National Geographic - Tribe Wanted

8/9/2019 National Geographic - Tribe Wanted

1/11

A D V E N T U R E FEBRUARY 200760

Welcometo the

WILD ISLANDS


2/11

TECHNO MOSESBen Keene, co-creator o

Tribewanted.com, hopes torecruit 5,000 people to hisWeb tribe and turn it into areal one on Vorovoro, in Fiji


3/11


On January 14, 2006, Ben Keene received an email that changed his life. The

weather outside was rainy, windy, and freezingtypical for winter in Devon,Englandand Keene was holed up in his loft office, the window fogged with mist. Hehad just taken a sip of hot tea when the message from his friend Mark James poppedup, and Keene did a double take at the subject line: A TRIBE IS WANTED.

Keene and James, both 26, had been brainstorming ideas for an Internet start-up,and Keene was used to receiving email messages full of improbable schemes from hisfriend. The business plan outlined in the current message didnt disappoint: We willestablish an online community and call it a tribe, James had written. Members will createprofiles, post photos, and chat onlinethe usual stuffand then do something with noknown precedent in the history of the Internet: The virtual tribe will become a real one.

We will travel to a desert island, James wrote, and form a partnership with anindigenous tribe. We will build an environmentally friendly tourist facility and show itoff to the world as a model of low-impact development. We will be a 21st-centurytribe, and you, Ben Keene, will be a chief.

Jamess inspiration had come in part from social-networking sites such as

Friendster.com and MySpace.com, which were massively popular and attracted hun-dreds of millions of visitors a year. In his view, these sites were full of untapped poten-tial for altruism. People spent countless hours online but did little more than swapmindless messages and bootleg MP3s. Participants on SecondLife.com even paid todevelop island properties that would never exist outside of their computers.

In the tribe that James envisioned, members would steer the development of a realislandmaking decisions about infrastructure, recreational facilities, rules, and more

TRIBEWhat would happen if two entrepreneursformed an online community and then whiskedits members off to build paradise in theSouth Pacific? Let the experiment begin.

TEXT AND PHOTOGRAPHY BY JAMES VLAHOS

through discussions and online voting. Then, traveling in shifts, they would visit the island at a cosof a few hundred dollars a week to construct facilities with the locals. Members of the indigenoutribe would benefit economically; those in theInternet one would experience a tropical adventure that they could never get at a Club Med.

Keene skimmed the email incredulously andthen read its half dozen paragraphs more carefully. For the past couple of years he had worked

WILD ISLANDS


4/11

FEBRUARY 2007 A D V E N T U R E

for a company that took college students on extended trips pairingadventure travel with community development. Jamess idea offered asimilar payoff as well as additional benefits: The experience wouldntbe limited to students, and it would last not just for weeks but, in theory,for years, via the Web involvement. Agreeing to move forward, he and

James punched private island and lease into Google and startedtalking to the handful of brokers who dealt with such rarefied realestate. We looked at islands all over, Keene later recalled. Some were

just too expensive and others were cheap but in dangerous areas. Soon we discovered a South Pacific island in Fiji that looked perfect.

Vorovoro was a made-to-order castaway isle: 200acres, surrounded by reefs, fronted by goldensand beaches, and shrouded in jungle. It sat short boat ride from world-class surf breaks andthe Great Sea Reef, which covers 77,000 squarmiles and is reputedly the third largest reef system in the world. After several long discussionsKeene came to a decision: We could either sidreaming of the island or empty out our bankaccounts and go for it.

Keene (fourth fromleft) poses with a fewFirst Footers. Fromleft: Warren Wright,Becky Hunter, Paul

Ovenden, Doug Holt,and Ryan Smith.

FIRST FOOTERS


5/11


ON SEPTEMBER 1 TUI MALI STOODon the beach with his tribe gathered around and

watched as an overloaded boat entered Voro-voros turquoise lagoon and eased to a stop witha crunch against the sand. Thepalangi, or white-skinned people, clambered over the gunwales,and, carrying enormous backpacks, sacks ofrice, and bags of produce, waded ashore.

