Atchin, Part One: Culture

Rays of sunlight eeked their way through puffy cumulus clouds only to be arrested at irregular intervals in the thick jungle canopy. The resulting patches of brilliantly glowing leaves amongst a dark green backdrop caused me to marvel at the beauty of our surroundings. Underneath our feet the soil was almost black and the wide trail was littered with mangoes of all different sizes and in various states of decay. With each step the mangoes would blur then come back into focus as swarms of gnats we disturbed quickly settled back to their tropical meal. Our hosts, residents of the small island of Atchin, with skin as dark as the path, chatted in Bislama and pointed to different points of interest along our route. Our family would be living on the island of Atchin, as part of our language immersion, for the next nine days and the locals were excited to show us around. Rounding a small bend, the canopy began to open up and we soon found ourselves in a small village. Two of our guides stepped to the right side of the road and paused, looking toward one of the bungalows. Each bungalow in this village is constructed of a concrete floor, walls of woven bamboo which form a checkerboard pattern and a pitched natangora leaf roof which extends almost all the way to the ground. A moment later a man in his 40's hunched through the doorway and then stood erect coming toward us. A knee-high bamboo fence separated our party from what I would describe as a rock garden. After exchanging the morning pleasantries the man began to explain how special the rocks we were looking at were. I wasn't prepared for what I heard.

“This is the mother rock. She was brought from the island of Ambrym. Do you see how smooth and round she is on top? Now look at the bottom.”

The storyteller turned the rock over on its “back” and pointed to a small indentation.

“This used to be all the same as the rest of her but then, after she gave birth, it became flat—just like a human mommy's belly.”

I think I have mentioned it before, but I am horrible at hiding reactions. My face, if only for an instant, registers exactly what I am thinking. I wish I knew just what my expression was at that moment. It certainly wasn't, “hmm...that's swell.”

The bungalow dweller continued, “See! There are new baby rocks even now!” He pointed to two pebbles resting in spot where he had picked up the mommy rock. I glanced over to one of our hosts, an elder with the local AoG church. He looked back at me, pursed his lips, raised his eyebrows, and nodded. Even if I were trying to hide any shock before, I was unable to mask anything, now. My jaw was slack and my eyes were wide in disbelief. Did he believe as this man did?! Part of integrating into a new culture is being sensitive to all sorts of differences. I was failing. Miserably. Fortunately, my new acquaintance took my shock for amazement that mommy had made so many babies.

“Yes, Missionary. All these babies have come from this one mother rock. As you can see this type of stone is smooth and we have no rivers on Atchin. So, there is no other explanation.”

Merissa sidled up close to me as we were led down the dirt path to our next destination.

“Did I hear him right? Did he say that rock gave birth to all the other rocks around it?” she asked.

“Mmm. Hmm. That's what I gathered,” was the only reply I could muster.

The noise of waves breaking upon a reef grew louder and we soon found ourselves on a small bluff overlooking the Pacific. A stiff breeze knocked the tops off the waves and carried salty spray up— refreshing us. We sat on benches made of halved bamboo, as we were instructed to, and waited while some small snacks were prepared. I took the opportunity to clarify the story with our guides/ hosts.

“John, does he believe the story he just told us or is he merely retelling a custom story which is no longer seen as valid,” I asked one of the Ni-Van.

John replied, “He does believe this, yes. There is still a lot of custom here in Vanuatu and people who do not have Christ hold tightly to custom. We know we have been freed by Christ.”

I was a bit relived until John tagged this on as an afterthought, “It is pretty amazing though—that only one rock was brought from Ambrym.”

As our week continued and we spent more and more time around those on Atchin there were plenty of things to see and participate in. Although I was not constantly thinking about the rock momma, the whole exchange was sitting in the back of my mind as we interacted and learned more about those who were kind enough to open their lives and village to us for 9 days.

Both Merissa and I had been given an assignment by our boss, Bryan. He had asked us to map out a family tree of one of new friends and ask some questions regarding hierarchy within the tribe/ family line. After dinner one night I began a series of questions about relationships within the community and ended up with more questions than I started with.

“Bill, what is your wife's name?”

“Mary.”

“OK. What is your father's name?”

“Henry”

“Got it...and your mother's name?”

“Susan.”

“OK. Now, your wife's mother. What is her name.”

Silence.

“Bill?” I thought maybe my Bislama had not come across correctly and there was some confusion. I looked up at Bill and he would not meet my eyes and looked uncomfortable and conflicted as he shifted his weight on the wooden bench.

“Oh. Sorry. Did I say something wrong?”

“I can't say her name,” he whispered.

“Sorry? You can't say her name...or do you not know her name?”

“It is forbidden to speak her name out loud.”

“Bill. It's OK,” the Pastor's wife piped up from an adjacent bench. “You can tell him. It's OK.”

“I'm sorry. I don't want you to do anything you aren't supposed to. Can you write it for me?” I asked.

“Yes. I can write it, I guess.”

After Bill cautiously wrote the name of his mother-in-law in my notebook, I asked him what the consequences of speaking her name would be.

