We'd taken aboard a passenger, for the short 25 mile passage between Gaua and Vanua Lava. Ben had been visiting his daughter, who'd taken a position as the keeper of the dispensary (makeshift hospital) at the village of Dolab and after a 6-week stay, he'd decided it was time to go home. Ben was shy and reserved, but had made a point of bringing us fruit in his canoe as soon as we'd arrived there. It was only sheepishly that he'd asked for the lift. Lolo and I discussed it and decided it would be ok for him to join us for the 25 mile passage. But things are rarely that simple. After spending several days at Gaua and telling Ben it would be ok for him to join us, his uncle had already invited himself to come long. I was not too keen on this as we'd merely been told that he was coming instead of asked. But as it turned out, we learned that his wife was just about to have a baby, their second, and last time shed been ready to give birth, the husband had conveniently decided to skip out to another island. After the local pastor told us that if the husband did it again, he would kill him, we were intent not to facilitate his escape. Ben was happy to sit in the cockpit with Lolo and I and took the occasional salt spray like a champ. Turns out he'd worked the copra boats for some years and was "a seaman." Anchoring at Vureas Bay, I rowed him ashore and dropped him off on the beach with his bag and bush knife. We then continued up the coast to Waterfall Bay. Passing the twin waterfalls that mark the southern tip of the bay, we were surprised to find four other boats anchored there. As expected, we were immediately met by a canoe rowed by a laughing young woman toting four small wild looking children. Lehina asked if we wanted any produce, which we later traded for soap, sugar, a t-shirt, blanket and some school supplies. We liked Lehina, but were soon feeling a bit overwhelmed by the other canoes that kept coming. Some of the people were polite and some were not, but all wanted something from us. They asked for fishing supplies, bras, batteries, clothes, playing cards, etc. Though we were warned that the people in the Banks really don't have anything, we made a point not to just give away stuff, but to trade. Still, after a few days it was getting old. Then a dour chap named Nixon invited us to his place for lunch. He lived just north around the corner in his new house, but told us that he used to live here in Waterfall Bay. It seems he and his brother had had a falling out with the nearest village chief. To settle the matter, Nixon's house was simply burned to the ground. Nixon and his family relocated to the north of the island for a few years before returning and rebuilding his new home on his rightfully owned land, but this time farther from the other village. It was all brand new; the main house, the gardens, the guest house, etc, and sat next to a splendid natural waterfall in a most picturesque beautiful setting. After showing us around, we were officially welcomed to his home with handmade flower necklaces, a speech and a welcome song that was most touching and heartfelt. We sat on grass floor mats in the guest house and ate our lunch consisting of tiny whole reef fish, sweet potato with coconut cream and Lolo's still warm banana bread. It was lovely to be treated as such honorary guests but it put a shame to the way we tend to treat newcomers in our own country. A fellow yachtie told us to ask Nixon for a tour of some historic stone etchings. He had not offered this tour because the pathway was in desperate need of some trail maintenance, and his bush knife had been broken for some time. In fact, he was unable to cut and process his own copra plantation without the bush knife. We'd picked up a couple of spare bush knives in Louganville for just such an occasion and were only too happy to offer one up to Nixon. A ni-Van is not a ni-Van without the necessary and ever present bush knife. Next day, Nixon took us to a very small rocky beach that reminded me of home. After pulling the dinghy ashore, we walked to a large cliff overhang. There, plain as day were a myriad of faces etched deep into the stone. The faces had many different expressions and there were some other symbols I did not understand. These etchings were a tribute and remembrance to the people who'd been killed here on this beach dating back many hundreds of years. Nixon explained that "back when the people were heathens, there was fear that other islanders that might come to stake claims on the land. Instead of waiting, the powerful sorcerers would often change the wind, which would blow many canoes off course from their route between Ureparapara and Mota Lava." Apparently this was so successful that the locals would wait for them in ambush, then slaughter every last one. Nixon estimated there was probably over two hundred people buried in the pit below the carvings. Later, he took us to another cave and showed us a pile of excavated human skulls dating back only 60-years or so. This, he told us was a secret cave because the skulls in the main cave were being exhumed - to be relocated to other places. In fact some of Nixon's stash had been stolen by other villagers. These were moved to places where local chiefs could exact a fee from visiting yachts to see human skulls. This all felt a little strange as both lolo and I agreed it would certainly be bad mojo to relocate human remains in the name tourism. But these villagers have no means to make money, save a very little from copra export. Still, it was interesting seeing Nixon pose with his hand atop a small pile of human skulls... Not your average vacation photograph and one that resonated the brutal truth of the not so distant history of Vanuatu.