Letters from Blackwell Island Pt. 02

When we reached the car, Patrick was taken somewhat by surprise to see us in the presence of another couple - I also expect the sight of Alvin's impressive testicles made him do a double-take!

"This is Alvin and Erica," I introduced the couple to my husband. "And this is my husband Patrick."

"Pleased to meet you," Erica greeted him warmly.

"Er, hi," Patrick responded.

I had to smile as the couple joined him in the back seat of the car - he looked so uncomfortable being squashed in there between two naked people who only a few minutes earlier had been having sex out in the open.

"Don't worry, Patrick, we're only taking them a couple of miles up the road," Jenni said over her shoulder as she got into the driving seat, sensing my dear husband's unease.

The thing is, in most places a couple of miles would only take at most a few minutes, but on Blackwell the roads are so narrow and twisty that it took almost twenty minutes to cover the distance. I occasionally looked over my shoulder during the trip and I couldn't help but feel both amused and sorry for Patrick as he sat there with Alvin and Erica's bare hips pressed up against his own.

When we arrived at a small parking area in a clearing, the couple got out of the car, thanked Jenni for the lift, and then hand in hand they headed along a path that followed the river towards the twin waterfalls that to this day I still have trouble pronouncing properly.

"I'll have to take you both up there one day, but duty calls and I need to get back on the beat and finish my patrol," Jenni said as we resumed our journey around the island.

The rest of the afternoon passed without any further incidents - Jenni seemed to know pretty much every islander we passed along the way and she introduced us to several of them, all of whom seemed to have already heard of us and why I was on the island.

"Ah, you're the journalist from London!" one such islander, a woman named Kareena said after Jenni introduced us.

Word obviously travels fast around such an isolated community!

"Well, Guildford actually," I replied to her. "The magazine I work for is based in London."

I explained to her about Letters From Blackwell Island and about how Patrick and I were spending a year on the island to write all about life on this unusual isle with its permanently naked residents who seem to have a penchant for having sexual relations in the open air where anyone (over the age of eighteen at least) might be able to observe them and, presumably, to join in with them.

I didn't actually mention that last part to her, not wanting to dwell on the subject of outdoor sex. But it was clear that quite a few of the islanders already knew who I was and what I was doing in their midst. To sate my own journalistic curiosity I asked her what she thought of my magazine feature.

"Well, I can see how our lifestyle would be of interest, and you're definitely not the first journalist to write about us. We had a fellow from World Geographic Magazine visit us back in the seventies, although he only spent a week here and his article wasn't exactly well received by us," she responded. "It was a bit of a... what's the word? A bit of a hack-job."

"So I'm guessing that people here might be viewing me with a bit of suspicion?" I asked her.

"Well, I have heard a few people mention you and I haven't heard anything negative yet - unlike the man from World Geographic you at least seem to want to commit to our lifestyle for more than a week."

"Well that's good to know - I genuinely want us to be a part of the community while we're here," I replied to her.

"Once people here realise you're not just here to do another hack-job on us they'll come to accept you more. I was speaking to old Thomas in Malmesbury the other day and he said he'd met you - he certainly didn't have anything bad to say."

That meeting with Kareena both comforted me and troubled me - I knew I had to make sure Patrick and I integrated ourselves into the local population as much as possible during our stay on the island, but it was good to know that at least everyone we'd encountered so far had been open-minded about us coming into their midst. My first article had already been published and was available online via the magazine's website and app, so I had to assume that at least a few of the island's population had read it by now - I genuinely hoped it was well received by them.

* * * * * *

As Jenni's shift came to an end we returned to the police station where she removed her utility belt and warrant badge and in just a few seconds was transformed from Sergeant Bakeland, law enforcement officer, to plain Jenni Bakeland, resident of Blackwell Island. She invited us for a few drinks at the local bar a short way along the street from the police station and we gratefully accepted - it had been a real scorcher that day and the prospect of a few ice cold drinks was very enticing indeed!

