My Land is an island. The locals call it ‘Land’ because it is all the land most of them know. It is some hundred miles off the coast of a rather disreputable South American country where the rule of law was haphazard to say the least. It is about 20 miles long and 16 miles wide.

The islanders paid lip-service to their Government, but by tacit understanding, the islanders were largely ignored, as they themselves ignored the irrelevant government edicts that were pinned up outside the Post Office from time to time.

Such services as there were, were provided by a religious charity who supposed that by providing a doctor who also served as a dentist entitled them to the souls of the roughly 4000 islanders. The islanders lived on a diet of what they produced themselves from fertile volcanic soil and caught in the warm blue shallow seas that surrounded the island. They had very little need of anything else, particularly some foreign religion.

Few had any meaningful income, and their nation’s money was rarely seen, and was largely worthless even on the mainland.

White coral sand mixed with black volcanic sand surrounded the island but there was no harbour to speak of, so cruise ships regarded it as a shipping hazard rather than a destination.

Smaller ships brought supplies to the island every two or three months and a few people travelled to the island or away from it on each voyage. Any traveller would need plenty of time to wait for the next boat to escape back to what was thought of as civilization. There were a couple of shops, a bar, a post office that would change money and a guest house for the occasional visitor.

It would have seemed like a Shangri-La to many people, but three months of idleness with several days of travelling on a rather smelly old steamer each way and only having minimal facilities on board, really began to pall. Only the most determined travellers made the trip.

The residents saw their isolation as being a blessing, and did their best to convert the doctor, dentist or cleric to their way of doing things. More than one had gone native over the years.

One part of the island was unproductive and in a fit of generosity that had not been known before or since, the Government installed a solar farm that gave electricity to each of the 900 thatched wooden homes on the island, and various TV companies offered TVs with satellite dishes that allowed the residents to receive a diet of pabulum from various religious stations. The islands saw this for what it was, but it did make English the dominant language and the pidgin that was spoken previously was rapidly forgotten. The islanders were able to tweak the free TVs to allow them to see all sorts of TV programs that were not what had been planned by the worthy; but naïve, evangelists on the American mainland.

One of the main activities was the making of ornate, highly patterned cloths from dyed coconut fibres These were worn as a sarong by all the residents. but it was a matter of convention as the whole population swam to help catch the fish that were a large part of their diet, and no one wore anything in the sea.

Children attended school in their sarongs as the teachers preferred it that way. The school had classes that covered the years five to sixteen and sometimes beyond. All the teachers had been to college on the mainland, but had returned to teach and to raise their families.

“Sounds like a heaven on Earth, doesn’t it?”

It was. If you liked the leisurely atmosphere of just a little work to help provide for the family, then the rest of the time was spent relaxing within the community, then it was an idyllic lifestyle.

James journeyed to this idyll. He was a computer programmer who could work anywhere in the World that had Internet access. He had been attracted to the island for a number of reasons, but the free and easy lives of the Islanders away from the rat-race was the most compelling reason.

Getting residency from the distant government took a significant number of bribes; but eventually James and his computers and all the equipment for a satellite link were transported on the rather grubby steamer for the four days it took to get round the archipelago to the island.

James had been assured that there would be a house waiting for him with an electricity supply on the island and he set off full of hope.

Even though the steamer was grubby and slow, the weather was nearly calm and the sun was unrelenting. James looked at his supply of sun cream and wondered about how he would get some more.

Eventually the island hove into view as a green oasis in an azure sea. If there was anywhere else more beautiful then he didn’t know of it.

The rather rickety jetty coped with James’ three packing cases, and the donkey cart took them one at a time to the beachside bungalow that was to be his home.

One packing case contained a flat pack table, two dining chairs and some clothes. The second contained two computers and their accessories, plus the large satellite dish that would allow him to earn a salary.

The third contained a folding bed, a rolled up mattress and a variety of bits of domestic equipment.

The rest of the things we think we need for survival in our urban environment were missing from the lives of the islanders. No one seemed to miss them according to the one ancient tourist guide he had managed to buy second hand.

There was one satellite phone on the island, housed reverently in the post office. James had rung it on several occasions to make sure that his bungalow would have a small electric cooker, and electric water heater for a couple of pints of hot water when needed, and the ubiquitous TV. Beds were regarded as a luxury as were lounge furniture, curtains and carpets. Each house had a variety of rolled up mattresses that the population slept on. Doors did close and there were shutters that were used when storms happened, but most people lived out of doors, and walking into neighbour’s houses was just normal.

By the time the first load of James’ belongings had been transported to his bungalow there was a trail of beautiful children behind him. All had long black hair tied up in ornamental arrangements, and often there were flowers in their hair. The sarongs were all brightly coloured and stretched from their waists to knee length. The fabric was quite tight and James noticed that none appeared to have any sort of bulge that would show that they were boys.

Several men arrived at the bungalow in time to help manhandle the first crate into James’ main room, then lounged around in the shade of the palm trees until crates two and three arrived.

The children urged him to show what the crates contained, but he held off from that except to put together some of the furniture.

The time was getting on, so the next task was to stock up on food. He didn’t have a fridge, but most of the island lived on local produce, or tinned and dried foods from the mainland, so a lack of one did not really matter.

The water supply consisted of a barrel that filled by rainwater from the roof, but since the rain fell almost every day this was not a problem.

He had to be shown how to dig a latrine amongst the palms, and how to move the wicker walls that surrounded it every month or so, but it was not a major task as the sand was soft.

The children wandered in and out of his house as they appeared to do with their own houses. Privacy seemed to be something that was irrelevant.

As night fell the children left, as there were no street lights to guide them home, and James was able to curl up on his mattress under the mosquito net and sleep peacefully until a couple of young girls pushed his door open and came in to see what he was doing.

He bit his tongue, as he didn’t want to frighten them, but asked what they wanted.

