Manawa Toa

by Dunsford, Cathie

  But she’d always disliked Chirac since he took power. Petty little man who appeared to have little idea of human nature, ideals, working for a better world. He simply wanted power, like so many others, at the expense of ignoring advice not to conduct the tests and to remove the military from the Pacific. The agency and France had taken a huge knock since the revelation of their involvement in the bombing of the Rainbow Warrior. They’d never fully recovered. Many felt they should withdraw from the Pacific and concentrate their energies closer to home. She agreed. But like the Tahitians, she’d become dependent on them for survival. Or has she?

  Elizabeth Green mulls over these questions, her life decisions, her huge feeling of loss and grief for two days. She calls Paris and says she needs more time for investigation. She decides it is not too late to act, that she cannot collude in the final betrayal of her daughter for acting just as she herself would have acted if she’d followed her own ideals, not betrayed herself or her family. It’s never too late.

  At 9 am on the third morning, she enters the video editing studio in Marseille. She has the tape copied for Sahara. Then the original, tagged by the agency, is edited so it reveals no close-ups but clearly shows the French botch-up. She has the dunes edited out. Then she gets another copy made of the edited tape. She places one edited tape into a courier bag, registers it, and sends it to Le Monde with intructions to watch, report and send out to other media. The other goes in a registered courier bag to Paris, with a note explaining she must go to Tahiti to interview the captives. She then places the unedited tape in her handbag and takes a taxi to Air France, where she books a flight to Tahiti.

  Me te kiore kai whata.

  Like a rat gnawing the food store.

  Marie-Louise appears shocked that Kuini could possibly suggest she acted in any way other than for the good of all. She explains she knew it was vital to get the story out because the footage was so powerful. She has no explanation for why they have not yet seen it on television. Perhaps it was intercepted by French authorities? She looks as if she may cry, so Kuini resists hammering her further. Instead, she suggests to Cowrie they leave it another few days then make enquiries. After all, they do not want to attract attention to their exploits and risk their boat being confiscated. Sahara admits that it’s possible her colleagues have decided the footage is too risky and are protecting them. She’s faxed and the tape has not turned up yet, but it reeks of interference to her.

  A few nights after their escapade, another French nuclear explosion is reported. Much larger than the last. Enough to destroy Nagasaki and Hiroshima together. They watch it on screen, exploding the surface of the water, sending chemical waves out toward their boats sitting like night owls who witness at the edge of the watery crater.

  With renewed anger, they concentrate on reporting the issues of colonisation and their connection to the nuclear explosions, the effects this has had on the Pacific Islands over the decades. The reports are checked by Kuini and Cowrie and relayed by Irihapeti and Sahara. Sahara is in charge of all couriered material. Marie-Louise does not seem happy about this, argues that her research material is crucial and is aiding the cause, that it must get out on time. They suggest if it is so vital she share the contents with them. This silences her. She says some of the material is too volatile and they have shown themselves to be very emotional over the issues, which of course she understands, but all the same, it must be handled scientifically.

  By now, there is definite distrust between them, though she gets on well with some of the men on board, playing quoits and volleyball on the deck. The waiting and watching continue, with high seas whipping the flotilla and revealing their vulnerability in the open ocean.

  Excerpts of their mission are shown on global television and they’re pleased the footage of the French capturing their own boat and looking stupid is chosen for most of the reports. The media have had a field day and the footage is repeated over and over in all languages. Everyone, it seems, is joyful to see the French agents slip up. They apologise to Marie-Louise for doubting her, but still state that communal action and clear communication are important when working in a team. She agrees. The tension eases, but is not completely gone.

  Another week passes. The Tui has now left to return to Aotearoa and they will need to sail back to Tahiti to get fresh supplies and petrol soon. Many on board have been violently ill and they are not sure if it is seasickness or contaminated food. They’d been told it was safe to fish from the deck but after the second test, when they saw dead fish floating in the currents, they decided not to risk it. By then, some of the crew had been taken ashore by other flotilla boats returning for supplies.

