Uma

“I have always relied on the kindness of strangers…” - Blanch DuBois in ‘A Street Car Named Desire’

“We are all travelers in the wilderness of this world, and the best we can find in our travels is an honest friend.” - Robert Louis Stevenson

I lied (again…fa'amalie atu) the last plogg wasn’t the last plogg…I almost forgot the most important part. I am only sorry that I cannot name every individual I should here- but, you know who you are if you are reading this...(most of the people I have named, will never read this…and that- for the sake of Miss Alanis Morrisette- is irony...)

To all below, and more- fa’afetai tele lava (I’m not going to write 'thank-you very much' 72 times…so take it as a given from here…)

To the crew at SBEC…for your various forms of entertainment, friendship and mild antagonism…I leave you the work I have done and words from someone wiser than me... 
“Education is an admirable thing, but it is well to remember from time to time that nothing that is worth knowing can be taught.” –Oscar Wilde

Especially to Santy- thank you for your giggling hospitality and kindness- it almost hides your rare competence. Thank you for everything- but as Lulu sang 'How do you thank someone who has taken you from crayon's to perfume?'...I'm not sure, but you will always be welcome to visit :)...however we are never, ever sharing a hotel room again.

To Aunty Frieda…and your family - Paul, Ah Chong, Rasmussen, Ah Him and all the rest… (trust me when I say this could go on...) I cannot thank you enough for treating me so kindly, and teaching me the meaning of aiga in Samoa. You have treated me like family, and I hope I will have to the opportunity to repay your kind and genuine hospitality…

Especially to;

…Aunty Frieda for letting me share your tremendous library to learn about Samoa's history…

…to Mark, for sharing your business experience in Samoa with me...
...to Luna & Norman for welcoming me, and every other volunteer waif and stray to Le Manumea for a cool swim and a cooler beer when we sought somewhere to rest …

…to Memoree & Walter Imo who shared their home, their gym, their café and their car (and Buddy)…and a hundred conversations with me…thank you for your friendship, and balancing the odd mild hangover with brekky, caffeine & exercise…

…and to Aunty Therese and Willy- who over many meals, and several beers- taught me more about Samoa and being Samoan than I could have found in any number of books…

For Willy and Walter, who provided wisdom, beer and coffee in equal measure…

“One is not a learned man by virtue of much speaking. He who is patient, without anger and fearless, he is to be called learned….even if he has only studied a little, he who has experienced the truth in person- he is indeed a bearer of the teaching...”. Buddha- The Dhammapada

To Aunty Danielle and Uncle Hymie who reached out to your family to make sure I would be known and taken care of- I was. 

To Uncle David for showing the way...

To George Churchward and William Walker, who gave me some family history threads on which to pull…

To Nigel Stowers, who represented in Samoa in keeping an eye out, an ear out,  and a beer out for me…

To the volunteers- Kiwis, Aussies, Yanks and the rest…what a ridiculously talented and fun bunch of people you are- thanks for the inspiration, memories, and for being there to support and entertain one another…

Especially to;

…John ‘Air Vice Marshall’ Marsh…for the long walks in places most Samoans would never go- thanks for the spirit of adventure…

…’Eta ‘James’ McNeil- for teaching me the difference between equity and equality and for having more spheres of influence than Lourde…

…Jo and Andy- for being more adaptable than a small purse and matching shoes made entirely from chameleon skin... thanks for being  the worlds greatest neighbours, walkers, red wine connoisseurs, surrogate parents, therapists; and future producers, writers and stars of “Animal Rescue Samoa”…

For the volies:

“Success consists of going from failure to failure without loss of enthusiasm.”- Winston Churchill

“Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts” – Winnie again, but clearly on a better day

To everybody who visited me… Leanne, Brent, Fran, Jada, Mum, Dad, Joc,& Jesse and to Aunty Pam, Richelle, Pia, Teuila and Uncle Hymie…you bought a little bit of home to me, when I needed it…I hope you took something back too... The Jacques Cousteau award goes to Dad for most exciting visitor...

To the Sainsbury’s, Newmans, Rouses, Stowers, Maggoffs, Kahuis, Chan Boons, Phillips…and everyone beyond that in our extended aiga in NZ, Aussie, or floating about the globe like leaves on a breeze …thank you for your support in spirit and thoughts… 

To my Gran- who supports us all ceaselessly with energy and by example...

To Nana & Apa- who left Samoa to offer their family a better life 50 years ago- and who could never have envisaged how successful and widely spread their progeny would become, when they took that chance... 

To everybody who donated to VSA …you have helped them to carry on what they do. A very special thank you to all of the mates of Mum, Brent and Dad- who backed me based on family links…Mum, Brent or Dad will fix you up with that ‘thank you’ drink...

To Viking, and to Kerry Sainsbury…thanks for the support intangible- but thanks especially, for your help in allowing me to leave 2 laptops in Samoa, donated to some people who need them more than I do…

To the security guards, the bus drivers, the cabbies, the street-side sellers, the gardeners, the kids, …and everyone I see on that 8km stretch of Cross Island Rd between Smurfy and SBEC…who made sure that every day I woke up started and finished with smiles, waves and kind words…I arrived at my destination everyday with a smile and feeling better than when I left. That walk was the everyday highlight…

It’s said that one needs 3 things in life...something to do, something to look forward to and something to love…and it is for the latter that thanks go to the Captain, Constanza, Lefty and El Presidente, Spot, Not Spot…and every other creature that wound up hungry or homeless on my doorstep… for unconditional friendship, and the occasional sleepless night…

To Shannon and Curtis and Nicole and Jackson and the host of friends and family who have supported Leanne at home...