“We just wanted to see what you were doing, and if you had got your machines working.”

“No, I was tired after the busy day yesterday. As you can see, I have only just woken up.’

James slept naked, and the two girls showed no inclination to go, so he asked them politely if they could give him some space to get dressed.

They giggled, and left him. The window showed that they dropped their sarongs on the beach and went for a swim.

When James had donned a sarong, but with underpants, the girls returned tucking their sarongs around their wet and glistening bodies. They seemed to be completely unaware of their previous nakedness.

“Don’t you have swimming costumes, James asked?”

“What is a swimming costume?”

“Haven’t you seen women on TV wearing a brief outfit for swimming.?”

They just laughed.

“Are the fish easily shocked?”

“I don’t suppose so, but isn’t it normal to wear something in the sea?”

“It would ruin our sarongs and they take many hours to make. Why would we do that?”

“I suppose it is just normal that men and women, or boys and girls cover up.”

“Not here it isn’t. Our sarong is the only thing we own. When one wears out, we get another one a bit bigger.”

James was reticent to ask their names. He didn’t know quite why, but eventually, he plucked up the courage to do so.”

The three girls looked at him, bewildered.

“We only get names when we become adults.”

“So how do you tell who is who?”

“Our sarongs have a pattern. The pattern identifies us. My sarong shows the sun and moon, so that is my name. My sister’s pattern shows a swordfish so that is her name.”

“I bought my sarongs from the shop. What do they tell you?”

“They have no pattern, so you are just a foreigner.”

“When does school start?”

“We can hear the school bell from anywhere in this village. When the bell rings we have to go.”

At this point the bell rang as if on cue, and the girls ran off.

James took the opportunity to strip off and wash in the sea without too many prying eyes, then he set about putting his computers together from their packing cases.

It took most of the day before he was online and could link up with his colleagues. Most wanted to know what it was like on the island and he had to admit that he had seen very little of it so far.

It was only late in the day when he was able to do some work, but before he knew it a small bevvy of girls was gathered round his table and chair looking intently at the unintelligible code that streamed past on his two screens.

They soon got bored and drifted away to play in the sea with a ball they had got from somewhere. Their tanned lithe little bodies were clearly a distraction to him but not for any sexual reason. Like all children, they were inquisitive and noisy, but in the end he managed to concentrate well enough.

He did manage to identify some of the images on the sarongs. One showed a dolphin. Another showed a star fish, and a third had a jumping Marlin.

It was his practice to go for a walk before settling down to work. As he walked into the main street of the village, he noticed the dispensary with its doctor’s office. The dispensary also had a dentist’s chair.

The doctor was not very busy it seemed, and called him in.

“If you are going to be living here, we should register you.”

“Yes, fine. That was on my list for today.”

“James chatted to the doctor who was dressed in a white coat over a sarong showing a palm tree on a beach.”

“James’ medical history was very short and he and the doctor, who James found out was called Bart soon got to chatting about the island and the outside world.”

“Do you miss the outside World with its constant stream of news and current events?”

“Not at all. I am kept up to date by medical bulletins that arrive by post on DVD. I order medicines every two or three months. We have a large fridge here and anything that has to be kept cold is kept there, but the population is remarkably healthy.”

“Do you have to do the surgery as well?”

“I can do pretty much anything that is involved with childbirth or appendectomies and setting broken bones, but treatments needing specialist facilities don’t get done. I occasionally have to offer palliative care with cancer cases when the treatment would be more active in a major hospital and the survival time would be longer as a result. That is the one aspect of health care can cannot be altered. No one can afford an air ambulance to take them to hospital and the hospitals on the mainland are very expensive and no one carries medical insurance.”

James plucked up the courage to ask about the strange way of naming children by the design of their clothes.

“Children are named when they become adult. It is just the way that it has done since time immemorial. The child who is approaching maturity chooses a name with the help of their parents, and there is a naming ceremony in front of the entire population. The next one is in a week’s time so you will be able to see how it is done. It is also where betrothals are announced.”

“Isn’t there a potential problem with birth defects with such a small population?”

“There would be, except all the families keep a detailed family history and when betrothals are announced, the families have pored over the joint family trees to minimise interbreeding.”

“Is there much immigration to add to the gene pool?”

“Very little. When you are established here it is likely that you will be approached by parents who are looking for wives for their daughters.”

“That is something I had not considered. All the girls I have seen have a delicate beauty, but a life’s partner is not just about the immediate attraction of one for another.”

“Very true, but I was approached after being here a year. I have now been here for fifteen years and have a wife who I love dearly, and have delivered my three children myself.”

“I suppose it is obvious when one thinks of it. A small population can easily become genetically compromised. Arranged marriages seem much more sensible in those circumstances.”

A small child with a bloodied knee arrived at the dispensary, and Bart needed to attend to her.

James continued his walk and saw the school. The children were all sitting at desks in the open sided rooms. Woven roller blinds were tied up and James could see the different age groups with their teachers.

The three girls who had befriended James, smiled and waved, but a frown from the teacher brought them back to concentrating.

James was surprised to see that all the children seemed to be girls. They had the the same long hair coifed into ornate curls, and red flowers similar to hibiscus were intertwined into the hair of many.

James was interested to see that the mathematics being taught was well beyond what would have been taught in schools on the mainland.

I wonder why they need Calculus at such an early age, or even Calculus at all?

The next class was doing some sort of computer aided design.

“I had thought that there was no internet on the island” … but then he saw a file server in the corner of the classroom that had a stack of educational program DVDs loaded.

“Everything is available on an Intranet it seems.”

The most advanced class of what appeared to be fifteen or sixteen year olds was involved with some sort of discussion group about gender, but the teacher looked over at James rather anxiously and he felt it would be invasive to stay longer, and moved on.