Since the spring launch of Tribewanted.com,920 members from 25 countries had signedupthis is the best thing since Woodstock,one of them gushedand the boat carried

Keene and the 13 First Footers who had vol-unteered to be pioneering colonists. I was oneof them, signing up for a two-week trip to theisland. Half of the Footers were from Englandand the rest were from the United States andNew Zealand; their ages ranged from 17 to 59.

They were students, engineers, a machinist, a manwho described himself as an aging hippie, anda transsexual woman. Most of the group hadmet in person for the first time only hours ear-lier. (Mark James, meanwhile,stayed home to run the site.)

As the newcomers pressedforward to shake Tui Malishand, the chief felt a surge

of anticipation. The worldis coming to Vorovoro, hethought. His tribe, oryavusa,

was hosting ameke, an elabo-rate welcoming ceremony,and he had woken up at 4a.m. to pray for good weather.Now, on a sunny afternoon,an important new phase wasbeginning in the history ofhis people.

On the main Fijian islands of Viti Levu and Vanua Levu, communities were modernizing rapidly, but on the outlying ones where the yavuslived, people practiced a subsistence lifestyle that had changed little ingenerations. Hints of the current era had surfaced among the tribes 400membersa few carried cell phones, some had jobs at a lumber mill on

Vanua Levubut most lived in huts with no electricity or indoor plumbingand survived by catching fish, growing cassava, and collecting rainwater

Tui Mali, seeking jobs and income for his people, had decided todevelop Vorovoro, the gem of his fiefdom, which was uninhabited savefor the chief and a few relatives. (Everyone else resided on Mali, an islandimmediately to the east, or in a village on Vanua Levu.) In February 2006

with the help of a tech-savvy nephew, Tui Mali listed Vorovoros availabilityon the Web, and less than a month later, he heard from Keene and James

Charging flights on their credit cards, the Brits went to Fiji, where thesoon learned that negotiations would involve more than a quick meeting

and some paperwork. They hiked all over Vorovoro, conferred with thNative Land Trust Board (NLTB), and sat outdoors for dozens of hourdrinkinggrog, a narcotic brew made from the kava plant. Most of all, thediscussed the project with Tui Mali and his relatives. After five daysKeene and James reached an agreement with the chief and the NLTB

Tribewanted would pay $53,000 for a three-year lease and $26,500 indonations to the community; jobs were promised as well. Tribewantedsmall staff earned only modest salaries and the tourist facilities the tribebuilt would ultimately belong to the Fijians. We are all excited abou

Tribewanted, Tui Mali told a local newspaper reporter. It will provideus with work for the next three years.

Tui Mali led the First Footers into a large clearing behind the beachand sat on the ground with his legs crossed. More than a hundred of thyavusa, dressed traditionally in palm-frond skirts and colorfulbula shirtsgathered before him with the new tribe members. Gazing at the motley

assembly, Tui Mali recalled how Keene hadoriginally explained that an online community was similarwell, sort ofto thyavusa; both were networks of interconnected people. The only difference is thaour tribe is global and we communicate virtually as opposed to getting on a boat andgoing to the next village, Keene had said

The young man knelt before Tui Malnow. With his freckles and reddish hairBen Keene could have been a Boy Scou

THE CHIEFS

Below, from left:Tui Mali, chief of thelocalyavusa (tribe),sits fireside at thewelcoming ceremony;elected chief Wright,aka Poques, relaxesin camp.


6/11

FEBRUARY 2007 A D V E N T U R E

at his Eagle Court, but, as of today, he was Chief Bengazi. The newchief read a short statement in Fijian and extended his hands. Dan-gling from them on a length of cord was the most sacred of all tradi-tional offerings: atabua, or whale tooth. I hope that you accept us intoyour community, Bengazi said.

