A TRIP TO TAHITI
BY LOUISE BOSCH
HAVING happily formed the decision of visiting Polynesia in order to carry out the desire of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá for Bahá’í service in that island group, I accidentally came across, in a way which seemed to me remarkable, the book by Pierre Loti, entitled “The Marriage of Loti.” With this book in my possession, a new chapter opened in my life. I read slowly, solemnly, every word and sentence. It was a story of love's sad ending. The scene was in Tahiti, the largest of the Society Islands. During an interval of two weeks I read and reread this endearing novel. It was indeed an idyll. Throughout the reading of it I felt as though this book had been written for me.
The quintessence of Loti’s novel was his ability to inculcate love for the brown race, a subject which he treats so sympathetically and understandingly.
With the finishing of this book, I began to make inward and outward preparations for a visit to the scene of that story. In Boston I visited the Public Library to see what literature I could obtain on Tahiti. I was agreeably surprised to find that the very book I had been reading was used there as a reference and textbook on Tahiti. Some of the works of Robert Louis Stevenson, also used as reference, I obtained and read while on my way to San Francisco.
At last the Spring of 1920 witnessed the departure of my husband and myself from the port of San Francisco—a great day for both of us. We trusted entirely in the promises of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, not knowing a single soul in our appointed destination.
After a voyage of two weeks we arrived in the harbor of Papeete. From afar we could see the lofty mountains of Tahiti.
While waiting out in the harbor for the pilot, a tropical rainfall, the first one we had encountered on our voyage, descended heavily onto the waters. When we had been safely piloted through the dangerous reefs surrounding the island into the placid inner waters of the lagoon, a magnificent double rainbow made its appearance. We disembarked in the bright afternoon sun and entered the Custom House, but on our exit therefrom shortly after, the night had descended. I remembered then how both Loti and Stevenson wrote of the rapid transit from night to day, and vice versa, in those regions.
A guide, pushing our baggage on a wheelbarrow, took us to one of the two hotels there. We found that it was filled, but the host, a native, attired in European trousers with shirt hanging loose over them, kindly vacated his own room for our use. The following morning my husband was endeavoring to find a suitable abiding place, but learned that the housing situation in Papeete was the same as elsewhere in the world at that time. He could not find a house for rent; in fact, in the entire town there was only a single room available. He made haste to secure that one room and, throughout our stay there, we retained it. We learned afterward that Loti himself had lived in that very house.
At first we felt the effect of the tropical heat and the relaxing effect of the climate, as well as the annoyance of the mosquito stings, but the thought of having come there for the sole purpose of delivering the Bahá’í Message to these remote people comforted and supported us. No sooner had we met the first souls to whom we could impart the Glad-Tidings of the New Day than our discomforts changed into comforts and our troubles into joy.
When we had been about two months in Tahiti my husband fell ill. An ice plant had been installed in the town—a new thing for that country—and the people had begun to enjoy the luxury of iced beverages, a dangerous thing for such a hot climate.
[Page 369]
Many became ill, my husband
among them. His illness was not in vain,
however, as his sick room became a real
rendezvous for our newly made friends who
were desirous of hearing more about the Bahá’í
teachings.
Later we heard of an elderly gentleman, a Tahitian minister, desirous of meeting us. When my husband had recovered sufficiently we took a drive one day to see this minister, who lived in a suburb of Papeete. We found him at home and soon we were engaged in explaining the Bahá’í teachings. We had great language difficulties, as he did not speak French, nor had he spoken English for over forty years, although he could speak and read English well before that time. Fortunately he could understand us much better than he could reply, so the situation was saved and we managed to have a delightful visit. With his wife we spoke through him, as she could understand only the native tongue. Between the intervals of our subsequent visits the minister read with avidity the books on the Bahá’í Cause which we had lent him. After our visits he would look up in the Bible everything we had said, and would find it corroborated.
This minister lived in a lovely spot at Arue, not far from his church. His house was a nine-sided structure, situated on a narrowing stretch of land leading out into the ocean. He told us that this was the very place where the first missionaries to the island had landed some one hundred or more years before. At that time the inhabitants were idol worshippers. The church bore the inscription, “Fetia Paipolamaama,” meaning “The Bright and Shining Morning Star.”
At his bungalow the minister offered us what he had. and said: “This is your home—come and live here.” He had about ten acres of land, and his house was built in half Tahitian and half French style, surrounded by an attractive garden. He had no children of his own, but had taken some into his home. Indeed, with Tahitians the love of children is so great that there is not a single household without them. One couple with whom we became acquainted had eight children of their own and had adopted twelve others.
One of the children of the household of the minister, a wee baby girl of lovely brown skin, was soon to be baptized. On one of our later visits he told us that he had baptized her and named her Bahá’u’lláh! We were very happy to hear this. Afterward we learned that it is a Tahitian custom to give children mixed names for instance, Rebecca to boys, and Paul, David or such like to girls, and that the Tahitians preferred Biblical names. This is not surprising when one knows that the Bible is the only existing piece of literature in their own language. These people possess no literature, no history of their origin. It is a mysterious race, the encyclopedias tell us. They speak a restricted though melodious language, in which there are no harsh sounds.
Less than one year after we left Tahiti our minister friend passed from this life. He was a great soul for the little education that his time and country had been able to bestow upon him. Through us he wrote to ‘Abdu’l-Bahá and thanked Him for having sent emissaries to his land, and asked blessings for Tahiti.