Next, his route took him past the general store and the Post Office. Both the proprietors were chatty and he spent a few minutes with each. They wanted to know why he had come to live with them and what his plans were. It seemed that both were mothers of teenage girls and he was clearly going to be the subject of heated family discussions soon, if he was not already.

He was told that he could order anything from the general store as long as he gave four months notice, and the same applied to deliveries by post. In an emergency, parcels could be dropped by parachute from a plane from the mainland, but the cost was eye-wateringly high, and people with money to burn could hire a seaplane to deliver them, but no one had arrived that way in the last decade.

James bought a bag of powdered milk to make his coffee, but thought afterwards that he might have to get used to black coffee.

The next building along the shorefront was the bar beside a cleared area that he assumed was the village square. The woman behind the bar was cleaning glasses, as bar staff can be seen to do the World over. There was a small selection of chilled bottled beer from the mainland and an equally small shelf with the offerings of spirits in part used bottles.

There was a metal drum which he was told contained the local brew made from fermented local fruits. The barmaid had removed her top to wash the glasses and the surfaces to save it getting wet. James was a little taken aback with being served by a woman with liberated breasts. He was offered a small glass of the local fruit beer to try. He immediately coughed and spluttered. It was very alcoholic and had the effect of paint stripper on his throat. Gracie laughed at his predicament, and even amongst the coughing and wheezing James noticed how delightfully her breasts jiggled. “Be careful” he said to himself.

He resorted to a glass of cold beer from the mainland. It was delicious, but horrendously expensive.

“I am the barmaid because I never stop laughing and my boobs laugh with me. I have been told that I should be an attraction rather than a distraction.”

She covered her ample bosom with her top with a theatrically sad look at James.

James chatted to her about the locals and any visitors.

“Are there any visitors at the Guest House at the moment?

“Strange you should ask about that, because one of them has been asking about you?”

“So who is that stranger?”

“She is a post-graduate student from one of the Universities on the West Coast of the USA. She is writing her PhD on the language of the sarongs here.”

“It is a subject that interests me also. What does she look like?”

“You would spot here a mile off. She has long blond hair. Wears a blouse and Bermuda shorts, and sandals. She also has a satchel with all her notes in.”

“Why does she need to ask about me?”

“She has no access to the Internet as she cannot afford it on a student loan, and needs to get data back to her supervisor. The post is just too slow, and the one satellite phone doesn’t work with data.”

As if on cue, the epitome of a preppy postgrad came out of the Guest House and made a bee line for James.

She hovered near James in the bar.

“I believe you are trying to contact me.” He said as he held his hand out to shake her delicate one.”

“Yes, she said. I understand that you will shortly have satellite internet access.”

“Yes, I will later this afternoon if all goes well with the set up. I understand that you need to get some data back to your University in the States.”

“Yes, about 200Gb of data. It is a lot but it is all the illustrations for my doctorate.”

“Yes, that is a lot. I only have bandwidth for one computer, so we may have to work something out, to send it over several days.”

“That would be amazing, she said with a grateful smile.”

“What format is it in?”

“It is image files on my laptop, but I have several empty usb memory sticks that I could move the images onto to bring it over to you.”

“I think it might be easier to bring your laptop and we do a transfer by bluetooth.”

“Yes, that would be easier if you can do that.”

“OK I cannot be sure everything will be up and running until tomorrow, so come over early afternoon and we will see what we can do.”

“What is your name, by the way?”

“My name is Sophia, but everyone calls me Soph.”

“So Soph. Tomorrow it is.”

After getting home the day went smoothly with several hours of concentrated work effort, but late afternoon his little coterie of girls arrived and provided a welcome distraction, chatting away about the circle theorems they had been studying during the morning.

James had to dredge up his memory of such things from long ago. He hadn’t found any use for the knowledge and they had been consigned to the attic of his mind.

“Does the teacher explain why you need to know about these theorems?”
“Yes, she says that they are used all the time to build houses that will stand up to storms and they are also used in making fishing nets.”

James couldn’t quite see how this was the case, but he thought it might be an icebreaker if he got into conversation with one of the teachers at some time.

As soon as it became dusk, the three girls who seemed to be permanent fixtures that were attached to his bungalow drifted away.

His meal was simple and he ate it from a plate in front of the television.

As soon as he was finished there was a quiet knock on the door frame and a stunningly beautiful girl came in with a deep blush.

“Can I speak to you?” she said with a delightful accent.

“Yes of course.”

She came in a sat decorously on the second plastic chair.

Her chest was bare and James could not miss the significant breasts that adorned her flawless skin.

“What can I do for you?” James asked.

“I am due to be named at the ceremony next week. It is normal for a girl to be named by her father and for a boy to be named by his mother. As you can see, I am a girl, but my father was killed years ago when a fishing vessel overturned in a storm.”

“If I have no man to name me, then I cannot be named or married.”

“What happens at this naming ceremony?”

“Each person being named comes into the village square holding hands with their parent or substitute, and one after another, the parents name the child. In my case, I am to be called Maria. Our childhood sarong is removed and we walk to the other side of the square where we put on our adult sarong.”

“That sound simple enough. Is there any longer term involvement beyond just holding your hand for a little while and announcing your adult name?”

“There can be if you wish. You can be a grandparent to my children.”

“I think it might be a while before you have children.”

“I am likely to be betrothed inside a year, and pregnant soon after. You could be a grandfather inside two years.”

“What is your mother doing at this time?”

“I am a twin. My mother will be naming my twin brother at the same ceremony.”

“I cannot commit to any ongoing involvement when I have been here for such a short time. I don’t know any of the traditions of the island, but if it really is only a matter of holding your hand for a few minutes and naming you, then I think I can help.”

The girl was clearly overjoyed. It would have been very serious for her to remain unnamed and therefore destined for spinsterhood.

