Everybody’s Gone Away
Good morning from the other side of Savura, where only four-wheel drive vehicles can access the rugged, slippery, sometimes broken, uphill and downhill route, to get home after a careful navigation through the dense and often foggy forest of Colo-i-Suva.
All up, we travel an additional 45 minutes (it feels like an eternally long hour) one way, to get to the capital city.
This recent development is most unusual for residents in these parts.
Until the road is fixed, the extensive drive will be the burden for motorists from our end of the valley.
Well, at least for those who dare traverse the somewhat dangerous terrain.
The road is not for the faint of heart. At times on this route, you would be forgiven for imagining you would emerge from these woods to some further location like Monasavu.
If an accident were to occur in these parts, we would only hope that individuals come out alive.
It is as remote and awfully secluded as can be from any form of civilisation.
This is Naitasiri, home of the brave and the fearlessly free, where winding roads seem endless, at times, an eternity.
For the few others, like my lot, the situation screams adventure!
There is now no excuse to not swim in the Waitio stream that runs some distance across the road from our humble hilltop abode.
For those of us at the border of Colo-i-Suva and Savura who have been cut off from the otherwise oftenused Wailoku Road, the situation particularly - without tapped water - is averse to the quiet-natured community this side of the gapping cracked Savura road.
Two main boys, in this imaginary cowboy movie unfolding in these parts, must be taken down for what has happened.
The same two, and half their crew, who for years turned a blind eye and deaf ear to the reality that was unravelling in our end of the woods.
They knew well before hand that the pipes was about to give way. But they left it too late even after years of forewarning.
A year long of complaints is sufficient to get rid of the clearly clueless line minister and his so-called chief executive officer for doing absolutely nothing, until the situation blew up in their faces.
If those two were dragons, they’d be slained in broad daylight, and in 3D kung-fu style.
The duo win the loser contest hands down, to effortlessly beat the score for the sometimes likeable energy supply top shots.
The Audacity Of Water Authority of Fiji
Before the pipes broke at Savura, Water Authority of Fiji told residents who were living without a drop of tap water for two months, to harvest rain water. The audacity was appalling.
The pipes gave up on a wet Tuesday night, by which time the nearby Waitio stream had broken its banks.
The same night on the other side of Wailoku, families were forced to move to higher ground, as the rising muddy waters took over the roads. Some homes reported flooding indoors. Others said they had no choice but to remain indoors with the flood.
The date was March 26. Fortunately no lives were lost in the course of the events that unfolded that night.
But the damage could have been far worse for residents around the Savura end, as nature was to show after the rising water levels subsided.
The cracked road would have no doubt widened in breadth, as tarseal remnants would now prove. Within hours of the incident, half the capital city was brought to its knees, as tap water supply was suddenly discontinued. Visualise it as a city switching off electricity supply, grid by slow grid, that’s how it was for water supply. On Wednesday, March 27, reporters from this newspaper arrived at the Savura scene, to find men in uniform idling around through the quagmire.
Fiji Sun learnt on the day, through its reporter Beranadeta Nagatalevu, that while utility workers were at the scene, there was no material or machinery to commence the arduous task ahead.
An entire day was lost as the situation on the ground told of the glaring absence of foresight, vision, coordination and contingency in the upper echelons of power.
Some people, perhaps including the two main boys of the show, were obviously sleeping on the job for far too long.
Today, they promised to send water trucks. Six zones were mapped out for water distribution.
Alas, Savura and Wailoku were not included.
And with no valid reason to the lack of contingency, authorities remained unashamedly, silent. Another class act of lailai na dina, levu na lasu, from the powers that be.
My niece explained her bathing experience today.
“We drew two cups of water each from the bucket to wash ourselves,” she said.
There were four of them.
Down the road, I wonder how Lisi and Charlie’s family are coping. They have more children, and their source of income has also been terribly affected by this broken situation.
We are divided by the broken road. If anyone can drop by their home to check up on them, I would be most grateful.
GOOD FRIDAY March 29:
I waved my children goodbye this morning, as they made their way to be with family, and tap water.
Along with their luggage for the weekend trip, was our laundry. They have gone West for a much deserved break.
I prayed for their safety through the jungle that is marked FEA Tower Road.
They do not deserve this crappy reality dealt out by the Government. I later learnt that some other
residents - not necessarily from around here - have done the same; moved out temporarily until the situation improves.
But I must remain, I have responsibilities at home to attend to. Certain four-legged souls need to be cared for. We simply can not abandon all and leave.
It’s like COVID-19 all over again - restricted movements, lack of access to basic amenities, loss of business, schools closed.
It feels like we’re in a world of our own here.
Walking alone to the hidden brook for a bath seems rather challenging, for who knows what lurks at that place people go to do their funny business of alcohol and illegal drug consumption.
Maybe I should wait for the rain, but it is overcast for the most part, with the occasional drizzle. I feel trapped.
I tell my boss, I can not live like this.
Her response, as always, is ever empowering: “Hang in there, please!”
I sit here by the road side observing workers go about burying the broken road. It seems three machines are doing the most work.
The humans in uniform appear to just stand around. But that’s typical of construction sites in Fiji.
We just stand around, like the Water Authority of Fiji and Fiji Roads Authority, until its reactive time. Bugger the proactive approach.
Ugh, that would take too much effort!
They say we can expect tap water today. But a big maybe comes with the same response.
We are hopeful of water tanks delivered to our roadside when we awake tomorrow. God knows some of us need a good scrub down.
Something good must come of this strife. Every home must now have a water tank, supplied free of charge by the Water Authority of Fiji, who expect us to be expert harvesters of rain.