Whenever a ship arrives in Tonga, the people at the R.O.C. embassy there try to stock up on canned goods, beef, and frozen vegetables--because it's hard to make a Chinese dinner out of coconuts, bananas, and taro roots. And whenever Clement Tsien, the ambassador to Tuvalu, travels among the islands, his wife makes sure he packs some mosquito repellent along with his clothes and toiletries.

These aren't special cases; they're common occurrences for the R.O.C.'s diplomatic personnel stationed in the South Pacific.

Of the nine independent island nations of the Pacific, the R.O.C. maintains formal diplomatic relations with four. It maintains ambassadorial relations with Tonga, the Solomons, and Tuvalu (the ambassador to Tonga, Clement Tsien, serves concurrently as ambassador to Tuvalu), and consular relations with Nauru. In Fiji, the largest and the most important country of them all, the R.O.C. is represented by an East Asia Trade Center, and bilateral substantive relations are close and friendly: R.O.C. citizens can enter the country simply by applying for a landing visa at the airport.

You probably know that the islands scattered about the Pacific came into contact with Western civilization rather late and have developed rather late as well, but they also possess strategic value, serve as nuclear testing areas, have rich fishing resources, and may harbor petroleum.

You may also think of them as vacation paradises blessed with eternal summer, where primitive peoples preserve their old ways, and where an azure ocean, a cerulean sky, sunshine, and sandy beaches are a commonplace affair.

Well, they may be nice to visit, but working there is a different story.

Besides material deficiencies, the heat is tough to bear. "By noontime, the sun burns so hot that the roads smoke. You simply can't breathe," says George Hsieh, the R.O.C.'s consulate-general in Nauru, which is just 36 kilometers from the equator.

As a result, diplomatic personnel in the Pacific often dress casually: a shirt, trousers, and leisure shoes are formal attire, and shorts and slippers may appear on occasion. "When in Rome," one foreign service officer remarks. "Their own premier wears sandals to work."

With the heat and humidity, insects could scarcely be in short supply. On the Solomon Islands, which has three different species of malarial mosquitoes, Ted Liao, the R.O.C.'s third-rank secretary, jokes that to the local malaria is just "a kind of cold." "You shiver and sweat for a few days with the chills and fever--if that's not a cold, what is?" His affected nonchalance can't conceal the hardship of working there.

The island nations are all very small in land area, some only as large as a single district of Taipei (see table). Their material resources are also limited, so that except for fish most of their food and daily necessities must be imported.

"In the South Pacific, waiting is a common experience," says Mrs. Tsien, the wife of the ambassador to Tonga. For example, finding someone to fix a broken lamp may take days, and getting an air conditioner installed in a car may take a year. "So we're as careful as careful can be," adds Wendell Sung, the third-rank secretary to Tonga. "We don't dare break anything."

Because of their remote locations, small land areas, and limited populations, the R.O.C.'s diplomatic missions in the Pacific island nations are all "small-family" delegations--three people at most (in Fiji and the Solomons), and in Nauru only one. As a result, all the trivial chores of running an embassy--showing slides, cooking and serving dinner, fixing toilets, paying the water bills--have to be handled by the ambassador and one or two assistants, in addition to their major duties of keeping themselves informed of the local situation, negotiating with local officials, and serving overseas nationals.

And after a busy day, there are few places or activities for relaxation at night. None of the countries have television, and only Fiji and the Solomons have movie theaters. Tonga's newspaper comes out on a single sheet once a week, and Nauru has none. Because ships take one or two months to arrive, airplanes land only two or three times a week, and flights are often canceled, foreign service officers in the South Pacific often jokingly refer to themselves as "people at the end of the world."

But for the R.O.C.'s diplomatic corps in the South Pacific, poverty and monotony are not what they mind most; what's toughest is the pressure of the current situation.

Except for Latin America, Oceania is the region where the R.O.C. maintains formal diplomatic relations with the most number of countries, and so the Chinese Communists naturally won't relax their activities there. They've been constantly on the offensive in the Solomon Islands and in Fiji in particular.

Among the Pacific island nations, the Solomons are second in area only to New Guinea; they have a population slightly less than Fiji's; and their resources are comparatively abundant. In 1982, before the R.O.C. had begun working on establishing relations with the country, the Chinese Communists invited the foreign minister, Ezekiel Alebua (now prime minister), to visit the mainland, and when he returned he announced that the Solomons would recognize the Communists. It never happened--because the prime minister at the time was our friend and had decided to recognize the R.O.C. instead. The nations set up consulates in 1983, and raised them to the level of embassies in 1985.

Our greatest diplomatic coup in the Solomons is that Prime Minister Alebua, who was once so inclined toward the Communists, has now become a strong admirer of our economy who numbers our ambassador, Ning Chi-kun, among his closest friends. In return, the R.O.C. has sent an eight-man team to the Solomons to train local farmers in agricultural technology, and it is helping to plan a hospital as well as providing the nation with loans and financing.

"The pace of life in the South Pacific may be slow," says Liu Shih, the R.O.C.'s first-rank secretary to the Solomons, "but when we see the constant activities of the Communists here, we can't help but feel anxious." The Communists have built farms, a supermarket, a theater, and housing there to try to sway the populace.

