I have owned and sailed my own traditional canoe, which has left me with a passion for their beauty and appropriateness that I will never lose. There is neither nail nor screw holding it together. It uses nothing but the wind and grows almost organically from the resources that are naturally and readily available on the atoll.
Nearly everything for the construction of houses and canoes comes from the land and is prepared by the communal effort of the family. The resources of Kiribati are meagre. People maintain a knife-edge existence. The imperative of survival demands the integration of people and place. Something that is made reaches deeply into cultural beliefs, needs, history, resources and self-recognition. The canoe is an expression of this complex interaction and is deeply rooted in social concerns, traditional values and practices.
The canoe is a male domain, it is tied to those qualities which, in Kiribati, are seen as important in a man; strength, stoicism, and the skills of fishing, boat handling and survival at sea. Yet in its construction women play a vital role of making sennit string. After several months of soaking the coconut husk in the lagoon, women tease the fibres from it. Rolling the fine strands on their thighs, skein after skein of string is made. This string is used in every aspect of the canoe's construction. With it the planks of the hull are stitched together, the outrigger is lashed on and all spars are held firmly in place. The women's role literally holds the canoe together.
