Peddling Daydreams: Part 2 Jetty slides and plywood rides

Children run toward the roadside when they see me coming. I have long since run out of the candy I brought on Swell, so I now buy the local treat of coconut milk mixed with sugar. "I-Matang!!" They holler. "Hello!" They practice their English, "My name is." They smile and wave, bright eyed and curious. They've made a swing from a palm frond and launch across the road clasping its browned leaves. Candy all around. Peddle peddle peddle. The women are playing bingo in the second maneba. Men pass with bags of copra (dried coconut meat sold for its oil). I see the grassy path to the beach and veer left. The afternoon is shiny on the sea and the waves are almost surfable! I wander toward the jetty. "Leess! Leees!" Little Hulo shouts with frantic smiles. All the boys are out. The waves wedge up at the small jetty wall for the cable station and they hurl themselves off the wall into its face as the face approaches. Ten little boys running, shouting, and playing in the waves. Some have shorts and others are naked but it doesn't seem to matter. They aren't shy. Small squares of plywood are their hand planers and half of an old boogie board. I give them my friend Chris' donated boogieboard and they all take turns. I join the loop with a discarded piece of plywood, run out the jetty wall, and launch into a wedging right. I wash up ashore and cheer them into the next few. The afternoon goes on like this.

The little girls line the shore. I sit with them but can't convince them to swim. It's unusual for Kiribati women. They laugh and smile shyly instead. The boys climb trees and offer me 'moi motu' (coconuts for drinking), husked and presentable. The sea is sloppy but the wind swell offerings are welcome while the southern hemisphere swell has shut down. Two hours later the group dwindles. I wave goodbye to my bodysurfing buddies and peddle back out the trail, stopping at Teuta's house (the fisherman) to change and rinse off. His wife Rubeis is home and I help her bring her dried coconut husks for the fire she's starting for dinner. Once the fire is on she offers me a plate of coconut and dried fish. There are no refridgerators here. Only salt and sun preserve their catch. We take a walk to gather more fallen brown coconuts. Rubeis eyes some flowers on a low tree branch and plucks the whole lot at once and begins stringing them into a garland. Her dexterous fingers quickly weave the flowers together. She places the garland atop my salty wet head and steps back to have a look. From her face I can tell she's displeased. She pulls the comb clip from her hair, removes my garland and proceeds to brush out my tangled, wet curls. "We make you look like Kiribati woman!" She laughs. Once my hair is brushed, she places the garland back on my head, smiles with approval, and we continue on. Back at the house, Teuta has returned from fishing. He wonders if I can go again this week, as apparently his fishing trio has assessed that I was decidedly good luck!

I'd like to stay but the light is dwindling. I must peddle on. Back through the second village and across the open field. Dragonflys swoop and hover as if guiding me home. The sun's light fades as I peddle quickly through the first village, but tonight I am lucky. The nearly full moon is already up and this sole streetlamp shines down through the palm silhouettes, reflecting in the puddles. Fires from the 'cook houses' taint the air with smoke. Coconut crabs are the only traffic on the road. They always seem to run in the wrong direction, forcing me to swerve and dodge their armoured bodies. Peddle, peddle swerve, almost loose control, oops I'm in a puddle. The road finally makes a hard turn to the east. The moonlight twinkles on the flat water running out the pass. Swell glows a ghostly white across the lagoon, and I am home.