College Life

About 15 years ago, the local college had a dilemna. There were only a handful of Pacific Islander students enrolled but yet so many had graduated from high school. Where were these students? At the university? Nope. Statistics showed their enrollment numbers were just as low. Steps were taken to recruit and enroll Pacific Islander students into the college and now the numbers are in the hundreds. This should be great news. Except now there's a new dilemna. Out of the hundreds of Pacific Islander students enrolled at the college, only a handful of those actually complete their program and graduate or move on to a 4-year university. A handful. Why? This is the issue I have to begin to analyze, tear apart, and try to solve. It's a huge job. And I'm up for the challenge!

Working Mom

I was offered a full time position with an educational software/training company yesterday. You think I would be jumping for joy since I've been out of work since August. You think I'd be doing cartwheels because they offered me a salary above the 'asking price' because of my education and experience. I should be happy because we can pay off our bills faster and be more comfortable. But I'm not bouncing off the walls, or performing some random cheerleader move, or screaming CHOO HOO at the top of my lungs. I'm pondering this moment and going over the pros and cons in my head. Of course, I have accepted the position. What else can I do? But my mind bounces from...
paying bills and having extra money for a weekend McDs run with the kids,
to not having a lot of time to bake fresh bread for the kids when they get home from school,
to being able to do some decent Christmas shopping and not feeling bad because we weren't able to really get nice things for the kids,
to not being able to drop off the kids or have time to go on a class field trip as a chaperone,...
The HUGE factor that is keeping me semi-calm in all of this tennis court drama in my head is the fact that my little sister is going to handle picking up the kids from school. As a Samoan, I don't believe in daycare, unless it's run by a family member. Family's are there to help each other out and if I can make some money and give some to my sister, we all win! She certainly doesn't expect the money but I would like to give it to her just the same. Win-win situation! Now, my brain can settle down, start planning activities and menu's, and go back to being a double-full-time working mom... with peace of mind.

Counting Heads

As we drove up to Brigham City today, we kept counting heads to make sure we had all of the children with us. Unfortunately, not all of them could come so we kept feeling like we were missing someone. With my oldest daughter in California visiting her grandpa and grandma, having tons of fun, and lightening grandpa's wallet by shopping til she drops, it was a day full of second looks and LOTS of counting. It's funny how things change when your eldest child is gone, even for a short weekend. Everything in the house seems to change. The other three were in charge of cleaning the house and did well, they took forever, but accomplished their goal. Is this a preview of how things will be when the kids start to go to college? Grandpa took her to tour the campus at Stanford University... I don't mind Stanford but the cost, WOW! If grandpa is going to show her the campus and get her interested, he better be setting up that savings account to help pay the tuition! As parents we have our children, love them like no other, and wait for the day when they are out of the house and there is peace and quiet. I don't think I'm going to be the parent that enjoys that setting. I love the noise. I love my kids when they play Scene It, or Scrabble, or wrestle in the living room... I love a little peace and quiet but not too much. It was hard enough to send my daughter out to her grandparents for the weekend. What extent of "basket case" will I be if she actually goes away for college? And will I continue to count heads because I always have a feeling that we're missing someone?

Birthday & Memorial

Today is my 3rd daughter's 10th birthday... She was the baby of the family for 51/2 years before the youngest was born and I wonder if she still feels the effects of that in her life. She used to be the youngest, the spoiled one, the attention getter, to the middle, often overlooked child because her younger sister is a diva... This is my Dragon baby, my Barbie Ninja, my future engineer. She used to stack anything or sort them in order: video tapes, DVD cases, blocks, pots, anything! Now she's a quiet 4th grader who loves to read and is still perfectly content playing by herself. My dad says out of all the girls, she reminds him most of me. That actually scares me!

On a sad note, today is also the one year anniversary of the tsunami that hit American Samoa, Samoa, and Tonga. I was watching a memorial video on Facebook and it brought tears to my eyes. I didn't know anyone in the video, none of my family was hurt (although by the grace of God my brother did not go into work early that day and his water plant was in one of the hardest hit areas), but my heart was hurting at the loss and fear this environmental disaster caused. Ua tiga lau fatu! My love for my homeland is neverending and to know this has happened to my people makes me wonder if I should be there to help them out. Or am I of more use to them here in the U.S.?

Homesick...

