In truth, I was desperately in need of a vacation. Most flights to tropical resorts and other popular destinations had been booked for months in advance. The best I could expect was to sit firm on the waiting lists of five airlines and pray for a cancellation, but I didn't have the patience to hope for that which was remotely probable. I was determined though that I would never spend another holiday at home rubbing elbows in crowded trains and caught in congested traffic which turned freeways into parking lots. I simply needed to get away.

I walked the following day into a local travel bureau and browsed randomly through a few piles of tourist brochures and pamphlets. Nothing was of much interest. most of the places listed in the travel literature were either too expensive for my budget or too much of a tourist trap to be worth the effort to inquire further.

"Is there any place you would especially like to visit?" an agent inquired trying to be helpful.

"No, not really," I responded indifferently. "I just want to get away, but none of these places really interest me."

"Well, how about Ujibawa?" he exclaimed mischievously. Saying this he pulled out a faded brochure from a cardboard box labeled "islands" and with a broad grin mentioned that this was one of the latest "finds" for the adventurous traveler.

"There are weekly flights to Chungo, the capital." He continued. "Most people prefer, however, to fly Air Ujibawa. It's the cheapest way to go. They take you down there in the nostalgic comfort of a DC 3."

"Humm," I thought to myself. "I've never heard of this place." Then I questioned, "Is it safe?"

"It's one of the safest places in the world." He reassured me.

I picked up the brochure and looked at the photo on the cover. It pictured a girl whose smile revealed a note of mischief. She was holding a large fish in one hand, (it looked like a sea bass of some kind) and she was waving the other as if to say, "Please

come to Ujibawa. We want to see you!"

It didn't take me long to decide and before I knew it, I had put down a deposit and was to fly out on the weekend.

Ujibawa was a paradise, just as the brochures had advertised. As the plane circled the island to prepare itself for the final approach to the airport, a voice over the intercom spoke in accented English. "O.K. everybody, this is your captain speaking. Let's buckle up for the landing." The brochure had mentioned that the Ujibawans were an informal people and not given in to much protocol. The flight attendant came don the aisle to see if everyone had buckled his seat belt and she smiled broadly. Her face bore an uncanny resemblance to the girl I had seen on the brochure cover, but then, to me all Ujibawans looked alike.

"Come on now, everybody, you heard the captain. Let's buckle up," she begged as she quickly passed my seat.

The original Ujibawana, according to the brochure, were from the Chungo tribe from which the capital gets its name. The islands themselves, some of which are uninhabited, were discovered several hundred years ago by a group of shipwrecked, seafarers from the Orient who were heading towards America (more than likely to open a restaurant). After months at sea in shark-infested waters, they were cast ashore on this distant archipelago and exclaimed. "Ujibawa!" In their native language this meant, "Where are we?" chief Chungawa, the first ruler of the islands, heard these words and decided to call the nation such.

The capital city, Chungo, lies in the southwestern corner of Jungo, the largest island. It is a small city which looks more like a provincial town than the capital of a nation. No building is higher than three stories. Even the newly built Lilac Regency

stands only two stories high. Part of this is due to the Ujibawans inordinate fear of high places and elevators. This two-story effect gives the city the charming atmosphere of a wild west town. The streets of Chungo are unpaved and there are no sidewalks. The main street which branches south from the train station is flanked with shops on both sides. These shops sell mostly confectionery and baked goods. There are also some stores which sell flowers and plants of which there are a great variety.

Upon my arrival I checked into a small hotel and within an hour I was discovering the charms of the country. I stopped briefly into a coffee shop for a respite from the noonday hear. (It does get quite hot there in the summer.) It was then that I met Mr. Tanga. To this day I must admit I still don't recall his first name. He was an English teacher by profession and was eager to practice his use of the language in the name of hospitality. He also volunteered to guide me through the city even though I would have managed quite well by myself.

"Is this the first your time to Ujibawa?" he inquired.

