The Ocean Is My Lover by Sarah Tanburn

The story of Paintapu, navigator of the Pacific Ocean

The wind is my lover, caressing me, dancing with me. The breeze feels my skin, strokes, my hair rising to its touch, looking for more. The gentle breath of Kiribati's endless summer moves me, fills me, brings me home.

The sea is my lover. The swell of the open ocean raises me, rocks my body flat upon the waves, overcomes me. The indigo and emerald sparkling in white sunlight laugh for me; the greys and silvers of the moonpath beckon me onwards.

The heavens are my lover. Stars glisten, twinkle, shine for me. I lie gazing into their eyes, their knowledge entering me, leading me all the paths of my life.

The birds, the fish, the great whale. All are my lovers, my friends, guides, companions. They talk to me, laugh with me, fly for me.

It is truth I tell you here, the truth of the sea and stars and the sun. The wind and the swell, the frigate birds and the shark tell no lies. They tell the truth, as I will tell you if you will listen.

The truth of the great ocean will bring you home, to your family, children, beloved parents. If you hear the truth, you will live. If you listen to lies, you will die. Life is very simple; it is we who make it complicated.


There had been a war. Of course. There have been so many wars. We of Abemama now control so much of these islands, our Kiribati archipelago, white and green in the endless blue sea. We got control through war.

The king, the old king, called for me when he decided to move on the islands beyond Maiana.

"To Tarawa," he said. "Seven canoes. Arriving before sun-up, with enough time to rest and get ready for battle. Consult with my shaman, the ibonga, for the best time to go."

Some people murmured that he had made me the King's Navigator, said a woman shouldn't do that. Somebody always grumbles. They say a woman should be barred from this thing or the other, mutter about the sacred maleness of finding fish or land.

Rubbish really. I trained in the maneaba, the great meeting hall of our village, like any navigator. My family, my kaainga, have been navigators to the king time out of mind, and my father one of the greatest of them. But he was only ever blessed with daughters, and so I learned all he could teach. Those endless hours getting a crick in your neck staring at the laid-out sky above. Then you get out there, and it doesn't look like that at all. Of course it doesn't; the maneaba shows everything at once. The stars never shine all together. The islands move, the stars move, even we move across the ocean. If they were all there unchanging we would never know how far we had come.

My father and my uncles took me out to sea - long, long ways out to sea. They blindfolded me for days, and then, still blinded, I would say where we were, where lay land. Or I was given a glimpse of the cloudy night sky, before telling them the starpath home. It was a hard training.

In this war, we had beaten the people of Tarawa. Our Anti, the spirits who live all around us, had smiled on us. When the canoes had appeared upwind of the upstart island, the cloud hovered over their heads waiting to press down upon them. And it did. Our fine warriors came home in glory, with rich plunder.

The king sang my praises, named me in the royal maneaba, honoured my family. I had done what he demanded, and done it well.

I know what you want me to talk about - not that trip, but the next one. That's all anyone asks me about these days, but you should remember this. I, Paintapu, was tia borau, master navigator to the King of Abemama when we still travelled these seas as a true part of creation.

Now we begin to fall away. Already the pale strangers' geegaws and stories seduce our warriors, our navigators, our women. We forget what we owe to the spirits, the Anti, we think the strangers' medicine displaces the ibonga. Who needs this 'compass' to show us the way in our own home? The wide sea is our home, I say to you, but we are already forgetting it.

After the war, the old king, he decided to feast on Tarawa. They invited him to celebrate. He was cautious. Before he left his consulted his Anti. I wasn't there, it's a man's ceremony, but the reports were clear; it was safe to go.

I prayed to Nei Tituabine, our ancestress. I went up into the hills to a special spot, where I can see the land and the sea and the sky. The Lady's birds, with their long tails, have a nest there, so it's especially holy. I spent a night on the hill. I could not lose the feeling there was death in this trip. But the Lady told me to go. A tropic bird flew over me and a scarlet tail feather landed in my outstretched hand. How much more of blessing could a doubtful enterprise ask?