I'm at home, all the kids are in school, and I'm listening to an online Hawaiian radio station out of Las Vegas, folding clothes, and feeling completely and utterly homesick. Actually, any island would do at this point. Anything with a beach, warm Pacific Ocean waters, pua trees, guavas and mangoes, the ocean breeze filling the air. I look outside and all I see are desert trees planted by early pioneers and those of late, feel the dry heat, and wonder what I'm doing away from home. But I guess this IS home now. All of my children were born here and much as I'd love to move away, I know I couldn't do that to them. What soothes homesickness? Cooking things that remind me of home, listening to homestyle music, and thanking the big guy upstairs for health and happiness.

Life's curveballs... or quarterback sacks...

You know the saying about the dark cloud and the silver lining? Yeah, so I'm still looking for that silver lining. I've received a small glimpse of it but I'm waiting for the entire cloud to be covered in bright, sparkly, silver stars. Sort of like my 4-year-old's famous bag of lip gloss.

My silver lining has begun with being a stay-at-home mom. It wasn't voluntary, mind you, but it has become a great comfort, emotionally, personally, but not so much financially. I am comforted knowing I'll be here whenever I need to drop off or pick up my girls from school. I am still teaching because I am the tutor for an 8th grader, 6th grader, 4th grader, and preschooler. I can cook dinner and have even started baking, this time using things like yeast and cinnamon and things that don't come out of the box. I am happy, and yet...

I have so much time at home now but I feel like I'm not accomplishing what I need to; what that accomplishment is I DON'T KNOW! I have been wanting to rewrite Samoan legends. I have elementary teachers who are in need of "ethnic" stories for their classrooms to promote diversity and with the large population of Polynesians in Utah, this would be a great resource for them. I have two chapter books that I've started and am at a stand still. I want to write and bake and not worry about bills. Is that too much to ask? Has the sparkly lining grown since this post?

Half-Caste Part 4

Since I graduated from high school in 1988 and left for college, I've only been home three times. The first time in 1991, the second in 1996, and most recently in 2008. When I went home in 1996, my younger sister was graduating from high school. A male cousin, who was also graduating, was like my sister's twin. These two were born five months apart and were inseparable growing up. My uncle named them 'the monsters' because they were always causing trouble.

I was already married when I went home in 1996 and I had a different mindset. On my 1991 visit, I wanted to be the social butterfly and see all of my friends, meet new people, etc. This time around I just wanted to see my family and some close friends. Basically, I didn't want to prove my 'Samoan-ness' to anyone. I just wanted to be me.

I was in rare form during that visit. I wore a long dress and had my hair up in a bun at the graduation so my family kept calling me 'faletua' (minister's wife). Of course my husband's being half Tongan AND Mormon made that comment even more funny to them. At the graduation dinner, my sister and cousin had to stand up and say a few words. My cousin, with all of his White Sunday training, gave a speech in Samoan that would put many orators to shame. My poor younger sister had to follow this speech and since she is not a trained public speaker, she stumbled through her thank you's. What did I do to support her? I call out at the end of her speech, "Ia manuia outou matua, ae ola matou fanau, soifua". This was followed with a roar of laughter and many "Malo, Missy's". Sure, I proved my 'Samoan-ness' but at the expense and ridicule of my younger sister. I still feel like a total jerk! (By the way, the phrase I used was from our old White Sunday days where we would always end our church presentation with that particular phrase which basically means 'Good health and life to you, our elders, now us young folk are leaving, peace and love'.)

As if my catch phrase wasn't bad enough, others began feeling the burn of my 'Samoan-ness'. Afakasi? Where?

The big graduation party was on Saturday and there was a lot of preparation that needed to be done. My older sister, whom we refer to as 'Mafa Stewart', is very crafty and came up with the idea of a ma'ilo at each table for the party snacks. One of my cousins didn't know how to make a ma'ilo but I did. Guess who was teased by all of the aunties the rest of the day because the 'Tongan' girl had to teach him how to make a ma'ilo. Even my sisters were yelled at because they were living in Samoa and their sister from the states knew more Samoan stuff than they did. Although I don't know think weaving a plate out of coconut leaves constitutes as knowing more.

After the graduation party, my brothers, cousins, and I went to a nightclub. I spent the rest of the night explaining to dance partners; Yes, I live in the states; No, I'm not palagi, I'm Samoan; Yes, I was born and raised in Samoa. Again, the entire pedigree laid out to prove my 'Samoan-ness'.

The next week my sisters, a female cousin, and I went back to that same club and got kicked out because my younger sister was under-age. My older sister went off on the bouncer telling him there were several under-aged patrons in the club and why wasn't he kicking them out, did he know who we were, and he was just picking on us because we're afakasi. (Yes, she went there.) We went home very annoyed and, of course, all the male family members just laughed. So much for our ladies night out and our Samoan influence.

