The Hidden True Love

By J.M Qolouvaki

On 16 October 1969, as the sun was settling down on the horizon of the rock of Gibraltar, a cry was heard from the maternity ward as a child was born into this world. She was tiny, weighing 4lbs and a couple of ounces, she lay down surrounded by strangers not knowing what lay ahead of her. She didnt know that one day she would be hurt, broken, rejected and confused. It was all a mystery. It was a journey through many obstacles and challenges of lifeThey were all there waiting for her as she would slowly grow up into this world of hatred and confusion trying to unfold the work within.

1974 at the age of five this innocent child was handed to the ancestral gods, sacrificed for power. Battling through life the only way forward was clinging on to the plain truth keeping in touch with her helper the Holy Spirit. Do not be afraid for I am with you always.

A STORY OF A GIRL WHO SUFFERED IN SILENCE; TRAVELLING FROM FIJI TO ENGLAND SHE SUFFERED AT THE HANDS OF A CLOSE RELATIVE, WHO STOLE HER DIGNITY, RUINED HER REPUTATION, AND BATTERED HER CONFIDENCE. HER GIRLS BECAME HER LIFE-SUPPORT MACHINE WHO WERE THE ONLY REASON THAT KEPT HER GOING. RUNNING AWAY; FROM HER FEAR, JULIA HAS MADE A STOP TO GO BACK IN HER PAST AND NOW FACES THE WORLD CLINGING TO HER VISION IN MAKING A DIFFERENCE.

THE STORY CONTINUES....

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Sep 30, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491875001

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© 2013 by J.M Qolouvaki. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 12/13/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4918-0598-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-0599-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-7500-1 (e)

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Contents

Preface

The Tagimoucia Legend

Foreword

Chapter One: In The Beginning

Chapter Two: Fiji Is Home

Chapter Three: Searching For Love

Chapter Four: A Bank Officer And A Soldier

Chapter Five: Running Away

Chapter Six: Disaster

Chapter Seven: Finding Love

Chapter Eight: The Second Escape

Chapter Nine: A Mission To Complete

Chapter Ten: Breaking Through And Breaking Forth

The Hidden True Love Project: 2010-2015

From the Author

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO

MY DAUGHTERS

*     *     *

Preface

Over 330 islands, covered with her beautiful sandy beaches and coral coasts, a habitat to the various and different coloured fish submerged in the warm blue sea of the Pacific Ocean, makes up the beautiful hidden paradise of this world. She lies in the southwest Pacific Ocean with more than a hundred inhabited islands, owning almost 100 dialects to its native tongue. FIJI has been inhabited since the second millennium B.C.

In 1874 an offer of cession by the Fijian chiefs was accepted, Fiji was proclaimed a possession and dependency of the British Crown. The 10th of October 1970, nearly a decade after, she became independent which we now celebrate as Fiji Day.

Fiji is populated with a mixture of Melanesians, Micronesians, Polynesians, East Indians, Chinese and Europeans. The 180 meridian cuts through Fiji, precisely the Island of Taveuni. For centuries most Fijian cultures are still running strong till today. Fiji is known of its’ distinctive traditions such as the traditional dances; namely ‘meke wesi’, ‘vakamalolo’, ‘meke ciri’ etc [‘Meke’ means dance, the second word-determines what kind of dance it is or which tribe it’s originated from], fire walking, presentation of whales’ teeth, drinking of kava, making and presenting of ‘tapa’[material made from bark of trees into traditional out fits] and mats from leaves, turtle calling, and amazingly calling of the red prawns ‘ura buta’ [cooked prawns] the calling is performed by the natives in their traditional outfit, beating the ‘lali’[wooden drum] and humming or singing their song to call the turtles from the ocean or the red prawns from its habitat. There are many legends and fascinating myths; of the hot springs in Savusavu where people cook food from boiling water that continuously erodes from the grounds, how coconut trees existed, the unique ‘tagimoucia’ flower of Taveuni and the firewalkers of Beqa. There are exciting things to learn about; how the natives of Fiji lived to become known for their friendliness and talented giant rugby players. Many villages and tribes in Fiji have their own dialects and traditions, their own chiefs and their own tribesmen. The ‘Bauan’ is the main dialect commonly used by majority native Fijians. Christianity is strong but in some places the culture overrules Christianity. Decades ago women were generally treated with little respect, men as the head of the family and women were to listen and adhere to their authority. In a number of villages from certain tribes women worked hard for the survival of her family, while men had the opportunity to rule. Every tribe had their own beliefs: some traditions were very strict and some were simple. The females that were looked up to were mostly from chiefly clans. It was believed that a woman’s place was at home.