Analyzing the situation there, Ambassador Ning once told officials: "We maintain diplomatic relations today, and the Communists pour in aid trying to win you over. But if we break relations, the Communists may well cut off aid completely. So breaking relations would offer nothing but harm to both of us."

In Fiji, meanwhile, our foreign service personnel have been on the offensive, striving to upgrade relations. The R.O.C. set up a commercial mission to promote bilateral trade with Fiji in 1971, but after Fiji established relations with the Communists in 1975 the mission changed its name to the East Asia Trade Center. Now, however, a breakthrough in R.O.C.-Fijian relations may be in the making: Fiji has already agreed to accord the equivalent of diplomatic treatment to trade center personnel, and the trade center may recover its old name, using the designation R.O.C.

How was it done? By making friends and promoting business (bilateral trade in 1985 approached US$11 million), sending experts in agricultural machinery, applying the influence of overseas Chinese. . . . But the key reason? Representative Wang Chao-shuan won't say. As in many other countries in which our foreign service is at work--the good things can't be talked about.

"Diplomatic official" is an enviable title, but foreign service officers must pay a heavy price for it. Far away from home, few can lead a normal family life. And because of our special situation, the R.O.C.'s diplomatic corps has it especially tough: they must constantly be alert to the machinations of the Chinese Communists.

Those in the South Pacific have it even harder: with no support staff, each officer must wear many hats. When the ambassador is gone, the sole remaining secretary is charged with running the embassy. "It brings home to us the gravity of our responsibilities," says Liu Shih, whose shorts and tennis shoes in no way belie the seriousness of what he says.

[Picture Caption]

Far away from home, the R.O.C.'s foreign service personnel strive to carry out the nation's diplomatic work abroad.

Greeting and seeing off visitors at the airport is an important duty for personnel stationed abroad. The picture shows Clement Tsien, the R.O.C.'s ambassador to Tonga, and Tupou IV, the king of Tonga.

Ever since he arrived in Tonga, Ambassador Tsien's "noggin" has been left to the care of his wife.

Ambassador Tsien's office is rather cramped. When visitors come, the fan has to be moved to give them a place to sit.

A foreign country outside the window-- that's how the children of foreign service officers often see their childhood.

Wendell Sung, secretary to the R.O.C. embassy in Tonga, asks a friend to look after his child, who protests in tears. How to have their children grow up happy and healthy in a foreign country is one of the biggest worries for personnel stationed overseas.

Formal dinners are an important part of diplomatic work. And don't turn up your nose at the food on the table--getting all the ingredients together isn't easy in the South Pacific. This dinner was given by the R.O.C. representative to Fiji.

With such a small staff, the ambassador often has to operate the film projector himself.

The "Three Musketeers" of the R.O.C.'s embassy to the Solomons: from left to right are Liu Shih, Ambassador Ning, and Ted Liao.

When in Rome, they say. A Sinorama photographer has a drink and a chat with Ambassador Ning's good friend--Ezekiel Alebua, prime minister of the Solomons.

The Chinatown in the Solomons is the largest in the South Pacific but is unfortunately rather run-down and in need of repair. This is a ceremonial arch.

George Hsieh, the R.O.C.'s consulate-general to Nauru, sees off Nauru's acting president, B. Detudamo, after a formal dinner. President Detudamo is another close friend of the R.O.C.

Tennis is Consulate-General Hsieh's chief form of relaxation, and he has used it to make many friends.

Seeing off another lonely day by feeding the birds at the shore.

Greeting and seeing off visitors at the airport is an important duty for personnel stationed abroad. The picture shows Clement Tsien, the R.O.C.'s ambassador to Tonga, and Tupou IV, the king of Tonga.

Ever since he arrived in Tonga, Ambassador Tsien's "noggin" has been left to the care of his wife.

Ambassador Tsien's office is rather cramped. When visitors come, the fan has to be moved to give them a place to sit.

A foreign country outside the window-- that's how the children of foreign service officers often see their childhood.

Wendell Sung, secretary to the R.O.C. embassy in Tonga, asks a friend to look after his child, who protests in tears. How to have their children grow up happy and healthy in a foreign country is one of the biggest worries for personnel stationed overseas.

Formal dinners are an important part of diplomatic work. And don't turn up your nose at the food on the table--getting all the ingredients together isn't easy in the South Pacific. This dinner was given by the R.O.C. representative to Fiji.

With such a small staff, the ambassador often has to operate the film projector himself.

The "Three Musketeers" of the R.O.C.'s embassy to the Solomons: from left to right are Liu Shih, Ambassador Ning, and Ted Liao.

When in Rome, they say. A Sinorama photographer has a drink and a chat with Ambassador Ning's good friend--Ezekiel Alebua, prime minister of the Solomons.

The Chinatown in the Solomons is the largest in the South Pacific but is unfortunately rather run-down and in need of repair. This is a ceremonial arch.

George Hsieh, the R.O.C.'s consulate-general to Nauru, sees off Nauru's acting president, B. Detudamo, after a formal dinner. President Detudamo is another close friend of the R.O.C.

Tennis is Consulate-General Hsieh's chief form of relaxation, and he has used it to make many friends.

Seeing off another lonely day by feeding the birds at the shore.