Ellison in Paradise

ELLISON IN PARADISE

“Isn’t it just WONDERFUL to be able to live out your WHOLE life on a tropical ISLAND like this!”

Ellison is one of those persons who do not ever really listen to other people; she does not need to. She KNOWS. Early in her life, she had made up her mind about life, the universe and everything. Not only is she certain about everything concerning herself, she also instinctively knows (so she is convinced) what others need or think. When she does (appear to) ‘listen’, it is merely to catch a keyword or two, as convenient hooks on which to hang her pennants of sagacity.

She is unable to understand the ancient islander’s answers anyway; he does not speak her language, nor does she his. How well their interpreter (whose command of English is basic at most) manages to translate her ebullient outpourings, nobody knows. Given that she is not genuinely interested in the old man’s sentiments, the fidelity of the renditions of his words does not matter much.

Their torturous interchange is taking place on a truly picturesque island on the southeast coast of Africa, a two-hour boat ride away from the troubled mainland. Inhabited by an ancient tribe of fisher folk, it has only recently been ‘discovered’ as a quint and unspoiled (not likely for much longer) potential destination for wealthy international tourists. 

Ellison herself is no mere tourist; she is here as an esteemed member of a band of gold-standard tour-operators, visiting the island to gauge its suitability as exotic holiday haven for their upper-crust clients. 

Her interviewee, in contrast, is dirt-poor. He is rumoured to be the oldest inhabitant of the small island. Their innovative interpreter is a younger islander, one who had enjoyed some schooling on the mainland and picked up some English in one of the larger towns ‘over there’.

The aged islander has an earnest request for his important visitor; it is the sole reason he agreed to the awkward interview. He has been waiting for the right moment to voice his desire – his fervent longing to escape!

“The old man, he says”, the interpreter reliably relates, “Him want to go to mainland, want to see world before he die.”

“No, he DOESN’T!” Ellison counters decisively. “This life is just PERFECT!”

She whirls her body around, her outstretched arms enveloping the whole land- (and sea-)scape.

“Just LOOK at it all! It’s a HEALTHY, SIMPLE, PERFECT place! Why would anyone EVER want to leave it? Oh, if we could just ALL live like THIS, the world would be a much BETTER place!”

Technically, she is, of course, correct, but wholly unaware of the deeper truths underlying her flippant remark and its implications for people like her, as much as she is blithely unconscious of what hardship their lifestyles causes the global poor.

“We have problems!” responds the interpreter on his own, then, conveys his remark to his kinsman, who solemnly agrees:

“Yes, often we have droughts and famines. Then no fruit. No vegetables. No help from government. Only fish.”

Ellison manages to catch the key words ‘fruit’, ‘vegetables’ and ‘fish’.

“Precisely!” she gushes. “To eat a HEALTHY Mediterranean diet every day, fish, coconuts, uh, pumpkins? whatever, for…”

She glances at the old man, then look at the interpreter.

“How OLD is he?”

A short interchange, then he replies:

“About 77, he not very sure.” 

“SEVENTY-seven years of healthy food each day and… just LOOK at him, doesn’t look a DAY over 55!”

The interpreter looks at the old man with reappraising eyes; 99 is what he would have guessed.

“Also”, continues the old islander via his helper, “not always get plenty fish. Foreigners come with big boats, catch too many fish. Other time, big ship breaks, oil over everything. Sometimes…”

“FISH OIL!” interrupts Ellison, “just ONE of the many beneficial NATURAL indigenous MEDICINES. I bet they have lots of traditional HERBS and potions, and secret recipes carried over from GENERATION to generation. Here you have a healthy, absolutely SELF-SUFFICIENT community! Our type of guests will just LOVE it!”

Dubiously, the duo responds:

“There is no hospital here. Only small clinic. Few medicines. Crooked officials. Big bribe to get medicine. If go to hospital on mainland, most never return. Others come back worse or die.”

The interpreter adds:

“Old cures, traditions lost after war. Many people displaced. Many die. Some old women try to be healers; only make people die quicker”.

“You just don’t know HOW LUCKY you primitive people are! With your rustic philosophy of life, you simply ACCEPT illness and death as part of life. You have it so much easier than us who STRUGGLE with the very concept of suffering and loss. How we should all desire to be MORE LIKE YOU!”

For the interpreter this is pure Greek. To the old man he says:

“You not worry about many words. White woman speak crazy!”

“O, if it could have been possible for ME to live out the rest of MY LIFE like this! Sadly, people like me are so BURDENED by responsibilities! But just imagine: to SWIM in this warm, calm tropical bay each day; to leisurely STROLL along these pristine beaches; to relax in the mellow evening BREEZE…”

This time the translator catches the drift. The old man listens intently, then responds with an affirmative nod:

“WIND, yes, we have lots of wind. Every summer big storm come, sometimes more. More, bigger, stronger cyclone every year. Blows off our roofs, sometimes whole house. Too much rain. Road like river. Water at windows. Many people die. Some when houses fall. Others drown. Then, later, many sickness come. Also, many boats broken, others wash away. Not enough food, too little fishing.”