Even so, I felt concerned. A foreboding still hung over me. So I went to the ibonga. Not the king's ibonga, but another one on the far side of Abemama. She's like me, a rare woman in a man's role. Her father wanted sons passionately and trained her so hard. Sometimes I think she forgets she's not a boy.

I asked her for a spell by Te Rakunene, she who looks particularly after women. The ibonga scoffed. "You won't be having children this season," she said. "You turn them all away, though you'd only to lift a finger to have a new husband."

Yes, my first husband was dead by then, and I just had my girl. I didn't really want to marry again. I had what I needed. In the end I did, because it was gossip on top of scandal on top of slander that I came back alive and stayed single. So Biria does me well enough.

But that's all beside my story. My friend cast me a spell to say I would come back safe and sound. So I went.

We arrived at Tarawa after a good voyage. The king was pleased; we had seen Pirango the porpoise and Tabuariku the shark as we sailed. The voyage was calm, and we caught fish and played games. I bet the ibonga about how many fish we would catch each day, and I won every time. I never got to collect my winnings. We were becalmed for a while, so we lashed the canoes together and the young men danced for the king. That was a good day.

When we got to Tarawa, I was in the front canoe, as the king's tia borau should be, with his ibonga. As we neared land, I could see the moon clearly poised above the islets that make up Tarawa. She shed her bright light over the coconut trees and the waves breaking on the reef. And she was digging a hole in the sky! A red ring glowed around her like a bloody eye. Just beside her shone Daane Mailob Balefung which the pale stranger calls Little Bear. They both hovered low, a hand's width above the horizon. I looked at the ibonga and he at me. We said nothing but the king picked up our concern.

"What, what?" he demanded. "What do the Anti say now? We can still fall on them with spears."

I held my tongue. My business is directions, landfinding, safety on the ocean, hiding the fleet, chasing the fish. No, it is the ibonga who must interpret the skies to the power hunger of the mighty.

"The Anti here are foretelling a death," he said. "The death of a great one."

"Well, it won't be me," said our king, dismissing any threat. The ibonga winced at his presumption. The king was cross. "Do you think these spineless losers will betray me now? No, you yourself told me the Anti say this feast is safe. I'm not turning away now; they'll think me a coward."

"No, my lord," said the ibonga. "Maybe the new Tarawa chief is in danger, or some other person we do not know." He bowed and the king was mollified.

It was indeed a great feast. There was much fish and even some meat. They had captured some birds for us. Many vegetables. It went on a long time. I don't remember everything we ate. People always ask this, as if the food on the table should haunt me along with the rest. I like my food as much as the next one, but I'm not that bothered about the details. It's what happened after that I remember.

The leader of Tarawa, he gave a great speech. He talked about the battle where we had vanquished them, slaying their old king. "We know," he told us, "that our destiny lies with Abemama. We have talked to the Anti, and studied the heavens. Our future lies with you."

The king was pleased with this and he spoke a long time in reply. "You are welcome. Very welcome. We are creating a great harmony across Kiribati, a union of the islands. We in Abemama are leading the union. We have proved again and again that we are the best fighters, the most noble warriors, the bravest of all."

The warriors enjoyed his boasting and leapt into a victory dance right there and then. The Tarawa soldiers looked a bit glum to start with, but our men got them to join in and soon they were up there too. But they stopped quick enough when it came time to share out the victory prizes.

I knew there was a lot to come. The ibonga and the king had been shut away with the Tarawa leaders for hours sorting it out. What tribute Tarawa would pay, how it was to be valued and divided up. Some people say the old king was greedy. I don't, and I have more cause to say so than most. But he bargained hard when he saw the benefit.

They called up each man in turn, by name, to receive his spoils. They always start with the most junior, the youngest. So Iotiebata, who was small, and only on his second raid, was first. I was pleased to see him receive a new spear, a necklace of teeth and a coconut. These were good spoils; if the youngest of the company got so much, then for those of us who led the expedition, there should be prizes indeed.