Tui Malis reasons for saying yes werent purely financial. Though hehad long wanted to attract tourists to Vorovoro, he wasnt interested in

having a massive resort occupy the island. Moreover, he believed thatKeene and James would respect his culture and kin. In August, a repre-sentative for the reality-TV showSurvivor had come to Tui Mali to dis-cuss using Vorovoro, but the chief turned him down, a decision that wasprincipled but costly:Survivor reportedly found a location on VanuaLevu and promised a payout that made Tribewanteds look like loosechange$3.5 million, per theFiji Times, in jobs and local spending.

Tui Mali accepted the whale tooth and gave a short speech. Nor-mally there is a line in the sand, he said, with tourists on one side andFijians on the other, but not on Vorovoro. From today forward we areone tribe, he said.

With that, the meke began. Shirtless men with paintedfaces chanted and clacked sticks rhythmically as women inturquoise skirts and leafy necklaces danced in long, swayinglines. The chief could smell thelovo, a traditional feast ofroast pig, turtle, and fish, slow-cooking in an undergroundoven, and somebody passed him his first bowl of grog. Theneverybody in the clearing, the yavusa and the First Footersalike, linked arms, formed a giant circle, and cheered.

THE PLAN ON VOROVORO WAS TO CREATE Asort of Ewok Eden: a discreet complex of traditional-stylehuts that blended in under the palms, consumed a mini-mum of natural resources, and relied, where possible, onnonpolluting technologies such as solar power. Crops

would be planted in the small valley behind the village,

and protein would come largely from fresh fishcaught in local waters by the yavusa.

On September 2 the festive ceremoniaground in the seaside clearing had become cluttered construction site; nails, scraps o

wood, and tools were everywhere. Two of thetribes younger membersRyan Smith, 23, atoolmaker and avid backpacker from CrestlineCalifornia, and Raina Jensen, 23, who had jusgraduated from college in Vermonthauledlogs up from the beach with the Fijians. TuMali used a tape measure to gauge the dimen

sions for the greatbure, an open-sided, thatchroof structure that had been approvedbya 96 percent yes vote onlineas the newtribes central meeting place. Dixie Tanner, a44-year-old reflexologist and the British versionof a Sedona New Ager, and 24-year-old BeckyHunter, until recently a British soap opera staand now on staff as a Tribal TVpresenter, both

worked with Epeli. The elderly Fijian man wasshowing them how to weave palm fronds into

walls for an outdoor shower.Into this scene calmly strode a tall man in a

sweat-stained red shirt and a tan bush hat. Hepuffed at the soggy stub of a hand-rolled cigarette; smiled frequently, showing small, crookedteeth; and delivered orders to workers with theraspy voice of a late-night deejay: Right, soyoull get some sacks for the recycling. . . . Weneed to rip up leaves and throw them in thecomposting bins. . . . Theres a little brokenglass on the beach that somebody can pick up.

Warren Wright was a chief. The tribe wouldelect a different leader each month to servealongside Keene and Tui Mali, and Wright had

won the first election. A 45-year-old fromCornwall, England, he had drifted between

From left: Tribewantedmembers haul a log tothe village constructionsite; First Footers gather

around a fire near camp;the locals construct abure, or central lodge;surveying Vorovorofrom the islandswesternmost peak.

THE COMMUNITY

WILD ISLANDS WELCOME TO THE TRIBE

The island

was perfectand THE ISLANDWAS OURS.It seemedpossible toknow every lastcoconut andgrain of sand.


7/11


jobsconstruction, catering, salesbefore findingthat he could make his living by playing pokeronline, earning him his nickname, Poques. Heroutinely won thousands of dollars in tournamentsand once snagged a $12,000 prize. Divorced, he hadleft his only daughter in the care of her mother. Withneither office job nor family to hold him back,Poques wanted to stay for years, not weeks, on

Vorovoro, and planned to remake himself, by ditch-ing vices such as smoking and drinking and accom-plishing something meaningful. I represent manypeople from around the world joined together to livein harmony with each other and the environment,he told Tui Mali at the opening ceremony.

