Testimony from the Past
Blanca Pont Hill is 80 years old today. She was raised by her paternal grandparents, the Frenchman John Vicente Pont and Heremeta Make. According to her… “my grandfather guided me down the right path, the path of respect. Since I was pretty when I was young, he would always tell me: men are going to come to this house looking for you. They should only hold your hand or give you a little kiss, but don’t give away the little thing, because the day you give it away, you’ll get pregnant, and those men either stay or leave. I did what my grandfather taught me.”
Life on the Island: Poverty and Abundance
“At that time the island was poor, but we never lacked food because we had mamoe (lamb) meat, chicken, duck, milk, butter. Sugar, rice, and soap were scarce because the supply ship only arrived once a year. At the Williamson Company store there was everything except shoes. We went to school without shoes.”
School and the Nuns: Forbidden to Speak Rapanui
I studied up to 6th grade. There was no secondary education. My classmate and best friend Anita Rapahango and I were the best students. Father Sebastián Englert chose me to become a nun, but then the Opa Opa ship arrived, and a young nun disappeared for three days after leaving with a sailor. Sebastián Englert punished her, and that made a strong impression on me.
I don’t like being punished, so I didn’t become a nun. Later, the nuns arrived at the school and forbade us from speaking Rapanui. If we did, they would hit us. Once Sister Margarita asked me to name the months in Rapanui and I answered her in Spanish.
I received hard blows with a rod for not obeying, even though we weren’t supposed to speak Rapanui. They were just like the priest — they’d grab you by the ear and pull it.
The Leprosarium and Old Customs
At thirteen, I went with my parents on horseback to the leprosarium. I met a man in a wheelchair, well-dressed, but he had no feet or hands — it was Gabriel Hereveri. My father was called “papá” by everyone there because he went every day to bring milk and meat and to visit Leon Laharoa’s daughter. “Don’t be afraid”… he would tell me.
At 19, I began working at the post office, where the Navy is now located. I remember once going to church with my mother, and she saw a red stain on the back of my dress and angrily told me: “Ko Heke a Koe” (you were deflowered). I understood later.
In those times, women had to arrive at marriage as virgins, and there was a lot of ignorance. Young women married at 13 or 14, before their first menstruation. Since their period would arrive during their marriage, it was clear to the mothers that it came with sexual intercourse. Therefore, if a young woman had blood stains on the back of her clothing, it meant she had been intimate. Nua Tokeme Tuki, in her youth, used to cut her heels to blame the blood stain on her dress on that instead.
Marriage, Motherhood, and Traditional Medicine
I went out very little; there are parts of the island I never knew. Only at sixty was I taken to see Terevaka. No one knew the mainland. At twenty, I married Luis Atan. We had 10 children. In those days there was no way to prevent pregnancy; some women drank a mixture of Miro Tahiti seeds (a type of acacia) mixed with red cardinal flower. It was poison — they would drink it and lose the baby, and some even died. When ships arrived from the mainland, the whole island would get sick with Kokongo (the flu).
My grandmother knew many medicinal herbs, such as avocado leaf and eucalyptus for the flu, castor bean for kidney colds, Matua Pu’a for accidents, and Pua for Haha Ra’ra Ra’ra (foot-and-mouth disease). To bring down a fever, she would crush the tips of pumpkin vines in a cloth and give the juice to drink. The only illness without a cure was epilepsy — traditional knowledge that today is studied and valued as part of the rebirth of ancestral medicine on the island.
The Arrival of Modern Medicine
Only in 1964 did medicines arrive on the island. The first gynecologist also arrived to examine our Tino (vagina). I felt a lot of shame, even more so since I sometimes had to share a meal with him, as my husband was mayor and we were close friends with the governor.
Once, when the hospital director was on the mainland, another Taote (doctor) arrived on the island, and all the mothers were called in for checkups. I was seven months pregnant, but it didn’t show much. The doctor examined me and told me I was three months pregnant. I got angry and replied: “…I know when I had sex….., I’m seven months along.” He threw himself on top of me and tried to rape me. I screamed, hit him, and left. He shouted at me: “…you’re going to suffer for the rest of your life.” At that time, we were all considered lepers.
During one of the checkups, they told me my daughter had leprosy and couldn’t go to school. When Dr. Meneses, the hospital director, returned, I went to speak with him. After examining my daughter, he said clearly: “…this little doll doesn’t have leprosy.” I told him to call the doctor who had tried to rape me. It was a bad experience, but after that, all the Taotes treated me well.
The Alfonso Rapu Uprising (1964)
I was reading about the uprising led by Alfonso Rapu (1964) in a past issue of Moe Varua magazine. I remember that time. Since my husband was employed by the Fach (Chilean Air Force), we couldn’t take part. The Cossacks used to visit us and ask for water; we were almost friends by then.
One day, one of them told me: …”don’t go out tonight, there’s going to be trouble,” and when my husband came home, he also warned me: “…if you hear gunshots, don’t go outside.” In those days, some hooded men arrived on horseback. It was Martín Paté, my husband’s cousin. Both had been raised by Timoteo Pakarati and Victoria Atán.
My husband asked him: “…how can you come here hooded — if you want to kill me, do it, but not my wife, the mother of our children.” I heard shouting, and they left. Because we didn’t support Alfonso, they wanted to burn our house down. Some women threw stones at me when I went to church. People had become politically divided. There were communists, Christian Democrats, and others.
The wife of [Salvador] Allende came to my house with her three daughters; they were campaigning. It was the first time I heard the word “communist.” Isabel’s boyfriend also came by and told me: “…I’m just her boyfriend, but I’m not a communist.”
Final Reflection: An Island That Changed
People in the past were very good; they shared everything they had without expecting anything in return. I don’t know why things have changed so much now. Today, what old Nicolás Pakomio once told me came true: “…in Rapa Nui, the Tangata (men) are bad.”
In truth, along with economic development came selfishness, and the old respect has been lost, although there are still good people.
Frequently Asked Questions About Blanca Pont Hill
Who was Blanca Pont Hill?
Blanca Pont Hill is a Rapa Nui islander, raised by her paternal grandparents, whose testimony spans daily life, religious education, traditional medicine, and the Alfonso Rapu uprising on Rapa Nui during the 20th century.
What role did traditional medicine play in her account?
Her grandmother knew many of the island’s medicinal herbs, such as avocado leaf and eucalyptus for the flu, castor bean for kidney colds, and other plants for treating accidents and fevers, at a time when modern medicine had not yet reached Rapa Nui.
What was the Alfonso Rapu uprising?
It was a social movement led by Alfonso Rapu in 1964 that sought to claim rights for the Rapa Nui population. Blanca’s testimony describes the tension and political division it created within the island’s community.
When did modern medicine first arrive on Rapa Nui?
According to her account, modern medicines only arrived on the island in 1964, along with the first gynecologist, marking a significant shift in medical care for Rapa Nui women.