She gave James a chaste kiss on the cheek and left quietly.
James had not been aware, but the girl’s mother was waiting for her on the beach. They hugged, then the mother came to the bungalow. She knocked on the doorframe before asking if she could come in.

James welcomed her in and the mother bowed several times to him.

“Thank you for agreeing to name my daughter. It is very difficult for girls who cannot be named.”

“Is there anything I should know about the naming ceremony that Maria has not already told me?”

“Maria, as she will be called after the ceremony, is destined to be betrothed to someone she knows well. There is nothing more that you need to be involved with, unless you want to. I understand that you would be welcome to act as the grandfather of any children she has.”

“Yes, she has explained that to me, but I think you are holding back on something.”

“ I am. Where a girl is named by a man, it is assumed that that man is her father. In your case that is impossible of course, so the second alternative is for the man to make it possible to be her father. That means that as a widow, I am available for you for all the nights until the naming ceremony.”

“Are you saying that you would sleep with me for the next six nights so there would be a possibility of a sibling for Maria and her brother?”

“I would be pleased to offer that. I have not had a man in many years and my grief has long since gone. I have devoted my time to my children and that has been enough, but now they are both to be named, my parental responsibilities are at an end and I can entertain who I like.”

Casual sex was not unfamiliar to James.

Coral untied a small tie and her sarong slipped to the floor. She lifted it with care and folded it.

“It will remain on your sideboard until my daughter’s naming day.”

She had a well toned body of someone in their mid-thirties. Her tan was uniform over lightly muscled legs and arms. She had wide hips with a neat patch of pubic hair and a pair of firm breasts that were held high on her chest. Her coifed hair was shiny as if it had been oiled and it appeared to have been perfumed as well.

“Please use me. It is both my pleasure, and my responsibility to do this for you. Whilst you are not familiar with our culture, please note that it is the responsibility of a man who names a girl to enjoy the mother when she offers herself to you. It is regarded as an insult if you refuse.”

“What am I getting into?”

“You are learning how to live contentedly on this island. We are a small community and our expectations are different from people who live in big cities.”

“I cannot deny that you are a pleasure to look at, and I would never dream of offering you an insult when you are offering your body so generously.”

“Then please fold your sarong and put it over mine to signify your acceptance of me, then join me on your mattress.”

James reacted to a beautiful woman in the way that men have always done, and it was some hours into the night before they slept in each other’s arms.

In the morning the group of small girls came in unannounced, as always, but had baskets of Frangipani blossom and proceeded to tip the pink and cream blossom over the couple until James sneezed repeatedly from the powerful perfume.

Coral got up without any concern over her nakedness and being seen in James’ bed. James shrugged and got up in front of the girls, who giggled over his morning erection.

The girls pointed out that James’ sarong was folded over Coral’s sarong, and it would become a topic of conversation at the school that day.

It was Coral who whispered to the girls to go to the store and buy some local produce for breakfast, and within minutes they were back, and Coral could set about cooking something substantial.

“Go out and swim she told James. You need to wash after last night and one doesn’t put on a sarong over a dirty body.”

She remained naked as she had promised, but went to wash in the sea a while later.

James was due to take part in a Conference Call over the satellite link in an hour and he donned his sarong before the call. He warned Coral that he she could be seen by the computer camera and she kept well out of the way during the call. James reasoned that it would not go down well with his employers if he was seen with a naked islander only hours after his arrival.

Maria arrived mid-morning and seeing her mother naked and her sarong folded on the table, she applauded to show her approval.

“You can now act as if you were my father at the naming ceremony.”

“It will be a pleasure to do that for you.”

“Islanders take a lot of trouble over the design and manufacture of the sarongs. Each design is individual to the wearer, but they do not last very long in the strong sun and rain, so they are generally removed when we are at home. For the time being this is our home so I will put my sarong away.”

Maria shucked off the sarong and her beautiful body was on full view.

“You are a very beautiful girl. Any man winning your heart will be very lucky.”

“Thank you Sir” Maria said with something approaching a curtsey. “My mother will choose my husband, but I know that there are only fourteen boys in my age range for her to choose.”

Maria helped herself to some breakfast but then donned her sarong before leaving to do something to do with the naming ceremony.

Before Maria went James asked Coral …“How will you choose a husband for her?”

“I will visit the house where all the family trees are kept. Some of the boys are first or second cousins, or could even be siblings. They are excluded of course. There are only eight who are sufficiently distantly related and it is a matter of discussion with the boy’s parents as to whom one chooses.”

“Is there some sort of dowry or bride price involved?”

“No, nothing like that, but some boys do not mature well and are prone to fits of anger, for instance, and some families are not supportive. My late husband’s parents really did not care about me after he died, but I do get on well with my sister-in-law.”

“One thing I don’t understand is why children are named at about sixteen years of age. Most children in the World are named at birth.”

“I forget sometimes that you are not aware of our particular heritage. There is no reason why you would know what happens here.”

“Children here are all born that look like little girls between their legs. They grow up as girls and about half develop into women in the same way as women do in the rest of the World. The other half go though a change and their female anatomy changes to male. This takes about a year to complete. Their naming ceremony takes place when they are able to father a child.”

“That explains why there are only girls in the school. I had wondered about that.”

“Isn’t it possible to get a blood test done to see what gender a child will become?”

“It might be, but the blood would take far too long to get to a laboratory to be tested.”

“Are there no signs of the changes that are about to take place in the children destined to be male, the shape of the lower jaw is different on boys and girls, of instance.”

“We have had researchers here to try to find a reason for it, but no one has a practical solution. All the predictions seem to be too faulty to be of any real use, so we wait and name children when they become adults. It has been going on for centuries and it is a system that works.”

“I can see that it does. When were you aware that Maria and her brother were going to be one boy and one girl?”

“Only about a year ago. It was Fernando who changed. Maria is much the same apart from her chest and her hair distribution.”