  A meeting is held where they agree they must return to Pape’ete for supplies, and pick up their sick crew and head back to Aotearoa. They reckon they’ve done all they set out to do, and even if they have not actually stopped the testing as hoped, they’ve helped attract media attention to the issues and that has resulted in almost universal condemnation of France.

  Marie-Louise is jumping ship to return to her family in France for a holiday. Cowrie is not convinced she is trustworthy, though has to admit she was wrong about her. Marie-Louise had sent the video tape on and it had been used.

  The final day, they hold a party on board for those left in the Peace Flotilla and there are sad farewells, commitments to further action and a sense of satisfaction that their efforts have not gone in vain, despite the resumption of testing. Chirac has now reduced the tests from eight to six and promises to sign the Pacific anti-nuclear peace treaty and remove the military from Moruroa forever. There are talks of compensation, though all agree that no compensation can rectify the holocaust that testing in the Pacific has created. Its effects will continue for decades, maybe even centuries, as the nuclear waste gradually leaks into the ocean. Already, significant traces of iodine 31, which affects the thyroid gland, strontium 90, which attacks bones, and caesium 137, which works on the cells, have been recorded as far away as South America, Aotearoa and Australia.

  The waka has circumnavigated the test zone several times now, attracting media attention. All the Peace Flotilla cheer the crew and everyone joins in the final haka before leaving. Facing Moruroa Atoll, directing their energy to the military, they chant and stomp the deck of Manawa Toa. The ancient scow moves with the energy. Their chant surges out over the waves and enters the ocean.

  At dawn, they sail toward Pape’ete amidst cheers, dolphins dancing in their bow wake as they slice through these waters a final time. The spirit of Opo has been with them throughout this journey, carved into the prow of the waka and Manawa Toa, a harbinger of hope that there is still life in these contaminated waters.

  He manga wai koia kia kore e whitikia.

  It is a big river indeed that cannot be crossed.

  Exhaustion, sadness and elation fill the crew as they sail Manawa Toa from Moruroa back to Pape’ete. Memories of their weeks of vigil at the test site coast the shores of their minds. Their morning duties over, Cowrie and Sahara share a cuppa on deck. They recount tales of the trip, noting highlights from their diaries, rereading the mail from home that has helped them through this time by energising their spirits.

  “Hey, Cowrie, listen to this. It’s a passage from Frederick Cook’s diary during his passage over the Antarctic Convergence in his bark Belgica, 1898, which Crispin quotes in his letter. It evokes in me the feeling of fear and excitement in the zodiac, skimming the dark water during the eclipse. ‘The night which followed was dark’, he writes. ‘The sea rolled under our stern in huge inky mountains, while the wind scraped the deck with an icy edge. We kept a sharp lookout for icebergs, which might come suddenly into our path out of the impenetrable darkness ahead … It was a night of uncertainty, of anticipation, of discomfort—an experience which only those who have gone through the wilderness of an unknown sea can understand.’ Amazing, huh?”

  “That really captures the feeling, Sah. I was shit scared we’d hit a whale or a container. Th
ere’s nothing more ‘unknown’ than speeding over a black ocean during an eclipse of the moon.”

  “Yes! ‘The sea rolled under our stern in inky mountains.’ I love that bit. This guy was a writer as well as explorer.”

  “One and the same, Sah, when it’s done well. I reckon people write to explore the interior worlds. It’s the process of exploration that fires them as much as actually reaching the Pole.”

  “So, by that account, it isn’t just the results of this voyage that are important. It’s the journey itself. The fact that we took the risk to protest and believed it’d make a difference?”

  “I reckon that’s the best way to view it. We should celebrate what we’ve achieved rather than dwelling on the fact we didn’t actually stop them from testing, and use the energy to motivate us and others into further action. Even when the tests end, it’s just the beginning for the Maohi to reconstruct their lives without the French, based on their own resources and spirit.”

  “Do you think the French will relinquish control?”

  “Of Moruroa, yes. What do they want with a contaminated island once they can no longer test on it? They’re preparing to test by computer now. They’ll give the island back, but it won’t be the same island they took. It’s contaminated, shafted through the middle and plugged with concrete.”

