In Waterfall, on the central spine of Pentecost Island, the sound of rushing water has been the community’s constant companion. But in recent months, another rhythm has taken hold — the steady thud of tools on timber, the scrape of crowbars on stones, and the hum of voices working together along the riverbanks. Everywhere you look, men, women, and youth are carrying sand, hauling cargo, clearing paths, and preparing for something they have dreamed of for years: 24/7 electricity for the first time ever.

At the centre of this movement stands Chief Isaiah Tabi, a quiet, steady man leading nearly 300 people in the Waterfall area. No one pays him to be chief. It is work carried by what is called in Waterfall “kastom” — custom in Bislama language — by duty, and by the memory of those who came before him.

Isaiah is the youngest among his brothers, yet the community chose him — not because he was most senior, but because they trusted his values, character, and vision. His father and grandfather before him were also respected chiefs. Leadership runs through the Tabi line, but not by entitlement. In Vanuatu, kastom decides, and kastom saw something in him.

When he was selected as chief, he did something few expected. Instead of settling into his new responsibilities, he left Pentecost. He travelled to Port Vila and enrolled in a business management course, determined to serve with knowledge, as well as tradition. He wanted to “train his brain,” as he later told the community.
“Here in Pentecost, we use our arms and legs. But we must train our brains too.”

He spoke those words recently at the closing ceremony of UNDP’s Vanuatu Green Transformation Green Skills (VGET) Training for 21 women in Ranwadi School. VGET is part of the regional Pacific Green Transformation Project and funded by the Government of Japan. 

As he stood in front of the women — new entrepreneurs preparing for the arrival of electricity — his message was clear: development is not only physical. It starts in the mind.

He encouraged them to use their new skills to build businesses, improve livelihoods, and lead the next chapter of Waterfall’s growth. And he promised his support, not as a man above them, but as a partner in progress.

On any given day, you will find Chief Isaiah shoulder-to-shoulder with his people, unloading construction materials from the ship, directing the work teams, or clearing bush for the power lines of the VGET pico-hydro station. He is at the river, at community meetings, at work sites. He is everywhere that Waterfall needs him to be.

Because the deadline is approaching. December. Commissioning day. The moment Waterfall will finally gain electricity. He reminds the community constantly:

“This project is ours. We must work for it. We must protect it. We must be ready.

Chief Tabi is a chief of the present, shaped by the past but focused on the future. He promotes women’s inclusion, works with youth representatives, and supports local entrepreneurs. He has even started a small green tourism initiative, creating a Facebook page to attract visitors to Pentecost’s hidden beauty. His dream is to link women’s new enterprises — sewing, handicrafts, cooking — with tourism, helping them open guesthouses, create women’s clubs, and build spaces where culture and opportunity coexist.

Today, with training opportunities rising and new energy systems coming, leadership itself is changing in Pentecost.

Stories like Eloise Barang’s, a woman leading community-based work, and entrepreneurs like Jocelyn Matan, young women stepping forward with confidence — all these are signs that leadership no longer belongs to men alone.

Isaiah himself is aware of this shift. Women lead the Green Skills Training, women support community mobilization, women are preparing for electric-powered enterprises, and women are running local groups and building on business ideas. And he stands not in resistance, but in support.

When asked whether women leaders could rise alongside chiefs, he answers with the same conviction he shows in all his work: “Leadership is about responsibility, not gender. If you work for the community, the community will follow.”

As December approaches, the hydro station at Waterfall grows closer to reality. The pipes, turbines, generators, and power lines are slowly becoming part of the landscape. Soon, homes, schools, clinics, and businesses will be able to glow through the night — something unimaginable just a generation ago. But perhaps the most important infrastructure this project has given rise to lies within the people of Waterfall: confidence, unity, skills, and belief in their own capacity.

Chief Isaiah Tabi stands at the nexus of kastom and modernity, guided by his family’s long legacy of teaching and community service, and driven by a deep belief that development must equip the mind as much as the land.
The lights will come soon to Waterfall.

But the leadership that made it possible has been shining here for a long time.