“Will you need to find Fernando a wife?”

Yes, but boys do marry a little later than girls so the choice is not imminent. There is a little group of girls who watch him when he goes swimming, so I don’t think it will be too difficult to choose one who is only distantly related. One in particular gets a very flushed chest and engorged nipples when she talks to him. It is fairly obvious, and I am sure he has noticed her enthusiasm.”

James had to work for the rest of the day, and Coral busied herself in the bungalow away from his bank of computing equipment.

As the daylight faded they ate and spent the evening together intimately for the second night.

“I could get used to this.” James whispered into Coral’s ear after a particularly vigorous bout of lovemaking.”

“You and me, both, was the whispered reply in his ear.”

“I think you should know that I will be entering my most fertile period in the two days before the naming ceremony. If we make love then, then we may need to take the consequences.”

“That is important to know. Do you think we ought to stop, or are you prepared for another baby?”

“It is not just me that has to be involved. It has to be your decision just as much as mine, but it is many years since I had the opportunity to enjoy a sex life like this. If you see this as an opportunity then I am happy to carry another child, but it is early days for you and I don’t want you to feel pressurised. If I become pregnant then that is a form of marriage here, just so you know.”

“That is important to know. I think I know which way I think I will choose, but I want to think about this overnight. I will share my ideas with you in the morning.”

“Thank you for your honesty. We will talk again in the morning and Coral snuggled up to James under the mosquito net. Both were tired after their love making and drifted off quickly to be awakened by the girls the following morning with another basket of Frangipani flowers.”

James pondered over the situation with Coral. He was unable to make his mind up. Common sense said ‘It is too soon’. ‘You will regret it.’, but his emotions said “ She is everything you could want and you will have lovely step children who will give you grandchildren to play with.

In fact James’ internal discussions were irrelevant as Coral was a bit too vague about her most fertile period. That particular ship had sailed, but neither would know that for certain for some time, of course.

James decided that he would like to continue in their relationship as they were, and Coral joyously agreed.

The tyrant, ‘Work’ interfered with their love making, but James seemed to have had a burst of energy with the strong light on the island. “I don’t need a SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) lamp here.” he said to himself as the long list of work topics seemed to dissolve into nothing.

Soph arrived at what might have been 2pm, but time seemed to be flexible on the Island as with many other things.

She carried her precious laptop, and was dressed as previously, in a white shirt tucked into blue Bermuda shorts.

James looked at her trussed up in her outfit and thought how much better she would look in a native sarong.

Soph shook his hand again, rather over-formally, and sat at his table when he invited her to do so.

James plugged the computer in and Soph entered her password.

As a trial, he copied five of her images over to his hard drive using the Bluetooth connection, and then Sophie accessed her University and the five files transferred without any sort of problem over to the University network.

Soph was excited, and gave James a peck on the cheek out of excitement.

James transferred a further hundred images to his hard drive, and after half an hour they could be sent on to the University albeit rather slowly.

James and Soph chatted while they waited.

“I did a BA in anthropology, and I converted it to an MA two years later. Now I am doing my doctorate in the language and symbolism of the sarong in the Island community.”

“I would like to read your thesis when you are ready to share it.”

“I would be happy to share it with you. It would be very useful to have someone else on the Island able to comment on it. May I ask whether you have relevant qualifications in this area, because you might be able to write an introduction for me.”

“My qualifications are in Computer design and programming, not in anthropology, but in will help if I can.”

“I notice that you have maintained a style of mainland dress here, when I feel much more comfortable in a sarong, even after only a few hours.”

“I was told that a researcher must maintain their distance. If they enter into the research milieu, then they alter it.”

“Yes, I am sure that is the perceived wisdom. Observe, but do not become part of the research, but I wonder if becoming a part of the research might open more doors to get a greater insight into the lives of the islanders here.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“After you have gained all the data you need for your doctorate, I would like you to consider becoming part of the community if only for a little while. Come to the next naming ceremony in a few days in a sarong. Eat with the community and join in their daily tasks and rituals. I am sure people would react differently if they are not being observed and photographed.”

“I have been tempted to do as you say. My data is all completed and any subsequent observations need not compromise anything.”

“When you come tomorrow we can transfer the second batch of data. Please consider wearing a sarong and getting to know your landlady and the locals as people.”

“I don’t even know where to get a sarong.”

“Come with me, and we will get you kitted out in an anonymous sarong, suitable for a visitor.”

They walked over to the shop and within minutes Soph had chosen a pattern that would fit her slight form. The shopkeeper wanted her to try it on to show her how to wear it, but there was no changing room.

The shopkeeper took off her own sarong and was completely naked underneath. Soph was very reluctant to strip off in the shop, so James turned round while she undressed and was wrapped up in the sarong with its chest piece.

“You look really lovely like that.” James said with some feeling. The chest piece showed lots of side boob and the sarong fell open as Soph walked.

Her Western clothes were bundled up and James paid for the sarong since Soph was only on a student loan. The sarong was really beyond her budget.

They walked back to James’ bungalow to retrieve the computer and Soph started walking as if she had dressed in the sarong for her whole life. A lot of leg showed and the fold fell open as she sat showing a blond patch of hair. She didn’t seem to notice and James really did not want to embarrass her by commenting.

“You ought to try just the wrap around part and leave off the chest piece. I am told that it is more comfortable. I am dressed in just a sarong and wouldn’t go back to Western clothes unless it was for a visit. It is just so comfortable being free of elastic. It must be even worse for women with bra straps and so on.”

“I don’t know if I could go bra-less for long. It is so ingrained in me to cover up, whatever I see other people do.”

“You have at least a month before the next voyage to the mainland is possible. Give the sarong a chance in that time and see if it gives you a different perspective.”

At this point the hundred files had been transferred and Soph and James agreed to meet again the following day to complete the file transfer.