There is a legend that Tahiti is the Garden of Eden. Certainly it used to be a country of perpetual harvest without cultivation. It is different now, since the many foreigners have commercialized the place. Thus the life of the natives has become less easy. Extra food has to be imported from New Zealand and Australia, as well as from France and America, and one has to strain an eye to perceive the country as it was in former days.
Loti wrote that the life in Tahiti was localized by the seashore, and we found it so. The Tahitians love the water and are almost always in it, and no wonder for it is so soft and lovely and warm. Children learn to swim and dive at the age of five.
There are wonderful trees in Tahiti, of
which the cocoanut palm is the most wonderful.
Neither pen nor tongue can describe all
the uses to which this tree is put.
From babyhood to old age human beings
could subsist on its fruit alone. Every
part of the tree, from root to leaf, is used
for a thousand different things. There
is[Page 370]
absolutely nothing
that cannot be made from the cocoanut tree,
from milk to cement. It is called the tree
of life, the tree of paradise. Then they
have a great variety of other fruit trees,
such as the breadfruit and the alligator
pear tree. Coffee, too, grows there, its
blossom having a most delightful perfume.
In short, God has given
everything to Tahiti. That wonderful land
has been showered with God’s bounty. I
will not dwell upon everything that Tahiti
once had, or still has. Suffice it to say that
there is a legend to the effect that God,
when He created the world, created Tahiti
first. “His hands were so full when He
went about to distribute that He dropped a
great deal over Tahiti.” This is a good
description of that land.
Our last days on the island were spent in receiving parting presents and calls from our new friends. We soon found that our little trunks, with which we had come to Tahiti, would no longer hold our possessions. We received souvenirs of all kinds —shells of various sizes and colors, beads, baskets, fans, hats, slippers, mats, pearls, vanilla beans, etc. Perhaps the most touching of all our gifts was the bestowal of a new name. It is a Tahitian custom to bestow names or titles upon departing friends. In this case we received the name: “Teriitahi Papeete.” We were deeply touched when its meaning was translated to us as, “First king of the great family of Bahá’ís arrived among us.” When we expressed our thanks for this title we were told that it did not weigh the price of the one we had brought them.
We stayed in all five months in Tahiti, scarcely long enough for the fundamental work that it is for Bahá’ís to do. It seemed best, however, to return to our country at that time.
Fain would we have given the Bahá’í Message to the ex-Queen, but an extraordinary circumstance prevented it. The fact was that our name was “Bosch.” We were in a French colony. It was soon after the war, and when the war feeling against the Germans was apparently at its height. though we are Swiss, not German, yet because of our name we were believed to be German, and it was rumored that we had come to Tahiti to instigate the natives against the French. As there was already existing a good deal of estrangement between the Tahitians and the French, it was easily possible to credit the rumor. At all events, a false motive was assigned to our coming there, and the Queen sent her regrets at her inability to meet us. This she did very kindly, through one of her sisters. This sister was, however, sufficiently interested in us to suggest that my husband change his name. My husband replied that this was a good suggestion, but that he feared he might not always be able to remember his new name. But we had met a sufficient number of people whose interest we had gained and whose eyes we had directed toward the Cause. It seemed, therefore, best to leave that field then with the hope that we would return at some later time.
When the hour of our departure finally arrived, a timid young girl, who had scarcely spoken to us during our stay, came on deck to bid us farewell. She brought us a small red rose of exquisite fragrance. She did not speak a word as she tendered her gift. Thus she bade us farewell. We afterwards learned that this same girl was the one of all our hearers who had most fully grasped the significance of our visit to Tahiti.
We did not stay long at home after our return to America, but set out again as soon as we had sufficiently recovered from the elfect of our sojourn in a tropical climate. It was just about a year after the above occurrences that we found ourselves in Haifa, Palestine, in the presence of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá.
We were, of course, most anxious to tell
Him of our stay in Tahiti. During our
first day in Haifa we made several attempts
to draw His attention to our experiences
there. On the following day some Persian
pilgrims, who had arrived in Haifa a few
days before us, came to the Pilgrim House
in the early morning from the Tomb of
Bahá’u’lláh, bringing with them from the
Tomb a handkerchief full of blossoms.
These they emptied into a dish which they
set upon the dining table. How great was
my surprise when I noticed among these
blossoms the national flower of Tahiti,
there[Page 371]
called the "Diadem.”
I had not known that this most fragrant
flower grew elsewhere, as here in ‘Akká.
In Tahiti wreaths are made of these flowers.
Loti says that both men and women wear them,
and we have witnessed this.
I could not refrain from telling ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, when He came to lunch with us at the Pilgrim House, of this coincidence. He looked weary and spoke but little. Could I have foreseen that within a very few days ‘Abdu’l-Bahá would be taken from us I should hardly have ventured to trouble Him. In my ignorance, however, I asked for permission to speak, which was granted. I then told of some Tahitians who had made wreaths of these flowers for our heads. I had not mentioned any of the humble circumstances leading to the making of these wreaths when ‘Abdu’l-Bahá said:
“You must try to attain to the diadem of the flowers of Christ. . . . These flowers here wither quickly, whereas those others remain forever fresh.” I looked at Him. I had not understood. He then said, “The flowers of Christ are the disciples of Christ.”
Another day I laid the photograph of an old full—blooded Tahitian lady of several generations back at ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s place at the table. He took it up and looked at it, asking whose it was. I told Him it was the picture of the wife of a native chief whose present—day descendants had listened to the Message we had taken to them. His reply was:
“She was a good tree, she has borne good fruit!"