We both hit it off with Jenni right from the start, and just as I'd earlier suspected, our circle of friends on the island grew a little bigger that day. Away from her job she was a very smart, witty Aussie woman with an infectiously sunny disposition who loved her job, loved her community and loved her life in general. It was fair to say that more than a little of her ebullience rubbed off on us!

It was getting dark by the time we left the bar, and though we were quite happy to walk back to our accommodation she pointed out that unless Patrick and I had torches on us in our Kīeke's (which we didn't) it'd be pitch dark before we got back to Marea and Jackson's place. In a place where there is no street lighting whatsoever, a torch or flashlight is an absolute must-have. Instead, she offered to give us a lift even though it meant taking a detour on her way home. Patrick and I both vowed to ourselves not to leave home without torches in future!

All in all it had been a very interesting day - not only had I been given an insight into the island's law enforcement, but I'd also been introduced to the red zones. I still didn't quite know what to make of the concept of having sex outdoors with the possibility of other people watching being socially accepted among the island's adult population, but to my surprise I didn't feel offended or find it exceptionally distasteful. I knew it was something I was going to have to try to convince Patrick into doing before our time on Blackwell came to an end.

Ke Hele Nei

Today was a special day, and it was a special day quite unlike any other I had ever seen or taken part in. It was Jackson and Marea's twins' eighteenth birthday, the day on which they both officially became adult members of the Blackwell Island community. It was also the day when both of them would officially be surrendering their clothes and joining the adults in permanent nakedness. Before any of that however, it all began as a birthday celebration just like any other, and both Patrick and myself had been invited to observe the day's celebrations and the evening's rituals for my next installment of Letters From Blackwell Island.

Up until now I've only referred to them as just "the twins", but now that they are officially over eighteen I can introduce them to you fully. Lisa is the eldest by twenty-eight minutes and is training to become a teacher, and her brother, Aiden, is possibly one of the finest looking young men I've ever met. Today was to be a day that neither of them would ever forget, but for which they'd both been prepared for months in advance.

Jackson and Marea's house and garden were crowded with guests - extended family, friends of the family (ourselves included) and even a couple of members of the island's government, but in keeping with the Pā'ele tradition, no children were permitted to attend. That actually suited us fine since I've never particularly enjoyed family gatherings where there are kids screeching and running around and generally making a nuisance of themselves anyway. As a consequence of this it meant that Lisa and Aiden were the only people out of close to a hundred attending that day who were wearing clothes. All that would change later that evening, however.

As I took notes on my tablet, Patrick took photos - he was getting pretty good at it now, and his confidence in using the digital SLR had grown once he'd seen his photos alongside my text in the first couple of installments of Letters From Blackwell Island.

Jackson had a huge barbecue on the go, its grill positively groaned under the weight of steaks, burgers, freshly caught fish brought in from the harbour that very morning, and several lobsters simmering in a large pot. The smells that wafted around on the air were heavenly, and everyone was eager to get stuck in to the feast. And with good reason as everyone would be needing plenty of energy, for later on we would be climbing to the top of the volcano where the ceremonial part of the day would occur.

In addition to the barbecue, Marea and a couple of her closest friends (myself included) had prepared plenty of accompanying side dishes, freshly baked bread and sumptuous desserts, chief among which were two birthday cakes - one for each twin. Lisa's was decorated in green, which was considered to be the colour of femininity in the native Pā'ele culture, symbolising the verdant vegetation on the island. Aiden's on the other hand was decorated in two colours - one, a sort of earthy brown colour, the other a sort of turquoise blue. These were considered the colours of masculinity - the brown was symbolic of the soil in which everything on the island grew, the turquoise meanwhile represented the sea in which all the island's fish, considered vital for the islander's survival in the past, were caught. The colours of femininity and masculinity, though different to each other, represented the important ways in the native Pā'ele culture in which both male and female virtues were vitally important.

The festivities began with the twins being presented formally to the guests who in turn handed them gifts, all of which were items handmade on the island, or a small sum of money each. It took at least an hour before the final guests, Patrick and I, presented our gifts. We gave a Lisa small bracelet made of shells that I'd found in one of the gift shops in Malmesbury, and for Aiden a Kani - a traditional adornment worn by the island's men.