Poques was coming my way now. I was standingin a clearing with a saw in hand and a less than glam-orous task: fixing the bathroom, which had beenbuilt as a two-story structure with a wooden top levelof three stalls and a cinder block lower level for

waste collection. The steps to the top had been hur-riedly constructed and the braces beneath them

were too thin, so I was sawing new bolsters.Youll take the pieces of wood, right, and nailthem under each of the stairs, right? he said.Gorgeous.

Right, I said uncertainly.Brilliant. He walked off.

A few minutes later, Doug Holt, 59, a retireefrom Arizona, walked up. Holt was a good-heartedguy but not gregarious like Poques; this was a man

who spent a decade building an undergroundbunker home in the desert and who said that hisdream job would be to work alone in a lighthouse.His version of the desert-island fantasy was thelonely one: not Swiss Family Robinson but TomHankss Cast Away. He glared at the blocks. Why,

why? he asked. Those stairs arent going any-where. If you asked me, I wouldnt do anything atall. He shook his head and left.

Holt had run for chief, too, but finished second,and there was friction between him and Poqueseven though Holt had been awarded the title ofdeputy chief. Not knowing who was correct, Idecided to stick with the original plan. The

Vorovoro wood, however, was only slightly softerthan titanium, and when I tried to hammer thenails, the material mocked me, either splitting orcausing the nails to bend. By the end of the day, Ihad a couple of blisters, a smashed thumb, and anet accomplishment of: absolutely nothing.

I wondered how many of the other tribe mem-

bers were similarly challenged. As a group, wewere long on enthusiasm and short on practicalknow-how, and the annals of utopian history, Iknew, were filled with tales of inept communitiesgone bust: hippie Valhallas that collapsed in pilesof rotten timber and abandoned macram; pioneerPromised Lands that became barren StarvationCamps. It was a good thing that here on Vorovoro

we had the yavusa, who actually knew what theywere doing, to provide a safety net.

That evening, tired and frustrated, I went down

KNOW THE JOBDESCRIPTION.Accordingto Tribewanted.com,elected chiefs managean island developmentbudget of $3,000 permonth, so build yourcampaign around goodideas of how to spendit. Youll also have tointroduce [new tribemembers] to cultural sen-sitivities and island living,update tribe members

with news and blog, andtake part in Tribal TVanda documentary.

SELL YOURSELF.To de-clare your candidacy, fillout Tribewanteds detailedquestionnaire. Tip: Play upyour people skills and pastaccomplishments. Con-sider this statement fromPoques, the September2006 chief: I have

managed teams of up to35 people in the fields ofsales and construction.Also, I was in the Guin-ness World Recordswith the Bletchley BoysBrigade for peeling themost potatoes in anhour by hand.

WAX POETIC. Examine,once again, Poques: Iwould like to leave mylegacy in the hearts and

souls of the members thatfollow me, with the beliefthat as a tribe we can andshall overcome problemscollectively.

CONDUCT YOUR OWNOPINION POLL. Hun-dreds of tribe memberslog on every week to learnabout and discuss every-thing from scuba divingto Tribewanted tattoo

design. Scan the community forums to figure outwhat issues are foremoson members minds.

BE A CHIEF OF THEPEOPLE. November winneSwings From Trees,championed an open in-bo

policy: If there is anythingthat tribe members have ahuge urgency for, or feel ththe island development ismissing something, thenplease email me direct.

BE HUMBLE INVICTORY. If you win thechiefdom, celebrate likethe public servant you noare. I would like to openthis up to all tribe mem-bers so that together as atribe we can reach maxi-mum potential in November, posted Swings From

Trees following his win. Ihave already met some othe tribe members thatwill be on the island, andthough we may be few, Ican guarantee that we wdo all we can.