James watched her walk barefoot over the beach back to the boarding house where she had been staying. She looked comfortable in the sarong. It emphasised her slight figure and her long blond hair covered most of her back and just moved slightly in the wind.

The naming day was upon them too soon and James found himself guiding Maria into the square. She was in her old child sized sarong that did little to cover her feminine curves. Her hair shone and the style was wave upon wave of lustrous curls.

Soph was there but stood aloof from the rest of the Islanders. She was back in her mainland clothes.

James waved just a little, and Soph smiled in response.

So she couldn’t cope with the transition, he thought.

A pity.

(The following day, the sarong that James had bought Soph was returned, folded and left on his table, with a note.

“Sorry, going native is just not for me. I will be going home on the next ship in about four weeks. I will forward a first draft of my thesis to you in some months in case you have any comments. Thanks for the help. Soph.” )

The ceremony started with a homily from the mayor who then called each young person to cross to a dais in turn. Their sarong was discarded and held onto by the parent who announced the name for the new adult. James announced Maria’s name in a clear voice as she stood naked in front of the mayor. The Mayor repeated that her new name was Maria and that she was available for betrothal. She was bedecked in her new sarong and a garland of flowers. She glowed in front of the audience. Other young men and women stood in front of the dais one after another and were also decked out with flowers.

Next, Coral guided her son to the dais. He was also made naked and there were some appreciative glances at his very obvious attributes as he walked very confidently across the square. His new sarong was brief and only covered the essentials, but the mayor didn’t seem to notice and gave the same response, that Fernando was available for betrothal.

The festivities continued into the night with electric lights strung round the square. There was more than enough food for everyone, but the children drifted off to bed as the evening progressed. The final act of the naming ceremony was the announcement that James and Coral were regarded as being betrothed and there were lots of congratulations.

Soph had disappeared once the formal part of the Naming had taken place.
Always the observer and never the participant … James thought.

The following morning Coral felt queasy, and she had a premonition as to the cause.

Maria regarded James’ and Coral’s bungalow as her own and was typically doing some chore wearing little more than a smile. James and Coral would usually be similarly attired and James reacted enthusiastically to the two women.

James’ salary was designed to keep a worker in an apartment in a large city. Coral and Maria could not be described as high maintenance and James’ needs were very simple. He started to accrue a sizeable pot of savings.

One of his work colleagues had a long discussion through Social Media about living on the island and Maria walked behind James’ camera entirely naked. The colleague was taken aback by her beauty as she walked unashamedly across the screen.

“Who was that?” came the incredulous comment.

“The nearest description I can give, is that she is my Step-daughter.”

“Can I come and live there?”

“There is no reason why not, as long as you grease the palms of a number of highly corruptible officials on the mainland to get the right permissions.”

“I will look it out, but we are all different. I may not cope with the quiet life there.”

“It is fairly hard work to get here with your belongings, Jim. It is not something to undertake lightly.”

In fact Jim decided against the move, but talked to another colleague, Harriet, who did some research and decided that the island was just the place for her to settle down. So it was some three months later that Harriet arrived with a number of packing cases and a very small wardrobe of clothes. The bungalow next to James and Coral was available and Harriet moved in with help from the local population. James wore shorts to help her erect the large satellite dish and excited children were soon in and out of her bungalow without a bye your leave, as they were with James’s home.

Harriet soon adopted the sarong as her only garment and the select array of clothes was confined to a trunk that acted as her dining table. Her long blond hair was a novelty on the island and as the island didn’t have a hairdresser, she gave Maria some basic ideas of how to keep her hair under control.

Fernando did a range of jobs on the island from helping the fishermen, to collecting coconuts and other fruits, but was at a loose end for much of the time.

Harriet and James knew that Fernando had a high school diploma from the top class of the little school, and should be extending his skills rather than vegetating in a backwater.

They had a discussion with Fernando and Coral about Fernando’s future. They got the idea of an open access degree course that could be studied over the Internet, and James and Harriet would cover the fees for the first year at least. The 101 course involved study skills and an up-skill in literature, maths and science and Fernando said he was looking forward to it.

In the months before the course started they received a new laptop for him and he soon picked up the skills needed to access the internet from either house.

Harriet was reluctant to shed her sarong indoors when Fernando was around. The sarongs couldn’t be washed, so she eventually had to leave it off even when Fernando was there.

He saw no problem with doing what he had done for his whole life, so they could often be seen sitting at Harriet’s table with her working away at some programming task, and him doing something that seemed more ordinary, but then, most things were novel to him.

Often their thighs were touching and Fernando noticed as most teenage boys would do, but Harriet kept her legs together maintaining a barrier of sorts.

They shared jokes regularly and as they were both laughing Harriet put her hand on Fernando’s bare thigh. It was an innocent mistake, but she didn’t remove it quite as quickly as she might have done.

She brought her hand up to her face in a moment of embarrassment, but it went back to his thigh a few seconds later and more or less intentionally brushed the end of his penis.

Her actions clearly gave a form of permission for further touching.

“Can I touch you on your thigh? … was his question.

“I think it is only fair if that is what you want to do.” she said.

Fernando ran his fingers most delicately up from her knee to entwine them in her small bush of pubic hair.

Harriet smiled to herself.

“Do you want to touch me further up?”

Fernando nodded and Harriet opened her legs to give him better access.

“If you want to touch my boobs, you only have to say so.”

Fernando blushed, but stretched out his hand and stroked Harriet’s breasts appreciatively. Harriet, for her part inhaled strongly and her breasts rose with her chest.

Harriet was well aware that she was ten years older than Fernando, and in her own country any sexual contact would have been regarded as child molestation. She did not want to hamper his progress towards a degree either, and a future away from the island, if that is what he wanted.

As time went on, the intimacy increased, and when it was clear that Fernando could become qualified as a teacher online, as well as getting his degree that way, Harriet let her guard down completely and Fernando moved in with her when he was just eighteen.

