall leave tmorrow at 6 o’clock. Everybody on board at five-thirty.”

“I drink to that,” said the English man.

That means more pastis. Well, tomorrow will be another day. * * * We left, indeed, the next day— at 12 o’clock instead of six. A steady south-easterly pushed us. towards Elephant Point and the Big; Nambas.

On Claude’s recommendation we have on board a respectable supply of dark, rolled tobacco sticks. They'

"Nirvana"

• George Balkanyi, the author of this article, samples a piece of sucking pig on board his yacht "Nirvana".