Malo!
So the Indo-Fijian homestay was pretty delicious. Best food of the trip, by far. My friend Julie and I stayed with a lovely family (Our parents, a grandfather, and a 27-year-old brother and his wife of a year) that spoke no English. Well, the son spoke English, but he worked all day in a nearby hotel so we only got to communicate with our family after 7 pm.
The first night we arrived, our parents presented us with a bowl of kava and stacks and stacks of wedding photos. It was surprising to see all the pictures of the wedding because it had nothing to do with any sort of Pacific culture; it was entirely an Indian wedding. The ceremony and all events surrounding the main event were colorful, lively, and made me want to visit India (think henna tattoos, nose rings, and sarees). It's kind of shocking, however, that about 50 percent of the Fijian population so strongly identifies with Indian culture, even though they've never been to the country. You would think that this many generations after their ancestors came to Fiji as indentured servants they'd be more assimilated to the Fijian way of life.
Anyway, after that first night we didn't talk to our family that much because, well, we couldn't. When the son was home they watched TV, so Julie and I either read in our room or sat awkwardly on the couch pretending to understand a religious Hindi film with live people and cartoon visual effects mixed together. Occasionally we'd all smile at each other, but the only thing my mom could have a conversation about was how many brothers and sisters she had and where they all were living.
I had a fever the day after we arrived, but hiked to the sand dunes anyway. It was so worth it. When I think "sand dunes" I think of the dunes in Malibu. This was nothing like that-- it reminded me much more of the Sahara. From the lush rainforest, we suddenly ascended a massive sand mountain, arriving at the pinnacle only to realize the sand lands were quite expansive. We ran around the dunes, sweating under the sun's brilliant rays, and reached the other side to find the ocean stretching out before us. In the distance you could see some of the other Fijian islands (there are over 300), and watch the waves breaking over the reef. It was unreal to look to one side and encounter a tropical rainforest, splattered with clearings for farms and homes, then turn around to discover the majestically turquoise Pacific Ocean, all while standing atop a pristine white sand mountain range. Then wave to the Fijian national rugby team practicing on the next mound over.
When we left our families, we headed to a resort. Although we were supposed to stay a few hours, to really understand this mini-village type hotel, the group hated the place so intensely that we left after only 45 minutes. I don't understand why tourists like these places; it's not like your actually visiting Fiji when you stay there.
We went to a small city next and Lindsay and I found ourselves in a clothing store. While we gawked at the prices of the Roxy dresses (300 Fijian dollars!), a woman came up to us and exclaimed, "nice sarongs, ladies!" Lindsay and I proceeded to roll on the floor laughing uproariously because we weren't wearing "sarongs." We were wearing our only-been-worn-ten-times-since-the-last-time-I-washed-it-therefore-it's-cleaner-than-anything-else-I-own lavalavas. It's pretty funny to have people treat you like a tourist when you feel so removed from experiencing a country as a tourist. I'm not trying to fool myself--I know I'm still a tourist and that being somewhere for three months by no means makes me anything more than that. But if the elongated visit ans student status gives you nothing else, it sure provides a unique lens through which to view the week-long tourists in their "sarongs."
Since being back in Samoa from Fiji, we've completed all of our classes and are now working on our independent study projects. It's been very frustrating trying to contact people for mine. It seems that making appointments and emailing people to set up interviews is still kind of a foreign concept to Samoans. Many times people just don't show up when they said they would or say they're free to meet up for an interview, but end up having only ten minutes to spare. Email responses are rare and I don't have much time to work on this project. I'm hoping to go to American Samoa on Thursday and interview some students at American Samoa Community College, but, again, I haven't been able to reach anyone over there to schedule anything.
Last weekend we decided to start off ISP time with a bang and a few of us traveled to Namu'a, a tiny private island off the south coast of Upolu. We took an extremely over packed bus (every seat on the bus was double stacked, meaning each two-person bench held four people or more, and the aisle was stuffed) to the "ferry," which turned out to be a small motorboat that held no more than seven people at a time. You could walk around the island in an hour and hike to the top in 20 minutes. The fales where we stayed were the only things besides nature on the rock, on the only beach that had been somewhat cleared. There was the best snorkeling we've had so far and some pretty awesome shells to collect. We had bonfires at night with everyone on the island (a whopping 20 people or so) since there was no electricity, and generally had a relaxing weekend of reading, sleeping, and tanning on the beach. Plus I got to log ISP hours since I was reading Pacific literature.
I'm hoping to have another nice weekend soon, but this ISP seems like death at the moment. I keep trying to remember to have fun with my research; I'm not at Middlebury and therefore the report doesn't need to be of publishable quality. But any Middkid will tell you that the perfectionist inside doesn't sleep just because you're not in Vermont.
Tai lava ma alofa ia te otou! (Thanks a lot and I love you all!) I'll post again when ISP is done.
-Leah
Monday, April 30, 2012
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Fiji part two
Malo!
The exciting tale of Leah and friends' epic Fiji adventure left off in a cloud of dust as the pickup trucks rolled down the mountain from the Eco-tourism village of Ambaca. Here we will pick up the story and relay the events that followed:
After waiting for Prem in a hotel's lobby for two hours, we finally saw the familiar bus stop in front of the sea wall. Reunited with our larger luggage (we had only taken overnight bags to Ambaca), I chose the day's book from the four or five I'd brought with me (I'd already finished Possible Side Effects and Tales of the Tikongs-- I recommend both, but highly recommend the second). I settled into what turned out to be a twelve-hour journey across the island with Franny and Zooey.
Taking the longer of the two routes to get to Suva, we drove through all the plantations and areas most tourists don't see. Prem's wife had prepared a most delicious Indo-Fijian feast with a smorgasbord of chutneys, curries, salads, soups, dahl, rice, and other assorted treats, which the group devoured under a mangrove tree en route. I finished my book just in time to see the outskirts of Suva, the largest city in the South pacific, coming into view.
We checked into an apartment complex/ hotel that turned out to have lights that rarely worked, a poor attempt at air conditioning, and was completely bug-infested. Luckily, we didn't spend much time here as the next two days we spent hopping between class at USP Suva (USP's main campus), shopping and eating in Suva, and exploring other parts of the city.
At USP Suva we first endured a few could-be-interesting-if-there-weren't-a-whole-country-to-see lectures and then finally got to meet some more interesting people. We saw the dancers at the Oceania Centre for Arts, Culture and Pacific Studies practicing for their performance that night, a flood relief concert downtown. We went to the USP museum (a one-room gallery) and met the artists whose works were on display. We even got to go to their bookstore, an amazing treasure chest of fascinating books on the Pacific; textbooks to satisfy my nerdier side's recent craving for academic literature (psychology, sociology, graphic design, intro physics, you name it!); deliciously photographed cookbooks; edge-of-your-seat travel memoirs; and an entire section I didn't have time to visit. As it was, my roommate and I were running late to meet up with our classmates and travel to a nearby museum.
The grounds of the museum were spectacularly green and well-kept. The exhibits themselves left something to be desired, but of course my favorite was the room full of traditional Fijian dresses. There were original and reproduction tapa cloth wedding dresses and necklaces, bracelets and earrings of intricate metalwork. After we'd decided we'd had our fill of the Fijian endemic species exhibit, we headed back to the city.