"Yes, it is." I responded politely.

"How about my country?"

"Well, honestly I just arrived a few hours ago. I really don't have much of an impression just now, but it appears to be a nice place to visit." My comments were sincere but I really couldn't say more at that moment.

"I see. I see." Was all he could answer.

A few of his students entered the coffee shop and joined us at the table. Chungo is one of those places where everyone meets everybody in the course of a single day and chances are that half the people you meet are related to each other in some way.

I was deeply impressed with their grasp of English. Not only did they possess a working vocabulary, but also the intonation peculiar to native speakers. I asked Mr. Tanga to explain the reason for this.

"Oh." He said rather nonchalantly, "No ploblem, no ploblem. It's o.k., It's o.k., It's o.k. " He apologized for his own poor English which was really not bad at all. "Me English no speak very good. Me velly poor at English. Me English conversation no goods." He insisted. "Me study only glamour-translation, glamour-translation." Come to think of it, his English was not very good at all.

To my good fortune he did arrange a visit to his school for the following day. He was eager to show me his classes and how the Ujibawans school system worked. The principal met me at the school entrance and, as is the custom in Ujibawa, I had to

sign my name in the guest book and register my passport number as well, including my nationality and the reason for my visit. Ujibawans love paper work. I did find this procedure very strange in light of the fact that Ujibawa was said to be such an informal society.

The principal, Mr. Gumba, was a cheerful man unlike the dour administrators I could vouch for back home, but he could speak hardly a word of English. All communication between us was a matter of gestures and through the medium of an interpreter. He thought I had come on an extended visa and that I was looking for a job teaching English in Ujibawa. I assured him that that was not the case and I was only a tourist on holiday. He breathe a sigh of relief.

Through our interpreter he asked if I "cooked myself" and "how about Ujibawa?"

I had been asked precisely those same questions by Mr. Tanga the day before so I was prepared to give a similar response.

I was brought into his office which was richly decorated with live plants, carpeted floor and oil paintings hanging on the walls. The floor was carpeted with an heirloom from the Middle-east and the impression was that I was in the lobby of a five-star hotel. The secretary came in and asked me if I'd like something to drink.

"Coffee would be fine?" I suggested politely.

"Well, we have everything," the principal interjected.

"Would you like something stronger?" the secretary urged. "We have scotch, bourbon, beer and wine."

" No, thank you. I think coffee would be just fine."

I was a bit surprised to be offered alcohol so early in the morning and in such a working situation. It was beyond my imagining that a principal would even stock such a supply in his office, but then I was told that Ujibawans were an informal people and I presumed this was also an extension of their hospitality.

After preliminary introductions and comments about the weather and a bit of local history, I was ushered into Mr. Tanga's English class. The class was in total chaos. Several students were writing graffiti on the blackboard. Others were chasing each other around the desks. Some students were even smoking near the window.

Mr. Tanga was not in the least bit upset. Amid the clamor and noise he took the roll call, but no one seemed to pay him much attention. Two boys near the window were shouting down at someone in the courtyard in Ujibawan and the students below shouted right back.

Finally, after several minutes the class came to order. Altogether there were about twenty students. They were about sixteen years old and were not wearing uniforms. They are a strikingly good-looking people with a certain Polynesian structure to their faces.

"O.K. class. Let's begin our lesson," Mr. Tanga said in a soft voice. "Today we have a vely special visitor. He is a native speaker of English from.." he whispered to me in total embarrassment, "Where are you from?" he asked.

"California." I whispered back quickly attempting to save his honor.

"He's from that beauty country of California in the state of San Francisco."

The class giggled, not because he came from California but because he came from anywhere at all. Ujibawans have a rather singular view of the world. Anyone who is not of their race is treated with curiosity beyond the limits of common sense.

"Today he will join in our lesson."