My final night in Samoa we had a family prayer. We had to look up a Bible verse in the Samoan Tusi Pa'ia and I found the verse before my cousin. That set off a whole new round of teasing because the 'Samoan' girl (Finally!) could navigate her way through the Samoan Bible. It was very difficult saying goodbye to my family, especially when they kept telling me to stay home. Of course it's hard to leave the people who love you the most and despite all of the teasing, could care less that you're afakasi. To them, you're aiga and that's all that matters.

Half-Caste Part 3

Being born and raised in American Samoa, I have always considered myself Samoan. Biologically, I am half Samoan, half Caucasian, but even my little white mom from North Carolina would refer to me as her 'Samoan girl'.

Growing up, my auntie Tinei would take me with her whenever she could to the village for choir practice, White Sunday practice, and she even told my mom the minister's wife wanted me to come to their Sunday School classes. This same aunt taught me the Samoan siva which I performed every given chance. I may be biased but my auntie Tinei is one of the most graceful, beautiful, entertaining dancers I have ever seen so to be under her tutelage meant nothing but the best. In 2005, we had our first family reunion in Hawai'i and there are some younger cousins who don't really know my siblings and I because we left for college before they were born. Two of these younger cousins also happen to be named after my older sister and me. My namesake and I decided the four of us should all do a siva together and see which pair were the better dancers. After the siva, my older sister's namesake said, "I didn't know your sister could dance like that!" My older sister said, "Who do you think taught her?"

Just in this conversation I saw the afakasi stigma rear its ugly head. I was my aunt's shadow growing up so obviously I would learn from her. Many times at school, I was picked to dance the siva for the entire class so I knew I needed to learn from someone; why not the best?

It seems like once you go off to college and live in the United States, people forget you ever lived in Samoa. This was certainly true when I went home for the summer in 1991. I had been away at college for three years and was excited to be home. It just so happened this was the summer of my uncle's saofa'i (bestowing of the chiefs title).

The afakasi issue became apparent during the saofa'i when the younger girls, one in particular, kept trying to take things away from me during the sua presentations as if I didn't know what I was doing. I finally asked the "one in particular" girl who the heck she was and if she was even family. She backed away quickly! The next conversation was with my cousins who were not presenting the sua correctly. I mentioned they should be presenting their gifts from their right sides as a sign of respect. My cousins, who were serving whichever side they felt, blew it off and said it didn't matter. Yeah, what does the afakasi girl know about Samoan culture?

A few weeks later we had to take gifts to our family in the village of Fagasa for a fa'aulufalega (church dedication). My uncle and I arrived a little late and my cousins (the same ones from the saofa'i) had to present the sua to the church and village elders. Guess who got yelled at for presenting the sua improperly? Afterwards, my cousins came out and told me they wished I was in there to help with the sua. Who's the afakasi? What? Oh, I've now been promoted to Samoan.

Half-Caste Part 2

"... The girls are plenty, and all half caste..." I'm driving in my car listening to Jamoa Jam and singing this phrase at the top of my lungs. Yeah, that's right Utah! I'm half-caste! And what?!

Okay, there is some false bravado in that last comment. I'm only happy to sing the song because it makes my being afakasi a positive thing. More often than not, it's been a negative in my life. You would think that negativity would come from the old school American culture and its 1950ish outlook on interracial marriages. But, no. The negativity has come from my own Samoan people.

Here's the funny part. I come from a large, strong family of chiefs from a large, influencial village in American Samoa. I can travel anywhere, and I mean anywhere, run into a Samoan, be introduced and just get the look that says, "Oh, she's just some afakasi girl who doesn't know anything about her culture." Okay, now the funny part.

If I'm introduced and the introducer says I'm from Samoa, the other person has a polite smile and says, "Oh", while nodding, indicating they really don't care.

Seriously, here's the funny part. I can be introduced as a Samoan from American Samoa and my family and village enter the conversation... Hello! Eyes light up, hugs, the big smile with the drawn out "Ohhhh", the whole barrage of questions on how's the family, and finally the "I knew your dad, family, etc..."

Why couldn't it just be, "Oh, you're Samoan and it's good to meet a fellow Samoan"? Instead, I get the feeling you have to lay out your pedigree so the other person can make sure you're worthy to converse with, most especially if you're afakasi.