I would be called alongside the ibonga and the king's deputies, so I drowsed a little. It was hot, the drums and speeches repetitive, and we'd a lot of warriors to reward. I watched with pleasure as my sister's son received two spears and a new-made fishing net. He had earned it, having been one of the advance party who'd crept in ahead, holing the Tarawa canoes on the beach. Another young man of my kaainga was happy; he received a shark's teeth necklace. This was a rare honour, for the teeth of Tabuariku reward great bravery. He had climbed onto the hut of the king of Tarawa and set fire to it, right in the face of their honour guard. I waited, my stomach full and my bottom comfortable on a well made mat.

The king called out his generals and military advisers. I was surprised that they were named before me. Sure, I had put them in the right place at the right time, but I'd not gone onto the battlefield. Then he summoned the ibonga, and gave him considerable gifts. He even promised him three fields on Tarawa itself. I sat up straight, prepared to get to my feet with grace to match the honour that was done to me. But the king went straight on to name himself. He talked of his great bravery, his military cunning, his luck and support from the Anti. He spelt out the lands and women he would take on Tarawa. He sat down to the hooting and stamping feet of everyone present.

I sat there, a lump, graceless and forgotten. For a moment, I searched my memory. Had I been tia borau in truth, leading the war fleet to the spoils now piled up around them? Was it me, Paintapu, who had consulted the spirits of sea and sky, lain in the base of the great canoe to feel the swell of Tarawa reaching out to us? Maybe it was someone else, and I dreamt it. But no, I was here, in the heat and the dancing. I looked around; there was no-one else capable of such an act. So why no mention of me in this division of rewards?

I walked over to the king and sat beside him, waiting for his attention to turn towards me. It took a while; the daughter of the new Tarawa leader was a beauty. At last he looked at me.

"What is it?"

"Have I offended you, lord? If so I beg forgiveness."

"What are you talking about? Of course not." He looked at me a moment longer, and then he laughed. "Oh, I get it. You think you should have a warrior's prize." He laughed again.

"Lord, I only ask a navigator's share. The reward for bringing you and the warriors here safely."

"The Anti do that," he said. "All our safety is in their hands."

"Indeed," I had to agree. "But we help them by knowing the way."

"This is besides the point, Paintapu. You can't have a share in the spoils of a war and that's that." He made to turn away. I was breathless, but knew I had only a moment more to keep his attention.

"Why not? I am as much a part of your battle company as any others. You even rewarded the cooks, and they didn't fight either."

"Paintapu. You're a woman. A gifted one, I grant you. Your father taught you well and you bring honour to your kaainga and your maneaba. I am grateful to you for your skill in navigation. But women cannot have a share in the spoils of war."

His voice had risen and some people were looking at us. He played to them, adding, "Where would it end? Your sister, her boy did well. Does she get a prize for bringing him to birth?" Many onlookers laughed.

I was truly angry. "Of course not," I said. "There is a skill in birthing, but not the one I gave in bringing you here, putting the fleet just when and where you needed them. I earned a part in this victory."

"No more of this. Your cackling bores me."

"My lord. You are unfair. I prayed to the spirits for your success. I brought the blessing of Te Rakunene to our venture. And my skill and knowledge put you upwind of these specks in the ocean, brought all seven canoes to the vulnerable underbelly of Tarawa and through the shoals and reefs that defended her."

I was standing now and speaking out. His dismissal denigrated me, and all navigators. And all women. I was angriest for the navigators, for the skill he cast aside so lightly, the long years of learning, the attention to the details of creation. He stood up and faced me.

"Go to your sleep, Paintapu. You have no right to speak so to me."

The ibonga was beside me. At a nod from the king, he took my arm and led me away. I resisted at first, but couldn't stop both him and the two warriors behind him. And I would not be dragged, wailing, to my hut like a child. My head was up as I passed the fires. I could see the round mouths and big eyes of the people on me, and the curiosity of the women was so strong I could smell it.