Another giggle rippled through the classroom as students demonstrated a curious interest in this foreigner standing in front of them. I learned later that Mr. Tanga had brought in another visitor just a week earlier and that it was his habit to collect foreigners as a hobby of sorts. He would hunt them down on the streets of Chungo and make an excuse to engage them in conversation. Within minutes he would get them to agree to visit his school.

"Do you have any questions for our visitor?" Mr. Tanga asked after I had given a brief self-introduction. His question was directed to the class.

"Why do foreigners have such big noses?" one student from the back shouted.

Mr. Tanga was embarrassed. "Please, class, don't ask personal questions." He was truly mortified and very angry. Turning to me he offered an apology.

"I'm sorry," he said almost on the verge of tears, "They shouldn't have asked such a personal question."

It had never occurred to me that the size of my nose was such a personal matter especially since it was so prominently displayed.

The rest of the class was more congenial and most enjoyable, far beyond my expectations. They asked me a variety of questions on a myriad of subjects. They were interested in holidays and customs, food and sports. What impressed me most was that they were not in the least bit shy. They verbalized themselves quite accurately in English even though they had been studying it for just a little over a year.

"How do you get them to respond so well?" I inquired when we returned to the staff room. He appeared quite pleased and proud.

"Oh! No ploblem. No ploblem. We play language games all day. Sing songs and watch television."

It was then that I made a remarkable discovery. There are no universities in Ujibawa. Students complete their formal education in high school and then o out to join the work force where they are given special training in accordance with their job. As a result, there is no pressure placed upon a student to cram for college entrance exams. They learn at an early age how to enjoy what they learn.

Later in the teacher's staff room, after I had completed two classes with Mr. Tanga, a cute and alert Ujibawan woman whom I presumed was either a young teacher or an office lady, approached me and asked if I would like a cup of coffee or tea. I nodded that I would like a cup very much. Being used to Asian hospitality I had expected her to bring the cup without delay, but to my dismay she quickly added. "Please help yourself. Everything is right over there."

She pointed to the corner of the room. There, posted on the wall, was a sign which read: "MAKE YOUR OWN COFFEE!!NO SLAVES HERE!!" It was written in Ujibawan so I couldn't decipher its meaning completely but I did recognize the character for 'coffee' which I had memorized upon my arrival in Chango, and surmised the meaning of the sign from the context of the situation. Besides, Mr. Tanga, always ready to be of help, translated it for me and explained to me a little bit about the structure of the language.

I should say a few words about written Ujibawan. It is a combination of hieroglyphics plus a phonetic written system. Like Japanese these two systems blend together and are merged to form the written script. For example, the character for coffee is . A full cup of coffee is written . A half cup of coffee is written .

No coffee is written .

Adjectives are rather easy. "Happy" is w written . "Sad" is written .

"Stupid is written .

The Ujibawans are very proud of their language and alphabet and are always eager to teach it to you even though you may be busy with other matters, or have absolutely no interest in it at all. They are convinced, however, that their is the most difficult language in the world and only a native-born Ujibawan can ever speak it properly.

On my fourth day I was eager to travel around the country a bit and so I asked Mr. Tanga, my English teacher friends, if I could visit the local countryside and the environs of Chungo.

"No ploblem. No Ploblem," was his quick and programmed reply. Mr. Tanga was a rather outgoing person, always optimistic and with an alert and ready smile. He was sincere to fault and an honestly good-natured person who had a fondness for asking questions which were either obvious or deeply personal. On a day when the sun was shining and a cool tropical breeze made the summer seem like a spring day he would ask, "Don't you think it is a nice day today?" I think he just enjoyed practicing English for the sake of hearing the sounds of the language roll off his tongue. He was not really interested in pursuing abstract ideas or argumentative discussions. He avoided all confrontations and often would become bored if the conversation became too abstract changing the topic by asking an obvious question, such as, "Don't you think it's a nice day today?"

"I'd like to visit something in the countryside," I said impatiently. "Is there anything worth seeing or beautiful or very old outside the capital?"

