What People Drink in Melanesia: 6 Traditional Alcoholic Beverages

Melanesia stretches from Papua’s rainforests to Fiji’s coral reefs, a humid arc where palms, sago, and sugarcane thrive. That climate shapes how alcohol is made and shared.

While many communities historically favored non-alcoholic kava or no booze at all, distinct local brews emerged along coasts and trading routes. Today, palm wines and robust home-distilled spirits mark gatherings from Honiara’s markets to Papua’s offshore islands and PNG’s river deltas.

Sagero (also spelled saguer) is a lightly alcoholic palm wine made across West Papua’s coasts and islands, including areas around Sorong, Manokwari, Biak, and Jayapura. Tappers cut the unopened flower spadix of coconut (Cocos nucifera) or sugar palm (Arenga pinnata) and collect the dripping sap in bamboo or plastic containers. Wild yeasts begin fermenting the sweet liquid immediately; within hours it becomes mildly effervescent, with a gentle lactic tang. Fresh sagero typically reaches 3–6% ABV by evening, depending on temperature and handling. Expect aromas of coconut sugar, green banana, and soft florals, with a short, clean finish. Because palms thrive in warm, maritime climates, sagero is a natural fit for coastal villages, where it is shared at dusk after fishing, offered to guests, or sold by the jug at informal roadside stalls. It is best consumed the day it’s tapped—by the next morning it can turn vinegary or be cooked down into syrup for storage.

Where palm wine ferments, distillation often follows. In West Papua, sopi is a clear spirit pot-distilled from fermented palm sap, using improvised stills made from metal drums, copper piping, or even bamboo. Makers heat the fermented sagero gently and condense the vapor, producing a spirit that ranges from about 30–50% ABV. Traditional batches can be surprisingly aromatic: sweet coconut notes mingle with clove, smoke from wood fires, and light esters. The palate is warm and dry, with a lingering palm-sugar echo. Production is typically small-scale and informal, and quality depends on careful separation of heads and tails. Sopi appears at weddings, village feasts, and island celebrations around Sorong, Biak, and nearby archipelagos, where a shared bottle signals hospitality and kinship. It’s commonly drunk neat in small glasses, sometimes diluted with water, and occasionally infused with local botanicals. In hot, rainy coastal climates where palms grow abundantly, sopi represents a practical way to preserve the energy of sap beyond a single day’s fermentation.

Kwaso is the Solomon Islands’ ubiquitous homebrew, shaped by access to sugar, yeast, and tropical fruit rather than by ancient tradition. In settlements around Honiara and across larger islands like Malaita, makers dissolve white sugar or molasses in water, then add baker’s yeast; pineapple, pawpaw, or rice may bulk out the ferment. After several days, the simple beer-like drink can reach 8–15% ABV. Many producers also distill a portion into stronger “kwaso spirits,” which may climb above 30% ABV. The aroma is yeasty and fruity, with a sweet-sour edge; distilled versions are sharper, sometimes solventy, occasionally charcoal-filtered to mellow the bite. Although production is often informal or restricted by local regulations, kwaso has become embedded in contemporary social life—shared at pay‑day gatherings, community fundraisers, or weekend get‑togethers. Its rise reflects island realities: high transport costs for commercial booze, abundant tropical fruit, and the improvisational know-how common across Melanesia’s humid, agricultural landscapes.

Across Papua New Guinea—from Port Moresby and Lae to smaller towns—“steam” (also called steamship) refers to locally distilled spirits made from sugar, yeast, and whatever fruit or molasses is at hand. A basic wash ferments for several days, then runs through a simple pot still fashioned from pressure cookers or fuel drums. Cuts are not always precise, so strength varies widely, typically 25–60% ABV. The result is a clear spirit with a hot, grassy, sometimes solventy nose; rough edges may be softened by resting or passing the liquid through charcoal. Steam is usually drunk neat or with sweet mixers, and it features at informal gatherings, house‑line celebrations, and bush camps where commercial beer is scarce or expensive. While modern rather than pre‑contact, it reflects PNG’s frontier ingenuity and the realities of a tropical, mountainous country where distribution is hard and sugarcane thrives. In many places, community norms or policing shape how and when steam is made, traded, and consumed.

In PNG’s tide-influenced deltas—such as around Kerema in Gulf Province and along mangrove-lined estuaries—the nipa palm (Nypa fruticans) provides a different style of palm wine. Tappers cut or bruise the inflorescence and collect sap that runs for days, naturally fermenting in the heat to around 3–5% ABV. Compared with coconut toddy, nipa wine is paler, lightly salty from coastal air, and gently fizzy, with notes of sugarcane, green apple, and palm heart. It is often enjoyed fresh in the morning or at sunset after fishing, and may be boiled into a caramel-like syrup for storage or trade. The practice suits brackish, low-lying terrain where nipa thrives and coconuts struggle. Although not universal across PNG, this delta tradition illustrates how micro‑environments dictate what people drink: particular palms, particular tides, and particular work rhythms, all converging in a fragile beverage best savored the day it is tapped.

Fiji is better known for non‑alcoholic yaqona (kava), yet on Rabi and Kioa—home to Banaban and Tuvaluan communities—coconut toddy remains a living sap craft. Tappers bind and slice the coconut flower spathe, collect the sugary drip, and allow light fermentation to begin, reaching 2–4% ABV within hours and up to 5–7% if left longer in the tropical heat. Fresh toddy tastes creamy and floral, with subtle coconut and vanilla notes; older batches grow tangy and wine‑like. Some families reduce the sap over fire into a dark syrup or vinegar, while others occasionally distill small quantities into a palm arrack for celebrations. Toddy is usually sipped at dawn or dusk as a refreshment after reef work, or shared at community events that knit together the islands’ diaspora heritage. In nearby hubs like Labasa and Suva, you’ll find references to toddy in market chatter, but the practice itself lives on the outer islands where coconut palms and coastal breezes set the daily clock.