The next morning I spoke again to the king, but he was immoveable.

"I will not do this, Paintapu. Women do not win prizes in war. It is an honour to be the king's navigator and you must be content with that. After all there are others."

"None as good as me."

"Enough. We leave tomorrow. Be ready with your star paths."

When the time came, the signs were bad. The sea heaved, waves piling up against each other. Somewhere in the direction of Abemama, there were strong winds. They were meeting another gale coming from the sunset, and throwing the water into confusion. I studied the clouds, only small wisps at this moment, streaking across the skies, arrow heads converging ahead of us on the route home. Everything warned me of a storm, a bad one. We should not be leaving till it had passed.

I told the king. He would hear none of it.

"You've lost your nerve, woman." He made it an insult. "Our victorious fleet will be secure. The ibonga says the Anti will look after us."

I spoke to the ibonga.

"Our Anti seem content that we go home," he said.

Despite my warnings, we left, sailing on the wind of the dusk. I was in the front canoe, where I could lead the fleet. Here, the men treated me with respect befitting my rank. The long hull, the size of an old whale, was filled with men and the spoils from the banquet. To our right the outrigger balanced us against the wind filling our sails. Behind us streamed the other six canoes of the fleet, all billowing across the waves. At that moment, high in the stern, I could see the tips of all their sails, but soon they would be scattered across the starlit ocean, trusting to my instructions and their half-trained warrior memories.

I tasted my bitterness; good enough to protect them all, but worth nothing in the share of the rewards. I studied the wind and the rising sea and turned to the king.

"We should turn back, while we still can."

"Rubbish," was all he said.

So I stopped navigating. I told the helmsman the wind was coming and before long his only chance was to steer with it to avoid the canoe being overpowered by the sea.

"Be very alert," I told him. "You should take the big waves on the stern of the canoe, and ride them like dolphin Pirango. Keeping the boat upright is all you can do."

"I know that, Paintapu."

"I know you know it. But you are going to find waves coming from here and from here." I pointed to the sunset, and towards the sweet green of home. My arms were apart, my fingers pointing to different quarters of the horizon. "The water will heap up and fall in many different directions. So you must watch all the time and position the boat right for each wave."

His eyes were solemn. "Where will you be, Paintapu?"

"She will be in the sea." The king's voice came from behind me. "I will not have this spreading of despair and flouting of my command. Navigator or not, you are just a woman."

"My lord!" I said, but he held his hand up.

"Enough. Over the side and let your vaunted skills get you home when there is nothing between you and the sea you love so much."

Three of his warriors it took. I'm proud of that, of being no easy target. They were young men, in fighting prime. They started a little careful, a little casual. Just a woman, a navigator, not a fighter, not a man. I could feel it in their gentle grip, their respectful eyes, their unwary movements. I bit one of them till I tasted salt blood, and kicked another so hard the bone in his shin cracked and he fell.

For a brief moment I got free of them, and stood alone on the windward side of the canoe. As I looked down on the men inside, advancing towards me, I felt sick, knowing they were going to die. The huge sails flapped and cracked above me, the wind already rising. They rose high against the darkening sky, and above shone Trekapekau the star of hope and dreams.

The three young men stepped towards me, not casual now. I looked at them and laughed aloud.

"Nei Tituabine, Te Rakunene, look after me. And, if you can spare the time, look after these young men, for the sake of their grieving mothers." I stepped backwards, into the sea.

I spluttered, gasped. The water of the ocean is cold on sun-warmed skin, even after the wind. I spread out my back, arms wide. Above me the men lined the side of the canoe and I could hear the helmsman yelling at them to return to their positions and balance the boat. She was travelling fast now and moments later I was left behind. A great shoulder of water heaved between us. I was adrift in the gathering storm.

Tumbling down the back of the wave I turned over and curled into a ball, swallowing water. I coughed and choked to clear my throat, staying upright and treading water.