And here's the part where Leah becomes the most frightened and overwhelmed she's been since arriving in Honolulu in early February: Somehow--and I don't know exactly how it happened--I found myself in a mall. It was horrible! There were escalators everywhere and shops with mannequins and posters of giant coffee cups and clothing with sequins adorned with sky-high price tags and a food court!! So I floated through, not knowing exactly what to do or how to act in such a modern setting, until I got so overwhelmed I had to leave.
The craft market was more my speed. Kind of what like Crafted at the Port of Los Angeles is going to be, it was a building with individual stalls where separate artisans sold their crafts. This I could handle. I handled it so well that I came out with my wallet much lighter than it had been going in. And with that, we hopped back onto Prem's bus and scooted on over to our next destination, the Indo-Fijian homestay.
Looks like the Fiji story will have to be in three parts, after all. My apologies, but I'm being kicked out of the computer lab. Look out for the rest of this scintillating tale, coming soon to a computer screen near you.
Alofa, alofa, alofa,
Leah
The exciting tale of Leah and friends' epic Fiji adventure left off in a cloud of dust as the pickup trucks rolled down the mountain from the Eco-tourism village of Ambaca. Here we will pick up the story and relay the events that followed:
After waiting for Prem in a hotel's lobby for two hours, we finally saw the familiar bus stop in front of the sea wall. Reunited with our larger luggage (we had only taken overnight bags to Ambaca), I chose the day's book from the four or five I'd brought with me (I'd already finished Possible Side Effects and Tales of the Tikongs-- I recommend both, but highly recommend the second). I settled into what turned out to be a twelve-hour journey across the island with Franny and Zooey.
Taking the longer of the two routes to get to Suva, we drove through all the plantations and areas most tourists don't see. Prem's wife had prepared a most delicious Indo-Fijian feast with a smorgasbord of chutneys, curries, salads, soups, dahl, rice, and other assorted treats, which the group devoured under a mangrove tree en route. I finished my book just in time to see the outskirts of Suva, the largest city in the South pacific, coming into view.
We checked into an apartment complex/ hotel that turned out to have lights that rarely worked, a poor attempt at air conditioning, and was completely bug-infested. Luckily, we didn't spend much time here as the next two days we spent hopping between class at USP Suva (USP's main campus), shopping and eating in Suva, and exploring other parts of the city.
At USP Suva we first endured a few could-be-interesting-if-there-weren't-a-whole-country-to-see lectures and then finally got to meet some more interesting people. We saw the dancers at the Oceania Centre for Arts, Culture and Pacific Studies practicing for their performance that night, a flood relief concert downtown. We went to the USP museum (a one-room gallery) and met the artists whose works were on display. We even got to go to their bookstore, an amazing treasure chest of fascinating books on the Pacific; textbooks to satisfy my nerdier side's recent craving for academic literature (psychology, sociology, graphic design, intro physics, you name it!); deliciously photographed cookbooks; edge-of-your-seat travel memoirs; and an entire section I didn't have time to visit. As it was, my roommate and I were running late to meet up with our classmates and travel to a nearby museum.
The grounds of the museum were spectacularly green and well-kept. The exhibits themselves left something to be desired, but of course my favorite was the room full of traditional Fijian dresses. There were original and reproduction tapa cloth wedding dresses and necklaces, bracelets and earrings of intricate metalwork. After we'd decided we'd had our fill of the Fijian endemic species exhibit, we headed back to the city.
And here's the part where Leah becomes the most frightened and overwhelmed she's been since arriving in Honolulu in early February: Somehow--and I don't know exactly how it happened--I found myself in a mall. It was horrible! There were escalators everywhere and shops with mannequins and posters of giant coffee cups and clothing with sequins adorned with sky-high price tags and a food court!! So I floated through, not knowing exactly what to do or how to act in such a modern setting, until I got so overwhelmed I had to leave.
The craft market was more my speed. Kind of what like Crafted at the Port of Los Angeles is going to be, it was a building with individual stalls where separate artisans sold their crafts. This I could handle. I handled it so well that I came out with my wallet much lighter than it had been going in. And with that, we hopped back onto Prem's bus and scooted on over to our next destination, the Indo-Fijian homestay.
Looks like the Fiji story will have to be in three parts, after all. My apologies, but I'm being kicked out of the computer lab. Look out for the rest of this scintillating tale, coming soon to a computer screen near you.
Alofa, alofa, alofa,
Leah
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Fiji Part One
Malo!
I'm sorry this blog post is so late; it was finals week! We finished our classes on Wednesday with a final in the morning and now it's Independent Study Project (ISP) time. It took me until this morning, however, to decide on a topic, which I now am pretty sure will be (drum roll, please) Samoan youth-specific issues raised in and youth reactions to Pacific literature. I will hopefully interview and survey students and professors at the National University of Samoa along with authors such as Lani Wendt Young (Telesa) and Sia Figiel (The Girl in the Moon Circle, Where We Once Belonged, They Who Do Not Grieve). I'll keep you guys updated on my progress!
So, anyway, last week: In which Leah and friends travel to Fiji
For the first time in five flights, I disembarked a plane not directly onto the runway, but onto one of those hallway-type contraptions that comes to meet passengers at the plane's doorway. And not only that, but after going through customs, I found myself on an escalator down to the baggage claim! All the airport's stores sold mountains of Cadbury chocolate and solely Fiji water. This country definitely seemed much fancier than Samoa.
Although I lost some vi when my bags went through the we-don't-want-your-produce-in-our-country machines, we arrived at our first hotel safely and soundly. Sandalwood Lodge, located just outside Nadi (pronounced nandy, rhyming with candy) proved to be much more than we expected: a real swimming pool, air conditioning, and (here's the kicker) hot water! But as I took my first hot shower since January, I realized how quickly one's preferences can change. As someone accustomed at home to turning the faucet as hot as it goes until I emerge beet-red from a fogged-mirror bathroom, you can imagine how surprised I was by the fact that I was so uncomfortable under the now foreign temperature spray that I turned it cold after just 30 seconds. We went to the only restaurant open for dinner (due to flooding), but the Indian-Thai cuisine proved to be just the right break from my fried Samoan diet (in fact, not one fried morsel touched my lips the entire week!).
The next morning, we packed our overnight bags and piled onto a bus with Prem, our best friend and bus driver for the the next seven days. We drove through Nadi and saw all the wreckage from the floods; many of the buildings downtown had been in water up to 30 ft high. Most lost vast amounts of their inventory and almost all the windows and flooring in the city had to be replaced. People were working hard to get things going on rebuilding, but you could tell it would be months before the city was up and running again. As heartbreaking as it was to see, the fact that there were so many people helping out beautifully reflected the kindness of the Fijian people.
We then left the town and met up with three pick-up trucks. Just as soon as the group scrambled into their tarp-covered beds, the cars began to wind their way up a dirt path mountainside. We bumped along, driving through rivers and skimming over the mud. The drivers went fast, for fear of getting stuck, but it didn't help my nerves when we hydroplaned around corners within feet of a sheer cliff edge. As we neared the village of Abaca (Ahm-bah-tha), we suddenly jolted to a stop and realized the flooding had washed away a bridge. So, in the rain, we jumped out of the trucks and carrying our bags and sandals (so they wouldn't come off), trudged through mud up to my shins for a mile-long walk to our homestays. I must say that I never thought I'd be sliding down a riverbed in the pouring rain, carrying my sandals, a backpack, and a bag of gifts, wearing a lavalava, and holding the hand of an adorable five-year-old Fijian girl (who turned out to be my homestay sister, Kelisi!) against a backdrop of lush tropical forests and giant waterfalls in the distance.