BE STUBBORN IN DEFEAIf you lose, dont fret,theres always next time.Chiefs hold office for onlyone month.

Each month one member of Tribewanted.comis elected co-chief of Vorovoro Island and serves

alongside Tui Mali, the ancestral head of the Fijianislandsyavusa (tribe), and Tribewanted founder BenKeene. Like every other decision on the islandfromouthouse selection to religious shrine constructionthe election is a democratic process, and each of the1,025 members can cast an online vote. But theresmore to winning the chiefdom than looking sleek in

asulu skirt. Heres your guide to running a virtualcampaignwith tips from successful candidates.

ALL HAIL THE VIRTUAL CHIEF

Get behind the scenes on Vorovorowith an island video tour and photo outtakesfrom Contributing Editor James Vlahos, at www.ngadventure.com.

YOUR GUIDE TO WINNING A VOROVORO ELECTION BY ANIKA GUPTA


8/11

the nun, a camel, and a sexual act that definitelyisnt referenced in the Good Book.

Va was the islands head cook, and Id formeda vague impression of her as a mild, cheerfu

woman. Now we were getting to be buddies, andI detected a more mischievous personality. On

Vorovoro the usual depressing wall betweetourists and locals was noticeably low: diggingpostholes, shoveling compost, and washing disheside by side draws people together.

As we drank beer (lukewarm) and Fijian rum(high proof), the night got rowdier. Dan Keenhosted an island Olympics with contests incoconut hurling and crab racing; Poques broke outhe cards for Texas Hold em; Suzi Scarborough, 49-year-old woman from central Florida, appearedfireside in a black dominatrix getup complete withfishnet stockings and whip. I like to keep thinglively, she said. Scarborough had undergone a sexchange operation only three years earlier. As anengineer working for a military systems contractor

Scarborough said she grew tired of being heldprisoner to everyone elses expectations. After thetransition she embraced unconventional activitie

(I used to miss out on a lot) suchas going to Burning Man, dressingup as a pirate or Santa Clausnoon Halloween or Christmas, mindyouand most recently, joiningan island tribe.

It was at this point in the festivities when it became clear thaChief Bengazithe Sergey Brinof the South Pacificwas drunkHe stumbled away from the crabracing table and began singing joyously and dancing spastically. Ilooked

a short trail behind the village to the outdoor shower, which was com-plete with a rope and pulley for hoisting the water pail overhead. Stand-ing in the moonlit jungle, I twisted the valve and a refreshing drizzlecame down from the showerhead. It was a nifty piece of tribal tech, andI swelled with pioneer pride. I was just reaching for the coconut soap

when the rigging holding the pail ripped loose and the heavy bucket

plummeted, guillotine style, nearly taking off my head.

THE PRIMARY ATTRACTION OF DESERT ISLAND LIFE, Icame to believe, is not the sandy beaches or turquoise waters but ratherthe fact that the standard fantasy island is quite small. Like Vorovoro.

The island was perfect and the is land was ourssafe, familiar, and inti-mate in a way that the wider world never would be. It seemed possibleto know every last coconut and grain of sand.

One morning midway through the first week, I set out to discovermore of our territory. From camp I hiked up a broad, golden beach untilI reached the islands wave-battered western tip. I had never before beenpast this point and rounded the corner to gaze down a wild, rocky coastbacked by sheer bluffs. There were no people but abundant signs of life:Red crabs scuttled across the tidal flats; a black-and-white-striped sea

snake wriggled up a nearby slab of rock. Looking at the serpent, I recalledour second day on the island, when Dan Keene, Bens younger brother,led a safety briefing and had a troubling exchange with a tribe memberthat went something like this:

Tribe member: Are there any dangerous animals on the island?Keene: No, none, dont worry.