Half-Caste Part 1

Half-caste, or afakasi, has always been a bad word in my vocabulary. Being called afakasi meant I didn't fully belong to my Samoan culture no matter how strongly I felt about it.

In college, I had a lively discussion with my friend's boyfriend about being half-caste and where we really belong. Thinking back on the conversation, I realized our thoughts differed because of the way we were brought up.

We were both born and raised in American Samoa and stayed until we graduated from high school. The difference was, I participated in family and school cultural functions and followed the traditions taught by my aunts and uncles.

My friend's boyfriend, on the other hand, was not pushed to learn or follow the traditions. I'm sure he learned along the way because you are somewhat influenced by a culture when you are surrounded by its people.

My ultimate conclusion on being afakasi is everything depends on what is in your heart. If your heart is Samoan, then it doesn't matter if you're only, biologically, half Samoan.

In today's society, especially in the United States, there are so many interracial couples and children of mixed races that the half-caste stigma is becoming less prominent.

Unfortunately, being afakasi in the Polynesian cultures, especially Tongan and Samoan, you are still looked down upon because you are not full-blooded. Well, maybe not looked down on but many times you are not fully accepted unless you are related, or you prove yourself worthy, or you speak the language.

Growing up in American Samoa, I had many experiences being afakasi and now my own children have to grow up with that type of label here in the United States. My four girls are more than afakasi because they are Tonga, Hawaiian, Japanese, German, Samoan, European, Native American. Because of this incredible mix of cultures, I am trying to teach them not only the Polynesian ways, which is the dominant culture in their lives, but also to appreciate all cultures and differences.

So'o le fau ma le fau

I received an email yesterday requesting that the family write letters for my uncle's Circuit Court Judge confirmation hearing in the Hawai'i Senate. I was eager to get my letter started but when I sat down I drew a blank. I started off introducing myself but it sounded like a poorly written cover letter. Then I tried connecting myself to my uncle by saying he's my dad's youngest brother and all I could think of was LAME! So I erased everything and decided to wait for some inspiration. Thank goodness I didn't have to wait long, especially since this letter is due next Thursday.

My inspiration came while eating lunch and thinking about recent happenings back home. The first thing that came to my mind was a saying that my dad used when he was campaigning for Representative. So'o le fau ma le fau. To tie two pieces of fau together. In working together, we can accomplish great things. Now that I have a basis for my letter, I feel I can write pieces here and there and still complete it by Thursday. While I am extremely proud of my uncle and his accomplishments, my mind turns to the tragic shooting back home in American Samoa.

It's obvious our 'fau' as a people is not tied as strongly as we once believed. Reading bits and pieces of information and with the understanding this happened even AFTER a favorable outcome for the guilty party, a person deemed it necessary to shoot and kill a police officer. How are we supposed to accomplish great things when we're killing each other over who knows what? Granted, we are a proud people and killing is nothing new. It has happened before. But why this and why now? Instead of breaking each other down, why not uplift? What's wrong with saying, doing, feeling, acting out something positive? If we are to continue as a strong, proud people, we need to remind ourselves that we are one; we are Samoa.

What's worse: Having writer's block or getting into your blog, writing some good stuff, and then having a power surge that erases EVERYTHING?

My original thoughts were along the lines of Polynesian's and how we treat one another. This stems from a conversation I had yesterday about a new word that someone came up with to distinguish Polynesians from other cultures. Although the word was intended, I'm pretty sure, to be positive, it ended up coming across as negative. Other cultures or races have words that are used rather loosely but instead of uplifting their people, they break them down. This particular word I was introduced to seemed to do just that; break us down. One thing I've noticed lately is the lack of respect Polynesians have toward one another. The words we use to refer to each other or just the way we speak to one another, shows our lack of respect and love not only for the other person, but for our people and culture as a whole. I remember growing up and watching the adults handle issues. No matter what the issue was, it was always resolved with the utmost respect for both parties, even the person or people at fault. Japanese call it "saving face", Westerners call it "avoiding disgrace", but whatever the term, the outcome was the same. The guilty culprits were properly reprimanded but everyone left with a good feeling. Maybe we should start thinking about speaking to others as we would want to be spoken to, with respect and lots of positivity!