“Oh, Missionary. I would have to either kill a pig and give it as a gift or pay her money for dishonoring her in such a way.”

He went on to tell me that the people of Atchin have many rules regarding family. Bill is not allowed to enter the property belonging to his in-laws until he has the consent of his father-in-law. Once invited in, he must not address ma-in-law directly. All conversation between the two of them must go through a third party. However, these rules of engagement are suspended in the church. I don't mean the church body, no, I mean the physical building itself. Once they are both physically inside the walls of the church building they are allowed to talk freely to one another.

“These are some of the ways we go about it in Atchin. Each island is different and has different rules.”

“Oh, fantastic,” I thought to myself. “Only 83 more islands to figure out.”

This is certainly one of the biggest challenges we face as missionaries here in Vanuatu and is a subject of much prayer. Each island has distinct people groups with their own language and ways of navigating life. A simple “come to Jesus” sermon does not touch the deeper issues—root issues—affecting maturity and lasting heart transformation. Observing life here has revealed that most have heard the Gospel message but have yet to truly surrender their lives and will to Christ. Sound like another country you know? Hmm. I have such a heart for discipleship and the Lord continues to reveal just how incredibly important it is in the life of every believer. Please pray that God will bring us into meaningful relationships which will grow a new generation of leaders here in Vanuatu. I admit it is hard not to look at the huge task and be overwhelmed with the size of the job. I am constantly having to surrender my anxious heart to God. Some mornings I wake, practically paralyzed by these thoughts: “83 islands...150 some odd distinct languages...1000's of customs I don't grasp...culture I struggle to navigate...a language I continue to butcher...Father, how will I ever succeed.” It is then He comes to remind me He is not calling me to sail in and solve the entire puzzle but to be faithful to those things which He calls me to each day. Why is it so hard for me to see? I've never though of myself as a task oriented guy but here in V-land I constantly worry about completing enough, making stuff—quantifiable stuff— and my heart races as I struggle to breath beneath the weight of this yolk of my own making. The other day I ran across this verse in 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18: “Rejoice always!; Pray constantly; Give thanks in everything,; for this is God's will for you; in Christ Jesus” (yup, that emphasis is mine). A huge encouragement to my heart! The questions I wrestle begin to rob my thankfulness and give way to fear and resentment—not fruits of the Spirit last time I looked. As I begin to praise and give thanks to my Creator my focus returns and I begin to take heart that each conversation I have, every visit to the market, every greeting I offer is a building block to demonstrating the love of Christ.

Later in the week were were shown more of the island of Atchin by our hosts. We saw more stones with stories just as bizarre, if not more so, than “mommy” stone.

Merissa and Ethan had walked ahead with one of the Atchin women and were presently standing off to the left side of the trail. Bill, John, and I approached the rest of our party and the tone became hushed as Bill ushered me around the side of a 5'tall slab of rock which had been placed, erect, between the path and a smaller 3' stone.

“This is the girl stone,” Bill whispered grabbing me by the elbow and bringing me between the two stones. Bill picked up a stick to use as a pointer as he began to tell how some people would come to this place to request a boy or girl when attempting to get pregnant.

“See this place on the rock here,” he pointed down low to a fissure on the taller of the two rocks. “This looks just like...”

“Yes,” I quickly interjected not bothering to whisper. “I get it....it's a girl rock.”

“But missionary, do you see how the...”

I cut him off again trying to be even more emphatic, “YES. It's a girl rock...I understand. I understand.”

His attention then turned to the "partner" rock.

“Now we call this the boy rock because if you look over here...” he began to gesture with his makeshift pointer.

“Yup. Boy rock. Got it,” I stated tersely while walking back to the path. As if living in the South Pacific isn't surreal enough, now I found myself engaged in a conversation about intimate relations between inanimate objects. Yowzers.

The rest of the week we learned more about culture and the experience for us was as much language immersion as it was culture immersion. We visited multiple sites where both human and animal sacrifices had been made. Our hosts informed us that the cannibalistic act on Atchin was as recent as 1992. 1992! This is on an island the size of a Walmart parking lot where the evangelistic church has been considered to be well established since the 1970's. We are beginning to see just how much the culture of custom ways is deeply entrenched. Many here have Christianity in one hand and custom in the other. The government has even stated that Vanuatu is a place of custom values and Christian principles. Unfortunately to truly experience freedom in Christ, custom must be set aside completely because, as we are learning, custom here is directly tied to Satanic worship and a desire to utilize black magic to obtain numerous objectives. Below is an excerpt from the newspaper published here in Vanuatu:

“Allegations have emerged that black magic and bribery have been used to help form the next government in Vanuatu.

“One of the oldest Vanuatu traditions is based on use of 'black magic' and there are black magic solutions for good and bad, said custom experts...

“A reliable source told the Independent that one of two camps [Prime Minister candidates] has put aside an amount of VT 5 million ($50,000) to be used for black magic remedies.”

Please continue to pray that we will know how to navigate these difficult issues and build relationships that bring others to a fullness of the knowledge of Christ.