When, covered in mud and sweat, my friend Lindsay and I settled into our new home for the next two nights, we couldn't be happier to have a home-cooked meal and the best family in the village (although I might me biased). My mother, her mother, my seven-month-old brother, and my five-year-old sister made up the family. Tevita cried every time I touched him for the first day, but soon enough he got used to me (and even smiled at me once or twice!). My mother made sure Lindsay and I stuffed ourselves at every meal, saying, "Lis, Leah, kana vaka levu!" (which means "Lindsay, Leah, eat it all!"). My sister, Kelisi, decided this was the best sentence she'd ever encountered and ran through the village singing it at the top of her lungs until we left.
After dinner we had a welcoming kava ceremony in the chief's house. Since the village only has a population of 87, more than a quarter of the village showed up to the party, mostly to see what happened when the palagi drank kava (nothing, as it turns out. The rumors that Fijian kava is so much stronger than Samoan kava are just rumors, apparently.). When we returned home, our family was already in bed and when my mom told us to go to sleep, we obliged immediately. Unfortunately, this meant that a few minutes later I had to sneak out of the house to run down the hill and take a shower (since it was an Eco-tourism village, there was a shower with running water and a flushing toilet at the bottom of the hill).
The next day, guided by some of the men of the village, we all hiked to a waterfall in the mountains. The hike was more of a game of following the leader-- the leader being a villager with a machete chopping down trees and swimming through mud, and the following being more of a scrambling to keep up with the leader while avoiding the poisonous centipedes hidden under bushes. But when we got to the waterfall, the fact that it was slightly hard to reach was completely worth it-- it was a hidden gem.
We spent the rest of the afternoon eating, resting, and hanging out with our families. We went to the closing kava ceremony that night, but this time there was live music and half the village came. The next morning we said our goodbyes and hopped back into the trucks to go meet Prem.
Stay tuned for a description of the rest of the week! (My roommate is making me leave the computer lab to go eat dinner).
Alofa from Samoa!
-Leah
I'm sorry this blog post is so late; it was finals week! We finished our classes on Wednesday with a final in the morning and now it's Independent Study Project (ISP) time. It took me until this morning, however, to decide on a topic, which I now am pretty sure will be (drum roll, please) Samoan youth-specific issues raised in and youth reactions to Pacific literature. I will hopefully interview and survey students and professors at the National University of Samoa along with authors such as Lani Wendt Young (Telesa) and Sia Figiel (The Girl in the Moon Circle, Where We Once Belonged, They Who Do Not Grieve). I'll keep you guys updated on my progress!
So, anyway, last week: In which Leah and friends travel to Fiji
For the first time in five flights, I disembarked a plane not directly onto the runway, but onto one of those hallway-type contraptions that comes to meet passengers at the plane's doorway. And not only that, but after going through customs, I found myself on an escalator down to the baggage claim! All the airport's stores sold mountains of Cadbury chocolate and solely Fiji water. This country definitely seemed much fancier than Samoa.
Although I lost some vi when my bags went through the we-don't-want-your-produce-in-our-country machines, we arrived at our first hotel safely and soundly. Sandalwood Lodge, located just outside Nadi (pronounced nandy, rhyming with candy) proved to be much more than we expected: a real swimming pool, air conditioning, and (here's the kicker) hot water! But as I took my first hot shower since January, I realized how quickly one's preferences can change. As someone accustomed at home to turning the faucet as hot as it goes until I emerge beet-red from a fogged-mirror bathroom, you can imagine how surprised I was by the fact that I was so uncomfortable under the now foreign temperature spray that I turned it cold after just 30 seconds. We went to the only restaurant open for dinner (due to flooding), but the Indian-Thai cuisine proved to be just the right break from my fried Samoan diet (in fact, not one fried morsel touched my lips the entire week!).
The next morning, we packed our overnight bags and piled onto a bus with Prem, our best friend and bus driver for the the next seven days. We drove through Nadi and saw all the wreckage from the floods; many of the buildings downtown had been in water up to 30 ft high. Most lost vast amounts of their inventory and almost all the windows and flooring in the city had to be replaced. People were working hard to get things going on rebuilding, but you could tell it would be months before the city was up and running again. As heartbreaking as it was to see, the fact that there were so many people helping out beautifully reflected the kindness of the Fijian people.
We then left the town and met up with three pick-up trucks. Just as soon as the group scrambled into their tarp-covered beds, the cars began to wind their way up a dirt path mountainside. We bumped along, driving through rivers and skimming over the mud. The drivers went fast, for fear of getting stuck, but it didn't help my nerves when we hydroplaned around corners within feet of a sheer cliff edge. As we neared the village of Abaca (Ahm-bah-tha), we suddenly jolted to a stop and realized the flooding had washed away a bridge. So, in the rain, we jumped out of the trucks and carrying our bags and sandals (so they wouldn't come off), trudged through mud up to my shins for a mile-long walk to our homestays. I must say that I never thought I'd be sliding down a riverbed in the pouring rain, carrying my sandals, a backpack, and a bag of gifts, wearing a lavalava, and holding the hand of an adorable five-year-old Fijian girl (who turned out to be my homestay sister, Kelisi!) against a backdrop of lush tropical forests and giant waterfalls in the distance.
When, covered in mud and sweat, my friend Lindsay and I settled into our new home for the next two nights, we couldn't be happier to have a home-cooked meal and the best family in the village (although I might me biased). My mother, her mother, my seven-month-old brother, and my five-year-old sister made up the family. Tevita cried every time I touched him for the first day, but soon enough he got used to me (and even smiled at me once or twice!). My mother made sure Lindsay and I stuffed ourselves at every meal, saying, "Lis, Leah, kana vaka levu!" (which means "Lindsay, Leah, eat it all!"). My sister, Kelisi, decided this was the best sentence she'd ever encountered and ran through the village singing it at the top of her lungs until we left.
After dinner we had a welcoming kava ceremony in the chief's house. Since the village only has a population of 87, more than a quarter of the village showed up to the party, mostly to see what happened when the palagi drank kava (nothing, as it turns out. The rumors that Fijian kava is so much stronger than Samoan kava are just rumors, apparently.). When we returned home, our family was already in bed and when my mom told us to go to sleep, we obliged immediately. Unfortunately, this meant that a few minutes later I had to sneak out of the house to run down the hill and take a shower (since it was an Eco-tourism village, there was a shower with running water and a flushing toilet at the bottom of the hill).
The next day, guided by some of the men of the village, we all hiked to a waterfall in the mountains. The hike was more of a game of following the leader-- the leader being a villager with a machete chopping down trees and swimming through mud, and the following being more of a scrambling to keep up with the leader while avoiding the poisonous centipedes hidden under bushes. But when we got to the waterfall, the fact that it was slightly hard to reach was completely worth it-- it was a hidden gem.
We spent the rest of the afternoon eating, resting, and hanging out with our families. We went to the closing kava ceremony that night, but this time there was live music and half the village came. The next morning we said our goodbyes and hopped back into the trucks to go meet Prem.
Stay tuned for a description of the rest of the week! (My roommate is making me leave the computer lab to go eat dinner).
Alofa from Samoa!
-Leah
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
There's no place like home... except American Samoa
Malo!
We've just gotten back from a short trip to American Samoa, an island territory of the US floating around in the South Pacific. With an extremely unique blend of the fa'asamoa (Samoan lifestyle) and mainstream US culture, it's crazy to think that so many US citizens don't even know it exists!