"Te Rakunene, if I ever honoured you, help me now," I thought. The starfish filled my mind, its flat five fingers riding the water. I turned over again onto my back, breathing carefully, feeling the water push up against my bones. My ribs opened and closed, my knees, elbows, shoulders, hips all made tiny movements. I floated, learning this new intimacy with the ocean.

If I survived the wind, I could work out where I was and my chances of drifting to land somewhere. I'd no intention of dying out here. The ocean and the wind didn't want to kill me; I'd only die through my own carelessness and disrespect. I might just be found, if any of the boats had the sense to take the sails down, drift with the wind until the sea subsided. If someone did that, maybe we'd end up close together.

The sea is my lover, my friend, my mother, my child. I am in the sea, of the sea, part of the water. The ocean is never angry with me. She plays with me, as she plays with the wind, and the fish and the birds. Throwing up and catching, pulling down and spitting out.

I see green and grey, blue, white and silver. My eyes are dazzled by the reflected spray catching bright moonlight. The next moment, hollow blackness reflects my smallness back to me, enclosing me in her warm embrace. The buatono, the light within the water, glimmers around me, shining in the dark depths.

The wind howls and screams, an angry child racing across the earth, hurrying from one place to the next. Here, right here, above me, the wind is fighting, punching, struggling to move. He wants all the islands to be torn up, blown away, even the sea to be out of his way as he swings through the sky. The wind is my friend, my lover, my brother, my son. The wind loves me, has brought me home so many times, filled my sails and my senses, tickling my nose with the smell of the horizon.

Turtle, Tabukea, slow and steady give me patience to ride the wings of the sea and the wind. Nei Tituabine, here in the ocean as the great ray, lend me your elegance and grace. I copy the starfish, limbs wide, bending to the waves, breathing like Pirango and the whale. All my friends from water deep or shallow show me how to be in this part of creation.

The stars are my friends. Through the wind's uproar and the sea's excitement, they shine down on me, twinkling with the high clouds but constant. I love the stars. If the sea would free my arms from her deep embrace, I would reach up to stroke the heavens, to caress the paths that lead me home. The stars dance for me, coming lower to kiss the sea and the distant islands, all moving around me as if I stood on the solid hull of a great canoe.

I blow kisses to my friends the stars, sing them songs of friendship. The sea and the wind hold me between them, a sliver of flesh between two leaves.

The sea is my lover, my friend, my home. I lie here watching the heavens, kissing the wind, bending, swaying, draped across the waves.

I watched the starpaths as the night wore on. When the waves heaved me high enough, I could see Rua Tangata, the pattern called Southern Cross by the strangers. The five stars led home, pointing the way. As the darkness passed, they dipped towards the horizon. The wind was pushing me towards the dawn, beyond Abemama. I wasn't worried about that yet; there was still time for survival if the wind changed.

In all that long night, I didn't think of the king or his warriors. Oh, at times, I wondered where they'd been blown, whether they'd lowered their sails, calculated their courses. Habit. But I didn't curse them, or ask the Anti for their deaths. That is a lie put about by families who would rather blame me than the king. Or people who are not at peace with creation, or who thought I had nothing better to think of than an impossible revenge. No, I sang my silent praises, told myself the old tales, and just drifted, a starfish lasting out the hours.

In the end, the sun came back. Birds came with the light. No manikuru, the landloving terns and noddies came to see me, so I knew I had drifted far out to sea. Maningoningo, the flat-footed clown booby hovered overhead, and then flew towards the dawn. That was no help; I knew the direction of land but had no way to reach it. A frigate bird flew low, curious at the unusual sight and then passed on, doubtless to spread the news across the miles of sea he would cover that day.

The sun was danger. Before long, I would be too hot and too thirsty, and getting through the day might be harder than the night. Like many navigators, I had trained drinking salt water, but it doesn't work very well. And I'd already drunk quite a bit when the sea splashed over my face.