  “I can’t believe the French could ever envisage testing at a site so beautiful. It says a lot about their mindset that they could build such ugly rigs above ground, let alone blast it apart below.”

  “Yeah—well now you’ve seen it, you need to keep reporting this, telling the truth of what’s happening here in the Pacific to those in the northern hemisphere. It’s important you get back home to write while it’s still so fresh in your mind.”

  “It’ll never leave my mind, Cowrie. Hey—are you trying to get rid of me?”

  “No way. I’ve felt a deep soul connection with you on this journey. I’d love nothing more than for you to return with me to Te Kotuku. But I need to let go of that. You have vital work to do in Europe—and I need to get that damned novel finished.”

  “What’s the novel about, Cowrie?”

  “Its essence is about soul love, acting from heart as well as the head.”

  “Marie-Louise won’t appreciate that book!”

  “You’re right there. But we don’t know. It could touch something in her. After all, her love for Rua moved her out of the French military and into activism.”

  “And maybe her spots returned again later?”

  “They say a leopard never changes its spots. But I believe people can change if they really want to.”

  “I’d like to believe that. It’s why I am a reporter and activist. But sometimes I get bogged down by the sheer weight of the struggles in Europe and the UK.”

  “Imagine being a small island nation in the Pacific and having to fight colonial powers like France and the USA who are nuking your land, which is your spirit and source of sustenance?”

  “Sometimes, I think our gradual disconnection from the land is part of our sense of powerlessness.”

  “I think you’re right, Sah. So what are you going to do to reconnect with the land back home?”

  Sahara pauses a moment, realising she is being challenged to do more than write and work from a head place. “My brother Daniel is involved in reforestation in Scotland. I might join him for a while and see what I can learn. Or else join Crispin in Antarctica.”

  “Great idea, Sah.” Cowrie smiles. “We all have the power to be courageous if we dare. You can tell them about your journey on Manawa Toa: Heart Warrior, as inspiration.”

  Sahara’s jade eyes are on fire. She grins as the name of their boat suddenly registers with her. “Heart Warrior. I asked a chap on the wharf at Opononi to translate when I saw it being painted onto the boat. He said I’d be told when it was time, that you had to know what it meant from experience.”

  Cowrie laughs. “He was right then, eh?”

  Kuini and Irihapeti join them on deck, and they discuss their future plans. Kuini has ideas for sailing Manawa Toa around the Aotearoan coast, taking kids on board for different parts of the journey, so they learn new skills and the history of its voyage. Iri suggests they could take native seeds from the nursery to other marae, beginning with kura kaupapa schools in the north, and Cowrie offers to help. Sahara tells of her plan to become actively involved in reforestation while continuing her media work. As they near Pape’ete, the dolphins leave their bow, having guided them safely to port, and head back to guard Moruroa and Faungataufa atolls.

  He peka titoki e kore e whati.

  A branch of the titoki tree will not break.

  A crowd gathers at Pape’ete pier to greet Manawa Toa. Among them, Mauva and Koana, Oscar Temaru and members of Tavini Huraatira, and a group of women’s peace activists who’d flown in from Aotearoa to take part in protests and local hui. Among the brown bodies, a tall Englishwoman, her pale face behind dark glasses, stands nervously. Koana thinks she may be a tourist in the wrong place. “Aloha. I’m a foreigner here too. Are you lost?”

  The woman appears startled a moment, then replies “No. I’m waiting for the New Zealand boat to return. My daughter is on board.”

  “You must be proud of her then. They’ve risked a lot to protest out there.”

  The woman looks surprised that she is so friendly. “Yes, yes I am proud of her.” She pauses. “But it’s taken me a long time to realise it.”

  “That’s ok, long as the recognition comes.”

  “Yes. I think you’re right. Thank you.” The woman looks as if she needs to be alone, so Koana retreats to the group.

  “She’s not lost. Her daughter is aboard.”

  “Is she French or English?” asks Mauva.