When we got off the plane (a 16-passenger plane--our group had to split into two flights!) in the tiny airport, we immediately started noticing the American influence and the little things that reminded us of home. The first for me was that the airport bathroom had American toilets! And soap! and a hand dryer! And there was a water fountain with drinkable water where I could fill up my bottle! And then, when I thought my first ten minutes back in the US couldn't get much better, I was greeted by a giant Ford advertisement and a US veteran pride painted bus. The seats in the bus were even cushioned, as opposed to the wooden-seated buses in Samoa.
We ventured over to American Samoa Community College, where everyone in our group had a homestay sibling waiting. My 19-year-old sister, Yvonne, had actually attended two years of middle school and all of high school in Los Angeles and completed a year at Sacramento Community College! It was pretty funny to be able to sit around talking about Los Angeles with her at this point in the semester; just as I'm really beginning to feel how far I am from home, American Samoa comes along to convince me otherwise.
Yvonne and I got along fantastically, and it was much easier to talk to my homestay family and the ASCC students than my family in Lotofaga because most people spoke English pretty well. We learned that we both love hot sauce and have a tendency to steal packets of it from restaurants, neither of us really likes tomatoes all that much, and we both like to dance to music on the radio. She lived in a two-story house across the street from the beach with her aunt, cousin (Jennifer), and her cousin's two-year-old daughter (Snow White--named for the fact that she was born in Virginia on a snowy day).
My first night in their home, I felt like I had never been to a nicer house. Yvonne showed me upstairs to my room, which was all mine and had two queen-size beds! They had a real kitchen, with a fridge, a stove (albeit electric), and everything! The fact that the water only worked downstairs, the air conditioning, television, and certain lights were just for show (they'd been broken for years), and the one shower had no shower head had no influence on how luxurious and extravagant I thought it was. When I noticed these small details, it was more of an observation than even a slight annoyance. Jennifer had set the table with a small sign that read, "Welcome to the Pritt's Residence!" and cooked a feast of chop suey, sausage and onions, rice, fried fish, and boiled bananas. My aunt had to go to bingo immediately after dinner (she went EVERY night, as all the women in her church do--a very Samoan thing to do; there are bingo supply stores everywhere!), but Jennifer, Yvonne and I sat around for hours just talking. Most of the conversation consisted of their entire dating histories, and the dating histories of all those involved. I heard all about their current boyfriends and we stayed up way too late just having girl talk.
I then stayed up for another few hours because I wanted to finish Those Who Do Not Grieve, a book by Samoan author Sia Figiel (whose novel Where We Once Belonged won the Commonwealth Prize), who we were meeting the next day. Although I'd already read two of her other novels, I wanted to gobble up as much of her incredibly unique and provocative prose before hearing her speak. After a morning lecture and an elei-print lavalava making session, we finally got to meet her. She was as much of a character as her writing suggested (if not more so), and she signed two of her books for me! Of course, I now just want to take a writing class next semester.
Highlights of the rest of the week included a kava ceremony at the college, a cultural exchange in which we performed a Samoan siva (dance) and received three in return from the fa'asamoa club, a hike to Fagatele Bay Marine Sanctuary (the largest and only one below the equator, apparently), and a trip to a supermarket where I actually found matzoh in the darkest, dustiest corner of the store! It's not actually kosher for passover, but seeing as it's definitely the closest I'm gonna get, I'm just going to pretend.
There were, however, some more thought-provoking aspects of the visit. One topic my group seems to love debating is the military involvement on the island--although citizens of American Samoa are not citizens of the US, there is still a very high percentage of youth joining the military for the educational opportunities. Another is the prevalence of fast food and the sky-high rates of obesity and diabetes; most homestay families assumed we all ate fast food for every meal and junk food for snacks in between (I was even forced to eat KFC for lunch one day. I don't think I've ever felt more nauseous at the thought of just eating something.). Education is also a concern as there is only one community college and no other opportunities on-island for higher education. I also had some really interesting conversations about what people thought of American Samoa versus Western Samoa and whether they felt it was a positive or negative to be a territory of the US.
On the flight out I got one last view of the stunning mountain peaks and the completely undeveloped north side of the island. American Samoa may have been even more beautiful landscape-wise than Savai'i.
On Sunday, a group of us continued the pampering feeling and indulged in the breakfast buffet at Aggie Grey's, the nicest hotel in Apia. We then lounged around the pool and felt like kings before coming home and preparing for the school week. We are supposed to go to Fiji on Saturday, but there is horrible flooding, so we're not sure it will work out. Look out for updates!
Tofa!
-Leah
We've just gotten back from a short trip to American Samoa, an island territory of the US floating around in the South Pacific. With an extremely unique blend of the fa'asamoa (Samoan lifestyle) and mainstream US culture, it's crazy to think that so many US citizens don't even know it exists!
When we got off the plane (a 16-passenger plane--our group had to split into two flights!) in the tiny airport, we immediately started noticing the American influence and the little things that reminded us of home. The first for me was that the airport bathroom had American toilets! And soap! and a hand dryer! And there was a water fountain with drinkable water where I could fill up my bottle! And then, when I thought my first ten minutes back in the US couldn't get much better, I was greeted by a giant Ford advertisement and a US veteran pride painted bus. The seats in the bus were even cushioned, as opposed to the wooden-seated buses in Samoa.
We ventured over to American Samoa Community College, where everyone in our group had a homestay sibling waiting. My 19-year-old sister, Yvonne, had actually attended two years of middle school and all of high school in Los Angeles and completed a year at Sacramento Community College! It was pretty funny to be able to sit around talking about Los Angeles with her at this point in the semester; just as I'm really beginning to feel how far I am from home, American Samoa comes along to convince me otherwise.
Yvonne and I got along fantastically, and it was much easier to talk to my homestay family and the ASCC students than my family in Lotofaga because most people spoke English pretty well. We learned that we both love hot sauce and have a tendency to steal packets of it from restaurants, neither of us really likes tomatoes all that much, and we both like to dance to music on the radio. She lived in a two-story house across the street from the beach with her aunt, cousin (Jennifer), and her cousin's two-year-old daughter (Snow White--named for the fact that she was born in Virginia on a snowy day).
My first night in their home, I felt like I had never been to a nicer house. Yvonne showed me upstairs to my room, which was all mine and had two queen-size beds! They had a real kitchen, with a fridge, a stove (albeit electric), and everything! The fact that the water only worked downstairs, the air conditioning, television, and certain lights were just for show (they'd been broken for years), and the one shower had no shower head had no influence on how luxurious and extravagant I thought it was. When I noticed these small details, it was more of an observation than even a slight annoyance. Jennifer had set the table with a small sign that read, "Welcome to the Pritt's Residence!" and cooked a feast of chop suey, sausage and onions, rice, fried fish, and boiled bananas. My aunt had to go to bingo immediately after dinner (she went EVERY night, as all the women in her church do--a very Samoan thing to do; there are bingo supply stores everywhere!), but Jennifer, Yvonne and I sat around for hours just talking. Most of the conversation consisted of their entire dating histories, and the dating histories of all those involved. I heard all about their current boyfriends and we stayed up way too late just having girl talk.
I then stayed up for another few hours because I wanted to finish Those Who Do Not Grieve, a book by Samoan author Sia Figiel (whose novel Where We Once Belonged won the Commonwealth Prize), who we were meeting the next day. Although I'd already read two of her other novels, I wanted to gobble up as much of her incredibly unique and provocative prose before hearing her speak. After a morning lecture and an elei-print lavalava making session, we finally got to meet her. She was as much of a character as her writing suggested (if not more so), and she signed two of her books for me! Of course, I now just want to take a writing class next semester.
