Fiji’s military forces had overthrown Prime Minister Laisenia Qarase, who was elected just six months before. Qarase was under house arrest; army vehicles were moving around the streets, disarming the police and taking over their command stations; and there was a general feeling of foreboding and resignation.

The reasons for the latest regime change are complicated and many, but as the days went on, we were to see the contours of a new interim government emerge and the often-violent quashing of any type of civilian resistance by the military.

Given these troubling circumstances, I was looking forward to my two-week trip to Vabea Island to celebrate with the indigenous Fijian Catholics there the birth of Jesus Christ and Vakatawase — “Turning of the Year.” The people of Vabea Island, like many other Fijian islands, have no resident Catholic priest and each year hope for one to come from Suva, the capital city.

Youths sprint along the beach on Vabea Island as part of the traditional New Year’s Eve water fight.

When I scrambled ashore, a catechist came to meet me wearing his farming clothes. The people hadn’t expected me that day. I also soon realized from the catechist’s demeanor that he had been mourning. He had buried his only son two days earlier — a young man just home from service in the British Army who had been killed in a car accident.

The grief and shock was felt by the whole village, who had communally buried him. It put a different atmosphere into our Christmas celebrations, which would normally be raucous and joyful especially in far-flung villages like this one.

By the time New Year came around, the people of Vebea Island wanted to bury the sorrows of the past year (there had been two other recent deaths). One of the New Year customs in Fijian villages is veisui, in which you must dowse as many people as possible with the aid of buckets, hose pipes, the river, ocean or whatever is at hand.

As soon as the sun went down on December 31, a group of young people dutifully dumped me into the ocean. I was then expected to go running after whomever I could find on the beach to return the compliment. The merriment went on all night.

In the true indigenous custom, each time you dunk someone you are supposed to provide a vakamamaca — literally, “something to dry themselves off with” — towels or new clothes.

One of my many habits the villagers found strange was my listening to my radio at 5 p.m. each day to hear the latest coup happenings in Suva. For them, Suva was a million miles away, and they might ask, only out of politeness, later what was going on.

Cloths and coconut fronts were made for the cere, a tradition that welcomed back a village bride and her new husband to Vabea Island in Fiji.

After their first fishing and snorkeling trip to the reef, the whole village was waiting on the shore to greet and “run after them.”

Once again, we had a spectacle of a riotous chase up and down the beach. The villagers also covered the couple with bright cloth and offered them a yaqona plant and a whale’s tooth while the bride’s family prepared a meal for the whole village, beginning with the fish caught from the reef.

I thought this was such a wonderful way to welcome back a bride and her new husband.

I was happy to see even our sorrowing catechist being playfully chased and felt the great resilience and love of these communal people and their traditions.

As two young men who dragged me with their strong arms for my umpteenth “baptism” in the ocean said to me one day, “Coup? What coup? This is what is important here, Father. Thank you for accepting us.”

It was their New Year’s gift to me.

Fr. Patrick Colgan of Ireland was ordained in 1994 after his first mission assignment as a seminarian to Fiji. He continues to work among Fiji’s Indian community.