He thought for a moment. His face looked perplexed. Then his eyes lit up.

"Oh, yes," he said. "I take you to Juginga, a very famous chajudu."

"What is a chajudu?" I inquired a bit puzzled. Since there are no adequate Ujibawan-English dictionaries, it was virtually impossible to look up such a word. All that could be found in local bookstores were the numerous phrase books with everyday expressions. For example, "Agi goma" means "How are you?" but most people just say "goma" in informal greetings. But, I was cautioned never to say "guma" which means chewing gum.

"What is a chajudu?" I asked again. Mr. Tanga always had a puzzled look on his face as if he were being interrogated by a member of the Inquisition.

"Chajudu is like, hum, how can I say? Like a holy place for like this…" He raised his arms and placed the fingers of both hands over his eyes. I recognized this immediately as a praying gesture.

"Oh, you mean like a shrine or temple."

"Yes, yes, yes, yes. Chajudu is like temple," he cried out in excitement. "And Juginga is the mostest famous."

Whenever Mr. Tanga became excited he always confused the rules of grammar. We quickly hopped into his car and traveled into the countryside.

Since Chungo is a rather small city, it was not long before we were on a country road. The road was not paved. To be quite honest, I don't think any of the roads in Ujibawa were paved. It added a rustic charm to the nation but was a far cry from what I had come to expect. Soon we crossed over a small wooden bridge and the mountains, our final destination, could be seen in the distance. In the afternoon heat they were covered with a smoky haze, but as we approached it, they became more defined and glistened in the light of day.

At the foot of the mountain there were signs leading to the chajudu. We left the car in a clearing and decided to walk the distance because the road was too narrow.

The ascent was not difficult but we stopped several times to catch our breath. Halfway up the mountain we had to cross a bridge which forded a small stream. At the sight of the temple itself, I was startled to see a structure composed of stone and wood in an architectural style which I had never quite seen before. The base of the temple was a huge stone squared platform each side of which was about ten meters in length. In the center was a marble fountain which contained sacred water. Later I discovered that only the high priests of the religion were allowed to touch this water.

The waters also were said to have possessed magical, healing powers capable of eliciting miraculous cures. Just a week before our arrival a young crippled girl was submerged into the waters and restored to full health.

Above the water was a censor burning incense and holding a flame which was a sign of the Divine Presence. Both water and fire are held to be sacred in their religion.

Mr. Tanga approached the base of the temple, removed his shoes and walked up to the marble fountain. He knelt reverently down on his knees and leaned backward fixing his gaze on the suspended censor.

Suddenly a low moaning sound came from his partially closed lips. The sound terminated in some quickly spoken words which were hardly audible and unknown to me.

The Ujibawan religion is unique to the islands but contains elements similar to the other great religions of the world. There is s nebulous feeling of good will towards everyone and living in harmony with oneself and nature is paramount to eternal happiness, but there is an apparent lack of dogma or sense of sin. Water and fire are symbols of purification and they worship a Supreme Being called Boshlah

whose existence is explained by a series of contradictions. He's neither human nor divine, neither real nor unreal, neither here nor there. It is these nebulous, elusive characteristics which add the elements of mystery and uncertainty necessary for all religions. But, there was a feeling of peace and harmony about the temple which made the experience memorable.

Later that evening when Mr. Tanga realized that I would soon be leaving Ujibawa, he waster no time in arranging a farewell party for me. It was to be scheduled for the next evening the night before my departure and it was to be a surprise party. I was informed in advance so that I would be sure to leave the evening unscheduled and have the chance to prepare a farewell speech. I was carefully instructed to look very surprised and that a tear or two would be considered good manners regardless of my interior disposition or their sincerity. Ujibawans are very happy when people leave their country in tears.

