Ioe, pisi le vaiaso

Later today we'll be traveling to American Samoa and I figured I'd get in touch with the other side of the world before we leave. I'll be in the capital of Pago Pago for three nights, Tuesday to Friday for me, Monday to Thursday for all of you in that time zone. In American Samoa, I'll be living with another family, set up through the Community College of American Samoa. It's bound to be interesting -- American Samoa is a US territory (obviously) and, from what I've heard, has retained a lot of Samoan culture, but has picked up some of the worst of American culture. But, for a few days, I'll be on the same day as all of you; we leave Tuesday March 26 at 2:30 in Samoa...arrive Monday March 25 at 2:00 in American Samoa. It's weird that I'm getting more used to this time travel thing.

This past week was incredibly busy--pisi le vaiaso--as we started our work for our Independent Study Projects. I'll be looking at cultural perceptions of pregnancy again. After interviewing a few women, I was reminded why I love this topic so much. Watching women's faces as they explain and laugh with their experiences is a beautiful thing. I'm collecting quite a few narratives, and quite a few beliefs associated with pregnant women. For example, she should never drink niu (coconut water) from a coconut that has been cut with a big hole lest her baby be born with a huge mouth. And don't tie your lavalava above your breasts because you wouldn't want the baby to be born without arms!

I'll update more on my return from your time zone.

Tele alofa!

The introspective tourist

Growing and living in a place of the world where tourism permeates through every person, place, and thing is an interesting (and often times uneasy) experience. Samoa, with its clandestine beaches and crystal waters is obviously one of these destinations, and because of this I’ve had to navigate my identity as a student, a pālangi, a woman, and especially as a tourist.

Last Friday my group left by ferry for the island of Savai’i, the largest island of the Samoan chain of islands that is far less populated and is far more soaked by tourists. We knew this going into it. We were aware that this trip, unlike our Lotofaga trip, was somewhat like a vacation (although Jackie obviously does not use that to describe it). Savai’i harbors active flowing volcanoes (the last eruption was early 1900s, I think 1907?) so this was our chance to see the more geological perspectives of the islands.

Here's a general map of the two main islands of Samoa. I am usually on the island of 'Upolu in the city of Apia. We took a ferry into Salelologa, stayed at Tanu Beach on the east central side of the island, visited Falealupo, the Taga blowholes, hiked Tafua, and swam in Olemoe Falls.

But before the lectures and hikes on Pacific geology, we were given two free days at the Tanu Beach Fales on the southeast side of the island. Tanu Beach is run by a family of Samoans, which is a common business for some families, especially in Savai’i. They provided for us breakfast and dinner and a comfortable stay in a little fale that made for a beautiful vacation. I woke up in the morning to see those turquoise waters lapping up to me and had the days to relax in the sun, snorkel in the reefs offshore, and experience some other sites that were near the property.

Our little fales at Tanu Beach

The tide would get so high so the bottom two steps of those stairs were covered! Jackie says the family has had to move the beach fales back another few feet almost every year. Can you say rising sea levels?