I'd bought it on Jenni's advice from a little workshop that was run by a woman named Mrs. Laukea and her husband, without knowing initially what it was for. It resembled a strap-like bracelet of sorts, but was clearly not long enough to encircle a man's wrist. Jenni assured me that it was "a traditional item worn by the island's menfolk on special occasions" and that neither Aiden nor his parents would find it an odd thing to give him.

A Kani, you see, is... well, there's no other way to put it other than to say exactly what it is - it's a cock ring.

Yes, that's right - a cock ring! More specifically, it's a ring made of thin strands of braided leather and decorated with small pieces of Mother of Pearl and other precious and semi precious stones that a man wears around the base of his penis and testicles. Apparently almost all of the island's male population wear them, usually on formal social occasions like the birthday celebrations such as today rather than for everyday wear, and as I looked around at the male guests I could see that most of them were indeed wearing the things. The thickness and tautness of the rings caused their genitals to stand out even more prominently than normal, giving the effect of "presenting" their, er, "man parts" for all the world to see.

Ours wasn't the only Kani that Aiden had been given that day - Marea had earlier given him one that was set with gold and turquoise that looked quite exquisite, not to mention pretty expensive too. Apparently it was tradition for a mother to give her son his very first Kani. The fact that this gift from his mother was to be worn around his genitals didn't seem to faze or embarrass the young man in the slightest - I guess seeing the other men wearing them, his father included, whose Kani looked identical to the one Marea had given him - was something he'd just grown up with. Several other guests gave him a Kani too, and by the time he unboxed the one we had bought, he had five of the things.

"I can't wait to see him wearing one of his new Kanis," Marea said to me later that afternoon. "He'll look so handsome!"

She briefly glanced at my husband who was drinking a bottle of beer by the grill and chatting with Jackson and a couple of other men.

"You ought to get one for Patrick," she added. "Almost all men on the island have at least one."

As I looked at the Kani that currently adorned Jackson's manhood and those of the other men stood nearby, and could see how Patrick actually stood out from them by not wearing one, I decided on the spot to rectify that, and made a promise to myself to buy him one.

"I assume they have some kind of traditional significance," I said as I sipped a glass of chilled sparkling wine.

"Indeed they do," Marea replied. "Traditionally they were given to a husband by his wife on their wedding day - a sort of indigenous wedding ring, if you like."

"Hah! A wedding-tackle ring!" I chortled. "Get it? Because it's a ring that goes around his wedding-tackle! Sorry, I couldn't resist it!"

Mea culpa - it was a dreadful pun and I should've known better! Still, I was impressed by how quickly it tripped off my tongue. Fortunately, Marea seemed to get the joke and chuckled jovially with me for a few moments.

"Anyway, a Kani was originally a sign of marriage, but nowadays they're just worn as a fashionable item for special occasions," Marea explained. "I suppose you could say they're the Blackwell Island equivalent of wearing a tie."

The rather conventional birthday festivities continued until late afternoon. At about 3pm, Marea addressed the assembled cohort of friends, family and well-wishers. She began by thanking everyone for coming and how grateful they were for all the gifts the twins had received.

"But now, everyone, the time has finally come," she announced at the conclusion of her short speech. "It's time for us to all ascend to the summit of Mauna o ka ho'omaka where Lisa and Aiden will undergo the traditional Ke Hele Nei ritual to become full adult members of our island community. Everyone, follow me!"

So we did, and for the next few hours we trekked through the verdant forest and ascended towards the island's most dominant feature - the extinct volcano of Mauna o ka ho'omaka - the Mountain of Initiation.

It was quite a tiring climb but pretty much everyone seemed to take it in their stride - I guess the islanders were pretty fit people (the evidence was there for all to see - pretty much all the men were muscular and athletic and all the women had figures that Olympic gymnasts wouldn't be ashamed of). The higher we climbed, the cooler the air became, and for the first time since arriving on Blackwell just over two months earlier, I felt the distinct sensation of goosebumps on my bare skin. It wasn't especially chilly, but it was certainly a few degrees cooler than down below on the lower and more populated parts of the island.