I angled myself so the back of my head pointed to the sun. This would give my face and eyes the most protection. The sea was going down a little. The wind coming from the direction of sunset had died away, and the big leftover swell was diminishing. I could feel the underlying swells coming from Tarawa behind me, and Maiana away in the direction of the setting sun. Both were faint; I was a long way from land. But the wind was set fair for Abemama now. If I could get through the heat of the day, maybe I would get home.

It grew hotter and hotter. Below the chest wasn't so bad because of the water. I would be burnt and sore. But my lips were drying and cracking, and I could feel the flames on my eyelids. I rode the waves, my eyes closed, listening to the wind and the sea and the birds. Time passed.

My ears heard voices. The sounds of men. For a moment I forgot that I was not in a swaying hammock outside my house, and sat up. I swallowed, coughed and struggled to tread water. The voices were singing, but I could tell the men were afraid. Suddenly I was cool, as shade came between me and the sun. The sails of the canoe loomed above, blessing me, the shadow a gentle kindness. I waved one hand in the air, and shouted.

"Ai, ai. Help me, stranded at sea." They did not hear. They would sail past, leaving me. Never have I loved my warrior brothers more than in that moment. With all that love I raised myself in the water and whistled, a shrill high note. It pierced their song, a sound so unlike the sea, and they started to look around. I waved again, calling to them. I heard their shouts, and then the men pointing and staring. Slowly, oh so slowly, the helmsman moved the steering oar, and the outrigger moved towards me. Closer, closer. Twice my fingers brushed it, but were too tired and shrivelled to make a grip on the oiled wood.

"Rope," I gasped. "Throw me a rope." A strong piece of line, woven with care, coiled towards me. Well-thrown it landed in my outstretched hands. I was caught, tethered. For a bad moment I was towed along, my nose throwing up its own bow wave as I peered into the deep green below. Then their strong hands pulled in the line and heaved me, gasping like Ne Ati or Riki the eel when pulled ashore. I lay in the bottom of the canoe, spluttering my thanks. Someone laid a cloth over me, shielding my nakedness and protecting me from the sun as the boat swung back on its previous course.

I sat up and looked around. The Anti had been good to me. This was the seventh boat of the fleet, the last of all. Young Iotiebata was there, looking as if I was a demon.

"Do you have water?"

They gave me a little at a time so I would not choke. Nothing before or since has tasted as good as that stale Tarawa spring water from their old skin, tepid even after sitting in the bilge. My mother's milk was not as sweet.

"You must have furled sail to wait out the night."

"Yes, Paintapu," said the helmsman, a man from the other side of Abemama, whose name I can't remember. He's long dead and wasn't from my maneaba. "It was all we could think of to do."

"You did right."

They were watching me, eyes big, nostrils flared. The sea was still heaving and the wind was pushing us fast and hard. At least one had been sick; I could smell it. And still their fear.

I realised that, afraid as they were of the storm, I was even more alarming. At least by drinking water I'd showed I was still human. But they wouldn't know how I came here. I wanted to laugh, but sobered. They must not throw me back, thinking to honour the king's will. Much as I love the truth, I needed their belief.

"I was swept overboard in the storm," I said. "They did not come back for me, couldn't turn the boat before we were parted by the waves. I am truly glad to see you."

They believed me, unlikely story though it was. Taught by my father, I like to lie right in the bilges, feeling the ocean swell at my back and watching the stars moving around the masts above me. How would I have gone over from such a position, unless the whole boat was lost? But then, they were fighters, not sailors or fishermen. And racing the war canoes around the lagoon, while useful drill, is hardly navigation. So they took me home.

I see you've heard the story that I wouldn't navigate, that I lay in the canoe and sulked. Another myth. Why would I do such a thing? I was tired and sad, and anxious for my home. Even if the king was still angry, well I'd see my family, talk in our maneaba, decide what was best. No, the wind drove us to Abemama, and though still strong, needed little help from me. Even after dark, it still blew us home, and I slept long hours, curled up at the bottom of the boat. It was lumpy and hard after the waves, and none too dry, but I wasn't complaining.