One such site was Paia, the Dwarf’s Cave. It was suggested to us by a few of the family members at Tanu Beach, and I went into it with very few expectations. Before this experience, I had never been in a cave before – or at least not a real cave. I was imagining a hole in the side of a volcano, but the entrance to Paia ended up as a literal hole in the ground, with a relatively sleep descent into a dark, dripping tunnel. Color and light escaped us as we went deeper in until I experienced actual darkness for the first time. A shallow stream of water ran over our feet, collecting in pools along the way. The pools, lit from our three small light sources, were unclouded and crisp, with no (visible) things growing in or around them. We were surrounded by water, rock, and mud only. Some roots pushed through the ceiling, growing more rare as we descended. The first large pool we came to forced me to leave my shirt and bag behind, with no way to avoid getting drenched up to my shoulders. The next pool was even bigger and deeper, where I abandoned my headlamp because I was required to jump into the pool that was deep enough that I could not stand. From then on we were reliant on our guide, a fifteen-year-old boy named Junior from the village. We continued on our way, laughing at ourselves as we slipped from rock to rock with ungraceful steps. We eventually came to a wall, and as I assumed that was the end of the cave, Junior got down on his stomach and squeezed his thin body through a crack in the wall. Watching this alone made my skin crawl and pushed comfort zones I didn’t even know I had. I followed and entered a round room. Here, we sat and decided to turn off the remaining light, and experienced darkness and silence that was foreign to us. In darkness like that, light and energy plays with you. I had a stained image of that room in my mind that stayed with me as the light went out, and I felt other’s bodies in a way that required no sight or sound. It was a cool experience, and having pushed myself (literally and figuratively) into it made it more powerful. When the light came back on, I again naively thought that we were going to turn around, but Junior again got on his belly and found another crack, this time far more uncomfortable because there was no open room on the other side. This tunnel steered us for about ten minutes until it was actually time to turn back. Venturous locals and tourists from previous times had etched their names and marks into the muddy walls of the tunnel, and I of course followed suit. Leaving the tight spaces was relieving, but I’m glad I went through it. Retrospectively I’m not sure why I never stopped to consider why it was called “Dwarf’s Cave” if not to crawl on my belly, hands, and knees for at least part of the path. The way back seemed much shorter, as they always do, and I enjoyed experiencing the checkpoints in a new light. The walls seemed shorter, the climbs and falls less brooding, and the cave pools cleansing as I had becoming covered in mud by squeezing through these spaces. As I picked up my left items on the way back with a clean body, I found it funny that there was no way to exit that cave without freeing yourself of those necessary inconveniences. You exit the cave as you entered, maybe a little wetter, but fresh all the same.

This picture obviously doesn't do it justice, but it's the best the internet had.

Exiting Paia, speechless

The next day we met an Aussie geologist (world famous, I might add) named Warren Jopling. At the age of 84, his natural spark was spiced with his old age, creating a special place in all our hearts for this bloody mad old man. With Warren we visited a lava field on the south side of the island, a dazzling landscape with stark black pavement of lava with little green shoots of tropical plants finding their way through the cracks and eroded patches. A beautiful thing to experience, especially with Warren’s incredible brilliance.

Warren, in his element

We left Tanu Beach the next day, which was a lot harder than I expected. I had come to connect with the family that hosted us, especially three cousins Juliana, Lagi, and Feliciti ages 13, 10 and 8. We would swim in the afternoons, practicing our minimal Samoan language skills as they complimented us on our skill. This, of course, was flattering but these moments were the first glimpses into the identity struggle between student-pālangi-tourist. Most of the people that this family hosted were on the extreme side of tourist, mostly Australians and New Zealanders that come for honeymoons or vacations. These tourists don’t come with the intention of learning the language, understanding the process of cooking talo (taro), or anything of the sort. They are not wrong for this—I have played this part in my life before, and in some ways have been playing this part while in Samoa. I found myself constantly rechecking the balance of my different identities, realizing the parts and pieces that were being expressed more clearly at any one time. I lost interest in submitting to the extreme example of tourist because I would so much rather feel connected to this family than simply be served by them. These identities are incredibly circumstantial and are not ones I can fully express here or elsewhere, but it has certainly been on my mind more after staying at Tanu Beach.

We left Tanu Beach for a hostel-like hotel closer to the wharf in the village of Safua. Warren actually lived on the property, making our excursions practically easier. We ended up only staying one night because of an unfortunate robbery situation, and luckily the hotel we moved to was beautiful beyond description, a place called Lusia's. It was very clearly tourist-oriented with kayaks, jumping docks, and rock pools. We were all sad to have only one night in this place, but in the end I’m glad we had spent most of our time with the family at Tanu Beach.

