What is the language of love?

I met an FBI last night. Fijian born Indian, that is.

He was my driver from the airport in Nadi as we sped, at breakneck speeds, through the dark countryside towards the conference I’m helping a friend with this week.

We could have made the trip in silence. I hadn’t slept well the night before, had even managed a little nanna nap on the flight and was still feeling tired. But instead, we struck up a conversation.

First, I learned my driver was fourth generation FBI, a term I hadn’t heard before. He taught me about when Indians first came to Fiji with the British to work in the sugar cane fields.

Then I asked the question that always makes me feel slightly incompetent overseas: “How many languages do you speak?” Six was the answer (of course it was.)

Far out, why is that always such a cool thing and how do I always seem to know when to ask it so I can get an answer like that?

Then we got talking about daughters. I have two, he has four, all under ten years old. I asked if having boys was preferred here, as it is in many parts of the world, and whether he liked having girls.

He did not, he told me.

He did not like having girls.

He LOVED it. And he spoke with the passion of a proud girl dad.

When we spoke about the population of Fiji, which is about double that of my home island, Tasmania, he laughed and said, “You need to have more babies!” He then told me his fourth was a product of too much kava, before enthusiastically recommending I try some.

He told me all the best foods to eat, how Indian culture has impacted food here, and that he started working from age 12 after his father passed, which was his obligation as the eldest son.

We were chatting so much it seemed perfectly fine to ask him if he was in an arranged marriage. He told me he was not, but that his wife, who is Muslim, was due to be in an arranged marriage until he, wait for it, kidnapped her (his words and at her request) on her wedding day so that she could be with him. He is a Christian man. They’ve been together ever since.

He said to me, “Love has no language, no religion.”

I’m in Fiji for a conference, but I reckon the drive in last night was equally educational and a great reminder to have the chat.

Side note: on my way back home in the taxi in Tasmania my driver spent most of the 15 minute trip telling me he thought Tassie Tigers were still in the wild and giving me every take away food option that can be found in Kings Meadows. So - it’s a bit hit and miss some times!!

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