Today Fiji has enforced a law for women to fight for their rights and voice their opinions. She is now a developing country and is a place everyone would love to be. Her sources of income are tourism, sugar, coconut, fish and cocoa. In the 1800’s sandalwood, beach-de-mer and coffee farming were the main sources of income and is being revitalised into the country today.

Fiji consists of three main islands: Vitilevu, Vanualevu and Taveuni.

Within Vitilevu lies Suva the capital of Fiji where life is more westernised. Vanualevu is known for its wealth in soil and vegetation and the people are more laid-back. Taveuni is known as the Garden Island of Fiji with very fertile soil, the only place in the world where scientists have found a unique flower known as ‘The Tagimoucia’.

In the 1960s, Britain recruited over two hundred and twelve Fijians to join the military forces. By 2006 Britain had recruited more than 2,000 Fijian men and women into the armed forces and still ongoing. We salute our heroes, to those who are serving and those whose lives have been claimed while on duty protecting the Queen.

The Tagimoucia Legend

Many years ago there lived a beautiful princess on the island of Taveuni, she was the daughter of a paramount chief and was overprotected by her father. They had a handyman who worked around the house. He was humble and admired by the princess; she loved listening to his voice while he sang in the garden. He was an ordinary man who fell in love with a princess. A time came when she would talk to him and was warned many times that it was against the culture, she felt imprisoned. Despite the warnings, they met regularly and the handyman was taken away, culture intervened causing a barrier between the two young lovers. One sunny morning as the princess lay wide awake on her bed she couldn’t hear the beautiful melody of his voice. Instincts kicked in so she decided to go on a journey searching for her beloved, from the coast to the high hills. Her body was later found on one of the highest mountains of Taveuni, named Uluiqalau. With her heels in a dug-up pond of her own tears the blossom of the tagimoucia flower sprouted, believed to be created from her tears of love and loss, her tears of heartbreak. The flower sprung up beside her body, and was named TAGI-MO-UCI-Au meaning ‘cry to be like me’. The unique flower is white in the middle, held with two red petals and a teardrop falling from the end.

The tagimoucia flower represents the tears of love and loss, the tears of a heartbroken princess who cried her life for her beloved one. The stalk holds the heart of the princess together with the red petals representing the hands of her beloved one and the teardrop of despair.

(Relayed to me by my grandmother)

Foreword

*** 1981 ***

Growing up in Fiji from the age of ten, I watched and lived the life of a young girl who showed a smile on her face but was torn and broken within and, worst of all, was ‘suffering in silence’. At the age of twelve I told myself that I was going to write my story. Being one of six children of a single parent, and the only girl, I was hated and rejected. My mum discovered my little book with the title, ‘Hidden Love.’ She threw this book away so many times and I rewrote it over and over again until she finally burnt the book. Watching the flames changing colour and slowly taking away my dreams of writing, I gave up… But deep down within my heart, where nobody could reach or look, I continued to write my story. Today I have surfaced from within my challenging and painful life journey. My story is about a transformation made from a lost girl into a woman of strength, faith, hope and passion. A determined individual looking out to help those who are still suffering in our community today. This story is a source of funding for The Hidden True Love Project, a project visioned in 1990. The writing of ‘The Hidden True Love’ autobiography was instigated in 1981 for the main purpose of sharing a journey in search for love, care and understanding. In 1990 I realised that the book was going to be one of the funding agents for my Project in making A UNIQUE DIFFERENCE in the lives of the unfortunate, to construct The Loloma Activity Centres in the UK and Fiji, surfacing hidden talents of our unfortunate young adults today.