Sanaa and I with the cousins from Tanu Beach. From left to right they are Feliciti, Lagi, and Juliana

Amy, me, and Mickey with our buddy Timo, another cousin at Tanu Beach

A real spider that we found at our hotel in Safua. I hope you can see how huge this spider is with the reference of the door corner

Little rock pool at Lusia's

Sunrise at Lusia's

Tapa making near Olemoe Falls. Tapa is a cloth made from the bark of the mulberry paper tree. The paints used to decorate it are made from mangrove bark to create a distinctly Pacific piece of art

On the way to the hotel, we stopped at the western-most point of the world, Falealupo. Because the island of Savai'i straddles the date line, Falealupo used to have (by human-made standards) the last sunset of each day. This is no longer the case because as of Dec 2011, Samoa is now the day ahead of the US rather than on the same day. This means that I am 20 hours ahead of US Central Time, rather than 4 hours behind (I guess now it's more like 19 hours because you all had daylight savings...which doesn't happen here for another few weeks. Yet another human-made standard that baffles me). Unfortunately we were there at about 2pm, so I didn't get to see the last sunrise of the day, but it still counts.

On our way down the west side of the island we stopped at the Taga blowholes. Eroded holes in the lava rock create tunnels for sea waves to crash through, sending sea water almost 100ft into the air. The power of these things is indescribable and the picture is only one piece of the experience. You can only imagine the loud roar of the sea squeezing through the tunnel of rock.

 

On the last day, we ended with a hike up Tafua, the second largest volcano in Savai’i (which isn’t that big don’t get too excited). Warren, despite his age, went with us and at this point we had started referring to him as Captain because it seemed a better title. After the hike we went to Afua’au waterfall (the whole river is called Olemoe Falls) and swam in a magical freshwater pool, which has definitely made it to my top 5 most beautiful places experiences yet. It was a great way to end the trip and cleanse ourselves before getting back on the ferry to Apia.

Warren has that effect on people.

View of Warren from the top of Tafua (he didn't come with us to the top)

The crater wall of the volcano

Afua'au waterfall

Overall, I experienced a lot of self-checks throughout this whole trip. I was so aware through the whole thing of my position, constantly analyzing how I fit in the space I occupied. Tourism is still a concept that I struggle with, but I’m mindful of the responsibility I must take for being, on some level, a tourist. I go to school here, speak some of the language, gladly adapt to cultural standards unlike my own, and genuinely feel comfortable on these streets. These realities mold my identity as “tourist” into something unique, shifting at all times. I have to say I’m glad to be back on campus with my Pacific friends and comfortable ways. Here I feel I have another purpose than just sunbathing and snorkeling (in fact I am required to have other purposes), and although that is incredibly relaxing and interesting, I don’t feel comfortable occupying that space all the time. Maybe that’s why vacations are short, because no one can conceivably be a full-on tourist for too long. We crave to “fit in,” whatever that means, and to have other motives that keep us going. I appreciate that trip for all it has taught me to consider, and the incredible outdoor experiences that I always love, but for now I’m happy to call myself a teine ā’oga i USP Alafua, a student at USP Alafua.

Le Vaiaso Fa’avavau, The Week that Was Eternal

I was a different person one week ago on the Saturday that I left for Lotofaga. I struggle with writing about this experience because it’s hard for me to capture the power, the peacefulness, and the perspectives that I fully lived, but for my own sake I need to write about it. Get ready because it’s a long one.