Tribe member: Great, thanks.Keene: The only thing we have is sea snakes. Their bite is

highly poisonous and there is no known antidote. Next?I steered wide of the snake. Before long I came to the first of

several sea caves. Island lore holds that these were once hideoutsfor pirates, and I crawled up one of the winding tubes until Ireached a dead end jammed with driftwood. At the eastern end ofthe island, I entered into a maze of mangroves. After blunderingabout for 30 minutes, I emerged on an unfamiliar coast, then

rounded a toothy peninsula, and voil, was back to the village intime for lunch. Such is the pleasure of small-island exploration.

My bond to the geography was growingthere was still thetangled, hilly interior to exploreand I was also feeling moreconnected to the people on the island. We had a beach bonfireevery evening, and on the seventh night I sat down next to amiddle-aged Fijian woman named Va, with whom I often workedin the camp kitchen. As we watched the flames dance against abackdrop of the ocean and starry sky, she asked about my job asa writer, and I trotted out some tal es tha t I tho ugh t wouldimpress herclimbing moun-tains, exploring caves.

Hmmm, Va said afterId rambled on for a while. Ihave heard once about twotravelers, a priest and a nun,

who got lost while trying tocross the Sahara. She launchedinto a long narrative abouttheir travailssandstorms, star-

vation, thirstand minutespassed before I realized she

was telling a joke. The punchline came, and it was excep-tionally funny and exception-ally dirty, involving the priest,

Below, from top:Snorkeling inVorovoros lagoon;with bets placed, thenew tribe and theyavusa cheer a crabrace. Opposite:Keene surveys thevirtual and the real.

THE REWARDS

WILD ISLANDS WELCOME TO THE TRIB

(Continued on page 87)


9/11

(Continued from page 67)

W E L C O M E T O T H E T R I B E

as if his smile was going to split his face in two.All of us, to a certain degree, took it for grantedthat we were here on the island, getting to playtribe, but only Ben Keene had known the idea

when it was just an email and a dream.

FOR THOUSANDS OF YEARS PEOPLEhave yearned for mythically perfect placeswhere every torrent flows with wine, as theGreek poet Telecleides put it in the fifth centuryB.C.and quite often, those places are envi-sioned as tropical islands in the South Seas. Thismakes practical sense. New societies need ablank canvas and breathing room, favorable

weather and abundant natural resources, and iftheres anywhere on Earth where you couldactually establish such a fortunate islein theparlance of utopian literaturethe SouthPacific is probably it.

In real life, though, if you tell your friendsthat youre heading off to create a happy new

civilization among the palms, dont expectthem to rejoicetheyll probably imagineJonestown and warn you to steer clear of theKool-Aid. Tell them about a visionary such asKeene and theyll picture David Koresh. Themodern view of utopian communities is aconflicted one, and while almost everybodyfantasizes about jump-starting civilization on a

forgotten island (witness the huge popularity ofthe TV showLost), it is deemed inevitable thatthe settlers will struggle horrifically (ibid,Lost).

Fictional books brim with examples, andbefore embarking for Fiji, Keene looked tothem for real-world wisdom. His analysis ofLord of the Flieswas that the characters woundup sharpening sticks and pushing chubby boysoff of cliffs because they were trapped; on

Vorovoro people would always be coming andgoing, so tensions wouldnt build up and boilover. Plus, the tribe had a Web site where mem-bers aired thousands of opinions, so Keenehoped that whatever conflict we have takesplace virtually. The backpackers in the film TheBeach mistakenly believed they could divorcethemselves from reality, while society on Voro-

voro would remain healthy by staying economi-cally and socially connected. We never set out toshut ourselves off from the world, Keene said.

He and James, in fact, hoped to do the

opposite. In classic utopian tradition, theywanted to stand far enough apart from societythat they could create a new and better way oflife, but not so far that they couldnt show it off.

Aided by a powerful public relations team,Tribewanted has been featured in newspaperson four continents and on the Today show andGood Morning America. Plans call for the island

to be rigged for Internet access so that every daymembers can post photos, blogs, podcasts, andepisodes ofTribal TV.The purpose of all of thePR? People can follow the story and see thasimple living without lots of materialism is actually fantastic, Keene said.

