Mats, Bowls, and Bones: Discover the Remote Lauan Village of Vulaga

“Bula!” The friendly greeting arrives before the person does. As Roy, my husband; Steve, my brother-in-law; and I step into the village of Muana-i-cake (often spelled Muanaicake), a middle-aged woman in a blue jumper emerges from her vale to meet us. Like most homes on Vulaga (also known as Fulaga), hers is built from corrugated iron, a building practice common in Fiji’s outer islands.

With a wide grin, she introduces herself as Bha.

Living at the edge of the village, Bha has clearly done this before. She asks where we’re from and whether we’ve come for sevusevu.

For context, sevusevu is a customary ceremony marking an initial visit to a Fijian village. It involves presenting the chief with a bundle of kava to seek permission to stay. Some ceremonies are long and formal, enriched with Fijian prayers.

Bha then guides us to a serious-looking man named Bale outside a blue house.

“Bula,” he greets us and then silently leads us toward the village center. Bale is a man of few words. After a brief conversation in Fijian with another man, he tells us we will have sevusevu at the chief’s home.

We arrive at a yellow, oval-shaped vale, notable for the hand-poured concrete throne outside.

“What’s that for?” I ask.

“That’s where new chiefs are anointed,” Bale explains.

I find it fascinating. Never in all our village visits have we witnessed such a sight.

We slip off our shoes and enter the vale, settling onto the floor as we’ve done many times before. A solemn man emerges from behind a red floral curtain. Bale introduces him as Chief Simon.

“Bula,” the chief says, joining our circle. “Thank you for coming for sevusevu.”

This one is quick and straightforward: we present our kava, and the chief accepts it. Suddenly, we’re no longer strangers who anchored in the bay a few hours earlier. We become part of their 60-person community.

The chief says we are the 176th yacht to visit this year—about five yachts a week—which surprises me, given Vulaga’s remoteness. He then explains that each guest is assigned a host family, and Bale quickly offers his family’s hospitality.

The chief asks us a few questions, but as the conversation falters into silence, it becomes clear he isn’t one for small talk. Before we leave, he asks us to sign the guest book and pay an anchorage fee of FJ$100 (about US$45), a customary practice in Fiji’s outer islands. We cheerfully comply.

On our way out, I compliment the chief on one of the room’s few pieces of furniture: a legless chair, which signifies the chief’s stature in a culture that values sitting on the floor. He smiles appreciatively.

We thank the chief and step outside, eager to explore the village.

A Village of Artisans

It’s late in the day, yet Bale suggests visiting the woodcarving sheds. Knowing Vulaga is central to Fiji’s woodcarving industry, we welcome the invitation. Bale tells us that many items tourists find in the markets of Suva, Labasa, Lautoka, and Savusavu are crafted here.

At the first shed, we settle on a crude wooden bench as the silver-haired carver there lays several wooden items on a bedsheet before us.

He demonstrates how to use the items, describing each piece. Fiji’s history of cannibalism is a sensitive topic, embraced by some, a source of embarrassment for others. He is clearly the former type.

“Pick one up,” he encourages, gesturing to the bowls, animal figures, neck breakers, and skull crushers arrayed before us.

We lift a few bowls, admiring the meticulous craftsmanship. After the presentation, we say we’ll photograph the items and discuss them over dinner.

“The skulls and bones are very old—from cannibal times.”

Bale

Bale then leads us to a second shed, where we meet a woman named Qele who shows off her husband’s work. We browse the carvings and, again, say we’ll think it over. I’ve been told the village women are artisans, too, having mastered the skill of mat weaving. Before long, I’ll get my chance to find out.

As the sun sets, Bale proposes we return the next day for a thorough tour of the village. Before parting, he takes us to meet his family: his wife, Lani, and their three daughters, Lesu, Siana, and Emily. The welcome is warm and gracious.

While there, we see wooden bowls in their early stages neatly arranged on the floor. Bale explains that, like many of the local men, he, too, is a woodcarver.

After Lani adds our information to the family’s own guest book—we are the tenth boat they’ve hosted this year—we agree to return the next day to visit the school, at their invitation, and explore more of the village. At the mention of the school visit, Lesu gasps, then squeals delightedly.

We finally bid goodbye and follow the path back to the dinghy beach. We concur that the finished woodcarvings we saw looked too flawless to be handmade here.

“They’re probably from China,” Roy jokes. Steve and I nod in agreement.