“Oh, I just LOVE your quaint little HAND-crafted fishing boats. Takes one right back to ANCIENT times. Such a NOBLE age-old profession. Primitive man against NATURE, proudly providing bounty for his family. HEALTHY eating, too; fish is beneficial for development of the BRAIN, they say. Your CHILDREN must be very clever!”

She does not seem quite convinced of her own last remark. Adding his own embittered musings to the old man’s response, the interpreter wearily (and in vain) relates:

“Only small school. Teachers not good. Too many children. Some go morning, some afternoon, some evening. Not enough books. Must pay bribes for children to pass. Few go to mainland for high school. Most not ready there; come back. To pass, girls must sleep with teacher. When pregnant, school finished. She comes home. Men not want to marry her.”

“Your WOMEN must be the most contented in the world! Life is so SIMPLE here, so basic: only a small HUT to clean. Healthy FOOD to prepare for her precious family. Few CLOTHES to wash. Time spent with the EXTENDED family. No extraneous CAREER! So much elementary FULFILMENT!”

“Wives work very hard. Must try find enough food. Rice expensive. Little money. Cook slowly on fire. Wood scarce. Walk far to pick up driftwood. No water in house. Bring with pails. Many children die young. Many sickness come. Much grief. Women get old quickly. Also, many husbands drink too much palm wine, hit wives, children. One policeman, never take side of women”.

Neither the old man nor the interpreter sound the least proud of this facet of their island culture. They look ashamed and weary.

“Only ONE policeman! I guess there is LITTLE crime here, in such a warm, close-knit COMMUNITY, where everyone KNOWS one another. I’m SO jealous. You cannot believe how tough WE have it in our cities: all those break-ins, carjackings, fraud… oh, not to even mention the DRUGS. How I ENVY you!”

Much of these remarks pass right over their heads. Drugs they understand. The translator himself relates with anguish in his voice:

“Smugglers come here with drugs in boats. Force our young men to take it to mainland. Bring elephant tooth, hard wood. Pay little. When police act (if not helping criminals), our sons, not smugglers, go to jail. If we not obey, they kill!”

Ellison, of course, only hears what she wants to hear. This time she prefers to hear nothing. Disagreeable facts can only derail her well-crafted myths. The islanders sorrowfully continue:

“Also, last year, extremists come. Sons must be soldiers for them. If not, cut off heads. We are so fearful. Government is useless, afraid. World does not care”.

“Yes, indeed, you SHOULDN’T have a care in the world. Imagine, no TV, no radio, no newspapers, no knowledge of all the CRAZY happenings in the cruel world outside. Few responsibilities. Safely ISOLATED on your remote utopia!” 

The interpreter is starting to believe that the old man must be senile. How can he continue to listen to all this rubbish, even if somewhat diluted by means of his own creative renderings? It looks progressively more justified to feed her to the sharks (“Yes, we have them too!”), the longer the so-called ‘conversation’ drags on. However, the old man struggles on bravely in the face of her vocal torrents.

“We have radio. We know about world. We have politics. In village we have two headmen. War disrupted everything. Some men become soldiers. Some girls were stolen away. Some strangers come here to flee enemy. Families become broken. Traditions get confused. Two men claim to be real chief. Their sons, now grandsons, still fight. Peace? No peace.”

None of these lamentable chronicles should have been novel to Ellison (if she managed to hear anything at all, or did a little bit of basic research). Everything the old man shared with her is simply recently recorded history (admittedly, buried deep below weighty gossip about celebrities and news of momentous first-world problems). Indeed, the world does not seem to care much for the island folk.

“Oh how DELIGHTFUL!” interjects Ellison. “I’ll have SO many stories to tell my friends when I get home. ‘The tale of the village with two heads’. One could make a SHORT story out of it.” 

She seems to be already composing it in her mind, her eyes staring off into the distance. She abruptly returns to the moment.

“Sorry, what did HE just say?”

“He wants to know, you take him in big boat to mainland, to see big world?”

This single time Ellison manage to grasp it all. She mulls the request over in her calculating mind.

“I guess I COULD talk to the manager. It will make another nice after-dinner STORY, good promotional stuff too. ‘His FIRST time off the island in 77 years!'. Great! I’ll QUICKLY go and ask him”.

She trots off towards the rest of her group.

The old man frowns. He is starting to wonder about the wisdom of his plan. Turning to his friend, he worriedly inquires:

“THEY ALL LIKE THAT OUT THERE?”

The interpreter shakes his head.

“Some, not all! Thanks heaven, not all of them!” 

Watching Ellison tripping away, the islanders solemnly shake their heads. She does too. 

“Imagine, wishing to LEAVE the island, when you have practically been living in PARADISE your whole life long!”