Joe Schmo and The End of the World

He shifted in his seat as he leaned to one side. His eyes narrowed and his mouth formed a knowing smile. He chuckled a bit and spoke. When he was finished I mulled over his words. “The end of the world” he had said. Perhaps it was, and ultimately nobody had brought me to this point but myself. How exactly did this all happen again?

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 Vanuatu lies in the South Pacific Ocean, northeast of Australia between New Caledonia and Fiji. Tanna is one of the southernmost of Vanuatu’s islands and is considered one of the more remote and undeveloped places in the country. The population of 29 000 people inhabit an area of 565 square kilometers. Within its shores, things are a little different. Strange things have a way of happening here. It seems they always have.  

 

Missionaries arrived in the 1830’s intent on converting the heathens. At first, they were promptly eaten by the heathens.  Cannibalistic killings persisted until 1969.

 

John Frum was said to have walked out of the sea in 1936 and he was recognised as the brother of the god of Mt. Tukosmera. Just who he actually was is not really known. Many theories suggest he was an American military officer and that he may have originally called himself John from America. At any rate, he presented himself to the people of Tanna as a messiah and promised that wealth would come to them on a big cargo ship once all the Europeans were ousted and people returned to their traditional ways. His message spread across the island. Years later when many went to the larger towns on other islands to work for the US Navy, they were befriended by African-American navy sailors who often shared their consumer goods with the Tannese. They came to believe these goods were the wealth that John Frum had promised and became enamoured of all things American. The cargo cult was born.

 

The John Frum cult is in fact the sole survivor of many similar cults that were present around that time. Most were based on similar circumstances and beliefs. Essentially, some guy shows up and proclaims himself to be a god, promising that riches will come if people do what he says.

 

You would think that the John Frum cult would be on the decline but in fact its popularity is rising on Tanna, and we recently got a close up look. It began when we happened to be at the airport, dropping someone off. After the plane landed, an entourage disembarked. There were a few guys taking pictures and filming. The central figure was one very clean, very white, very American, chubby middle aged man. He seemed awkward, like that guidance counsellor from high school that you knew would be doing the same job, in the same tie his whole career.

 

From a truck in the parking lot emerged an older Tannese man whose frail, stooped frame was clothed in, what would best be described as a thrift store naval officer Halloween costume. He had his own entourage in tow and a meeting of the entourages ensued.

 

It turns out that this all had to do with a John Frum celebration happening the next day. The Tannese fellow was the local leader and who exactly the white guy was, was unclear. Perhaps a diplomat or dignitary sent as a courtesy by the US government? The celebrations were planned for the following day in a village on the east coast near the volcano. We would be there.

 

The hour drive saw the most pedestrians along the road that I had ever encountered. We offered a ride in the back of the truck to a few, but somehow wound up taking somebody’s whole family. Anna and Sasha were intent on breaking the previous record for most people in the truck (13) set by the last ViVa doctor so we piled on a few more and were at 16 by the time we reached our destination. We were feeling pretty smug until another truck pulled up near us and 21 young men piled out. Darn locals.

 

The village was crowded with a few hundred people. The central clearing was used for dances celebrating John Frum. Each performance was done by a separate village. Dancers wore mainly traditional attire but were adorned with bright tinsel lays and American paraphernalia.  Dances were interspersed with re-enactments of US military battles. A huge U.S. flag waved above it all. Set on a higher hill above all this was an area for VIP’s to sit, and smack dab in the middle of them was the chubby white guy from the airport.

