Fiji Fact #33: It always, always rains precisely when you don’t want it to. Always.
As someone whose education has revolved around conducting research for the better part of six years, you may be surprised to know that I didn’t know everything about Fiji prior to applying for my volunteer assignment here. How much could there possibly be to know about a tiny country in the Pacific which houses a population of less than a million? Tropical beaches, perfect weather, friendly people.
You’re laughing at my own expense already, aren’t you.
It was only after I was successful in my application that I bothered to do any research on Fiji, and Suva in particular. I was completely floored when I found out that whilst the majority of Fiji enjoys sunshine nearly year round, Suva is the complete opposite. Don’t quote me (unlike Wikipedia, I’m not a reliable source), but Suva experiences something like 21 days of rain each month. Why it’s not called the London of the Pacific, I’m not sure, but it would be a fitting name. Whilst this news wasn’t enough to completely deter me from accepting the assignment, I did have a long hard think about my true motives for being here.
Perhaps fortunately, I had a taste of heavy rain and mild flooding in Toowoomba over Easter, just before mobilising. This over-prepared me (watching tents collapse and slogging through knee deep water around areas I’d seen completely submerged on the news in January probably wasn’t a necessary experience) for a day of trudging throughout Suva in the pouring rain. The aim was for our little group to get to know the layout of Suva and all the wonderful things it has to offer. And don’t get me wrong, we did just that. I basically know all the places in Suva to take cover from the rain, which is a very handy piece of knowledge to have up one’s sodden sleeve. But one piece of information/mystical power eludes me.
The locals don’t get wet. Suva doesn’t experience mild showers people: it pours. We’re in the tropics. From the time it took to walk from the Hyundai Fitness Centre (yep, I remember the names of stuff) to the main intersection and a taxi, my team and I were in the process of dissolving into primordial ooze. Yet whenever we saw locals, they appeared dry and calm, the antithesis of own skidding dashes across slippery surfaces. What’s their secret? I haven’t had the opportunity to ask. Perhaps their smiles are so dazzling the rain turns to steam before it hits their bodies. Or maybe frizzy dark hair doesn’t show moisture as well as flat brown hair matted on a white forehead, and they really are drenched. Or maybe, just maybe, the locals have the good sense not to go running in the rain.
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