Not paradise, lost, found or regained...

Swimming with Sharks Chapter 12.2

Tokelauan enthusiasm for self-government had waned and the Atafu pastor problem was still there. On the first occasion we’d been given a beach welcome, on the second Lady Naomi had to sound its fog horn to get the barges to pick us up. 

Faamaoni had built himself a large, locked church. The atoll was divided with those who did not attend the church known as ‘al Qaeda’. 

More than religion divides the island; the men who run the lighters are called ‘the army’. They are the biggest and the fittest. Fights are common; army versus the others. Men wore bandages.

Tokelau was dismayed at Atafu.

At the first referendum, we’d all slept the night on Fakaofo after the vote count, but this time we were sleeping in Atafu. There was tension. I noticed it in an odd way; I was allocated a house about a half a kilometre away from the hall. I had to haul my bag and gear up there by hand; the four-wheel motorbikes were not available to me. 

Our host told us to take our wallets and laptops when we went out. Atafu is afflicted with burglary. One man entered his home as another islander was carrying out his fridge.

Atafu, Tokelau. Photo Michael Field