Nauru is a Micronesian Island in the South Pacific, north of New Zealand. Its infamy is for Phosphate mining, lost fortunes and the Australian Immigration detention centre.
I spent six weeks there in 2014 and remember the suffocating heat and dust. I don't have a lot in common with the Nauruans on the surface, but we do share a common passion for char siu bau (or Chinese steamed pork buns) sold by the small population of Chinese and Taiwanese entrepreneurs on island.
Nauruan culture seemed unforgiving by the fact that if you stepped out of line, the Nauruan government did not shy away from deportation. By my last day, I was isolated with Influenza, exhausted from detention centre madness and ready to run naked down the airstrip if they wouldn't let me on the plane.
Nauruans are friendly and life moves slowly on the tiny tropical island. Weddings are celebrated by tandem driving around the island, honking horns and screaming joyfully out of over-loaded utes. The local airline is endearingly named Our Airline.
Bingo is the recreation of choice and rumour has it that when the Tsunami hit, some ran for higher ground, but the most dedicated of bingo players stayed behind to finish their game.