A Kava Party

I’ve always loved a good party. I think about it for days afterwards: the conversations, the music, the setting. Sometimes, the memory of it can stay with me for months. In March, the owner of a tiny resort on a remote island in Fiji, told me there would be a kava party on the deck that night. Several people from the dive shop down the hill were attending as well as a few employees at the resort where I was staying.

I arrived early that night, as is my habit with parties. I wasn’t completely in the dark about kava, but I had no idea the role it played in the South Pacific. I’ve  heard about kava supplements at the health food store. People take it for an assortment of ailments, from insomnia to anxiety. But in Fiji, kava is about socializing. As part of the pepper family, kava grows all over the South Pacific, where it thrives in heavy rain and high humidity. Farmers in Fiji are cultivating kava more than even coconuts because it’s popular among locals. 

My early arrival to the party meant that I was first to taste the fresh brew. There was a giant wood-carved bowl on the deck filled with water. It had short table-like legs, so it was free standing, perched about knee-high on a grass mat. Sitting around the bowl were my scuba dive master Eric and four other men I’d never met. In Fiji, the sun-dried roots of kava are pounded into a fine powder, strained through cheesecloth and mixed with water before drinking. The man doing the mixing dipped the bulging cheesecloth into the water, squeezing the liquid out with his bare hands. 

He asked me what size drink I wanted: a low tide (small taste), high tide (bigger taste), or tsunami (an overflowing cup). After some hesitation, I requested a low tide. He scooped the kava-infused water into a small coconut shell and handed it to Eric, my guide and local friend. I’d been drift diving with Eric all week in some pretty sporty conditions, so I trusted him. Peering into the cup with a bit of dread, I thought it looked a lot like dirty dishwater. Eric assured me it was one hundred percent natural and drug free. He instructed me to clap once before drinking, then clap twice afterwards. No sipping. 

I had to drink it all down like a shot of tequila. While the five of them watched me, I nervously reversed the order of the claps, drank the kava, and tried not to gag as I handed the cup back. All of them cheered afterwards. I tried to smile, but it was bitter, and the taste, well, it definitely wasn’t tequila. As other people arrived, I snuck away to my room to brush my teeth. When I returned to the deck a few minutes later, I noticed lollipops circulating along with the communal cup. Each of the experienced participants shoved a lollipop in their mouth immediately after drinking kava, the sweetness helping to counteract the bitter flavor. I wondered how the drink might affect me, but I was one and done, so I never did feel much of anything. 

Two guitarists started playing Fijian songs, reggae, and rock and roll. Every few tunes, they exchanged instruments, while Tulia, the dive shop manager, wedged herself between them to sing in harmony. One of the guitarist’s performed a memorable version of Knocking On Heaven’s Door and it made me weep. It was a little embarrassing, but I suddenly felt so grateful for this special gathering, for the gorgeous sunset, and maybe even for the kava because it brought us all together. It was such a great excuse to hang out.

The mood lightened when all of us participated in the “animal song.” For one verse, Chula, my dive buddy, meowed like a cat; on another verse, I roared like a lion; and Robin, the owner of the resort, followed with an excellent rendition of a chicken. Eric mimicked a horse quite well, but there was also a pig, a dog, and a sheep. None of us were spectators any more and each imitation got funnier as the song progressed.

While the sky turned from blue, to pink, to purple over the Rainbow Reef just offshore, Chula got up to perform the “papaya” song, a kind of hula her Italian mother used to sing to her guests after a meal. Chula has the guts to put herself out there in a way that I never could. I was proud of her. The next day, we both tried to describe the evening’s adventure to our dive friends on the boat, but gave up. 

The party had come to us that night. It was one of those rare moments when strangers become friends because of a shared experience. And maybe that’s the power of kava. It’s a tradition passed down for thousands of years, but the social aspect is what hooked me. A good party is hard to beat.