Children, Bones, and Views

Vulaga’s school serves all three of its settlements: 45 students from kindergarten through eighth grade, 17 of whom come from the other two villages, Muana-i-rai and Naividamu. The next afternoon, we hurry back to the village and head directly to the school. After meeting the principal, we start in the kindergarten room. There, the students stare at us curiously. The next two rooms are strung with hammocks, each with its own style: some draped in lace, others trimmed with colorful cloth ribbons, and all hung above floors of woven mats.

“What are those for?” I ask the nearby teacher.

“They’re for the boarding students from the other villages,” she explains. “They stay here during the week.”

When the school runs out of food, the children from the other two villages are sent home.

We continue through the remaining classrooms, where the students greet us with wide smiles and the occasional giggle. In one, we find Lesu, Bale’s daughter, whose excitement about our visit is impossible to miss.

After touring the school, we visit Bale’s home to ask to tour the Cave of Bones and the original village site.

“Yes, I can take you there,” he says, setting down his carving tools and slipping on a pair of worn red tennis shoes. Before heading out, we notice the stunning progress he’s made on the bowls. So much for Roy’s theory: Bale’s bowls are very much handmade here.

“Could you make a small one for me?” I ask. After we discuss some options, he promises to make it the next day.

Bale leads us up a slippery hill to our first destination, the cave. The path meanders through the dense forest, and the small entrance is easy to overlook. Inside, a pile of bones intrigues us.

“Who were these people?” I ask.

“We don’t know,” Bale responds. “Perhaps Fijians, maybe Tongans. The skulls and bones are very old—from cannibal times.”

Cave burials were once common in Fiji. Villagers sometimes hid the bones of their own people, especially their leaders, to keep enemy tribes from stealing them. Other bones belonged to people the villagers had eaten—either enemies or people who were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Kneeling quietly in the dim cave, we feel the weight of a history we can’t fully understand.

After a long look at the skulls, we return to the path and ascend to the old village site. Although no structures remain, we are rewarded with spectacular vistas of the bay. The climb is well worth it.

We then descend the hill and return to Bale’s vale.

An Unexpected Treat

“Would you like to see some mat weaving?” Lani offers.

“Absolutely!” I reply.

We proceed next door to find the village women seated in a circle on the floor. Some are straightening leaves with seashells and large spoons; others are mid-weave.

Apparently, the women gather at the community center every Tuesday to weave. Feeling fortunate to be visiting on a Tuesday, I watch, take photos, and ask a lot of questions. Lani notices my enthusiasm.

“Would you like me to make one for you?” she asks.

“A small one would be amazing!” I exclaim.

She begins weaving one that day and promises to finish it overnight.

A Smaller Village and an Even Tinier Shop

Back at Bale’s family home, I ask, “Can we shop at the village store?”

Lani darts outside to check if the shop is open, peering down the village center.

“It’s closed,” she announces, beginning a conversation with Bale in Fijian about the shop’s irregular hours.

“They should reopen at four o’clock,” she reassures us.

We wander through the village, noticing students lining up for school dismissal. They wave energetically and shout, “Bula!” as they pass us.

Coincidentally, we’re headed the same way as the children—toward the second village, Muana-i-rai, since we have time to spare. We walk alongside them, fielding a cascade of questions. The students tell us that when the school runs out of food, children from both of the other villages are sent home. Those from Muana-i-rai walk; the ones from Naividamu walk to Muana-i-rai, too, then finish the trip by boat.

Like the first, the second village is small. In fact, it’s even smaller. We take a stroll, snap photos, and head back.

Before returning to our boat, we stop at the tiny village store.

We browse the shelf-stable goods and buy a few staples. As we pay, we chuckle, noticing the cash register is a cookie tin, and the shopkeeper meticulously records each item in a ledger.

Reluctant Farewells

The next day, we return to collect my new mat and bowl. It happens to be village cleanup day, and we run into Bha again. Her smile is somehow even broader than the first time.

True to Lani’s word, the mat is ready, and it’s lovely.

Lani presents it without fanfare, but I notice a red fringe I hadn’t requested. She must have sensed my love for red, since I wore it every time I visited. This thoughtful gesture makes it one of the most meaningful gifts I’ve ever received.

Bale’s woodcarving is equally exquisite.

Vulaga draws you in with its unique, beautiful landscape of mushroom-shaped islands and sand spits, and our crew spends days wing-foiling, kayaking, and exploring. Yet when it is time to leave, the moments I replay are smaller: Bha’s cheerful smile, Bale setting down his carving tools to lead us to the cave, Lesu’s delighted squeal, and Lani offering to weave a mat for a stranger.

And then there is the mat itself, with a fringe in red, a color someone noticed I loved. I never asked for that fringe, and it is what I will treasure most.