Highlights of the rest of the week included a kava ceremony at the college, a cultural exchange in which we performed a Samoan siva (dance) and received three in return from the fa'asamoa club, a hike to Fagatele Bay Marine Sanctuary (the largest and only one below the equator, apparently), and a trip to a supermarket where I actually found matzoh in the darkest, dustiest corner of the store! It's not actually kosher for passover, but seeing as it's definitely the closest I'm gonna get, I'm just going to pretend.
There were, however, some more thought-provoking aspects of the visit. One topic my group seems to love debating is the military involvement on the island--although citizens of American Samoa are not citizens of the US, there is still a very high percentage of youth joining the military for the educational opportunities. Another is the prevalence of fast food and the sky-high rates of obesity and diabetes; most homestay families assumed we all ate fast food for every meal and junk food for snacks in between (I was even forced to eat KFC for lunch one day. I don't think I've ever felt more nauseous at the thought of just eating something.). Education is also a concern as there is only one community college and no other opportunities on-island for higher education. I also had some really interesting conversations about what people thought of American Samoa versus Western Samoa and whether they felt it was a positive or negative to be a territory of the US.
On the flight out I got one last view of the stunning mountain peaks and the completely undeveloped north side of the island. American Samoa may have been even more beautiful landscape-wise than Savai'i.
On Sunday, a group of us continued the pampering feeling and indulged in the breakfast buffet at Aggie Grey's, the nicest hotel in Apia. We then lounged around the pool and felt like kings before coming home and preparing for the school week. We are supposed to go to Fiji on Saturday, but there is horrible flooding, so we're not sure it will work out. Look out for updates!
Tofa!
-Leah
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Home, home on the range!
Malo!
So after getting back from Savaii, we now have a brief stay at the University of the South Pacific in Alafua (our home base) before flying to American Samoa next week. But SIT doesn't let you sit still for long, so this week we are working on our mini ISPs (the semester will culminate in a 30-page Independent Study Project; this is our practice run). The topic I've chosen is studying the Samoan perceptions of Upolu vs. Savaii (the two main islands of Samoa), and particularly looking at prejudices and jealousies.
On Monday, my Academic Director dropped me off at the Government Building in downtown Apia, where I had decided to visit the Department of Statistics. The building, however, proved to be quite confusing; although Western in architecture, it was not Western in use. The front of the building has a large, wide staircase leading to a row of glass doors and a lobby. The Samoans, however, keep these doors locked. I don't know why. And when I asked, they all looked at me like it was normal to instead enter the building through a tiny enclosed staircase on the side of the building, hidden behind an unmarked door.
When I finally found my way to the correct department, I was again astounded by the Samoan-ness of it all. The receptionist could not have been more friendly; she gave me an informal interview and introduced me to a few higher-ups, all of whom did not mind in the least that I had simply waltzed into a government agency and expected to get immediate help. They spent over an hour going over the latest census data and in-country migration rates with me, printing out copies of all the charts I thought might be useful and chatting about my project.
Tuesday night I again found myself loving the friendly and relaxed Samoan attitude. Our assistant language teacher, Ruta, invited a few students to her church for the B'hai Naw Ruz (New Year). The night was filled with delicious food (a feast, if I ever saw one!), adorable children performing songs and dances, the teen group's amazing Samoan slap dances, and games which included the entire community. My favorite game (and the favorite game of many Pacific Islanders, apparently) is Pass the Parcel. There is a "gift" wrapped up in layers and layers of newspaper (the gift is always taro), and everyone sits in a circle passing it around. Music plays in the background and when it stops, the person holding the parcel takes off one layer of the paper and uncovers a slip of paper with an "embarrassing" task on it. Samoan humor seems to be very different from American humor, however, which made participating in the game even more hilarious. We simply couldn't understand why people thought the tasks were so hilariously outlandish! The crowd's favorite, for example, was when a girl who was about eight years old had to blow up a balloon and sit on it. The building shook with laughter when the balloon popped and even the adults were gripping their sides.
I've spent most of the rest of the week collecting surveys for my project and making flight arrangements to visit New Zealand for two weeks at the end of May (I'll then return to Samoa for a week, go home for a week, and fly to Israel!). I'll fill you all in again before we leave for American Samoa next week, and hopefully I'll find some interesting data to share.
Alofa ia te otou! (Love you all!)
Fa,
Leah
So after getting back from Savaii, we now have a brief stay at the University of the South Pacific in Alafua (our home base) before flying to American Samoa next week. But SIT doesn't let you sit still for long, so this week we are working on our mini ISPs (the semester will culminate in a 30-page Independent Study Project; this is our practice run). The topic I've chosen is studying the Samoan perceptions of Upolu vs. Savaii (the two main islands of Samoa), and particularly looking at prejudices and jealousies.
On Monday, my Academic Director dropped me off at the Government Building in downtown Apia, where I had decided to visit the Department of Statistics. The building, however, proved to be quite confusing; although Western in architecture, it was not Western in use. The front of the building has a large, wide staircase leading to a row of glass doors and a lobby. The Samoans, however, keep these doors locked. I don't know why. And when I asked, they all looked at me like it was normal to instead enter the building through a tiny enclosed staircase on the side of the building, hidden behind an unmarked door.
When I finally found my way to the correct department, I was again astounded by the Samoan-ness of it all. The receptionist could not have been more friendly; she gave me an informal interview and introduced me to a few higher-ups, all of whom did not mind in the least that I had simply waltzed into a government agency and expected to get immediate help. They spent over an hour going over the latest census data and in-country migration rates with me, printing out copies of all the charts I thought might be useful and chatting about my project.
Tuesday night I again found myself loving the friendly and relaxed Samoan attitude. Our assistant language teacher, Ruta, invited a few students to her church for the B'hai Naw Ruz (New Year). The night was filled with delicious food (a feast, if I ever saw one!), adorable children performing songs and dances, the teen group's amazing Samoan slap dances, and games which included the entire community. My favorite game (and the favorite game of many Pacific Islanders, apparently) is Pass the Parcel. There is a "gift" wrapped up in layers and layers of newspaper (the gift is always taro), and everyone sits in a circle passing it around. Music plays in the background and when it stops, the person holding the parcel takes off one layer of the paper and uncovers a slip of paper with an "embarrassing" task on it. Samoan humor seems to be very different from American humor, however, which made participating in the game even more hilarious. We simply couldn't understand why people thought the tasks were so hilariously outlandish! The crowd's favorite, for example, was when a girl who was about eight years old had to blow up a balloon and sit on it. The building shook with laughter when the balloon popped and even the adults were gripping their sides.
I've spent most of the rest of the week collecting surveys for my project and making flight arrangements to visit New Zealand for two weeks at the end of May (I'll then return to Samoa for a week, go home for a week, and fly to Israel!). I'll fill you all in again before we leave for American Samoa next week, and hopefully I'll find some interesting data to share.
Alofa ia te otou! (Love you all!)
Fa,
Leah
Thursday, March 15, 2012
A week in Savaii
Malo!
This past week has been quite the "Spring Break." On Friday, we all took the ferry over to Savaii, the larger but less populated island of Samoa. We stayed in Tanu Beach Fales for the weekend, ta'ele-ing (swimming), savavali-ing (going for walks), malolo-ing (resting), faitau-ing (reading) and generally enjoying life. There was home-cooked food, a fiafia, upbeat songs and merriment.