*     *     *

Chapter One

IN THE BEGINNING

On an island in Fiji in the early 1950s at a Roman Catholic Boarding School there was a smart, young, mischievous girl named Selah. She was tall, dark and slender who loved following the boys and teasing the older kids, she somehow managed to get away with her acts. The school was run by Father Thomas with a few brothers and nuns. Sister Rose was one of the helpful nuns’ out of their strict group, who made sure that all students behaved. Selah was getting first grades in her class but despite numerous warnings her attitude never changed. It came to a point where her grandpa had to remove Selah from the school. Selah was brought up by her single mum with her grandparents. Leaving school at a very young age was a norm in those years. Girls grew up learning all the housework chores while the boys started their farms at a very young age. Selahs passion was cooking and baking. She was brought up in an extended family of many cousins.

Occasionally on some weekends Selah would accompany grandpa to the plantation, he spoilt her with love. Sitting on one of the rocks in the middle of the plantation stroking Pinky their big lovable pet pig she gazed at the ripe fruits hanging from the trees: mangoes, papayas, cocoas and the beautiful pineapples from a distance. She watched the tame cows and horses feeding nearby while grandpa, humming away, digging up the soil and planting a new row of dalo ready for the next season.

From the top of their plantation they could see the dark blue ocean and surrounding islands. The nearest one was a small island believed to be the home of a sea-god in the form of a shark which lived in the bottomless sea cave that lead to the Bermuda triangle: another myth, ‘. . . and everything that was sucked at the Bermuda Triangle was kept by this seagod,’ gramps told her. It is a taboo to shout or make too much noise while on the island. Grandpa took the family to the island once a month. They would walk around the island collecting coconuts and lemon for their barbequed fish. Selah always climbed the papaya trees, plucking the big sweet mature ones and leaving the rest for the wild bats to feed off in the night. Life in Fiji was more of a hidden paradise than anywhere else. After a hardworking day it was always a priority to put Pinky to bed. Pinkys’ favourite pillow was handmade by grandma and she would never sleep without it.

Sixteen year old Maria was brought up with Selah in the same village. It was going to be another interesting fishing night for the teenagers. Maria full of excitement was ready for the night as Selah tugged along with her big basin of laundry. One by one Selah pushed in the homemade pegs, making sure the clothes wouldn’t fall off the line from the strong breeze that was breaking through the trees.

‘What time shall we leave?’ Maria called out watching Selah walking to the creek with her last load of clothes.

‘Eight o’clock!’ she shouted back.

Selah chuckled as she walked her way down the hill to the nearby stream. A few young boys heard that a local band was performing at a nearby village that night but none were bothered to go, an advantage indeed to the girls. No boyfriends and no night outs was a common household rule. Asking for permission to go clubbing would simply be asking for a punishment, most probably a proper beating from an uncle or an older cousin in the village. Nothing would stop the daring pair from their mischievous plans especially when they hadn’t been caught in the last two months, which gave them more assertiveness in what they were doing.

Pushing up the clothes line with the long bamboo stick, Selah sighed with relief and smiled to herself.

‘You’re happy,’ mum stated.

‘Can I go fishing with Maria tonight?’ she asked.

‘Certainly, I’ll let grandpa know,’ mum replied.

The girls hurriedly walked down the muddy path as the clock ticked past the eighth hour. Being very precautious Selah made sure nobody knew what they were up to. Off went their fishing clothes and on came their dresses, they dumped their stuff in a secure hiding place in the bushes and continued down the road to meet their secret friends.

