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!