Tribewanteds challenge, however, was tdevelop paradise without destroying it, to be financial success as well as an ideological oneand by the fall, the company was struggling. Neither blessed with independent wealth nor supported by venture capital, Keene and James weroperating on a hand-to-mouth basis out of membership revenue, which they needed to increase

The original business plan called for 4,000 moremembers (for a total of 5,000), with up to ahundred on the island at a time, which, many othe First Footers believed, was too many given

Vorovoros small size. A dozen visitors waparadiseeight times as many would be a zoo

One option was to have fewer people but to

charge more. The current rate of $220 a weekincluding food and airport transportation, wacheap bordering on a steal. Keene consideredhimself a capitalist who needed to keep monein the bank and gas in the boat or all of thegood intentions would be for naught; a realis

who knew that Vorovoro was a real place, not problem-free utopia. This is an experiment,


10/11

W E L C O M E T O T H E T R I B

he said toward the end of the first week. If youask me to judge the project right now, Id sathere will be some amazing things that comout of itand some things that people, andeven I, dont think are very good.

Keenes words proved prescient, but th

trouble came sooner than he or anyone elsexpected. On September 9, several Internetribe members were in a boat returning from

Vanua Levu when they saw an alarming sightRising from the center of the island, dark andthick, was a column of smoke.

THE ISLAND IS ON FIRE! THEisland is on fire!

People onshore were just finishing lunchwhen they heard the frantic calls from thboat. Becky Hunter dashed into the junglekicked through bushes and shin-slashing

vines, reached a clearing, and looked up. Along, crackling line of flames was consumin

a brushy hillside. From somewhere inside othe fire line, she could hear people shouting

Weve got to get them out of there, Huntethought. They dont realize how big it is. Shyelled as loudly as she could until, through thshimmering haze, Poques appeared atop thhill. We can stop this thing! he yelled. Letget a bucket brigade going! Everybody canbloody well stand around watching, but Imgoing to do something!

Hunter kept shouting, urging the Internetribe members to retreat. Finally Poquereturned to the beach with a few others. Hisooty face was twisted with rage and he washouting: The fire could be stopped, five of th

yavusa were in the interior fighting it. Whaabout everything that Tui Mali had said onSeptember 1? So much for the idea of onetribe, Poques said bitterly.

There was no time to dwell on his angerKeene had left the island earlier to go scubdiving, and Sara-Jane Bowness, anothe

Tribewanted staffer, was able to confer withhim by cell phone. Now she and Hunter madan announcement: Grab a daypack and fill i

with your essentials. Be aboard the boat in tenminutes. The Internet tribe is evacuating.

I ran to my tent, threw a few items in pack, and returned, but nobody seemed to bmoving toward the boat. I stood around feelinimpotent, and then, without making a conscioudecision, wandered off into the trees.

Dense green jungle ended abruptly and wareplaced by acres of blackened earth. Smokerose from the ground, and pockets of flamelapped at the edges of the burned area, whichradiated intense heat like the coals of some gianbarbecue. Through the smoke Va calmly strolledup. She had bare feet and was holding a gianbanana leaf by its long stem. Bula,James, sh


11/11

said as pleasantly as if she were greeting me atbreakfast. She began swatting the hot spots withthe leaf. Then after a couple of minutes: Couldyou get me some water?

I ran out to the beach, found a bucket, anddunked it in the sea. When I turned around Isaw Bowness. The boat is leaving, she saidtensely. You have to get off of the island. Wehave to go, now.

I thought of the fire and how we could stopit from inflicting more damage. I thought ofPoques, of Va in her bare feet, of all of thepalangi running away in the boat.

No, Im not going, I told Bowness.Im sorry.

