Between the two is a narrow stretch of coral. Scattered along are pile dwellings built almost entirely out of coconut trees. The trunks form the structure and foundation, and dried and weaved palm leaves make the roof; all in perfect harmony. Under the shade, women are cooking over wood fires, men are logging bunches of coconuts and kids interrupt their games to call out to us: “Imatang, Imatang” (the white men, the white men). Our arrival seems to be quite an event. We are indeed on an island lost in the middle of the Pacific ocean. And that’s exactly what we were hoping to find.
“ The swell has been pumping for days. I am surfed out like I haven’t been in a long time ”
To better understand the level of isolation in which these islands live, an anecdote that Sita, a friend of Timei’s, tells us, says more than any statistics ever could: “ When I left Kiribati for the first time, I went to Honolulu. Friends of mine had forewarned me about the culture shock I was in for. They had advised me not to shout out in surprise at every “ wonder” of the modern world. The employee of the hotel I would be staying at accompanied me to my room. Once in the elevator, noticing the small space, I couldn’t help but ask with surprise ”but where is the bed?”