Warren, an older gentleman from Australia originally and our professor for the week, took us all around the island Monday through Thursday. We went to lava fields, freshwater springs, swimming holes, waterfalls, the beach, some blowholes, sea cliffs, and even hiked a volcano (my favorite part of this particular hike was that a man with a machete had to lead the group through the jungle)to learn about the geography and geology of the island.
The most I learned about Samoa this past week, however, was not about the olivine brought to the surface by an ancient eruption of an inland volcano, but about Savaii's hospital, where I spent Tuesday afternoon. On our drive back to the Safua Hotel from learning how to make tapa, we stopped for ice cream, where Warren's helper, Samisoni, got out to phone his wife. When he came back to the car, Samisoni informed Warren that he would like to stop at the hospital where his nine-month-old son Joplin was being treated. He came back to the car and said that Joplin needed a blood transfusion and neither he nor his wife could give blood. I, of course, asked what the baby's blood type was and he said "A," uncertain whether it was positive or negative. I told him that I was A positive and that if it turned out I was a match, to come back to the hotel and get me.
After I had showered and was settling into the adventures of Frodo (I'm reading Lord of the Rings), a knock came upon the door. Samisoni, who does not speak much English just said, "You go to hospital?" I said yes, grabbed a water bottle and hopped in the van. We arrived at the hospital and for the next half hour, I mostly just followed people around when they said, "come!" and tried to understand the rapid Samoan conversations going on around me. I had no idea what was wrong with the baby or even where he was. The restroom in the hospital had no toilet paper, soap, or paper towels and all the signs were in Samoan. I finally entered a room and was told to sit in a chair as a man in a lab coat pricked my thumb, took some of my blood and went into a back room cluttered with lab equpiment and papers. He emerged after a few minutes, said something to Samisoni, who went to get his wife, Onivi, and then we stood and smiled at each other, for neither of us had much to say or were able to say much the other would understand. Onivi, Samisoni, and the lab guy spoke in Samoan for about ten minutes, every so often looking at me, pointing at me, or saying my name. I sat quietly until the lab guy asked me to go with him to the back room. He said, "You give blood?" and I said "yes." He said, "You have give blood?" and I said "yes." He said, "How long?" and I said "I've given blood about four or five times." He pointed to a number on a chart, and said, "you give this?" I said "sure." Then, we went back to the front room, he told me to sit on a cot, and he got out the needle and bag to take blood. I carefully watched him open the sealed bag, making sure it was sterile. He got out a cotton swab, put alcohol on it, and cleaned my arm. He got out an arm pressure thing (I'm blanking on the right word) that looked like it was from the 50's, tied it around my arm (it didn't have velcro), looked for a vein, and stuck the needle in. Thankfully, I have given blood enough times to know to squeeze my hand and whatnot, but there was no way of telling how fast my blood was flowing or how much had come out already, as the bag was just sitting on the chair next to me.
To take my mind off the needle in my arm, I listened to the American music coming from the back room. "Look at Me Now" came on, so of course I started singing along. The lab guy came back out and laughed at me. In a combination of my poor Samoan and his poor English, I found out a bit more about his life and the baby's sickness. It turns out baby Joplin was anemic, had low hemoglobin and needed a transfusion. The doctor didn't want it to be from a family member for some reason (something about higher likelihood of anemia) so basically they would be giving the baby my blood that day, without testing for STIs or anything. The guy handed me back over to Onivi, and I finally went to meet her family. I met Joplin and his twin, Sam, and their three older siblings, Vitoria, Violeta and Piula. Samisoni's two sisters were there as well and I talked with them for a few minutes. I got back to the hotel just in time for our group discussion and dinner.
Anyway, I'll write another update soon, with topics more fun to read about!
Tofa!
-Leah
This past week has been quite the "Spring Break." On Friday, we all took the ferry over to Savaii, the larger but less populated island of Samoa. We stayed in Tanu Beach Fales for the weekend, ta'ele-ing (swimming), savavali-ing (going for walks), malolo-ing (resting), faitau-ing (reading) and generally enjoying life. There was home-cooked food, a fiafia, upbeat songs and merriment.
Warren, an older gentleman from Australia originally and our professor for the week, took us all around the island Monday through Thursday. We went to lava fields, freshwater springs, swimming holes, waterfalls, the beach, some blowholes, sea cliffs, and even hiked a volcano (my favorite part of this particular hike was that a man with a machete had to lead the group through the jungle)to learn about the geography and geology of the island.
The most I learned about Samoa this past week, however, was not about the olivine brought to the surface by an ancient eruption of an inland volcano, but about Savaii's hospital, where I spent Tuesday afternoon. On our drive back to the Safua Hotel from learning how to make tapa, we stopped for ice cream, where Warren's helper, Samisoni, got out to phone his wife. When he came back to the car, Samisoni informed Warren that he would like to stop at the hospital where his nine-month-old son Joplin was being treated. He came back to the car and said that Joplin needed a blood transfusion and neither he nor his wife could give blood. I, of course, asked what the baby's blood type was and he said "A," uncertain whether it was positive or negative. I told him that I was A positive and that if it turned out I was a match, to come back to the hotel and get me.
After I had showered and was settling into the adventures of Frodo (I'm reading Lord of the Rings), a knock came upon the door. Samisoni, who does not speak much English just said, "You go to hospital?" I said yes, grabbed a water bottle and hopped in the van. We arrived at the hospital and for the next half hour, I mostly just followed people around when they said, "come!" and tried to understand the rapid Samoan conversations going on around me. I had no idea what was wrong with the baby or even where he was. The restroom in the hospital had no toilet paper, soap, or paper towels and all the signs were in Samoan. I finally entered a room and was told to sit in a chair as a man in a lab coat pricked my thumb, took some of my blood and went into a back room cluttered with lab equpiment and papers. He emerged after a few minutes, said something to Samisoni, who went to get his wife, Onivi, and then we stood and smiled at each other, for neither of us had much to say or were able to say much the other would understand. Onivi, Samisoni, and the lab guy spoke in Samoan for about ten minutes, every so often looking at me, pointing at me, or saying my name. I sat quietly until the lab guy asked me to go with him to the back room. He said, "You give blood?" and I said "yes." He said, "You have give blood?" and I said "yes." He said, "How long?" and I said "I've given blood about four or five times." He pointed to a number on a chart, and said, "you give this?" I said "sure." Then, we went back to the front room, he told me to sit on a cot, and he got out the needle and bag to take blood. I carefully watched him open the sealed bag, making sure it was sterile. He got out a cotton swab, put alcohol on it, and cleaned my arm. He got out an arm pressure thing (I'm blanking on the right word) that looked like it was from the 50's, tied it around my arm (it didn't have velcro), looked for a vein, and stuck the needle in. Thankfully, I have given blood enough times to know to squeeze my hand and whatnot, but there was no way of telling how fast my blood was flowing or how much had come out already, as the bag was just sitting on the chair next to me.
To take my mind off the needle in my arm, I listened to the American music coming from the back room. "Look at Me Now" came on, so of course I started singing along. The lab guy came back out and laughed at me. In a combination of my poor Samoan and his poor English, I found out a bit more about his life and the baby's sickness. It turns out baby Joplin was anemic, had low hemoglobin and needed a transfusion. The doctor didn't want it to be from a family member for some reason (something about higher likelihood of anemia) so basically they would be giving the baby my blood that day, without testing for STIs or anything. The guy handed me back over to Onivi, and I finally went to meet her family. I met Joplin and his twin, Sam, and their three older siblings, Vitoria, Violeta and Piula. Samisoni's two sisters were there as well and I talked with them for a few minutes. I got back to the hotel just in time for our group discussion and dinner.
