Tuesday, April 5

We just returned from a day spent at our friends house. they live out (and up) in the bush, maybe 45 minutes walk away. We left their place around sunset and ended up walking the last half of the walk with aid from the display light on our cell phone.

So, here's what I was thinking about on the walk home...We live in the north of pentecost and thus speak the language of north pentecost - Raga. Our district is the southern-most district in North Pentecost. The district to our south speak their own language ( a less common one) and the district south of them speaks the language of central pentecost. There are at least four different languages on pentecost island, four major ones anyways, and several less common ones too. The language groups are geographically divided. But why would people living in such close proximity on a small island develop several different language groups?
It's a little crazy - this is a tiny island, and it's not like there are mountain ranges or impassable deep gorges or wild animals that inhibited folks from exploring their little island, I am sure all you anthropology majors reading this blog know the correct answer to that question, but I have my own theory.

It also seems to me that the areas near the language divides are typically 'more bush', meaning they seem less developed. I don't actually know if that's true, but it seems to be, I don't know how I would go about confirming if that true or not, but I'm not really that worried about it.

So here's my theory...I imagine the reason for multiple languages on such a small island - only a few kilometers wide and less than 80 kilometers long - the reason is the innate dark, sinister nature of Ni-Vanuatu people. It's true, I suspect anyone that knows this culture well would not hesitate to use the words 'dark' or 'sinister' to describe it. We have a book of traditional stories from Vanuatu, story after story after story is dark, most involve gruesome deaths and/or evil heros.

So, in my theory, this innate nature lends itself to distrust strangers. Thus, Ni-vans of before would not stray too far from home out of fear and distrust of the unknown. The multitude of languages developed because no one was interacting with anyone too far from home, It's a pretty simple theory, really, just an innate dark, sinister nature...and cannibalism. But don't those two sort of go together too? And it seems pretty plausible, I'll ask the next linguist I run into.

So, in my theory, the area where the language changes is sort of a no man's land, a safe space to divide language groups, a place that folks from neither language group would dare to tread, unless perhaps they were looking for trouble (or meat). And, in my theory, perhaps it hasn't been that long ago, since the areas near language borders still seem less developed than other areas.

So I was thinking about this theory as I walked home this evening, through the jungle with a cell phone for a flashlight, near a language border. I am not sure how long it's been, but in my imagination it hadn't been too long since -the reasons that kept the language development separate- were alive and well.

And if it really hasn't been that long, then that implies this place is changing rapidly. And how can one keep pace? And what implications would that have for 'development' work?

The innate dark, sinister nature theory could also be applied to explain the horridly low success rates of community projects in Vanuatu.