Lotofaga (pronounced loto-fahng-ah) is on the very south side of the island, almost a straight shot south of Apia. To reach the village you can travel east, west, or south, which are all about 50 minutes by car. But if I’ve learned anything about Samoa it’s that speed is nothing to take into consideration; a bus ride that should have lasted 50 minutes ended up at four hours. We left Apia at ten and didn’t arrive in Lotofaga until after two…but that’s the least of my troubles. The bus ride wasn’t so much pleasant as invigorating. Never in my life have I been offered so much food without my asking—I was full with an entire meal by the time I exited the bus: one coconut, two boiled eggs, a bag of cheetohs, two sodas, and part of a BBQ sandwich. I was pushed against a window by a woman who spoke no English (which was good for me) with several of her grocery bags on my lap. I’m truly getting a sense of what a communal culture is; nothing belongs to any one person, including food and drink, which is why I was fed so much. The only thing that turned the bus ride sour was the man (an apparent cousin of the woman I was sitting next to) who insisted—and I mean insisted—on being my boyfriend. He pulled me onto his lap at one point to which I awkwardly tried to escape with minimal Samoan. I eventually did and he stood over me for the rest of the trip, continuing to buy me food and drinks and telling me he would come over to my house to cook me Samoan food. (If it’s any consolation to you, mom, he’s by far the most aggressive man I’ve met in this country so far.)

Upon arrival, we were greeted with the essential ‘ava ceremony and indescribable amounts of food. Our tinā sāmoa (Samoan mothers) sat opposite of us, and although we knew the names of our mothers and they knew ours, we had no way of knowing who we actually were until we introduced ourselves with broken Samoan and told them our tinā sāmoa. My mother was Mele, a seamstress of 56 years who decorated me with a overwhelmingly potent ula, or lei. After the ‘ava ceremony we collected our things and I was dropped off with Mele at her fale.

Mele’s family is a small one compared to most Samoan families. Mele has three children in their 30s: Kuini, Iona, and Sitte. Sitte lives in Apia so I never got to meet her, and Kuini lives in a different fale in the village with her husband Akeli and her three little boys Lio (10), Pili (8), and Peni (5). Iona lives in Mele’s fale but I rarely saw him…he was out and about all the time, but where I have no idea. I spent the most time with Mele and sometimes with Kuini and her boys. Because Mele lived alone, it made for some beautiful nights in the fale when Mele would spread out pillows on the floor and either help me with my homework or laugh and touch my hands in loving affection.

Pili and Peni being adorable

And making faces

Let's just say they were not at all camera shy

I believe pictures might more fully describe the personalities of Pili and Peni, the boys I spent the most time with. I absolutely adore them. I instilled in them what I call the “pālagi energy,” because they were constantly yelling the Samoan variation of my name Elisa! Elisa! to get my attention about something or other. Like my experience with the kindergarteners at Björnen in Överkalix, children are a great way to ease your way into a language and culture. Pili and Peni spoke no English and Lio was too shy to ever show me his actual proficiency. My time with them was mostly languageless…the games we would play, the pictures we would draw, the adorable dances and poses that Peni was never too reserved to show me all worked to make me fall in love with these little boys. Kuini, their mother, took me in as a friend almost immediately and made me feel so comfortable. Although they slept in Mele’s fale only a few nights, family in Samoa is truly family—they would all come and go as they pleased and I would often come home from Jackie’s house to find a new mix of the family waiting for Elisa.

Mele, Pili and I in the kitchen fale

Le fale o Mele

That first day seems like years ago. I was an awkward alien in her space that day, where minutes felt like hours as I stared, wide-eyed, at her space and life. Mele lives humbly to say the least. The shower consists of a bucket of water. The “Samoan stove” (as she called it, laughing) is a pot with coals in it. Chickens, pigs, dogs, and cats roam her property and surround us as we eat, the little kitten sitting on my lap crying as they beg for my scraps. I moved between sleeping, eating, drinking tea, fanning myself, and showering because my body seems as if it cannot handle much else. Several times a day Mele would ask me “fia moe?” do I want to sleep? I mean, yes I could have slept at any point, but I had to hold back because of that unreal sunset that silhouetted the forest of palms as if I was living in a brochure…well, maybe not a brochure. I fell asleep in that open fale with a mosquito net over me, impressed with my Samoan language abilities of that day.