‘BOO!’ shouted the boys, making the girls jump with fright.

It was Ropate and Sepo, the boyfriends. Hand in hand, Ropate walked with Selah and Sepo with Maria, happily making their way to the dance venue hoping nobody would recognise them. Two hours of dancing with great fun had gone and the girls had to bid their goodbyes. They left to accomplish their main mission, luckily they had a good catch leaving no one suspicious of anything. A trend they used most often.

It was 1964 and the British Army were recruiting the young, sturdy and tough men of Fiji. Breaking Selah’s heart she heard rumours that her boyfriend was one of those newly recruited individuals.

‘Is he really joining the British Army?’ Selah wondered.

She feared her mum and knew that religion was a barrier between the two lovers uniting as one. Ropate was Methodist and Selah’s family were devout to their religion, she was only to wed a Catholic. During this difficult time Selah believed she would end up broken hearted either way, if he stayed or if he left so her only solution was to end the relationship. It wasn’t any better for Ropate since he was deeply in love with the woman.

‘She is my wife,’ Ropate told Sepo. ‘I will win her back before I leave my homeland.’

Going through the complications of life Ropate was confident of his next step. Sepo shared the same religion as the girls and was welcomed to Maria’s village, he was a bearer of good news. Despite the many persuasive notes Ropate sent to the love of his life, it never seemed to work. Selah wasn’t willing to go through a long-distance relationship fearing the heart pain it would bring. A few days without being bothered by Ropate, Selah could feel the absence of love in her life.

It is a Fijian custom for a man to prove his love to a woman by presenting whales tooth as a dowry. Ropate had come to Selah’s village with traditional gifts, he tried his luck for the last time. He came with the elders from his village to ask Selah’s mum and grandparents the permission to take their daughter’s hand in marriage. They brought whale’s teeth (tabua—depending on the number and size, it meant a lot in the Fijian tradition) to win the woman he loved and gain respect from her parents. The presentation of the kava and the tabua alongside the humble words were touching and according to all that was brought, and all he went through, Ropates’ determination and love brought victory but with conditions.

‘However, I will only allow you to wed my grand-daughter in a Catholic church,’ grandpa suggested.

Ropate’s parents didn’t agree but he had no choice and wasn’t going to miss this opportunity of his lifetime.

‘I will,’ he humbly accepted.

The big day was pronounced and preparations began at short notice. Sadly the wedding took place at Ropates village with Sepo as Selah’s only friend who turned up, no mum, no gramps and no Maria. In the 60’s you could hardly find anyone who owned a camera, Sepo did. He took photos flashing the lights here and there, showing off really. Guests and family were posing, not knowing the camera didn’t have a film but only batteries for the flash. His plan worked though, it made things look better for him and Selah. After the wedding, Mrs Ropate spent a couple of days with her newly wedded husband and then he was on his way to the United Kingdom leaving his beloved wife with her in-laws in his village.

Living in the village of the most Paramount Chief with her mother-in-law was tough. Days and weeks of arguments, tears and hardship slowly dragged as Selah struggled to cope. She grew thin and pale refusing to eat and hoping for Ropates’ return.

‘Why did I do this?’ she sobbed, clinging tightly to her pillow. ‘Why did I marry him?’

Days turned to weeks and weeks to months knowing her mum wasn’t taking her back, Selah’s life was miserable. Ropates mum threw her stuff outside.

‘Go back to where you came from, you good for nothing!’ she shouted.

‘You evil cow,’ Selah mumbled under her breath as she picked her clothes.

Selah was strong and never gave in to her wicked mother-in-law. She continued to be more annoying than ever, bringing back her school day memories she started to enjoy the relationship.

Finally the day had come. It was time to leave her homeland for the big wide world. Selah bid farewell to her family in her village and to her in-laws. Twelve Fijian ladies were travelling together to reunite with their loved ones in the United Kingdom.