Pure Blood

Lagi walked slowly through the shade, listening to the ocean whispering to her from just beyond the coconut trees. It was low tide and the water was quiet. The soft sounds gave her comfort and she knew she would be able to think without interruption. Despite the peaceful waters, her mind and heart were racing. Sefo had asked her to marry him! This should have been an exciting day, but Lagi was nervous. She needed time to think.
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When Sefo walked into their fifth grade class, he had on his brown uniform lavalava and his white collared shirt. His white slippers were brand new and, like any new student, he was very shy. He looked almost the same as everyone else in the class and yet there was something different about him. He had an afro hairdo and he was dark, much darker than the Samoan boys Lagi had grown up with. Being around the same people for most of her life, Lagi was interested in this new student but she couldn’t ask him anything. Every time she would try to ask him a question, he would just smile and put his head down.
Sefo continued to be the shy kid, even into high school. He would always smile at Lagi but never talk to her. One day, during their senior year, Sefo was in the library looking for a book. Lagi was in there helping the librarian sort magazines when Sefo walked up to her. At first Lagi didn’t hear him but when she turned, there he was asking her if she could help him. Lagi was surprised and they went in search of his book. From then on, Sefo would say hi to Lagi whenever he saw her on campus and for some reason, this made Lagi extremely happy.
After graduation, Lagi went off to college at the University of Hawai’i. During her first week of school, Lagi was sitting in the library getting a head start on a research paper for her history class.
“Hi, Lagi,” a voice said from behind.
Looking up startled, Lagi saw Sefo, smiling at her with that shy grin she remembered from high school.
“Sefo, hi!” Lagi answered in surprise. “Are you going to school here, too?”
Sefo nodded his head and they were inseparable from then on. The four years of college seemed to fly by full of studying, socializing, and spending as much time as she could with Sefo. They could talk all day and still have more things to ask and say the next day. Lagi had never been so happy and content.
Lagi was able to keep her relationship with Sefo from her family in Samoa the entire time she was away but she knew the day would come when she would have to tell them. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of Sefo. Quite the opposite! Lagi was proud of this quiet, intelligent, loving man and she was thrilled to have him all to herself. She just wasn’t sure how her family would react.
Her full name was Fetuilelagi, which means star in the sky. Her grandmother carried that name and it happened to be the taupou name of their family, a high chief’s family. Lagi looked like her grandmother with her long, wavy brown hair and dimpled cheeks. People would always say she looked just like the old lady, and acted like her, too. Lagi’s grandmother always told her when she was finished with school, the family would give her the taupou title and all the responsibilities that came with that name.
The problem was that Sefo was part Tongan. Lagi’s family always boasted that they came from a pure Samoan bloodline and that they would keep that bloodline pure. Lagi had seen some of her cousins give in and marry someone their family chose simply so they would avoid being kicked out and ostracized. This led to a trail of broken hearts and lost dreams and now Lagi was in that same situation. Sefo had become an extremely important part of her life. How could she give him up?
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The Stan Sheriff Center was packed with family and friends who came to watch the commencement ceremonies. Lagi and Sefo had majored in different degrees so their colleges were separate. Their last names were different as well so they didn’t get to see each other during or after graduation. After Lagi’s family took pictures (it felt like hundreds), they went to her uncle’s house in Waimanalo to celebrate. When Lagi was finally able to get away, with the excuse of joining her friends for some extended celebrations, she found Sefo waiting in front of her dorm.
“We need to talk,” Lagi said quietly.
Sefo looked worried but nodded. They found a quiet spot on campus and Sefo waited patiently as Lagi wrestled with what she had to say.
“Sefo, I love you,” Lagi began.
“I love you, too,” Sefo replied but Lagi stopped him with a wave of her hand.
