OUR HONOLULU
In the company of an ali'i
By Bob Krauss
Advertiser Columnist
AILINGLAPLAP ATOLL, Marshall Islands — I felt like John Young, the haole in the court of Kamehameha, while Mike Kabua received visitors and a subject brought his breakfast of tea and ball-shaped doughnuts fresh from the fire on the beach.
Kabua comes from an important line of Marshallese ali'i, or chiefs, called iroij. He didn't lift a finger to prepare his food. Nobody ate before he did. Kabua never raised his voice. He spoke softly and people scurried around to do what he asked.
You are free to explore anywhere on the island except walk on his private path or enter the graveyard of his ancestors.
His throne that week was an unpainted picnic bench, his court a patch of clean gravel under the palms, his kingdom about a dozen atolls with a population of maybe 15,000 people. No European monarch today commands more loyalty from his people.
Bob Krauss • The Honolulu Advertiser
During breakfast, a delegation arrived from Namu led by a handsome, gray-haired headman. They filed forward and, one by one, shook the hand of the chief, then sat respectfully on the gravel and reported what they had brought him: pigs, chickens, a turtle, mats.
Mike Kabua comes from an important line of Marshallese ali'i, or chiefs, called iroij.
Kabua is big with a strong face and steel wool white hair. He reminded me more of Kamehameha than of Kalakaua because of his lack of formality. The other iroij wore long pants to assert their dignity the way Kalakaua wore uniforms and gold braid.
Mike sported comfortable surfer shorts with flower patterns like Kamehameha in his malo. At a feast one night, Kabua sat in the place of honor behind a whole roast pig and two enormous sea turtle shells filled with meat. He wore a Superman T-shirt, as proud of it as Kamehameha was of his red vest. He shaved out of a bucket, not worried about losing face.
Other iroij live in impressive Kahala-style mansions. "I think I'll build a small place," Kabua mused. "Maybe two rooms with a thatched roof." He readily chewed bubble gum and demolished most of my M&Ms. In turn, he shared his soft boiled sea turtle eggs. You pinch a hole in the rubbery skin and suck out the contents. They're very rich and delicious.
He's also like Kamehameha in allegiance to his native culture. If you have questions about a legend, he's the man to ask. He said he believes in chants because "when I can't find an island, I chant and it appears."
White hangers-on tend to surround him, especially at meal time when the food appears: yachties, a beachcomber, adventurers from Majuro. "Eat," he says with warm hospitality and impeccable courtesy. I got the feeling that he uses these people not only for information but as a form of entertainment. And that he's a shrewd judge of character.
Bob Krauss photo
He's like Kalakaua in one respect: a love of music and dance. Kabua brought his dance troupe on a four-day voyage in an old World War II landing craft to perform at the race that the iroij sponsored. He runs a nightclub on Ebeye to give his musicians a place to work. One day Kabua pulled out his 'ukulele and sang Marshallese songs. He said he can read music but plays mostly by ear, and very well, too.
Mike Kabua, left, Bob Krauss and others settle down for a feast that includes a whole pig baked in an um, or imu, and roasted sea turtle.
His conservation ethic is like Kamehameha's. He said it was a mistake to give U.S fishermen permission to use purse seines within the Marshall Islands' 200-mile fishing limit in return for more than $20 million annually.
Instead of using paper plates and styrofoam cups to feed the people for the canoe race, he bought hard-plastic bowls, cups and plates that can be washed and reused, not thrown away to litter his island. Most of the mountain of food brought to him from the other atolls for the occasion will be redistributed to the people.
At first, I was reluctant to ask too many questions but Kabua seemed to welcome them and to value good information. He started to grin when I kept pulling out my notebook.
By the end of the week, he appointed me a riarongrong, or minister of information. In the old days, the riarongrong kept his eyes and ears open for the chief. He had to be a fast runner to deliver the news. I told Kabua I'm a terrible riarongrong because I can't run fast anymore.
Iroij like Mike Kabua don't subsist on gifts of fish and breadfruit from the people who work their land. Rent paid by the U.S. government to lease the land owned by various iroij under the Star Wars base on Kwajalein provides one form of hefty income. Many have businesses. Like Kabua, other iroij are well educated and well traveled.
While the government of the Republic of the Marshall Islands provides many of the jobs on the atolls, the iroij seem to retain the allegiance of the people. They provide a foundation upon which the republic was erected.
Father Rich McAuliffe, a Catholic priest on Majuro, the capital, said, "The people of the Marshall Island have lost so much of their culture. I think that's why they are loyal to their iroij."
I asked two young Marshallese men if they think loyalty to the Iroij will be as strong in 20 years as it is now. They agreed that it would remain strong but that some iroij are their own worst enemies. Their greed and ostentatious living, they said, erodes the people's loyalty to them.
Reach Bob Krauss at 525-0873.
