Fiji

'It takes a village' is a term we have heard a lot since having our first baby Sylvie in December. You need to be comfortable asking for help - help with cleaning, someone to entertain the baby so mum can rest, someone to bring you food... For us, generally our immediate family have helped out when and where they can.

But it isn't exactly 'a village'. It's mainly me and my husband caring for Sylvie. That is the way it is and the way we want it, and the cultural norm, so it's hard to envision anything other. We are the ones bringing her up. The most annoying thing is our obligations to work - his return to work after 2 months off was incredibly hard for me, despite him working from home. I'll be back to work two days a week in October. We are looking into childcare, which barely feels like 'a village' when it costs $1000 a week and the ratio is 1 educator to 4 babies...

Now we are blessed to have a very happy, easy baby. Sylvie is an absolute delight. She is smiley, happy to go to anyone, rarely cries.

But honestly, Fijians would love on any baby.

At first we found it quite confronting, this absolute jarring difference in cultures. Waiters, hotel staff, people in the street pinch her cheeks and legs, kiss her face and hands, pick her up and coo to her, walk away out of view into the restaurant kitchen or onto the street to show her off and hand her over to other people. All without asking. All without any hesitation. All so naturally. All with such genuine love and care for the baby.

We joked amongst ourselves - what if she was taken, and suddenly when we went to find her she was gone. And we had just handed her over - she wasn't lifted from her bed. Wasn't grabbed while we were away. 'Where were you when Sylvie was taken?' 'well constable, I was right there...I handed her over to the stranger and let them walk away with her'.

We also get paranoid about her getting sick. One woman gave her a kiss on the lips, and most kiss her on her chubby cheeks. One young girl picked her up and her even younger brother came over, nose streaming, to play. A few times we have said 'you can hold her but please, only kisses on the top of her head', which is sometimes met with a slightly indignant look. But when she is handed from person to person, it's hard to police our germ-avoiding policy.

Our thoughts are always about the risk and not about the benefits. Benefits to our holiday. To culture. To my daughter.

Yes, she might get sick. There is a miniscule chance she could be taken - if we really let her out of our sight. But her face lights up at the attention. She laughs and smiles and dances. I want her to be social and confident and to not have an over-protective mother. I also have learnt a lot by watching them interact with Sylvie. When she starts grabbing an earring, instead of breaking the mood, they distract her with something else. They describe what they are seeing to her 'look at the fish!', 'can you see the birds?' 'look at this pen! You can help me write'.

If we let ourselves lean into it more, it would also give us a chance to eat a meal without rushing. Shop with both hands free. To have some time to ourselves. Though we aren't quite at that point in our comfort, handing our daughter over to strangers, it could help us enjoy our holiday and make it all a little easier.

This is what they mean when they say 'it takes a village'.
It's just a pity our culture has lost its trust.

* 'bula' is a Fijian welcome, and literally translated as 'life'.Read more