“This is the hardest thing I’ve had to say,” Lagi began again. She proceeded to tell Sefo about her family, the fact that she was going to be the family’s taupou, and the dreaded ‘pure’ bloodline.
Sefo listened calmly until Lagi was finished. He wiped her tears and held her close. After what seemed like forever, Sefo looked at her.
“Marry me, Lagi,” he said suddenly.
Lagi looked at him in surprise.
“I don’t care about your family’s ‘pure’ bloodline. I will do anything I can to make your family accept me!”
Lagi smiled at him wearily. She wanted to believe everything he said but she had seen her family get their way too many times to believe her dreams would come true. She felt torn between her family obligations and her love for Sefo. Lagi felt like she was being ripped apart and the outcome looked bleak.
“We could always run away and find an uninhabited island to call our own.” Lagi knew Sefo was trying to make her smile but she couldn’t when her seemingly perfect world was unraveling.
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Lagi’s final days in Hawai’i were spent packing and saying goodbye to family. When they were on the plane back to Samoa, Lagi fell back against the seat, exhausted; emotionally and physically. She had barely seen Sefo and only had a few spare minutes here and there to call him. Her family in Hawai’i who knew of him were sympathetic but did not want to get involved in what they knew would be a huge upheaval in the family so they kept quiet. During the five hour flight, Lagi spent a lot of time thinking about how she would present her case to her family.
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As Lagi sat on the sand, the sound of the waves were soothing, like the Samoan lullabies her grandmother used to sing to her when she was little. The rhythm of the water reminded her of times that were not so complicated, times when all she had to worry about was her siva for her village, or studying for Faife’au school, or playing in the rain with her cousins. Her tears began to flow freely and they made the sunlight dance across the water like the glow from the shells on her tuiga. Why did she have to choose; her place in her family and the future of wearing that tuiga or sharing her life with Sefo? Why couldn’t she have both? Did anyone have a Samoan bloodline that was truly ‘pure’? What did it matter? Finally, Lagi realized what she had to do. She wiped her face on her lavalava and stood up. This is what I have to do in order to ensure my happiness and my family’s pride, Lagi thought. It just has to work!
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Lagi’s mom smiled at her in encouragement as the family gathered for their meeting. This was the meeting to discuss Lagi’s taupou title and what the family would need to do to prepare for the occasion. Lagi’s grandmother patted her on the leg, thinking her granddaughter was nervous because the time had finally come for her to take over. Oh, grandma, Lagi thought. If only you knew what was going on in my head.
Sefo wanted to be there. They argued, their first argument, but Lagi stood her ground. She wanted to face her family alone. Sefo felt he would be able to convince them he was worthy enough to be part of their family but he respected Lagi’s wishes that he stay away.
The family began their meeting with their normal song and prayer. The singing echoed off the walls as the family blended together in perfect harmony. Lagi’s heart beat fast and she could feel the song within her, giving her strength. During the prayer, she silently prayed for the right words.
The family leaders began to speak and the longer the meeting lasted, the more Lagi’s confidence began to waver. What if her family wouldn’t listen? What if they made her choose? Could she choose? As the meeting came to a close, Lagi knew this would be her only time to speak. She looked over at her grandmother and smiled sadly.
“I am sorry for speaking without being asked but I have something I need to tell the family. May I speak?” Lagi’s heart pounded as she waited for the elders to grant her permission.
The family leaders looked surprised, some of them even taken aback, but Lagi’s grandmother spoke quickly.
“Yes, Lagi, you may speak.”
Lagi took a deep breath and began to tell her story. She could see the faces of the elders of the family and they did not look happy at all. She had to make them understand how much Sefo meant to her and how much her family meant to her. She thought she would break down in tears but she found herself speaking with a courage that she knew came from a long line of strong women. She was Fetuilelagi! When she finished pleading her case, she looked around the room at the solemn faces.