The next morning was Sunday when Samoans take church and relaxation to a whole new level. Mele dressed me in a white lavalava and dress shirt with a little white hat. She’s a member of the Congregational Church of Samoa, where dainty little hats are just short of required. I felt so proper. Church was beautiful and I am consistently overwhelmed with the beauty of Pacific voices. The men can reach octaves so low, which accompany the women’s soprano in such a poetic way when they sing songs of praise in a language that so peacefully flows. Church was the first time in two days that I had seen the other SIT students. It was interesting having spent all my time with them and then no time at all…I really liked it. I felt genuinely immersed as I participated in the activities Samoans are so good at: praising God and relaxing.

Monday was the first class we had together and I found it more uncomfortable than anything to share my experience. It’s impressive how different the students’ living situations were from one another—some lived in fale pālagi (more typical houses with walls and furniture) and others, like me, lived in a one room fale with no walls, the fale sāmoa. Some had TVs, running showers, and electric stoves. Others had no toilet, water tubs (which were filled by the intense rain showers), and the “Samoan stoves.” These differences were hard for some of us to navigate; some students who had TVs in their homes wished for a more “humble” lifestyle, which in and of itself is an interesting thing to pick apart. I was pretty unconcerned with the state of my situation; nothing bothered me other than the swarm of mosquitoes after 5pm with no escape in our open fale.

On Tuesday we were presented with a pretty moving ethical dilemma. Jackie, our academic director, married a Samoan 40 years ago and now has an incredibly extended family, which is why we were in Lotofaga in the first place (her husband’s mother is from the village, along with several brothers, sisters, cousins, and more kids than you can count). Jackie and her family organized an activity where we could experience an umu, or the preparation of to’ona’i, the huge Sunday meal that I keep describing. A part of this umu was the killing of a pig. Two students volunteered to do the deed, and the process (that undoubtedly took longer than usual unfortunately) was one of the biggest culture clashes we had experienced. It was a pretty subdued and somber experience for me. It was hard to watch the pig die, especially given the many years I’ve lived as a devout vegetarian. It was killed with a metal bar pressed to its neck to stop blood flow to the brain. No blood was drawn during this event, but I felt it was something I wanted and needed to see. To see it killed, to see it cleaned, and to eat its flesh. Unfortunately not everyone responded in this way—there were many tears, making it uncomfortable for some of the Samoan members of Jackie’s family that were helping us. Killing a pig (tapē le pua’a) is a part of life, such that the word for “killing” and animal, tapē, is simply to “shut off.” This tension worked to make me incredibly uncomfortable and I left feeling pretty broken by the experience, not fully understanding how I felt about it all (my role, my group’s role, the family’s reaction, etc). I don’t regret watching it or being there, but I do look back at it as something that I wish had gone in a different direction…but which direction I don’t really know

Cooking the palusami over the hot rocks, covered by taro leaves

Cleaning the pig that had been killed moments before. Note the distraught look on everyone's face.

Wednesday was my birthday and it was mostly spent at home with Mele just talking and sleeping as she sewed me a pulutasi (a formal outfit with a lavalava and dress shirt) for the event this Friday, the fiafia. Birthdays in Samoa aren’t the most recognized things but I think I liked it that way. I realized throughout the day that it was the first birthday where I wasn’t surrounded by a cold, desolate climate, which definitely worked the change my mood. The weather in Lotofaga was strikingly beautiful as was every day. The SIT group got together in the afternoon and celebrated with a cake and a beautiful ula (lei) to decorate me. It was a calm day and I didn’t have a sip of beer or anything—there was no beer to sip. If it matters to anyone, I plan to have a more festive celebration this weekend in Savai’i when we stay in a beach fale. Some Vailima will do the trick.

Celebrating my birthday at Jackie's house, "Manaia lou 21 aso fānau!"