Waiting for us at the rocky summit of the volcano, on a spot that overlooked the crater that had long since filled with water to form a beautiful crater lake, was an elderly woman whom Marea introduced to me as Mrs. Opunui who was the island's Kahunapule - a type of priestess or shaman - who sat cross-legged on a rock beside two stacks of wood that resembled funeral pyres.

Either side of her stood two flaming torches. There was also a sort of table with one end that curved downwards - its shape reminded me of a gymnastics vaulting table like one would see on TV coverage of Olympic gymnastics. Sitting atop the oddly designed table was a leather Kīeke. Last of all I noticed a mattress, for want of a better word, made up of layers of mats of woven Pandanus leaves. We had no idea what these things were for, but Patrick and I about to find out.

The Kahunapule greeted young Lisa and Aiden, both of whom looked nervous and excited in equal measure, by chanting in the local Pā'ele dialect, before doing the same with their proud parents. After a short while however, she continued to address the rest of us in English.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here in this sacred location to witness the coming of age ceremony, the Ke Hele Nei, of Lisa and Aiden," Mrs. Opuni spoke. "For generations our young people have been taken to this place to complete their transition from childhood to adulthood. Today, here on the summit of this sacred mountain, they shall be initiated into adult society and shall receive the marking of their family. Now, who here presents Lisa?"

"I do, Madame Kahunapule," Jackson responded.

He took Lisa by the hand and stepped before the elderly priestess.

"In the sight of the Goddess Haumea, I, Jackson Charles Mahi'ai present my beloved daughter, Lisa Mae Mahi'ai," he intoned formally.

"Is she ready to make her transition from girl to woman?" the priestess asked him solemnly.

"She is, Madame Kahunapule," Jackson responded with equal gravitas.

"Then you may proceed," the priestess answered.

Jackson turned to face his daughter and smiled a paternal smile of reassurance. He gave her a brief kiss on her forehead and whispered in her ear.

"I'm so very proud of you, my darling girl."

He then took half a step back and proceeded to undress her. He removed her plain white blouse and laid it atop of one of the stacks of wood. Next he unfastened and took down her Lawe - a traditional skirt similar to a sarong, to leave her in only her underwear. This too he added to the stack of wood. He unclipped and removed her bra - never again would her breasts be supported and enclosed within the lacy white garment - before adding it to the growing pyre of wood and clothes.

Lisa's breasts were beautiful - soft mounds of flesh crowned with prominent nipples, and though my own breasts are not something I'm ashamed of, seeing hers for the first time made me feel a little jealous! Oh, to have the body of an eighteen year old again!

Finally, Jackson went down on one knee and placed his hands on the waistband of her panties. There was a momentary pause before he took them down in one swift motion to leave her completely naked. From now on, her life on the island would be spent entirely in the nude along with the rest of the adult population. As soon as Jackson held aloft Lisa's knickers and then tossed them onto the pyre, the assembled crowd cheered and applauded.

"Lisa, you have submitted the last of your clothes, the last physical link to childhood," the priestess went on. "You must now take a torch and ignite them in order for the spirit of your girlhood to ascend into the heavens above us."

"Yes, Madame Kahunapule," Lisa responded.

She stepped towards one of the two flaming torches and picked it up. She then came and stood before the pyre and recited some words in the native language.

"I kaʻikeʻana o ke akua wahine hanohanoʻo Haumea, haʻalele au i ke kaikamahine i lilo i wahine," she intoned, her words having an almost lyrical quality to them.

Marea later translated the words for me - "In the sight of noble goddess Haumea, I leave behind my girlhood to become a woman."

Lisa brought the flame down onto the pile of wood and clothes and ignited it. Some kind of accelerant had obviously been applied to the wood as it quickly caught alight, and in no time at all the entire stack was ablaze, illuminating the immediate area and Lisa's naked body with a bright orange glow.