I did everything I could, Lagi thought. Now it’s up to the family and fate. As Lagi looked down at the floor, she heard someone begin to laugh. It wasn’t a mean laugh, it was a heartfelt, familiar laugh that put Lagi’s mind at ease. She looked to her side to see her grandmother smiling and laughing, daring the family elders to say anything.
Lagi felt better but she was also confused. Why was her grandmother laughing? Why wasn’t she scolding her or telling her to get out and give back her name? She found the courage to look around the room again and saw the rest of the family smiling in a knowing way. What had she missed?
Lagi’s grandmother patted her on the leg and said, “I knew we gave you the right name because you’re just like me! Lagi, when I was your age and ready for the taupou title, I also wanted to marry a boy who was not quite ‘worthy’ of this family. When I asked the family, they were ready to kick me out of the fale! But it was my grandmother who came to my rescue, just like I am doing today. You see, your grandfather was part Fijian. He was able to hide it by saying he spent a lot of time at the ma’umaga.”
Lagi stared at her in amazement.
“How did you convince the family to let you marry him?”
“Your grandfather was a great man and he promised he would keep it a secret. He never knew his Fijian family so he didn’t mind. Plus, he loved me enough to do this for me and my family. But enough of this ‘pure’ bloodline nonsense! No one is ‘pure’ anyway. Our ancestors came from the same place so we’re all the same people!”
Her grandmother looked around at the family and said, “Are we going to let this girl marry this Sefo after she receives her taupou title?”
Lagi secretly smiled because her grandmother’s question was more of a command, daring anyone to challenge her.
The family elders saw her grandmother’s determination and chose not to argue with the old woman. They gave Lagi their permission to marry Sefo and demanded that he come to the house the next day to sit and eat with the family.
Lagi couldn’t believe her luck! After she hugged her grandmother a thousand times, she ran off to call Sefo.
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Lagi could hear the waves crashing on the shore, so different from the mild, peaceful waves she encountered earlier in the day. As she ran past the coconut trees onto the open sand, she saw Sefo standing facing the ocean. His head turned towards her and his smile lit up his face like the moonlight. She ran into his arms and held on tight. After Lagi told him all that had happened, she waited breathlessly for him to respond.
Sefo, with his slow, quiet smile, said, “I had faith.”
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Sefo watched as Lagi walked to the edge of the crowd. Her ‘ie toga was wrapped tightly around her body and a thick piece of siapo was secured around her waist. Her body, glistening in the sun from the coconut oil, stood straight and majestic. A light danced in his eyes and he looked up at her tuiga. The pale fuiono that fit around her forehead was adorned with cowry shells and mother of pearl. The lauulu was thick, made from generations of family hair, with the ‘ie ula sitting bright and red on top. The lave stood high, showing her taupou rank, and her ulalei lay secure on her neck. Sefo’s eyes were drawn to her face as he saw her look over at him and smile. As he looked around, he saw her family looking at her with admiration, but theirs couldn’t match the pride that swelled in his heart.
The village began to sing and Lagi was escorted out onto the malae by two of her uncles. Her beginning bows were low and deep, acknowledging the chiefs, the faife’au, the family members, the visitors, and finally the village. Her movements were slow and graceful. Sefo didn’t understand the meaning of all of the moves but he did recognize some of them. He saw as Lagi bent her knees low and stretched her arms out to her sides, signally the flight of the gogo bird as it searched for fish over the wide expanse of ocean. As she scooped her hands and squeezed her fists, he recalled the beginning of the ‘ava ceremony, and when she lifted her hands with that invisible coconut cup, he saw her walk forward as if to serve the ceremonial drink to those who were worthy. The villagers’ song gained speed but Lagi’s movements remained smooth and delicate. The final refrains of the song floated into the air as she made her final bow. Lagi was glowing, not only with the happiness and pride of her taupou title, but Sefo could see in her eyes the love and joy she felt about him; her strong, quiet, steadfast Sefo.