In fact the teacher of the upper class at the small school was nearing retirement, and she saw a replacement in Fernando. It was she that had guided Fernando through his High School diploma examinations when many of the local children thought they were a waste of time.

During the following two years Fernando had to make two trips to the mainland, each for a week for a Summer School of lectures and seminars that paid lip service to the idea of attending a University.

They managed to borrow most of the clothes Fernando needed for a week in the city. Harriet went with him and they spent an uncomfortable four days on the old ship travelling from island to island before docking in a rather distressed port in an even more distressed city. A cab took them through streets with discarded rocks and rubbish to their hotel which was at least clean, bright and cheerful.

Only Harriet spoke Spanish and she had to guide Fernando throughout the week. It was a dispiriting experience lightened only by meeting the other students on his course for the first time. They were very interested in the remote location of the Island and there were vague promises to visit at some time. Fernando knew in his heart of hearts that they were promises that would never be kept.

In the evenings they spent hours in restaurants serving local delicacies and drinking a little too much wine. Their future together was the main topic of conversation.

The ambience in the old town was both historic and comforting. Street lighting was diffuse and the restaurants spilled out onto the cobbled streets where uniformed waiters carried trays piled high with steaming plates through tiny gaps between patrons.

“When I was growing up as a little girl, my life was, in a sense, planned out. There were choices of course as regards career, and education and so on, but if you were comfortable being a girl, then you stayed a girl. I find it difficult to think what it would be like to look like a girl, but have no name and be undefined as to my gender.”

“It is a matter of what you are used to. In a way, it was easier where everyone appeared female. There was no need to cover up in front of other students and we all enjoyed each other’s company. In a small place with only about 50 students in a year group, bitterness and squabbles can turn into something more serious than in large schools where children can be moved to parallel streams more easily.”

“I enjoyed being a girl, but didn’t really think about it. It was just normal for me, and other children on the Island.”

“I would find it difficult not having a name.”

“I did have a name, a childhood name. My sarong was unique in having starfish over it. I was starfish as far as everyone was concerned. It has been quite difficult changing my identity to Fernando with all that goes with it. You have made it much easier for me accepting me as a man, and allowing me to express my masculinity and the sex has been brilliant. Some boys find it very difficult and end up in a sort of ‘in-between state.”

“When did you know that you were changing”

“Not long before I was named. I got a sort of itch between my legs, and I didn’t get the itching the girls got as their breasts developed. The realignment of my bits and the development of my penis was quite rapid. It took just a few weeks. It caused some amusement when I started to get erections in class. Childhood sarongs don’t cover very much, as you know.”

“Is it roughly 50:50 with children becoming male and female?”

“There are between 40-60 children born on the island each year. Slightly more boys develop than girls, but then some children who would have gone on to become boys don’t make the transition well; as I have said.”

“What happens to those who don’t transition well?”

“There is really no pressure on them to do anything, but life on the Island is a lot to do with betrothal after naming, usually by arranged marriage after careful study of family genetics. Those who don’t fit the criteria mostly leave the Island, but those that remain, tend to be rather isolated.”

“What happens to girls who cannot be named because their mothers are widows?”

“It is up to the mother to form a relationship with another man, and then to give the appearance that the new man could have been the father. It is all a bit of a sham, but sometimes all it needs is for the mother to be given a little shove, and a new relationship blossoms.”

“Just like with James and Coral?”

“Exactly. We tend to get a partner in our late teens and be finished child rearing by our mid-thirties. There is plenty of time for a new relationship and a second family if that is what a widow wants, but after the naming ceremony, some couples of convenience part permanently.”

“What about people who prefer their own sex for relationships?”

“Again it is something that is hidden in plain sight. Some bungalows are large enough to house two couples. On the surface they are conventional, but in fact they are two gay couples living together. The couples cannot be married until there is a pregnancy, so they have to work out some private process to be considered married, but there are couples who just stay betrothed for their whole lives and seem content to be child free.”

After a pair of fiddlers had played romantically beside their table, Harriet broached the subject of their relationship.

“You know I am ten years older than you, and we have not been together very long, but I do love you very much and would be very happy to raise a family back on the Island.”

Fernando held Harriet’s hand and stroked the back of it with his thumb.

“I have loved you for so long, but our tradition is for our marriage to take place when you become pregnant. Is that what you want to happen?”

“With all my heart. We must hope that we will conceive easily. You will be able to earn in a few months, and I can continue to earn from my programming. Our baby and Coral’s will only be a couple of years apart and can be like sisters.”

After the week seeing the sights; such as they were. The cathedral was dark and drab except for the tarnished silver images of the Virgin and variety of Saints. The museum was drab and filled with poorly explained exhibits, and the botanic garden was dry and brown and what was alive had lost their labels. The shops were brash and garish and full of things the couple did not need. It was a dispiriting set of activities and they were glad to return to the old steamer that took them home.

Both had decided that they would return to the Island permanently. After all, fast Internet access was almost as good as being anywhere in the World, and Fernando had a job waiting for him teaching the children he had grown up with.

They returned to the bungalow and removed their city clothes ready for a wash so they could be returned to their owners. Next they took out their intricately finished sarongs and each was folded neatly. Instead of putting them side by side, Harriet put Fernando’s sarong on top of hers. This was an outward expression of their commitment to each other and they spent the next couple of hours showing their commitment. For part of the time they had an audience of small girls, who found a bucketful of Frangipani flowers from somewhere, and threw handfuls over the couple until they were surrounded by cream and pink fragrant blossoms. Then the girls got bored and went off to play a game with a ball on the beach.

Harriet lay in her bed snuggled up with Fernando. “How are the sarongs made and is each one unique?

