It's Not an Illegal Drug if its for Cultural Purposes

Back when Beau and I were doing the "He drives, she reads aloud" thing I loved so much, we read two hysterical books called, The Sex Life of Cannibals and Getting Stoned with Savages by J. Maartin Troost. They were written by a (Dutch-born) American guy and his gf who spent years on obscure Pacific islands. She did life-saving development work. He...got high with locals and occasionally wrote about the surroundings. But in the end, he published a highly-successful series of books. So maybe I should shut-up and think about trying his method of writing instead of my own.

So obviously, a large part of the plot of Getting Stoned with Savages detailed just that. The author easily befriends the locals and they all frequently consume the narcotic of choice: kava. Beau and I had never heard of kava before, and in the book, the author initially described it in Vanuatu as roots of the kava plant chewed up by young boys then spit into shells to be drunk. The first time the author tried it, it tasted awful, but it really fucked him up. So of course, he was hooked.

Later in the book, when they move to Fiji, his only source of kava is markedly less...authentic. Now it is in powder form which the author turns his nose up at though begrudingly still consumes.

As you can imagine, Beau and I were intrigued. We're not drug takers, and Beau's occasional reoccuring smoking habit is a source of powerful tension between us, but the book was so entertaining, and the author made the experience seem so interesting, we always wondered.

One night, I was -HORRORS- out of rice, and had only realized it after I had already started preparing stir fry. I dashed to the car and drove to the nearest "dairy." In New Zealand, there is a dairy on nearly every major corner and always one in the thousands of mini strip malls that dot Auckland. Dairies are basically Ma & Pop shops, a 7-11 if it had a soul. Since the demographic of my neighborhood is heavily Indian/Sri-Lankan, I figured the local dairy would most likely have rice. Yeah, it's a stereotype, so what!

I drove up, and as I got out of my car, I saw a ginormous sign in the window with large black letters: KAVA SOLD HERE.

No way.

I entered the shop and was immediately hit with a plume of Indian spices. A dark, balding man approached me with a big smile. I self-consciously inquired about the kava and his face lit up. He reached over and grabbed a small, white pouch of powder. "Five dollars," he said.

Cheap high.

I then started asking him exactly how the whole process was done. He got excited and came from behind the counter and started motioning me toward the back of the store. "Come on, come on, I'll show you!" he said.

I hesitated. Isn't this the part in every C&I show I've seen, and I've seen a LOT of them, where the woman gets abducted? On the other hand, isn't this also how every one of my crazy adventures across the world has started out? Really friendly people, a language constraint, an interesting experience.

I followed him to the back where there was a curtain obscured a doorway. He pulled it back to reveal a tiny space with only a sink, a large bowl with murky grey liquid and a crate. A very placid, happy-looking man was sitting on the crate. He looked up and serenly greeted me. I felt weird.

There was already a silky-looking cloth tied to the faucet and the man, who now introduced himself as Mohammed, began showing me exactly how to strain the kava from the powder into an awaiting bowl. "Do you want to try some?" he asked.

Sure!

He took a tiny bowl and dipped it in the grey water and handed it to me. I looked up at both of them, "Um, all at once or sip it?"

"Whatever you like," they both shrugged.

I took the biggest swallow I could and made a face. It tasted like gym sneakers.

"Good?" Mohammed asked.

"Not really," I said. "Can I still drive home? Is it safe?"

They laughed. Of course it was safe.

After a few moments, I was starting to lose feeling in my tongue. I mentioned this. The men were unconcerned.

"The more you drink it, the less that will happen," said the man on the crate.

Erm, okay.

Honestly, I didn't feel much at all, maybe just a little.

So, I got my rice, my little bag of kava powder, and waved goodbye to the still beaming Mohammed, who told me he was always open very late so feel free to come whenever I needed something.

I got home and looked at the bag of powder. Being a work night, I wasn't going to have it then. It'd just have to wait til the weekend when I was going to see Beau, and of course, that's another story.