  “Very British. Upper-crust accent too.”

  “Can’t be Marie-Louise’s mother then. Must be Sahara’s.”

  “Na, Cowrie said she hadn’t seen her mother for years. That’s partly why they bonded so fast. Their real mothers abandoned them at birth or shortly after.”

  Suddenly Manawa Toa comes into view, dolphins at her bowsprit. As the chanting begins, the dolphins leave the boat, heading out to sea. Once she has been tied to the pier, the crew disembark to be greeted by local Maohi with fresh frangipani lei and singing. They respond with a waiata composed by Kuini, telling the tale of their voyage. Their languages are similar enough for the local Maohi to understand most of the song. They are then invited to a farewell feast to be held in their honour that night. A cheer of approval comes from the crew. The crowd gradually disperses.

  Standing in the shadow of a container, Elizabeth Green picks out her daughter immediately. One of a few white faces aboard the boat. How grown-up she looks, how confident with these people. Should she re-enter her life now? Is it her right? Has she made a huge mistake by coming? How will she admit her involvement in putting her daughter’s life at risk, her betrayal of her family? She stays motionless as Sahara, her arms around her dark friends, begins to walk away. Her feet cannot move.

  “Aloha, Koana! I didn’t know you were still here!” Cowrie runs toward her cousin, hugging her in joy. She excitedly introduces her to Sahara.

  Koana glances over to the woman standing in the shadows. “Do you know that woman, Sahara?”

  At that moment, Marie-Louise recognises her boss and moves to greet her. The Englishwoman hands her an air ticket to France and her letter of resignation from the agency. “Please make sure that Jacques gets this,” she says. “Don’t linger. It’s best that you go to the airport as soon as possible.” Marie-Louise nods and departs.

  Sahara stares at the woman. “I don’t think so.”

  Koana realises she must have made a mistake, that the woman was waiting for Marie-Louise after all. They begin walking up the pier towards the streets of Pape’ete. Just as they move to cross the street to a café, Sahara feels a tap on her shoulder. She turns around.

  “Excuse me, but I think this belongs to you.”
The woman hands her a copy of a video tape marked “For Sahara. With love from Elizabeth Green.” Sahara stops, realising who the well-dressed woman is. She tells the others to go on, she’ll join them soon. The woman takes off her sunglasses. “Sahara, I am so proud of you today.” Tears well in her eyes. “Can you ever forgive me for leaving you? I’d like the chance to explain if possible.”

  Sahara boils with anger, hurt pride, and rejection spiked with curiosity. She looks into the woman’s eyes, trying to remember. Jade eyes, just like hers. And a voice that reminds her of the wind in the dunes. She doesn’t know whether she wants to hug her or push her away. Tentatively, she stretches out her hand. “Hello, mother. Your story had better be good.” She is proud she can be so strong in front of this woman who has been a myth for most of her life.

  “It is painful, but I hope we can get to know each other. It tore me apart to leave you, but I felt I had little choice at the time. Can you spare me some time now?” Sahara glances over to the café where Cowrie is deep in conversation with Koana.

  “I’ll just tell the others. Wait here.” Elizabeth Green watches as her daughter crosses the road, speaks to her friends, who stare back toward her, causing a pang of fear. She wants to escape, yet is torn, desperate to speak to her daughter. She admires Sahara’s strong, elegant body, her confidence and spirit as she glides back across the road, recalls her own pioneering spirit at that age.

  Sahara says they can have the afternoon together, that she will meet her friends at the feast tonight. They walk to a café further up the road and begin the long journey reclaiming the past, trying to explain, attempting to bridge huge gulfs of misunderstanding. Throughout, Sahara recalls all she has learned on this voyage about listening from the other point of view as well as asserting her own, about the necessity of believing in change, that anyone can change. Eventually they reach the moment Elizabeth has been dreading, the admission that she progressed from interpreter to agent. That she was responsible for attempting to capture her daughter. Sahara is stunned, can hardly believe her ears. She is is so angry she wants to hurl the capuccino into her mother’s face.