Anyway, I'll write another update soon, with topics more fun to read about!
Tofa!
-Leah
Monday, March 5, 2012
We are family! All my Lotofagans and me!
Malo uō ma 'āiga! (Hi friends and family!)
I just got back from my first home stay in a small village called Lotofaga. My Samoan family was amazing! My mother, Siupu, and father, Fa'amotu (who has a Samoan matai title), were both kind, welcoming and very friendly. Siupu spoke much more English than Fa'amotu (who barely spoke any at all) and with my limited Samoan and her limited English, we were able to communicate just fine, although it was difficult to have any kind of in-depth converstaion. Trying to explain the pictures of me snowboarding and logrolling didn't go too well, either. I don't think they even knew that "kiona" is Samoan for "snow" and the only thing she got out of the picture of me logrolling against Alex was that she thought I was showing her a picture of my boyfriend (it was worth a try; most Americans don't even get it). I didn't know how to say "teammate" so I just said "leai" ("no") and moved on to the picture of my family, but explaining whitewater rafting was pretty hard, too.
I had three brothers, all younger. I thought Sam (Samuelo), the eldest was a few years older than me, but it turns out he is actually a month younger! He and my father both had the traditional Samoan tattoos and my father, who (like the rest of the village) was obsessed with my camera, made me take a picture of Sam's tat, so when I have the capability to do so, I will post some pictures. Sam was also the one who ran the kava to all the matai chiefs and to each of the SIT kids (the visitors) in our welcoming kava ceremony, and Jackie (the AD) thinks he's very cute.
My brother Angelo (Telo), who is thirteen and in eighth grade, was absolutely hilarious. He didn't speak very much English either, so we basically just communicated by me dancing when he sang and copying him when he broke into the traditional Samoan slap dance, which was every time we went for a savalivali (walk) and whenever we were just sitting in the fale drinking tea. He was a very "cheeky boy," the entire villages favorite and most-used phrase. He helped me with my Samoan language homework and LOVED my Samoan-English dictionary, which I will leave with him when we go back to Lotofaga in May.
Fa'amati (Mati or Maki), my youngest brother at age two or maybe three (they couldn't tell me how old he was and kept changing their answers), was probably the most adorable child in the entire village. I kept forgetting how little he was, however, because his parents didn't even look twice when he dragged machetes across the field and if he wasn't around for a while and had no idea where he could be, they just kind of waited 'til he showed up. He had a contagious laugh and loved to beat up the kittens and puppies, which was disturbing only to me, apparently. Siupu gave me a strange look when I took the kitten out of the sheet in which Maki had wrapped it and was punching it as hard as he could.
Certain instances like this made the differences in American and Samoan culture very clear. The violence, or "physicality" as my academic director urges us to call it, of the Samoan children was something I simply could not get used to. Not only do parents often hit their children, but the children hit each other, the dogs, and the cats and their parents never stop them. I felt very uncomfortable, for example, when my mother told me to "go beat Fa'amati" because he had fallen asleep on my bed. Another time when I was reading, Maki came over and started drawing on my shoe with a pen and standing on my book so I couldn't flip the page. Angelo asked my why I wasn't annoyed and why I didn't just slap him. It simply didn't bother me enough to resort to violence (although I doubt anything could get me annoyed enough to actually slap a child).
Another slightly uncomfortable part of Samoan culture is the fa'aaloalo (hospitality) that is so strictly practiced. For the first few days, I had to eat alone with a chaperone. They served me about five times as much as anyone else, and the children eat the leftovers from everyone else's meal. Basically, what I didn't eat was what the family ate, and I never knew how much they had so it was hard to judge when I'd eaten my share. However, even if I ate until I was stuffed, my mother gave me a disappointed look when I said "Ma'ona" (I'm full), because I never ate enough to satisfy her. She thought I was too skinny and made this very clear at every meal. I'm sure it won't be long until I'm a good size in her eyes, though, because the Samoans have definitely mastered the art of creating meals with the most calories, carbs and sodium possible, while steering clear of all nutrients and vitamins (with the exception of the occasional taro leaf or kapisi (cabbage, but not really). I also was the only one in the family to sleep on a mattress pad instead of a sleeping mat and I had my own mosquito net. We all slept in the fale palagi, except for Sam who slept in the fale Samoa. I guess he just likes the outdoors more than the rest of the fam.
Other than these few little culture shock situations, my stay in Lotofaga was pretty great, and by day three I was eating with the family as much as was appropriate (just with the parents) and doing some household chores (picking up the leaves in the yard, folding the laundry, etc). The village is right on the beach and one of the best days was when Andrew, Perrin and I took all of our Samoan brothers and sisters to the ocean and played in the waves. I forget how fun it is to have seven children climbing you like a jungle gym and laughing laughing laughing. We sang Samoan songs, drank a few coconuts and had an awesome afternoon. The kids love to just walk around the village and basically all people do is household chores and wander along the road. Savalivali are the thing to do, and if you're lucky, you can savalivali to the store and get an ice cream. My family was also big on sitting in the fale Samoa and just being. We would sit for an hour or so without saying one word to one another, maybe watching the dogs play, or the horses eat the grass, or the chickens jumping through the bushes, but mostly we would just sit. Sometimes someone would say "'E vevela," ("it's hot") or offer me some tea. (The funny thing about that though, is that if anyone offered me anything, it was Angelo who had to go do it. I wasn't even allowed to fill my own water bottle most of the time and Angelo did everything).
Highlights of class time included visiting a plantation, helping build an umu (a outdoor oven) to make a full traditional meal (including catching and killing a pig, beating an octupus to make it tender, making coconut cream by husking, scraping and squeezing the meat, making kokosamoa by roasting cocoa beans and mashing them, making palusami by bundling taro leaves and coconut cream, and pounding the breadfruit for dessert), learning how to weave both plates and fine mats, and my personal favorite, getting to teach an elementary school class! My friend Lindsay and I got the first-graders and we taught them a few songs in English and Samoan (including the banana song: "Fa'i tu'ufa'atasi! Fofoe fa'i, fofoe fa'i! U fa'i, u fa'i! Lamulamu fa'i, lamulamu fa'i! Folo fa'i, folo fa'i! Toto a'ava fa'i, toto a'ava fa'i! Sola fa'i, sola fa'i!" or "Bananas unite! Peel bananas, peel bananas! Bite bananas, bite bananas! Chew bananas, chew bananas! Swallow bananas, swallow bananas! Burp bananas, burp bananas! Go bananas, go bananas!" The "go bananas didn't translate quite right so instead it says "run away bananas!") I have Camp Harmony to thank, however, for not only that gem of watching 20 Samoan 5-year-olds yelling about bananas and jumping around the classroom, but also for providing us for with another skit for the fiafia.
The fiafia is basically a structured party where the two groups involved (in our case, us and our mothers) take turns performing dances, skits, talents, and songs for each other, broken up by "siva palagi" or just a dance party to one song and a kind of presentation thing where each student danced with her host mother for the group. I lead the group in the Fa'i song and in Princess Pat. We also performed a few traditional Samoan siva (dances). Our mothers made each of us puletasi for the event, the formal dress for Samoan women, and we had an amazing feast and great entertainment all night.