 

The dances were entertaining at first, but there is only so much one can do with tinsel and a few dance steps. At the 90 minute mark of what would be a 6 hour tinsel extravaganza we decided to stretch our legs and poke around the village for a bit before heading home. We met up with 2 journalists from the UK who had come to cover the day’s celebrations. By chance they had managed to interview the chubby American. It turns out that he was neither dignitary, nor diplomat. He was in fact some Joe Schmo from middle America who was now on his third trip to Tanna, with the aim of establishing himself as an important, perhaps magical figure to the Frum cult. He had had no prior connection to any of this, but decided one day after hearing about the cult to remake himself on this out of the way island. On that first trip he had brought along a flame retardant suit with the intention of demonstrating his magical powers by surviving setting himself on fire. When he actually got here and realized how vulnerable the members of the cult were he felt that the suit stunt would be too opportunistic and shelved the idea. Instead he brings thousands of dollars of stuff like key chains with his face on them to give out. I suppose he must be unaware that virtually nobody here has a key of any sort. It was pretty easy to imagine him in 1936 establishing himself as the brother of the god of Mt. Tukosmera.

 

Another curiosity of the island is the cult of Prince Phillip. That’s right, Prince Phillip. There are a few tribes in the bush that worship him, believing that he is their emissary in the west who is working behind the scenes to keep western influence out of their deeply traditional village life. These are the villages where you see people in grass skirts and penis sheaths. They adhere to strict traditional, or “kastom’’ rules. They hold strong beliefs in black magic, ghosts, witch doctors and potions, the most popular of which is apparently one that when used by the patient, causes the person of their choice to fall in love with them. Some things are universal I guess.

 

As best I can establish, at one point in the 1970’s or 1980’s, Prince Phillip actually sailed past Tanna on his way somewhere else. Kastom legend had prophesized that the people’s saviour would be white, married to a powerful woman, and a sorcerer. I guess the people must have also revered the singer Meatloaf, and figured that “two out of three ‘aint bad.” The worship carries on to this day.

 

A few years ago a documentary called “Meet the Natives” chronicled the journey of a few of these villagers to the UK to actually meet with Prince Phillip. After their long journey, after all those years of worship, when they were finally granted an audience with this man who performed powerful sorcery and kept the western world at bay, what did they say to him? They were under strict orders from their supreme chief to ask only one question…….”When will the papayas be ripe at home?”

 It’s not hard to see how for many, John Frums and Joe Schmos alike,  Tanna represents something pretty darn hard to find- a chance to completely re-invent one’s self, and to do so in a way far outside most of the norms that we know.

 

I came here as a physician. Not so far outside my norms, but the work I would have to do certainly would be. Being the sole doctor (aside from my wife) for the island seemed to be a huge stretch from what I did at home in Victoria. Andrea and I debated for a long time before committing.  Do we have enough skills? Would we be putting the kids at risk? Are we hardy enough? How would we hold up that first time when the shit hits the fan? Time would tell.

 

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When we returned to town after our John Frum celebration day, the truck was almost completely out of gas. Previously, I had only put in small amounts at a time, but never a full tank. When I got the bill I almost fell out of my penis sheath. “One hundred and eighty bucks?!?” I gasped. I paid, and then wandered down the street to go to the market. I happened to meet up with an older local guy I knew. I took the opportunity to ask him about the enormous gas bill. Was this correct? Was I being fleeced? How could this be right? As I stood in the middle of the busy, dust filled market, surrounded by strange food, strange sights, missionaries of all stripes, John Frums and Joe Schmos, Prince Phillip worship, black magic and love potions, he nodded that it was indeed correct. He shifted in his seat as he leaned to one side. His eyes narrowed and his mouth formed a knowing smile. He chuckled a bit and said, “You’re at the end of the world here my friend”.  He was right.

 

Over the years I have had occasion to take some people rock climbing for their first time. Often when one novice was climbing and maybe getting a little scared, their friend would call out to them, “Don’t look down!” I would counter with my own advice and yell, “No, look down, and take it all in! That’s why you’re here!” 

 

As it turns out, we’re doing just fine here at the end of the world. Life on this strange island suits us. I haven’t promised any cargo ship of riches yet, but I am most definitely looking down, and taking in every last damn bit.

 

Sean

 

 

 

 

 




 
 

 The local john Frum leader and Joe Schmo

 
The tinsel estravaganza

 
John Frum Day Celebrations
 
 
 
 

 

The Prince Phillip worshippers of Yakel Village