Two worlds

As a bi-racial woman, I’ve learned that you can feel equal parts displaced and at home, whilst living in the country of your birth. You can feel a yearning for a country that is not within reach, whilst being grateful for the one you were born and raised in. You can miss your entire family that speaks a different tongue and is separated by seas for years, and feel at home again as soon as you see them. You can also feel completely at peace amongst people who have never known of or seen that land.

You can feel each of these things separately and simultaneously.

I certainly have anyway.

Nei Seno’s burial - photo by Lusi Austin

The red dirt was heaped in a large mound as my Aunt’s body was laid down in the ground. Unrehearsed, our entire family broke out into many parts singing ‘I Maria Na Tinaqu’, a spiritual hymn that this same Aunty had once led the singing for. We stood under the mango tree fanning the flies and battling the heat as the tears flowed and the storm clouds formed. I had red dust on my feet, memories of her in my mind and sadness in my heart. The mountains in the background formed the most beautiful backdrop and cousins, aunties and uncles came forth to lay flowers and woven mats on top of where she lay. My Nei Seno (my Aunty Seno) was at rest in the ground and we were so grateful that we could fly to Labasa, Fiji, to witness the earth receive her.

I’d never attended a Fijian funeral before. Having been born in Australia to my Fijian Dad (who had no family in Australia whatsoever) and my Aussie Mum meant that I’d never really witnessed a community of Fijians grieving. The wailing, the flow of tears mixed in with visitors bringing saucepans of food, and my Aunt’s body on display in a glass-topped coffin in the village before the burial, were all things I’d never witnessed before. It was so moving. The emotions were raw and people came from near and far, not just to pay their respects but to grieve in a united, communal manner. There was something so beautiful yet unfamiliar about it all.

After the mourning period had ended with a special kava ceremony, my Dad explained to me that it was now our job to make my Nau (grandmother) happy again and so music and dancing, ball games and balloons were brought out once again into the village. Another aspect of grief I’ve never before considered, let alone experienced, at Australian funerals.

A week passed and my time with our Fijian family was coming to an end. I stood on the last day in the village, looking towards the west, watching the incredible colours of the sunset (no Instagram filter needed here). The clothes on the long line flapped in the breeze as the last of the bullocks were being brought up from the river. I took a deep, intentional breath in and smelled the fresh roti and curry being cooked over the open fire in the outdoor kitchen, the spicy aroma wafting through the air before our last meal together.

“I took a deep, intentional breath in and smelled the fresh roti and curry being cooked over the open fire in the outdoor kitchen, the spicy aroma wafting through the air before our last meal together. ”

— lusi austin

I stood there wanting to remember it, wanting to soak it all in. I knew, from many trips before this one, that in less than 24 hours, I’d be back on Australian soil in a world that felt so far away from here.

The Fijian-Indian taxi driver who took me to the airport the next day asked me where I was from. He joked that he could tell I wasn’t born in Fiji and asked where ‘home’ was. It was so hard to explain that I felt this was home just as much as Australia was. The ironic thing for me is that in Australia, I’m constantly asked the same question. People see the outward woman of colour and ask where I was born. They’re thrown if I say Australia, even though that’s the truth. I often have to ask a clarifying question to see if they mean what my cultural heritage is. Almost always this is the case. Sometimes I’ve felt too Aussie to be a ‘true’ Fijian and that I look too Fijian to ‘pass’ as an Aussie.

As a woman caught between two worlds, there have been definite times of struggle for me in terms of identity, displacement and culture over the years. As I move into my 40’s I choose to embrace both my Fijian and Australian heritage and I treasure all the memories made, the relationships built and the cultural legacy of both places. This mix has made me who I am and informs my life choices, my values and the way I raise my children today.

Each time I arrive back from a trip taken to Fiji, I pack away my sulus (sarong skirts) into a little brown suitcase for safekeeping. I also figurately pack into it my language, the land and our customs until I go again.

Last year for the first time, I called a few Fijian mates around to celebrate Fiji Day here. We stood together, united in the same feelings – love for the land and people of Fiji and immense gratitude for our lives here in Australia. I knew I wasn’t alone. I was amongst others living between two worlds, people who were richly blessed by both. 🔥