24th June, 2009

GURYEL ALI

Stepping out of the plane, the island was hot and just breathing heated the lungs like inhaling a hairdryer on low. The air pulsated and shimmered the view over the tarmac of the Nadi International Airport.

I'd never been to this part of the world. I was trying to check my excitement so I could soak it up.

The building was not new. Inside, the walls looked musty suffering from humid days. Their murals of beaches, jungles and smiling hoola girls with jasmine necklaces lead us through customs.

In the foyer we came upon the real thing, a small choir of native Fijians, wearing colourful sulus, strumming guitars and ukuleles with broad smiles and beaming eyes. The ladies heralding the welcome “Bula” once for impact, twice to reinforce, again and again. Ahh, feel the love.

We would be the honoured guests at the pastor's house, an old weatherboar which looked something like an old Queenslander with four bedrooms, masonite walls and palm mat floors. Its doors are never closed.
I've never met people so hospitable.

The pastor's son, a young man, vacated his room for my wife and me. He took to the lounge room floor with glee, happy for our ministry visit.

Their grateful anticipation was warm like the air. It was every where, at all times and could be felt.

Fiji is filled with cooks, a result of an abundance of exotic tropical produce and influenced by the substantial Indian population with their curries and oriental spices.

These skills were on show on the Sunday, a day of celebration. After church, a 'lovo' was planned, an earth oven something like a Kiwi hangi. Stacks of meat, fish, poultry and vegies, some of which I've never encountered, were wrapped in coconut leaves and placed on fire hot rocks and buried.

The feast seriously bought me to tears.

You see, these people are poor; among the poorest in the world.

You can't starve in Fiji, there's too many pineapples, mangoes, coconuts and bananas growing. But they have nothing...

How could they be so lavish on our account? It was like we were royalty.

The church service was electric. The people love God and love to praise God. They are a music loving people, in particularly reggae music, my speciality. The sounds of Bob Marley are heard on every radio in every bus, taxi and marketplace, the “ridim” is a pulse; beating constant through all the Pacific and South-East Asia. I found my calling.

The moment I started to play that beat, the damn broke in a gush, resulting in a praise-filled party.

I normally sell quite a few CDs. But I couldn't sell one. I wouldn't. They don't have the money. I gave them all away.

I intend to give many more away as I pursue this new calling.

I'm returning in July for more meetings, with plans to eventually visit the whole region if God allows, with Bible teaching and more reggae music.

Bula.

~ Find out more about Guryel Ali's music here: www.myspace.com/guryelali

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