South Pentecost and North Ambrym, Vanuatu
Today has been a cultural double-whammy of rare proportions, and we feel enormously lucky to have witnessed both the fabled land dives of south Pentecost and the Rom dances of nearby north Ambrym. A predecessor of the ‘Bungee Jump,’ the Nanggol takes its inspiration from an ancient local myth of a woman outwitting her infuriated husband, Tamilié, by jumping from a huge banyan – not to her death, since she had tied vines to her ankles before the leap, whereas he was plunging to his death by the time he realised that her suicide had been faked.
The Nanggol can be held only during the couple of months that the vines are of the right level of maturity: not too moist or too dry, lest they fail to do their life-saving work. Fatalities are mercifully rare, and today is the final set of dives for this season, so we feel doubly privileged about our good timing. The divers are men and boys, who, as the legend has it, took over from the women after Tamalié’s spirit complained loudly when women began copying their brave sister. The divers leap from platforms erected at various heights (with labels such as ‘abdomen’, ‘chest’, ‘shoulders’ and ‘head’ revealing the body symbolism of the Nanggol) on this huge 60-80ft structure. The tower is constructed entirely of bush materials, and built over a steep slope that is churned up with digging sticks to soften the landing of any diver unlucky enough to make contact before being tugged upwards by the vines tied to his ankles. About ten dives were performed on this clear and sunny yet cool morning, while on top of the hill behind the Nanggol a large group of chanting men and whistling women danced backwards and forwards, urging on their brave sons and brothers. All were clad in traditional garb (the women in white pandanus skirts and the men and boys in nambas, or penis sheaths, also worn by the divers). They certainly drowned out the gurgling of the beautiful spring-fed stream that ran rapidly past the bottom of the steep hill.
Talk about a tense and breathtaking time for all! A high wind at the tower’s pinnacle made preparations for each dive difficult. One or two divers baulked, but this is no shame, since the diver is the only judge of what does or not feel right on the day. In the long intervals between the jumps, we watch closely at the assistants on the tower and their careful handling of the vines to ensure that all knots are fast and every vine is free to unravel as the diver leapt, while those beneath the tower are poised to leap to the aid of each diver, cutting away the ankle-vines and assisting him away from the platform. It is with a mixed sense of deep satisfaction (that no one had been injured) and relief that we join the dancers in hailing the final diver, the ‘captain of the platform’ after he has soared from its ‘head’ out into the void and down at great speed before the huge restraining jolt of the vines jerks him back upwards, from within inches of the ground. His wide smile and triumphantly upraised arm tell us all that we need to know about the mental and physical effort expended for this grand feat.
We had a brief stop for some welcome refreshments at a small ‘resort’ near the beach before the Zodiacs whisked us back to the ship for a quick lunch, then a short briefing about our next stop, north Ambrym, which is clearly visible just a dozen miles away to the southwest. The Rom is a men’s secret society (there were many traditionally in the central and northern regions of Vanuatu) that continues to flourish, even though the last of the ‘heathen villages’ on the island have become Christian. Young men must pay in pigs for the right to enter the society and to don the colourful bird-masks and banana-fibre body covering of the ‘spirits’ they become when they dance. They will continue to pay in order to earn the right to carve the masks and climb the prestige ladder to the highest ranks. Senior members direct proceedings, and are glimpsed today, all dressed only in nambas, as the ‘orchestra’ of chanters and drum-beaters within the ranks of the dozen or so dancers. Traditionally, these ‘spirits’ would suddenly descend on the local villages and terrorise the women and children for their alleged misdemeanours – and every dancer carries a basket-like veran rom ‘arm of the Rom,’ the weapon they once used during these raids.
North Ambrym is also famous for its carvings, especially of slit-gongs, which range from the real thing, 10-15 ft high, to replicas less than a foot high, all beautifully rendered in a variety of local woods. After the dancers had entertained us with their energetic swishing, whirling and stamping, aided towards the end by two drummers playing complex rhythms on near-vertical slit gongs (anchored solidly in the ground), there was a short recital to allow us to hear the haunting sound of the bamboo flute – a challenge to those many of us who bought these intricately decorated instruments this afternoon with the hope of getting such a lovely tune out of them. Another art form closely associated with Ambrym is the sand drawing, and we were given a demonstration of this as well. Elaborate designs are laid over a basic line-grid without ever a finger lifted from the sand, and one is left wondering how on earth this is accomplished in such detail and with a speed and flow that rarely flag during the execution.
Some of us stayed near the landing, listening to the fine string-band that had welcomed us just a couple of hours before, and admiring and buying some of the many finely crafted artefacts on sale, while others went walking along and then up to nearby hamlets for a better view of the surrounding islands. A huge red ball of sunset, nicely cut by some billowing clouds, lit up our ship as we crossed calm waters to rejoin her – thoroughly exhausted by the surfeit of sensations we’ve experienced today, but also enormously stimulated by the richness of it all. It was an expedition day par excellence.