Life in the UK was not what everybody expected. The ladies thinking that the big wide world was going to be adventurous, fun and romantic. After reuniting with their husbands they were posted to different areas. Selah stayed in their married quarters in England while Ropate travelled to Cyprus on a duty call. Once again, there she lay on her king-sized bed with tears on her pillow, crying her eyes out every day and every night, missing her husband, friends and family in Fiji. The Army Officers often popped in to pay Selah a short visit. It was kind of them to do so and helped her in so many ways. On Ropate’s return she managed a smile with a few tears of joy, Ropate realised how much weight she had lost.

‘Honey, you don’t look well,’ he said as he held her in his arms.

‘I’ve missed you so much,’ she whispered. ‘I want a baby.’

Without wasting much time the couple worked on their new mission.

They were based in Warminster for a few months ready for a transfer.

‘Babe, I’m pregnant,’ she cried out with delight.

After a couple of months in England they moved to Gibraltar. Morning sickness didn’t make the trip any easier but she was happy to know that this time they were all travelling as one. On ‘the Rock of Gibraltar’, as it is known, Selah remained excited for the remaining months carrying her first child. March the 8th 1968 she gave birth to a healthy baby boy. Delighted to see their first born child, they were amazed to know how perfect he was. Tears rolled down their cheeks as they held hands tightly, sharing a single moment of love between them. It was all they had hoped for… A baby boy… Ropate & Selah named him after Ropate’s dad. Seresio was The First Fijian Born on the Rock. Wow!!! That was a record. He was adorable and mum loved him to bits. They called him Trevor for short.

Trevor kept mum on her toes at all times with his many habits. The couple decided to try for another baby, it would be best to have a partner for baby Trevor they agreed and not after long mum fell pregnant again. During this pregnancy mum didn’t go through any morning sickness. She always felt happy, healthy and fit, especially with baby Trevor by her side. Nine months came to an end and then, on 16 October 1969, as the sun was settling down on the horizon of the rock of Gibraltar, a cry was heard from the maternity ward as a child was born into this world. She was tiny, weighing 4 lbs and a couple of ounces, she lay down surrounded by strangers not knowing what lay ahead of her. She didn’t know that one day she would be hurt, broken, rejected and confused. It was all a mystery. It was a journey through many obstacles and challenges of life… They were all there waiting for her as she would slowly grow up into this world of hatred and confusion trying to unfold the work within.

Mum wasn’t expecting a girl but there was joy in my dads eyes… I guess she was hoping for another boy, dad wanted a girl and was quite happy anyway. They decided to name me after my maternal grandma, Juliana Martha Qolouvaki. They called me Julia for short. Years passed and in a blink of an eye I was a grown up girl, very naughty and loving to tease Trevor. I must’ve picked up mums bad habits.

‘Mum, can you tell Julia to leave me alone!!!’Trevor cried out.

Mum shook her head with a frown on her face.

‘Juliana Martha, leave your brother alone!’ she shouted.

‘But mum… ,’ I moaned.

‘No, no, no… no but mums . . . Go to your room… now!!!’ she scolded.

I had to dash upstairs before she could get her hands on me. I always ended up in trouble with Mum.

Two years in Gibraltar then we returned to Warminster where dads namesake was born. My parents were arguing a lot, we were told to go on a holiday to Fiji without dad. Seven months pregnant Mum with Trevor, Ropate and myself waved goodbye to our dad as we boarded the plane at Heathrow terminal in London. It was 1974, first time for my brothers and I to visit our homeland. Baby was kicking a lot giving mum hiccups; I put my head to her tummy trying to listen to every movement baby made. The flight was tiring; it took us more than twenty hours in total to reach our final destination. We stopped over in Honolulu. A lady put a beautiful garland of flowers on me which made this girl feel very special, I was only five years old at the time.

‘Thank you,’ I muttered.