It took us another long day and a night to get home. I began to wonder about the rest of the boats. We could see planks and other flotsam around us. we found a large piece of sail, so we knew at least one boat was gone. And Iotiebata swore that a bundle away to starboard was some spears. But we could be sure of nothing till we reached Abemama.

From the lagoon we could hear the wailing. The cries of desperate families finding the bodies of their loved ones in the surf. None of the other six boats came home, then or ever. For hours the beaches had been littered with the wreckage. Nuts, sails wood, the great rudder post from the king's own canoe. The fleet was destroyed, the king was dead.

I was the only one from the great canoe to come home. For a while I stuck to my story of being washed overboard, and it's still the polite version. One day, in the maneaba, my uncle asked me about it. He knew how I studied the stars and the movements, that I would not be found standing on the edge of a canoe in a stiff storm.

I told my kaainga the truth. It was a relief to tell my story, how the king had thrown me overboard for demanding my rightful prize. I sang them my songs of love for the sea and the sky and the wind, told how the stars had kept me company while I waited for the birds. They listened, but they did not understand.

They did understand the insult to the navigator, the king's own tia borau. There was a long discussion about the rights of the navigators to take part in the prizes of battle, even when they were women. I pointed out that the ibonga could have been a woman, like my friend across the island. There is no prohibition on women in these roles, it is just unusual. But if you do the work, you should get your just rewards.

So the new king knows that if he wants the best navigators, those who come from my maneaba, he must honour them according to their desserts. My own daughter, I've trained her well and she's now deputy to the king's tia borau, and she'll be his navigator before his days are over. She'll never be treated as I was.

There is good in all things. I spent a long night alone and naked on the great ocean. My love for the sea, for the stars and the wind brought me through. I know them better than I ever did before, and myself too. I have never been frightened since.

The ocean is my lover, my friend, my home. The wind will follow me, beloved of stars. I am at home in creation. Breathe the clean air, give thanks for the fish and clear water. The sky above, the swell below, the deep glimmers under the waves, the birds around your head, all are with you in the freedom of the sea. They will tell the truth if only you can hear.

---

Anti- the spirits that are everywhere in Kiribati mythology.
Buatono - luminescence in the sea
Ibonga - shaman, witchdoctor, most in touch with the spirit world
Kaainga - the extended family, tribe, clan
Maneaba - the meeting place and teaching hall of the village
Rua Tangata - the Southern Cross
Tia borau - navigator
Trekapekau ki Taumako - Betelgeuse

Paintapu was a navigator in the Kiribati islands (known in colonial times as the Gilberts) and the main event of this story is believed to have happened around 1780. At that time there were one or two small trading posts established there but otherwise little European contact. The Polynesians navigated differently from Westerners, not using magnetic compasses but instead relying on an enormous body of knowledge of the position and movements of the stars, which they used as guides. They read the swell in the ocean and the minute variations caused even a long way from small islands. The observation of birds and sealife was also critical.

We know very little about Paintapu the woman. She was unusual (but not unique) as a female navigator. Her own words and version of her story have not survived.

The story of Paintapu is told in David Lewis' excellent book We the Navigators. He cites Fr Sabatier Astride the Equator, who also gives a lot of detail about the spirits and beliefs of the people of Kiribati. The names of the Anti and the superstitions about the moon "digging a hole" and cloud covering the losing side in a war come from Sabatier. A lot of information about the traditions and culture of Kiribati can be found at www.janeresture.com/kirihome/index.htm, the fascinating site by I-Kiribati, Jane Resture. The map and the picture of a great canoe come from that site. The Kiribati woman at the top is from www.tuvaluislands.com/kiribati/postcards. The picture of frigate birds flying comes from http://www.rit.edu/~rhrsbi/GalapagosPages/Frigatebirds.html. A range of Polynesian star names have been used and put on roughly appropriate bearings for Paintapu's adventures. The symbolism of Betelgeuse is fictional.