Today has been a cultural double-whammy of rare proportions, and we feel enormously lucky to have witnessed both the fabled land dives of south Pentecost and the Rom dances of nearby north Ambrym. A predecessor of the ‘Bungee Jump,’ the Nanggol takes its inspiration from an ancient local myth of a woman outwitting her infuriated husband, Tamilié, by jumping from a huge banyan – not to her death, since she had tied vines to her ankles before the leap, whereas he was plunging to his death by the time he realised that her suicide had been faked.
The Nanggol can be held only during the couple of months that the vines are of the right level of maturity: not too moist or too dry, lest they fail to do their life-saving work. Fatalities are mercifully rare, and today is the final set of dives for this season, so we feel doubly privileged about our good timing. The divers are men and boys, who, as the legend has it, took over from the women after Tamalié’s spirit complained loudly when women began copying their brave sister. The divers leap from platforms erected at various heights (with labels such as ‘abdomen’, ‘chest’, ‘shoulders’ and ‘head’ revealing the body symbolism of the Nanggol) on this huge 60-80ft structure. The tower is constructed entirely of bush materials, and built over a steep slope that is churned up with digging sticks to soften the landing of any diver unlucky enough to make contact before being tugged upwards by the vines tied to his ankles. About ten dives were performed on this clear and sunny yet cool morning, while on top of the hill behind the Nanggol a large group of chanting men and whistling women danced backwards and forwards, urging on their brave sons and brothers. All were clad in traditional garb (the women in white pandanus skirts and the men and boys in nambas, or penis sheaths, also worn by the divers). They certainly drowned out the gurgling of the beautiful spring-fed stream that ran rapidly past the bottom of the steep hill.
Talk about a tense and breathtaking time for all! A high wind at the tower’s pinnacle made preparations for each dive difficult. One or two divers baulked, but this is no shame, since the diver is the only judge of what does or not feel right on the day. In the long intervals between the jumps, we watch closely at the assistants on the tower and their careful handling of the vines to ensure that all knots are fast and every vine is free to unravel as the diver leapt, while those beneath the tower are poised to leap to the aid of each diver, cutting away the ankle-vines and assisting him away from the platform. It is with a mixed sense of deep satisfaction (that no one had been injured) and relief that we join the dancers in hailing the final diver, the ‘captain of the platform’ after he has soared from its ‘head’ out into the void and down at great speed before the huge restraining jolt of the vines jerks him back upwards, from within inches of the ground. His wide smile and triumphantly upraised arm tell us all that we need to know about the mental and physical effort expended for this grand feat.
We had a brief stop for some welcome refreshments at a small ‘resort’ near the beach before the Zodiacs whisked us back to the ship for a quick lunch, then a short briefing about our next stop, north Ambrym, which is clearly visible just a dozen miles away to the southwest. The Rom is a men’s secret society (there were many traditionally in the central and northern regions of Vanuatu) that continues to flourish, even though the last of the ‘heathen villages’ on the island have become Christian. Young men must pay in pigs for the right to enter the society and to don the colourful bird-masks and banana-fibre body covering of the ‘spirits’ they become when they dance. They will continue to pay in order to earn the right to carve the masks and climb the prestige ladder to the highest ranks. Senior members direct proceedings, and are glimpsed today, all dressed only in nambas, as the ‘orchestra’ of chanters and drum-beaters within the ranks of the dozen or so dancers. Traditionally, these ‘spirits’ would suddenly descend on the local villages and terrorise the women and children for their alleged misdemeanours – and every dancer carries a basket-like veran rom ‘arm of the Rom,’ the weapon they once used during these raids.
North Ambrym is also famous for its carvings, especially of slit-gongs, which range from the real thing, 10-15 ft high, to replicas less than a foot high, all beautifully rendered in a variety of local woods. After the dancers had entertained us with their energetic swishing, whirling and stamping, aided towards the end by two drummers playing complex rhythms on near-vertical slit gongs (anchored solidly in the ground), there was a short recital to allow us to hear the haunting sound of the bamboo flute – a challenge to those many of us who bought these intricately decorated instruments this afternoon with the hope of getting such a lovely tune out of them. Another art form closely associated with Ambrym is the sand drawing, and we were given a demonstration of this as well. Elaborate designs are laid over a basic line-grid without ever a finger lifted from the sand, and one is left wondering how on earth this is accomplished in such detail and with a speed and flow that rarely flag during the execution.
Some of us stayed near the landing, listening to the fine string-band that had welcomed us just a couple of hours before, and admiring and buying some of the many finely crafted artefacts on sale, while others went walking along and then up to nearby hamlets for a better view of the surrounding islands. A huge red ball of sunset, nicely cut by some billowing clouds, lit up our ship as we crossed calm waters to rejoin her – thoroughly exhausted by the surfeit of sensations we’ve experienced today, but also enormously stimulated by the richness of it all. It was an expedition day par excellence.
