THE KING AND I

(Tonga)

Jim Hendrickson

I rented a one-room fale, a 9' x 12' bamboo bungalow topped with a pale green tin roof. Several tall coconut palms and a variety of multi-colored tropical flowers graced my fale that had an unobstructed view of the open sea. The room was simply furnished with a single and a double bed, a night stand, an electric fan, and a telephone. The floor was partially covered with mats woven Bfrom banana palms. Hand-painted tapas, made from cloth pounded from mulberry bark, decorated the walls. Screened windows on all four sides allowed cool breezes to flow easily through the room, assuring me a comfortable night's sleep. A hundred feet from my fale, six-foot waves -- white and frothy -- broke in rhythmic thunder against an invisible reef offshore. All these delights, including a delicious, hearty breakfast were mine for $19 U.S. dollars per day. I had arrived in paradise!

Every morning after breakfast I pedaled to different areas around Tongatapu. Dressed in shorts, T-shirt and sandals, and lacquered with plenty of sunblock to protect my skin from the tropical sun, I set off to visit various villages on the island.

In one village I met two young men who were Mormon missionaries. They wore the traditional ta'ovala, which is a black skirt-like garment wrapped with a waist mat. A small rectangular badge bearing their name and that of their religious affiliation was pinned over the left pocket of their white short- sleeved shirts. Both missionaries walked in simple leather sandals and carried an oval-shaped basket containing various religious books and brochures. The short muscular man was from Tongatapu, and his tall thin partner hailed from Western Samoa.

"How do you like my country?" the Tongan asked me with a big smile. "I love it!" I answered." This island is so beautiful with all its palm trees, white sandy beaches and the gorgeous blue ocean. And the people are so friendly here." "Thank you," my Tongan friend replied. "By the way, do you know that we have two kings here in Tonga?" "Two kings? I don't understand," I said confused. "There is our heavenly king, God the Father. And our earthly king, King Taufa'ahau Tupou IV."

I assured him that as an Episcopalian, I already knew the first king, but I was indeed eager to meet the second one. For the past four months I had written letters to the secretary of King Taufa'ahau in which I requested an audience with His Majesty. Unfortunately, I had never received a reply to my letters. Through a stroke of pure good luck, however, I learned that Edwin, the owner of the Good Samaritan Inn, was none other than the king's personal secretary!

The day after arriving in Tonga, I visited Edwin at the Royal Palace office in the capital city of Nuka'lofa. After requesting a brief audience with the king, I mentioned to Edwin that I was staying at his resort. Edwin smiled and said, "Oh, you're staying at the Good Samaritan? I'll see what I can do." I was very excited about the possibility of meeting the king of Tonga.

In the meantime, a dramatic event took place a few days later, which had more to do with the heavenly king than the earthly king: the worst hurricane in 15 years smashed Tongatapu. At five o'clock in the afternoon Kata, a female employee at the Good Samaritan, knocked on the door of my fale. "Jim," she said, "we're serving dinner early tonight because the wind is picking up." Tactfully, she didn't mention the word "hurricane."

As I ate supper under the verandah of the outdoor dining room, I looked out toward the ocean. The sky was pitch black, but occasional flashes of lightning streaked above the sea, exposing ten-foot waves just offshore. The wind increased rapidly and soon it began to rain. A half-hour later the sky opened its flood gates, and the electric lights at the Good Samaritan went out. All the guests and I scrambled into the indoor lounge.

Suddenly, I remembered that I had left the windows of my fale wide open. Afraid the storm would damage my room, my bicycle and my gear, I took out a small flashlight from my pocket and stepped out into the darkness. In an instant heavy sheets of rain drenched my body, and the screaming wind slammed my face. I ducked quickly back into the lounge where someone had lit several kerosene lanterns and set them out on tables. My attempted rescue mission had failed.

When I mentioned my dilemma to a male employee of the Good Samaritan, he said confidently, "I'll close your windows. Give me your room key." The young man took my key, grabbed a large flashlight, opened a strong umbrella, and ran to my fale in the horrible maelstrom. He closed all the windows and dashed back to the lounge. With water dripping from his clothes and body onto the floor, he looked at me sadly and said, "Your fale is very wet inside." Luckily, I had packed all my belongings in plastic bags or in waterproof bicycle panniers.

