By Patricia Page
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Additional info for Across the Magic Line: Growing Up in Fiji
At high tide it was an ordinary bay dotted with dugout canoes filled with men, women and children fishing, but when the tide went out it left a magic world. Channels crisscrossing the reef became safe sandy paths for bare feet. The ebbing water fell in cascades between the rocks and coral clumps. The pools cupped there held millions of marine creatures going about their eerie lives. Lumpy stone fish opened and shut their orange mouths, eels and snakes slid and unwound, crabs with shield backs and armoured claws guarded their anemone-fringed caves, bald-headed octopuses lurked.
Aiee! You kaiviti [Fijian born] Auooo! You live in Fiji seven year? You live in England now? In France? Pareese? Very very far! You sisters? ’ Others were twisting round and listening in. The windowseat passengers had rolled down the tarpaulins and held them still with elbows and hands to keep the rain out. Some were old and torn and let in the rain anyway. Nobody seemed to mind. Saris flapped in the wet wind. A little boy poked his head out and opened his mouth to catch the drops. The driver had turned the music up high.
A little boy poked his head out and opened his mouth to catch the drops. The driver had turned the music up high. Maybe it was BULA FM. Suva 102 FM. Suva tomorrow. I thought of seeing Suva again almost with apprehension. Would I still recognise it? Would I understand why I loved it so much? 4 SHARKS AND HUSBANDS To reach Suva we had many miles of coast road to cover. Repeating the experience of the merry BULA FM bus would have taken nearly all day and left us in the middle of town after dark. With the dire warnings of the Slater article in mind, we opted for the ‘express bus’.
Across the Magic Line: Growing Up in Fiji by Patricia Page