A children’s song heard in Musina Village on Vanua Lava.

After having spent Christmas morning in the Anglican Church of Aver my thoughts are circling around the churches influence on the people here. Somehow I can only see the negative side and it leaves a lingering sadness on my tongue that doesn’t want to vanish. Part two.

Die Geschichte einer Beerdigung. Der kühle Wind streicht über meine schweißnasse Stirn. Der metallische Gesang tost in ohrenbetäubenden Wellen über die Grabeswüste. Klagende Wogen, den Verlust der Mutter und den Schmerz der Hinterbliebenen besingend, verhallen im...

On the first day of the new year I find myself sitting on a beautiful dead tree in front of a 120m high waterfall that celebrates a new beginning with me. I feel. I understand.

Endlessly they play the water with their hands, they slap and hit, they play and laugh. All day, in the shadow of the big trees, in the river or the ocean or where the two meat.

On a sunny morning the community of Bravet kill a big, white cow to sell the meat. Very colourful meat.

Every night the people of Vanuatu indulge in a ritual, they give themselves into the hands of a numbing root that grows up in the mountainous regions. Silently they drink the grey juice and connect with the sprits of the bush, their ancestors.

Since centuries christian missionaries are traveling to the most rural places in the world to convert heathens into tamely believers. What legacy do 500 years of proselytisation leave behind? A two-part experience on a small island in the South Pacific. Part One.

Pigs traditionally have an important role in Vanuatu’s kastom system. They are one of the few animals that have not been imported by the Europeans. A poem for these wonderful animals.

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