“The sarongs are made by retting palm fronds until the fibres are released. It is a rather smelly business and there are pits in the North of the Island where that is done. Then the fibres are washed and squashed into a sort of felt before being left out in the sun to bleach. The rectangles of fabric are embroidered in part and hand block printed with vegetable dyes for the rest, and yes, every one is unique.”

“So this is the only item of clothing that anyone owns on the Island except for people who have to travel away for some reason, and this clothing is very labour intensive, and cannot be wetted or it rots or otherwise disintegrates.”

“That is about it, but we are all invested in our individual identities. The sarong with its unique design is what we want our friends and relatives to know about us. Each new sarong may contain a slightly different design, and whilst the basic elements stay the same a sarong for an eighteen year old will be different from the design that same person will wear when they are eighty.”

“There are about 4000 islanders, of whom say 3000 are adults. Who designs all these sarongs?”

“It is a matter of the individual’s wishes and a small design team of older women.”

“How would they take it if I introduced design technology into the process. These designs could be woven into rectangles of more resilient fabric that could be washed.”

“I don’t know. It is one of the most important traditions of the Island. It is the most labour intensive thing we do. Very few of us either have, or use money, although we can earn money if we need to. The designs on our sarongs show our maturity, status and gender. The changes over a lifetime may be subtle month by month, but are substantial year by year. For example, the Mayor’s sarong didn’t have any purple in it until he took office, and it will be removed when he leaves office and there are signs built into a named person’s sarong indicating who is available for betrothal and those who are already betrothed or married.”

“The sarong is almost like a life history of the person. Your next sarong will have some red in the design, showing that you are betrothed. When a pregnancy is confirmed, then the next sarong has an arrow somewhere in the design. The sarong is like a language to those who are familiar with it.”

“How would your idea fit with our needs?”

“The patterns would be created by computer aided design after photographing the existing design flat with a document camera. The image could be stored and then altered as required before the next sarong was produced.

“I think it is certainly an idea. I am sure that there is potential for selling individual native designs to people elsewhere in the World, although delivery times would be very slow by modern standards. Is the investment worth it to show the population what you could do. Describing it in words will not be clear enough for most islanders. Their sarong is a large part of their identity, and giving up a tried and tested idea will need a lot of convincing.”

“I have the computer program that will store the design, and if we connected a loom to the computer we could weave the sarongs quite easily. A rectangle of cloth is not difficult to manufacture, although different sizes would need more investment.”

“As you know this is a largely cashless society. People make their sarongs through the kindness of others with the addition of their own labour. Being unable to make a sarong from scratch is something that loses people status in our Society.”

“Yes, that is a problem that I have not fully resolved. The average adult islander spends about four days a month on their own sarong, and several extra days if they have children who cannot make their own. If you remove that concept of self-worth what happens could be the same as happened with the native peoples of the Arctic and in Australia. Idleness combined with a lack of self-worth by giving hand-outs all the time, leads to an annihilation of culture with the added mix of alcohol and drug dependency.”

“That is exactly what I was thinking. There has to be something equally worthy to occupy people’s time and give self esteem, and I haven’t resolved that. In other, cultures working for a living and earning a wage gives that self worth, but feeding a family takes only a small part of the day here, and the rest is devoted to leisure and family time.

“I am very tempted to go ahead with the idea. A loom that could make just one sarong an hour would be only a week’s salary for me and we could all wear the sarongs and see if anyone else wanted one for whatever they could afford in terms of labour. Maybe the design of the sarongs could be monetised if we decided to sell them to non-islanders.”

“I think you may be opening a can of worms here. Unlike the outside World, people don’t need more leisure. The plants on land and the fish in the sea feed us and clothe us. Our culture provides everything else. If people get addicted to online shopping then we have a problem because the total income of the island would not sustain that, whoever is earning it. James and you, together with the teachers and doctor earn possibly 95% of the earnings of the island, but there is nothing here for you to spend it on, and in all probability it sits in a bank account on the mainland earning interest, but is savaged by hyperinflation through governmental incompetence.”

“The biggest question is whether this idyll can be preserved. An oil tanker running aground and polluting our seas and the beaches, would wipe us out as a culture. A fishing company could trawl every living thing from our shallow seas could also, and a disease that wiped out a large part of the population would as well. Do we as an island catastrophise and try to plan for every eventuality, or live on in relative ignorance, knowing that eventually our lives may, or probably will be destroyed by either a natural or human disaster?”

“I am reminded of several historical economic crises in isolated islands in the past. The Money Cowrie could only be collected from the beach or by diving to the sea bed. The Cowries were strung into strands and then into mats. The difficulty in obtaining them and the labour needed to make them into mats gave them a conventional value in the Pacific islands, and that was carried on to neighbouring islands. When trawlers were used to dredge up Cowries by the million, the economies of the island went into hyperinflation instantly and their economies were destroyed.”

“The same was true of the stone money of Yap. Young men went in flimsy boats to a neighbouring island and could hack out a large circular disc of stone, or a smaller one. A small one was safe to get back to Yap, but a larger one may cause their flimsy boat to sink and the occupants to drown. The size of one’s stone gave status, and could purchase much more than with a small one. Again a ship arrived which could take islanders to the island where the stones were mined and could bring back huge stones that could buy a whole village. This also destroyed the economy of the island with instant hyperinflation.”

“I am concerned to maintain a balance between preserving the wonderful life we have here, and the benefits of the wider World. I don’t think destroying the thing that is most valued on the island by mass production is the way forward as yet, but I do see that with you as a Computer Programmer and me as teacher; both with good salaries, that there is room for carful investment in the island to make it more resilient to catastrophes that are probably inevitable in the long term.”

“Having a culture where the sole item of clothing for the entire population is a large sheet of decorated blotting paper has consequences.” Fernando said with a laugh.

“I think you should be the next Mayor, and your thoughtfulness is why I love you.”

“Now, there is food for thought!”