Divorce Dance

“Oh, girl, that’s my JAM!” Sala yelled as she jumped off the bar stool and headed for the dance floor. She quickly turned as she entered the crowd to signal for us to follow.
Lena rolled her eyes. “I think every song is her jam.”
We all laughed and watched as Sala moved her way through the crowded dance floor like a cobra ready to strike. When she found her victim, a tall, well-built man with dreadlocks and a smoldering look, she turned her back on us.
Only Sala could be so uninhibited, I thought. She had that carefree, no nonsense attitude about life and she certainly lived it to the fullest. I, on the other hand, would be bogged down with the what-ifs and who’s watching that I could never truly ‘let go’.
“Hey, you’re supposed to be celebrating.” Tupu said as she sipped her drink.
I shrugged. “I know.”
My divorce was now official. I was a free woman. It was a long, hard road, a life filled with selfishness (on his part), and accommodating (on my part), and I had finally had enough. It’s hard, especially when you have children, but it was for the best. At least that’s what I kept telling myself. Tonight was my celebratory girls night out and Sala seemed to be the only one having a good time.
The music was a nonstop thumping of bass and flashing lights. The bodies on the dance floor began to mesh together, everyone gyrating in time to the beat, hands in the air and people pressing up against each other. A very intimate scene in a very public arena. Pretty soon, my head began to throb with the beat of the songs the DJ was playing and I insisted that I had to go home. Everyone, except Sala, was happy with my need for departure but I figured she would get over it. She would probably hop into her own car as soon as we got home and head back out to the clubs.
As my friends drove away, I unlocked the door to my house. At least I got to keep the house, I thought. I checked on my daughters and my mom who were all camped out in the family room and headed to my room to sleep.
The next morning I awoke to the smell of pancakes and the sound of church music. It was Saturday morning but I could always count on my mom listening to church music, no matter what day. I went through my morning routine and by the time I reached the dining room, breakfast was ready.
My daughters updated me on their previous night as I ate and listened to their stories. The music in the background soothed my aching head and gave me a sense of comfort. After breakfast we packed a picnic lunch and headed for the beach.
The day was bright with not a cloud in sight. It was a perfect day for swimming and hanging out at the beach. My daughters played with the waves, running away as the water washed onto the shore and chasing it as it crept back into the sea. As I lay on the sand I could hear a radio nearby playing old Hawaiian music. The music and the sound of the ocean blended together, as if one had been written just for the other. I could imagine a kumu hula standing on the beach facing the ocean. His hands outstretched, chanting to the rhythm of the ipu, his dancers behind him performing their hula in honor of Maui, god of the sea. A beautiful, ancient union to match a perfect day. Too bad my marriage never reached the stage of ‘perfect’. I sighed and walked into the water, feeling the coolness wash over me and trying to cleanse my mind of the hurtful past. Maybe Maui could sweep some of this hurt out into the vast ocean and far away from me, I thought.
Exhausted from their day at the beach, my daughters went to sleep early leaving me alone with my thoughts. I turned the stereo on only to hear reggae music coming from the speakers. It must have been a CD my newly ex-husband had left behind. I quickly changed the stereo to the radio and found a station that was playing old school slow songs. I sat back and let the memories take over.
It’s funny how my experiences with my ex-husband seemed to link with songs. Early in our relationship, the music was a mix of old school, R & B, and Sade. I remember going to the college clubs and dancing the night away, oblivious to the crowd. It was as if there was a spotlight on the two of us and we were the deserted island amidst a sea of people.
As our relationship deepened, the music changed to the music of our time, intense and selfish. It was our world and we thought we knew exactly what we wanted. Such big dreams in our young, naïve minds!
Our wedding and married life began an era of reggae music sprinkled with disco. The couple’s dance of our college days changed to a group dance as our daughters were born. Eventually that group dance changed to only include the girls and me with their dad nowhere in sight. It was a sad change to such a bright and exciting beginning. In my own, ignorant dream world, I thought we would be capable of changing and progressing.
The downhill spiral of our marriage reminded me of the alternative music I played at the college radio station; rage filled and destructive. The gap between us gradually widened until one day we realized we were strangers. Our consensus made it easier to obtain a smooth divorce settlement. Walking out of the court house with the final divorce papers signed, I thought I would be skipping down the halls like Dorothy dancing down the Yellow Brick Road. Instead, I was moving more like a zombie trying not to think at all.
Reluctantly, I emerged from my unhappy thoughts and self-pity and looked at the stereo. The CDs on the shelf were stacked neatly except for one that was placed haphazardly at the top of the stack. I reached out and pulled it down and was surprised to see the cover. It was a CD of old Samoan songs. I put it into the stereo and pressed play. As the first song started, I could hear the old style drumming played with sticks on a rolled mat. The beat was methodic and melodic at the same time. By the time the singing began, I was transported back to the day of my wedding. I was sitting with my family eating breakfast when my dad looked at me.
“I had a dream last night,” he began. “It was about your aunt, who you’re named after.”
I looked at him, startled, my heart pounding in anticipation. My aunt had died when she was only 16, many years before I was born. What could my dad have dreamed of?
He continued quietly, “Do you remember the old Samoan belief that when a person dreams of a funeral there will be a wedding and vice versa?”
I nodded.
“Well, I dreamed that I was at my sister’s wake and all of a sudden she stood up and we began to siva together.”
The tears began streaming down my face. I knew that this was my aunt’s way of giving me her blessing and letting my dad know that I would be okay.
As I came out of my reverie, I realized my aunt’s message was more far reaching than my wedding day. It was her way of giving me the strength to endure, through good times and bad. During my good times she was standing on the edge of the crowd, listening for those opening notes to begin her entrance run, waiting for me to call on her. And now, in my time of need, she is dancing her siva, sending me courage through her graceful, elegant hands. Her spirit is my power, her siva is my signal to continue my forward motion into a brilliant future.

Introduction

Talofa and welcome to my blog on Polynesia! This will be a wonderful place to showcase my stories and also reflect on issues facing Polynesians who live in and out of the islands. I was born and raised in American Samoa to a Samoan dad and a palagi (Caucasian) mom. Even though I'm only biologically half Samoan, everything I do, say, the way I conduct myself, etc., reflects my Samoan culture. Of course, this is no offense to my mom who has always called me her "Samoan girl". I have had the pleasure and the honor of learning about other Polynesian cultures by teaching a class at the local community college and by personal experiences with family and friends. Hopefully I'll be able to reflect on the positive side of the Polynesian cultures and possibly spread understanding and enlightenment to those who are vaguely aware of who we are and what we are about; Polynesians, that is.