Gradually, the wind and rain stopped and an eerie silence filled the air. The eye of the hurricane was perched directly above the Good Samaritan Inn. With flashlight in hand I ran to my fale and inspected the damage. The floor and beds were drenched, but my bicycle and gear were unscathed. I flipped over the soggy mattress of the single bed and laid my dry sleeping bag on top of it. Then I locked the door, undressed, and hit the sack.

About an hour later, the awful wind and rain returned, threatening to destroy my fale. I listened to the terrifying harangue as I lay awake in the darkness. I thought of the children's story of the mean wolf who threatened the shivering little pig inside by screaming, "I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll bl-o-o-o-o-w your house down." I said a silent prayer and eventually I fell asleep.

At seven o'clock the following morning I awoke to crashing waves offshore and relatively light winds. But it was no longer raining. The hurricane had vanished.

After breakfast I toured Tongatapu on my bike. There was little damage on the west side where I was staying, but tremendous devastation besieged other areas of the island. Concrete telephone poles that had snapped like giant matchsticks during the storm lay on their side. Black telephone and electric cables were strewn everywhere. Pieces of tin roofs that had peeled off houses and stores were scattered beside their buildings. Fortunately, the storm claimed only one person and injured several others. I promised myself that I would return to Tonga some day, but not during the hurricane season.

The day before I left Tonga for home, another unforgettable event occurred: Edwin granted me an interview with King Taufa'ahau. Normally the dress protocol for Western men who meet the king is coat and tie. As a tour cyclist, obviously my limited wardrobe did not include those two items. However, I knew that the king exercised regularly at a gymnasium in Nuka'lofa. I suggested to Edwin that perhaps I could wear casual clothing and meet His Majesty there. Edwin liked the suggestion and told me to report to the gym at 2:30 that afternoon.

I returned to my fale and took a shower. Then I put on my best bicycle shorts, my Mount Baker Bike Club jersey, clean white socks, and bicycle shoes. I pedaled excitedly to the gymnasium where I identified myself to several soldiers who were awaiting the king's arrival. I asked to speak with the Sergeant-at-Arms to whom I gave an official letter of introduction that Edwin had handwritten for me in Tongan. The sergeant showed me to a small room where I waited patiently for the great moment.

At precisely 2:30 the king arrived in a dark-green armored truck built especially for him in Germany by Mercedes Benz. Two policemen on motorcycles and eight bodyguards in a van escorted the truck to the entrance of the gym. When the Sergeant-at-Arms opened the door of the truck, I gasped. His Majesty stood up from a huge cushy chair and stepped out among his bodyguards. This 78-year-old gentleman was a giant: he stood at six feet, five inches, and weighed over 350 pounds. He wore a white T-shirt, baggy shorts, and size 20 Puma sneakers. I thought, "Now that's a king!"

After speaking for an hour with two diplomats, the king began working out on thirteen different exercise machines. Unfortunately, the king's bodyguards would not allow me to approach him closely, so I was unable to take good photographs of His Majesty. During one of the king's rest periods, however, he noticed that I was taking pictures of him. Suddenly, the king whispered something in Tongan to his Minister of Health who was taking His Majesty's blood pressure. The minister approached me and said with a gentle smile, "The king would like to speak with you." I gulped and hesitated slightly. "Please come," the minister added softly, motioning with his hand for me to follow him.

I had never spoken with a king in my life so I was not sure how to conduct myself properly. Grabbing my camera, I walked slowly over to the king who was resting comfortably in a simple wooden chair. I knelt down on one knee and, extending my right hand, introduced myself. "Hello, Your Majesty. I'm Jim Hendrickson from Bellingham, Washington, in the United States. I'm so honored and pleased to meet you."

The king shook my hand and smiled. "I've been to Bellingham," he said to my astonishment. "I stopped there on my way to Vancouver, British Columbia." That comment surprised me because Bellingham is a small town of 55,000 people and it is not exactly a tourist mecca.

I continued kneeling at the foot of His Majesty's chair while we chatted like good friends for ten minutes. During our brief conversation I asked the king if I could take his picture. He graciously granted my request. Trembling with excitement, I set my camera on autofocus, zoomed in very closely on His Majesty's massive head and torso, and clicked away. "Gosh," I thought. "you never know who you'll meet on a bicycle tour!"

© Copyright 1998

Jim Hendrickson

All Rights Reserved