Weekly Writing Exercises

2016/09/19 - write a story about tribes

On a remote corner of the Pacific Ocean there was an island which had not been discovered yet. This island had no name; its lush vegetation and white shores had not been touched by anyone but the tribes living there since the beginning of humankind.

One of these tribes were the Patariki, an isolated community of about forty people. They lived in stilt houses at the far eastern shore of the island. Their huts were connected by wooden suspension bridges. The Patariki were a community of fishermen, who never left their offshore village. For generations the tribe had thrived, as the sea provided them with everything they needed. With nets and spears they hunted fish and crabs, and they dove for mussels and seaweed.

For a couple of moons, however, the fish had been biting less and less. Nets stayed empty, as did the bellies of the Patariki. So the chieftain turned to their shaman, who in turn tried to appease the gods and prayed for the return of the fish. He did all sorts of rites and prayed hard. When all else failed the shaman decided to offer a sacrifice to the gods of the sea. The chieftain agreed begrudgingly, despite the sacrifice being his only daughter Paora.

And while Paora accepted her fate, Tamati – the shaman's son – did not. Tamati and Paora had been close friends for as long as they could swim. They shared their every day lives, went fishing and diving together, hung out and told each other stories. Tamati could not imagine his life without her.

When the decision to sacrifice Paora was made public Tamati exclaimed: "That's blowfish! Why don't we go ashore and see if we can find food there? So none has to die."

For an entirely pescevorous people this was an outrageous thought and caused an uproar. The crowd became so angry with Tamati that the chieftain had to stand and pound the ground with his spear until everyone calmed down enough to listen to him. "We're going nowhere", the chieftain pointedly said and glared at Tamati. "Let's wait until the new moon", he followed the shaman's suggestion for the right time to do the deed, "You have time to find another solution until then. If you don't we'll follow through with the sacrifice."

Tamati bit his lip while Paora averted her gaze. The tribes people murmured sullenly. "I will save you, Paora," Tamati quietly swore and bolted from the assembly hut to pack his things. He did not know what he needed on land, but he opted for his spear and net, a food bag, some medicine and a water pouch.

When he left his hut his father was there, worry marring his wrinkled face. "Take care, my son," the shaman mumbled, "the waters you tread are deep and dangerous. None has ever left the village to go on land, except for felling palm trees. And while I don't agree with your choice I will pray for your safe return."

Tamati nodded. He looked everywhere but his father in the eye as he went past him towards the edge of the village which was closest to the shore. His heart pounded hard in his chest; he didn't know if this was the right choice but he had to try. For Paora's sake. Whatever danger lay there on the island it was worth the risk. Tamati took a deep breath, counted to three, then jumped into the sea and swam towards the shore. Soon the waters became shallow, he could stand and wade. Finally he emerged from the surge, felt its pull around his ankles and looked back. The village seemed so small from afar – small and small-minded. New moon was not far away; he had to hurry.

So he turned his back on his tribe and trudged through the sand, felt its hot grains between his toes for the first time. Walking on sand was so very different than treading the wooden planks of the village. Tamati stumbled and fell. He grunted and got back up. Then he noticed a mouth of a river, approached it and decided to wade through the river inland. He was more comfortable this way and progressed much easier despite going against the current.