POQUES, HOLT, SCARBOROUGH,Acouple other insurgents, and I worked with theFijians to battle the wildfire, sweating heavily toput out the last of the destructive flames. By lateafternoon the situation was under control. The

blaze had torched about 20 acres, nearly a tenthof the island, but the damage was largely limitedto the undergrowth, with only a few trees signif-icantly charred. Within a rainy season or two,

Vorovoro will look as though nothing happened.The cause? One of the yavusa had been doing acontrolled burn in a small plot of cassava whenhe was bitten by ants. He left to go rinse themoff, forgot to extinguish the fire, and it went wild.

Those of us who stayed behind jokinglycalled ourselves the Vorovoro Volunteer FireDepartment, and, slightly more seriously, won-dered if we would be expelled from the tribe

when the others returned. For Poques the inci-dent had exposed a critical rift: The tribe was an

altruistic enterprisepeople united to do goodfor the worldbut it was also a business whoseemployees had to worry about legal liability andthe bottom line. The fire also showed the tribesstrength, though, as a substantial group hadstuck around. Poques doubted that guests at abig resort would have done the same.

When Keene returned with the evacuees latein the afternoon on the next day, he played thepeacemaker. We understand completely whyyou wanted to stay and help put out the fire, hesaid. And Im sure you understand why we hadto give people the option to evacuate. It was anexpert display of diplomacy. With a single rhetor-ical sweep he extinguished the insurgencywe

werent rebels after all because managementapproved of our actionsand affirmed the pro-

jects democratic ideals.Poques was mollified, and the incident that

had temporarily pulled the tribe apart left us allfeeling closer. Later Poques would use theissues raised by the fire to lobby Keene totransfer more power from the managementto the members. Keene, convinced, floated aproposal to give each months elected chief an

island-development budget of $3,000. It waspassed by the tribe. Democracy had its limits on

Vorovorothe members could never take overand oust Keene and James, because the pairowned the company, held the lease, and hadfinal say on all financial mattersbut Poquesproved that those limits could be expanded. Healso triumphed when people voted to abolish athree-weeks-a-year cap on visits. The whole ad-

venture is far from over, he said. I want to seethe project out from day one to the very end.

ON MY LAST DAY ON THE ISLAND,I joined Dan Keene and Ryan Smith on a shortboat ride to go snorkeling at the Great Sea Reef,known locally as Cakaulevu. Holding mybreath, I dove to 25 feet along a coral wallpatrolled by dozens of small yellow-and-purplefish. A larger one, multicolored like rainbowsherbet, caught my eye, and I tailed it until myair ran out. When I surfaced, Smith and Keene

were laughing. There was a big reef shark rightbehind you, Keene said. The snorkeling trip was the farthest Id

strayed from the village in two weeks, and whenI returned I was struck by how much wedaccomplished. The Fijians had made significantprogress on the grand bure, and its log frame-

work rose impressively into the sky. The clearing

had been enhanced by a long wooden diningtable, a volleyball net rigged between two palmscoconut shells split for use as ashtrays around thecampfire, and a hammock for beachside naps.

The tribal tech, however charming, reminded me that eco-utopia was illusory. Ougroup had come to experience primitivelivingto sleep under the stars, bathe with

water from a bucket, look at the horizon without seeing a single buildingwhile the yavushoped the revenue we brought would allowthem to escape some of these very samthings. The Internet had connected two disparate groups of people from opposite sideof the globe, but ultimately it would make umore alike. Keene knew it too and, believinthat modernization was inevitable, thoughthat all the new tribe could do was try to steedevelopment in a positive direction.

The job was shared by all of us. We neededto build a jetty so that arriving boats wouldn

damage the coral in the lagoon, to cap the number of visitors at any one time, to figure out whawe could grow on the island so that supply runfrom Vanua Levu could be reduced. A boat wacoming soon to take me back to the mainlandand that was OK. I would make my opinionknown to the rest of the tribe. I needed to geoff the island and back online.

National Geographic - Tribe Wanted

Documents

Transcript of National Geographic - Tribe Wanted