We talked for a few minutes before boarding our connecting flight. The last leg of our journey was boring. Mum booked us in the nearest hotel the night we arrived in Fiji. Weather was stunningly hot and everything was different compared to England. People walking bare feet with smiling faces and the small girls running around with their sleeves falling off their shoulders while the boys were playing rugby with a coconut, everyone looked so happy. Their kindness amazed me. I loved the warmth of the place, the environment, the surroundings it was all so different.

From Nadi we flew to our Island where we spent most of our time with Nan, my namesake. Mum gave birth to my third brother Mesake, he was cute and dark. We visited relatives in villages, staying with different family members and enjoying our long holiday. I realised that dad’s parents had passed away. I couldn’t remember talking to them on the phone or even seeing a photo. I remember staying at my dad’s sister’s place; it was fun swimming in the creek with my cousins. I loved every moment of it.

Due back to England and to my astonishment Ropate and Mesake weren’t coming with us. At the airport, it was a sad farewell leaving my brothers behind with grandma. I couldn’t stop myself from crying or wondering why.

Cold and overcrowded Heathrow Airport greeted us as we came off the plane.

‘Daddy, daddy!’ I shouted with excitement as I ran into his arms with tears of joy, still missing the two boys. Trevor didn’t want to show his disappointment, but I believe I saw a few tears or two.

Another surprise awaited us as we walked through our front door. The house was empty with boxes stacked upon each other. Looking at dad questioningly, confused I asked him what had happened.

‘We are moving to Germany,’ he suggested.

I broke down in tears, knowing I was leaving my friends again. Military life aye! Trevor and I were quite upset with the whole plan of moving, of course we couldn’t do anything about it. Our new school was completely different from our last one, settling down and finding new friends weren’t that simple, especially with a different skin colour. Even though we managed to move on it was tough at times. I remember when I ignored those who teased me and walked along with my head high in the sky.

‘Mum, what does a black kid look like?’ I eagerly asked.

‘Why my sweetheart?’ she chuckled.

‘I heard some kids at school say it, when I walked past,’ I replied.

‘They are just being silly, ignore them,’ she said as she hugged me tight.

I was innocent and couldn’t see the difference.

Simon, my friend was our neighbour and also my classmate. We hung out a lot and became very close. One day after school, Simon and I planned to have a cup of tea at mine; mum always made cakes for us. We were knocking on our front door for ages, until Trevor came to answer with a grin on his face.

‘Mmmmm, what is he up to?’

‘Help yourselves to a glass of milk and cupcakes,’ he offered.

Trevor dashed out to play with his mates in our back garden while Simon and I tucked into our delicious cupcakes.

‘Yummy… These are the most delicious cakes I’ve ever tasted,’ Simon said.

‘Doesn’t your mum make cakes for you, Simon?’ I asked.

‘No, she only buys the ones from the shop. I don’t think she can make cakes as good as these ones,’ he replied.

My mum was definitely the best chef in town.

‘But you do bring cakes to school and they are yummy too,’ I said.

Before he could grab another one I pulled his arm and into the living room we went.

‘Come on, let’s go and put the telly on. There might be something good to watch,’ I suggested.

‘No, that sounds boring… How about upstairs in your bedroom? We might find something interesting there?’ Simon uttered.

Giving up, I agreed with his suggestion. We climbed up the stairs and he hopped past me, dashing into mum’s room.

‘Simon, you are not supposed to go there,’ I told him. ‘That is mum and dad’s room.’

‘Well, they are not here and they won’t even notice, will they?’

I shrugged my shoulders, knowing he was right. Simon came into my room with a packet of cigarettes and a lighter.

‘What are you doing, Simon? That is very bad of you.’

He didn’t take any notice of me, jumping onto the bed he flicked the lighter and it worked. With the cigarette in his mouth he took a deep breath and lit it.

‘Come on,’ he said, ‘let’s play Mum and Dad.’

‘No, Simon! Get off the bed