Oyster Farmers Anchor Fiji’s Coastal Communities Against Climate Chaos

By_Suraj Karowa / ANW , Special Correspondent , Savusavu, Fiji November 16, 2025

In the turquoise embrace of Fiji’s South Pacific waters, where ancient fishing rhythms once dictated daily life, Jelly Ravea paddles her bilibili – a humble bamboo raft – into a sea that’s turning treacherous. At 58, Ravea has spent over half a century harvesting the ocean’s bounty off Vanua Levu’s rugged south coast. But today, as she glides toward her oyster lines, the waves whisper warnings: dwindling fish stocks, yacht oil slicks suffocating marine life, and the relentless drumbeat of climate change.

“Every day, we should eat from the sea,” Ravea says, her voice steady against the lapping tide, clad in a deep blue sulu that mirrors the depths below. “But shells die, fish vanish.

Times are harder than ever.” For Fiji’s 900,000 islanders scattered across 333 coral-fringed atolls, the ocean is more than sustenance – it’s survival. Yet with 40 percent of households dependent on subsistence fishing amid collapsing stocks, coastal villages like Vatulele teeter on the brink. Enter pearl oyster farming: a resilient lifeline blending tradition, innovation, and economic hope.

Ravea, a pioneer in these waters, first donned a scuba tank 25 years ago to dive for black-lip pearl oysters, their iridescent nacre a promise of prosperity. What began as a personal quest evolved into a community revolution.

Now an expert with J Hunter Pearls, she trains villagers – mostly women – in the dual art of pearl cultivation and edible oyster production. “It’s not just jewels,” she explains, balancing on a steel barge as men haul dripping lines from the depths. “It’s meat for our tables, money for our homes.”

The harvest unfolds like a choreographed dance. Oysters dangle from 200-meter ropes suspended five meters below, buoyed by colorful markers bobbing in the bay. Ravea sorts the haul with practiced precision: larger specimens, ripe for nucleation, head to specialists for 18-to-24-month pearl gestation.

Smaller ones return to black wire frames, maturing into market-ready edibles in 12 to 18 months. She scrapes barnacles from shells with a keen blade, her “born in Fiji” T-shirt smeared with grit. Those unfit for pearls? They become chowder stock, sold locally for steady cash.

This aquaculture isn’t just profitable – it’s planetary. Oysters, nature’s filter feeders, purify 150 liters of water daily per individual, earning them the moniker “kidneys of the sea.”

They sequester carbon in their shells, demand no fertilizers, and weather cyclones better than fragile fish traps. In nutrient-poor tropical bays like Savusavu’s, steady currents flush away toxins, minimizing algal threats.

“They’re low-maintenance miracles,” says Justin Hunter, CEO of J Hunter Pearls, whose waterfront hatchery hums with microalgae bioreactors feeding millions of spat. Since 1999, his operation has pivoted post-Cyclone Winston – the 2016 monster that ravaged reefs and claimed 44 lives – toward edible oysters, bolstering community resilience.

The AQUA-Pearl Project, launched in September 2024 by the International Institute for Sustainable Development (IISD), Wildlife Conservation Society (WCS), and Fiji’s Ministry of Fisheries, fuels this growth.

Spanning three years across Fiji, Tonga, and Papua New Guinea, it equips farmers like Ravea to mentor others. In Vatulele’s sun-drenched community hall, painted turquoise like the lagoon, a dozen women in floral prints huddle over plastic rolls, crafting predator nets against triggerfish and puffers.

Unaisi Seruwaia, 49, a former collective secretary, threads mesh with focus. “Village life is tough – 150 to 200 Fijian dollars ($66–$88) a week from taro or kava,” she laments. “Fishing’s unpredictable now. Oysters? They’re steady.”

Women’s underemployment hits 74 percent in Fiji’s informal economy, per The Asia Foundation, making these sessions transformative.

“The surface looks the same,” she muses, “but below? Hope’s growing, line by line.” As Fiji’s seas churn with uncertainty, these “kidneys” filter not just water, but despair – filtering in a sustainable tomorrow for women who refuse to let the tide turn against them.

Around 25 villagers trained this year alone, blending genders in quarterly workshops. Seruwaia eyes the certification pending from health officials – a green light to peddle raw oysters and nama seaweed to Savusavu’s hotels and markets. At 30 Fijian dollars ($13) per dozen, per Pacific Community estimates, it could double household incomes overnight.

Yet threats loom large. A March 2025 climate study forecasts fiercer cyclones and floods, amplifying risks to marine habitats. Cyclone Winston’s scars linger: shattered coral, mangroves stripped bare, fish catches halved in places like Vatulele. “Reefs are fisheries’ nurseries,” notes WCS fisheries officer Rosi Batibasaga.

“Damage means less food, broken gear, empty nets.” Poaching by foreign trawlers exacerbates the plunder, endangering hawksbills and tuna alike. Resident Vive Digiata, 59, sighs: “Life was easier before. Now, we ration with canned tuna.”

Oyster farming counters this cascade. Veronica Lo, IISD’s senior policy adviser, hails it as a “nature-based solution,” restoring ecosystems while sparking jobs. In northern Australia, similar ventures could yield 500 positions and $293 million AUD ($217 million USD) in ripple effects, per the Cooperative Research Centre for Developing Northern Australia.

Fiji’s nascent trade mirrors that potential: scholarships for schoolkids, weaving sidelines for homemakers, a buffer against storms.
At J Hunter’s Savusavu hub, where market bustle meets marina glamour, the future glimmers.

Algae tubes glow emerald; tanks teem with clams and cucumbers. Technician nucleating pearls – implanting mantle tissue for luster – embodies the blend: luxury for export, sustenance for locals. Lusiana Cole, 24 and pregnant with her first, snips nets in Vatulele, dreaming big. “It’s food, jobs, legacy,” she says. “My daughter could paddle these lines one day.”

Ravea, surveying her buoys from the bilibili, reflects on the arc. From solitary dives to barge brigades, pearl oysters have woven into Vanua Levu’s fabric.