Life in the Fiji firing line

On the scarred streets of Suva, EUGENE BINGHAM finds wariness and welcome.

Grimfaced and musclebound, the hulk in the camouflage uniform leans through the car window, never once taking his finger off the trigger of his M16.

Darting his eyes around the car, he scans for anything other than the two New Zealand journalists the curfew pass tells him are allowed in the vehicle.

When it comes, the all-clear sign is emphatic. "Bula vinaka!" he grins.

Welcome to a coup Fiji-style.

The most evident sign of trouble in paradise is soldiers of the Fiji military on the streets of Suva. Their presence is strongest around the swanky houses of Ratu Sukuna Rd and Queen Elizabeth Dr, the main access routes leading to the parliamentary complex under siege by the rebels.

They turn up at the markets too, patrolling through the stalls where locals inspect the selections of taro, fish and kava. The shoppers are looking out for more than bargains, though.

After the looting of May 19 and the shootings that have followed, everyone is wary of trouble.

Because of this, the latest consumer good on the streets is the fact-free rumour. Whispered from person to person, gossip about the latest developments with the coup or tips that George Speight’s mob is on its way into town again spreads quickly.

Most often, the rumours are false. But the blackened remains of burned-out shops show that people are fearful for good reason.

Most afraid are the Fiji Indians. In the past three weeks, they have become adept at queuing at banks or the Immigration Department.

In some ways, though, life has carried on as normal. The sun still beats down on the midday bustle, the hawkers still circle the visitors and the parking wardens still swoop, issuing drivers with a $2.20 reminder that Fiji time does not apply to parking meters.

But the clock is ticking for the economy with sugarcane uncut and tourists staying away.

George Speight talks to IRN's Barry Soper

(10 min).