I arrived the next evening at his home and there was a gathering of about ten people. I recognized some of them from the school I had visited thought I had not spoken to most of them. I even recognized the young woman who suggested I make my own coffee. Ironically, she was busy making coffee. The others were total strangers to me. They were all dressed as if it were a formal occasion and made me feel like a guest of honor, not really worthy of such attention since, in fact, I was only a tourist and Ujibawans are presumed to be notoriously informal. This made me realize that that, contrary to the published brochures, the Ujibawans are really a very formal people, but then I guess one can never actually figure out the Ujibawans! Later I found out that all the guests at the party were school teachers.

The party began with a toast. Everyone held up a glass and Mr. Tanga began to speak in Ujibawan. Afterwards he turned to me and said, "Most honorable guest, thank you for our country to visiting. Come you please back soon." Whenever he became excited, Mr. Tanga always had trouble with his grammar sometimes making such basic mistakes that it became difficult to decipher the true meaning of his intent. It was obvious that this was such an occasion which made him very nervous.

There was a brief pause. Then everyone lifted up his glass and shouted, "Cheer up! Cheer up! Cheer up!" Later I was told that they had practiced saying this all afternoon being informed that it was appropriate for the occasion and should accompany the toast. I was never certain of the source of their information. Perhaps it was a confusion of "Bottoms up!" and "Cheers!"

There was certainly enough food to last for several parties with enough doggie bags for everyone to take home. Some of the local dishes were not recognizable as anything I had ever eaten before, but they looked attractive and gave off a pleasant aroma with not indication of their ingredients. The chef must have been a master of disguise and adept at camouflage for I couldn't imagine what went into some of the recipes.

"Can you eat Chappu?" one guest questioned me with a mischievous grin.

"Chappu?"

I had never heard of it but I was willing to try. After all, part of the pleasure of visiting a foreign country is to savor their local foods and it would be a shame to have traveled so far without tasting Chappu. It looked like some kind of meat dish but I wasn't sure. It might have been fish. It was served with chopped vegetables and covered with a brown wine sauce. I wasn't sure if it was chicken, beef or fish but the original taste was hidden by a heavy use of spices so easily found in the tropics. Trying not to offend my host I was determined to sample and appreciate as many dishes as possible.

"Umm, what's that?" I asked pointing to a plate situated near the center of the table and which seemed almost untouched.

"Oh, that's mootchu!" a young woman explained hiding a sly smile. "Please try it!" Everyone let out a suppressed giggle.

As I put the first bite towards my mouth, a crowd gathered around me and a ripple of muffled laughter and childlike glee could be heard. The taste was absolutely awful and my negative reaction only heightened their amusement. I had become the center of attention in a way that I had never known before.

"It's very delicious," said the gentleman beside me trying to contain his delight as he scooped up a mouthful and shoved it into his mouth. "It's one of my favorite foods."

Mr. Tanga at this point was embarrassed at my discomfort and annoyed at the other guests for making me seem foolish. He apologized confessing that it was part of a large insect which lived on the island, and constituted a significant part of their diet. As if in compensation for my discomfort h mentioned that it was also high in protein and good for the health being especially low in calories and effective for treatment of hypertension.

The party could not have ended sooner. I was asked to sing my national anthem which I refused to do. I was also asked all sorts of questions about how I liked Ujibawa and the people. There seemed to be a feeling among themselves that their was a strange and unique society and they were fascinated especially by how they were perceived in the eyes of foreigners.

The next day was bright and sunny. My new friends took me to the airport and showered me with gifts. I became nervous anticipating another party, but this was not to be the case. For all of us, this was to be good-bye.

After the plane took off, it banked to the right and circled slowly around Chungo. I glanced out the window and was able to see the city below for the last time. It looked cleaner and smaller than it actually was. It was a clear day and, as the aircraft gained altitude, I noticed the mountain where the temple was located and the temple itself appeared as a speck merging into the mountainside. Clouds began to envelop the plane. As I leaned back in my seat the aircraft climbed quickly and effortlessly into the sky.

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