I definitely didn't cover everything, but this post is long enough and I'm very tired (and have so much homework this week!). I'll try to post again before leaving for Savaii at the end of the week.
Tofa soifua! Manuia le po! (goodbye and good wishes! good night!)
Alofa tele! (Lots of love!)
Leah
I just got back from my first home stay in a small village called Lotofaga. My Samoan family was amazing! My mother, Siupu, and father, Fa'amotu (who has a Samoan matai title), were both kind, welcoming and very friendly. Siupu spoke much more English than Fa'amotu (who barely spoke any at all) and with my limited Samoan and her limited English, we were able to communicate just fine, although it was difficult to have any kind of in-depth converstaion. Trying to explain the pictures of me snowboarding and logrolling didn't go too well, either. I don't think they even knew that "kiona" is Samoan for "snow" and the only thing she got out of the picture of me logrolling against Alex was that she thought I was showing her a picture of my boyfriend (it was worth a try; most Americans don't even get it). I didn't know how to say "teammate" so I just said "leai" ("no") and moved on to the picture of my family, but explaining whitewater rafting was pretty hard, too.
I had three brothers, all younger. I thought Sam (Samuelo), the eldest was a few years older than me, but it turns out he is actually a month younger! He and my father both had the traditional Samoan tattoos and my father, who (like the rest of the village) was obsessed with my camera, made me take a picture of Sam's tat, so when I have the capability to do so, I will post some pictures. Sam was also the one who ran the kava to all the matai chiefs and to each of the SIT kids (the visitors) in our welcoming kava ceremony, and Jackie (the AD) thinks he's very cute.
My brother Angelo (Telo), who is thirteen and in eighth grade, was absolutely hilarious. He didn't speak very much English either, so we basically just communicated by me dancing when he sang and copying him when he broke into the traditional Samoan slap dance, which was every time we went for a savalivali (walk) and whenever we were just sitting in the fale drinking tea. He was a very "cheeky boy," the entire villages favorite and most-used phrase. He helped me with my Samoan language homework and LOVED my Samoan-English dictionary, which I will leave with him when we go back to Lotofaga in May.
Fa'amati (Mati or Maki), my youngest brother at age two or maybe three (they couldn't tell me how old he was and kept changing their answers), was probably the most adorable child in the entire village. I kept forgetting how little he was, however, because his parents didn't even look twice when he dragged machetes across the field and if he wasn't around for a while and had no idea where he could be, they just kind of waited 'til he showed up. He had a contagious laugh and loved to beat up the kittens and puppies, which was disturbing only to me, apparently. Siupu gave me a strange look when I took the kitten out of the sheet in which Maki had wrapped it and was punching it as hard as he could.
Certain instances like this made the differences in American and Samoan culture very clear. The violence, or "physicality" as my academic director urges us to call it, of the Samoan children was something I simply could not get used to. Not only do parents often hit their children, but the children hit each other, the dogs, and the cats and their parents never stop them. I felt very uncomfortable, for example, when my mother told me to "go beat Fa'amati" because he had fallen asleep on my bed. Another time when I was reading, Maki came over and started drawing on my shoe with a pen and standing on my book so I couldn't flip the page. Angelo asked my why I wasn't annoyed and why I didn't just slap him. It simply didn't bother me enough to resort to violence (although I doubt anything could get me annoyed enough to actually slap a child).
Another slightly uncomfortable part of Samoan culture is the fa'aaloalo (hospitality) that is so strictly practiced. For the first few days, I had to eat alone with a chaperone. They served me about five times as much as anyone else, and the children eat the leftovers from everyone else's meal. Basically, what I didn't eat was what the family ate, and I never knew how much they had so it was hard to judge when I'd eaten my share. However, even if I ate until I was stuffed, my mother gave me a disappointed look when I said "Ma'ona" (I'm full), because I never ate enough to satisfy her. She thought I was too skinny and made this very clear at every meal. I'm sure it won't be long until I'm a good size in her eyes, though, because the Samoans have definitely mastered the art of creating meals with the most calories, carbs and sodium possible, while steering clear of all nutrients and vitamins (with the exception of the occasional taro leaf or kapisi (cabbage, but not really). I also was the only one in the family to sleep on a mattress pad instead of a sleeping mat and I had my own mosquito net. We all slept in the fale palagi, except for Sam who slept in the fale Samoa. I guess he just likes the outdoors more than the rest of the fam.
Other than these few little culture shock situations, my stay in Lotofaga was pretty great, and by day three I was eating with the family as much as was appropriate (just with the parents) and doing some household chores (picking up the leaves in the yard, folding the laundry, etc). The village is right on the beach and one of the best days was when Andrew, Perrin and I took all of our Samoan brothers and sisters to the ocean and played in the waves. I forget how fun it is to have seven children climbing you like a jungle gym and laughing laughing laughing. We sang Samoan songs, drank a few coconuts and had an awesome afternoon. The kids love to just walk around the village and basically all people do is household chores and wander along the road. Savalivali are the thing to do, and if you're lucky, you can savalivali to the store and get an ice cream. My family was also big on sitting in the fale Samoa and just being. We would sit for an hour or so without saying one word to one another, maybe watching the dogs play, or the horses eat the grass, or the chickens jumping through the bushes, but mostly we would just sit. Sometimes someone would say "'E vevela," ("it's hot") or offer me some tea. (The funny thing about that though, is that if anyone offered me anything, it was Angelo who had to go do it. I wasn't even allowed to fill my own water bottle most of the time and Angelo did everything).
Highlights of class time included visiting a plantation, helping build an umu (a outdoor oven) to make a full traditional meal (including catching and killing a pig, beating an octupus to make it tender, making coconut cream by husking, scraping and squeezing the meat, making kokosamoa by roasting cocoa beans and mashing them, making palusami by bundling taro leaves and coconut cream, and pounding the breadfruit for dessert), learning how to weave both plates and fine mats, and my personal favorite, getting to teach an elementary school class! My friend Lindsay and I got the first-graders and we taught them a few songs in English and Samoan (including the banana song: "Fa'i tu'ufa'atasi! Fofoe fa'i, fofoe fa'i! U fa'i, u fa'i! Lamulamu fa'i, lamulamu fa'i! Folo fa'i, folo fa'i! Toto a'ava fa'i, toto a'ava fa'i! Sola fa'i, sola fa'i!" or "Bananas unite! Peel bananas, peel bananas! Bite bananas, bite bananas! Chew bananas, chew bananas! Swallow bananas, swallow bananas! Burp bananas, burp bananas! Go bananas, go bananas!" The "go bananas didn't translate quite right so instead it says "run away bananas!") I have Camp Harmony to thank, however, for not only that gem of watching 20 Samoan 5-year-olds yelling about bananas and jumping around the classroom, but also for providing us for with another skit for the fiafia.
The fiafia is basically a structured party where the two groups involved (in our case, us and our mothers) take turns performing dances, skits, talents, and songs for each other, broken up by "siva palagi" or just a dance party to one song and a kind of presentation thing where each student danced with her host mother for the group. I lead the group in the Fa'i song and in Princess Pat. We also performed a few traditional Samoan siva (dances). Our mothers made each of us puletasi for the event, the formal dress for Samoan women, and we had an amazing feast and great entertainment all night.
I definitely didn't cover everything, but this post is long enough and I'm very tired (and have so much homework this week!). I'll try to post again before leaving for Savaii at the end of the week.
Tofa soifua! Manuia le po! (goodbye and good wishes! good night!)
Alofa tele! (Lots of love!)
Leah
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