In the morning on Thursday we went to the village primary school, which was quite the ordeal as you can imagine. The pālagi were all anyone was talking about. Mele dressed me in a pulutasi for the lesson that I planned to teach for the 8th year class. I taught with Ali and we focused on adjectives, nouns, and verbs and played MadLibs with their newfound knowledge. We play games that I had stowed away from my years as a camp counselor, and taught them the banana song which, by the end of our stay, the whole village knew (it was also a dance performed at the fiafia).

The most moving part of that day was our trip to To Sua, a giant eroded lava hole in a cliff that’s fed by sea water. There’s also a small hidden beach on that property carved into the side of the cliff and an expanse of lava field the size of a football field. The beauty of this place affected me in a way that I cannot fully describe to you. Maybe pictures can show you better.

Yes this place is real.

Sanaa and me at To Sua, Lotofaga

Breathtaking and life-changing

The fiafia on Friday was the climax of the week. The more performative tinā sāmoa were eccentrically decorated, while others, like Mele and I, wore matching pulutasi. The way the fiafia works is a dual performance, from us (the pālagi) and the tinā sāmoa. We sat in a fale, each group facing each other and would “pass the fire” back and forth, trading performances. We had a dance prepared that we learned while still in Apia (I’ll have to find the video of the performance); a Samoan handgame, the sasā, that tells the story of the preparation of ulu (breadfruit); a few individual performances, one of which was the banana song (accompanied by the children of Lotofaga that were crowded around the outside of the fale because they weren’t allowed inside); and we sang “Down to the River to Pray” to our tinā sāmoa. They had prepared such beautiful dances for us and admittedly were much better at the quintessential Samoan movements with their hands and feet than we were. There was constant laughter, cheering, and a few tears as our time was coming to an end. I’m definitely not the only one that, by that time, was feeling incredibly connected to not only my tinā sāmoa, but my fale, my village, my place.

Aren't we so matching and cute?

The dancing tinā

Saturday was relatively uneventful, where I spent most of my day finishing homework that I had put off enjoying my last full day with Mele. Sunday morning was another church service and another to’ona’i. This time I was more prepared to help because of our experience with the umu, so I was able to grate coconuts to make palusami ma fe’e (octopus cooked in palusami). It felt so gratifying to feel a part of the family and participate in something that was practical and that I was actually good at.

Valu popo, scraping coconuts

Leaving Lotofaga on Sunday afternoon was more emotional than I imagined. Having experienced a homestay before with my spectacular and life-altering Swedish family, I had some idea of what to expect, but after only one week I wasn’t anticipating the intense sense of belonging that I felt with Mele and the village.

In one word, Mele was peaceful. In a lot of ways I think I was susceptible to be affected by her peaceful nature. I think of the walks I had wading through Sand Lake with Grandma Jo, whispering peace and quiet, peace and quiet to show ourselves and the world around us just how important that concept is. I had a new experience with peace and quiet, the Samoan way, and feel rooted and connected to Mele, making me nostalgic for her engulfing smile. I feel moved by that woman, and I only hope that I gave her a small portion of what she has given me. I plan to visit her during my last month of the program, where we are given free time to conduct research. Knowing that Lotofaga is only a drive away, it gives me all the reason in the world to return to that fale, with gifts of yarn and sugar and love. I have that lovely green and pink pulutasi to remember Mele.

In other news, I have moved in with a Pacific roommate! Her name is Melonie and she’s Fijian. We’ve known her since our first day as she’s apt to take new little students (pālagi or not) under her wing. This is her last semester at USP and I am admittedly her first pālagi roommate ever. She’s an incredibly sociable thing, which is really fun for me and has helped me meet tons of new people.

Thanks for putting up with this intense post. I have so many feelings about this past week and I worry that this post doesn't even come close to the actual experience, but it was worth a try. Thank you to all that sent me birthday wishes even though I was very out of touch for some time!

I send my tropical thoughts and love to you all!