And lastly…to my wife, without whom I could not have come, and without whom I would have no reason to return home. I have often thought of the words which you wear on your bracelet ...
"...grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change those things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference" - Reinhold Neibhur

Fa'afetai, fa'afetai, fa'afetai tele lava, ma alofa tele.

If I missed anyone out- I’m dreadfully sorry- hate mail to jacob.stowers@gmail.com...(ok…that’s the last plogg now…promise…uma)

Ua vela le la

“Ua vela le la”- Samoan proverb meaning “the mat is warm”…often used after a long meeting

“…and all my words come back to me,
in shades of mediocrity...”
– Simon and Garfunkel Homeward Bound

Hardy:    “I hate it! I hate the air. I hate the sand. I hate the stupid people. I hate the way they work. I hate their bloody smiley bloody faces. I hate the never ending sky!

Baxter:   Well, why be here at all?
Hardy:    It's penance”
- from the television series ‘Broadchurch’

I’m going home in 4 weeks… and this is the last plogg I’ll write. 

I had started to write a plogg, finally, about my job- my assignment. I wrote and re-wrote explaining what I have been doing as a volunteer in Samoa…vented in a series of pages written under the working title of “Spleen”.

Obviously- I didn’t bother publishing them…or even keeping them.

I’m already starting to forget things that have happened this year. My memory is gently being burnished – the minor trials of what we laughingly refer to as ‘work’, are being polished away leaving sepia toned island scenes…

And I don’t mind a bit. I’m looking forward to a selectively tinted hindsight- where I won’t recall what didn’t matter. It’s amusing to me, that what didn’t matter most of all, is the purpose for which I came…but that’s precisely the kind of contradiction which Samoa generates.

Case in point; When the Minister of Women, Community and Social Development makes a statement like “There is no poverty in Samoa”.

Wow! Really?….I mean, it kind of renders a ‘Minister for Social Development’ redundant...and I’d like to know why you haven’t stopped asking the rest of the world for money to embezzle…or why the there are 200 professional volunteers getting about the countryside trying to resolve the simplest of health, educational, infrastructure and economic issues…but hey- one thing at a time, right…No poverty? Great work- take the rest of the week off.

When I leave this place- I will forget the fat meetings, with fat people and fat lunches in fat air-conditioned offices devising methods to tinkle away other peoples money. I will forget about being asked for advice, so that it can be ignored in a more informed manner. I will forget the scared, abused creatures that could never be called pets…forget the roadsides & beaches littered with tins and packets…forget the kids nibbling dry 2 minute noodles from the packet unaware of the nutritional deficit of simply expending energy eating them…I will forget the ridiculous cathedrals built with borrowed funds, so that people might stand in them and pray to God for help with their debts…

Instead I will remember…friends and aiga… playful puppies finding happy homes…blushing sunrises and bleeding sunsets…waving cabbies, and bus drivers who refuse payment…I’ll remember slurred conversations about culture over too many beers, and long cups of coffee mid morning...brown skin on dusty streets…ute rides and floating in warm shallow water…vivacious volunteers and troppo ex-pats…and acts of kindness neither random or rare. I will remember smiling comfortably at strangers for no reason. 

When you walk along the street in Samoa, the most common question directed at you is to the effect of “E te alu, ai?”…”Where are you going?” - it just means ‘what are you up to?’ I will remember that question and the ensuing conversations, though I may forget who they were with…regardless, for the next four weeks- the answer will be “Home”.

Our business in life is not to succeed, but to continue to fail in good spirits.

- Robert Louis Stevenson

E.R....er,

"I need a respirator 'cause I'm running out of breath
For you're an all night generator wrapped in stockings and a dress
When you find your medicine you take what you can get
'Cause if there's something better baby well they haven't found it yet

Your love is like bad medicine
Bad medicine is what I need
Shake it up, just like bad medicine
There ain't no doctor that can cure my disease" - Bad Medicine, Bon Jovi

Tonight a kiwi volunteer is catching an Air NZ flight home after scoring a personal best, 9.5 for a face first forward dive from a seated position...she deserved a medal, but didn't get one.

Unfortunately the poor lady wasn't competing in the Commonwealth Youth Games currently taking place in Apia- she was just riding her bike home from a coffee...She woke up hours later in hospital with no recollection of the accident, a serious number of teeth deeply relocated, and lips like that sexy female saxophone player from the muppets...

Naturally, I sympathise deeply.

After we visited her at the hospital- we started to do a quick 'medivac' count of the accidents, injuries and evacuations among the 8 or 10 VSA volunteers usually in country...In just the last 10 months- there have been some interesting medical issues requiring evacuation.

Like the horticultural volunteer who developed a leg infection from a pinprick in her foot- that resulted in the leg blowing up to twice it's size, and the skin beginning to die off. Over a week, her lower leg went from weird, swollen purple rash, to areas turning pitch black suspiciously like frostbite, while a postule the size of a tea light candle on her ankle threatened to disgorge a small alien. Since being evacuated, unfortunately, insurers have refused to let her return to Samoa to complete her assignment.

Then there was the all round good bloke, who fell in love online - not an injury in itself- but it cut short his assignment by several months under what can only be called conditions of severe emotional blackmail. To add injury to insult, he was only a week from returning home when a second disaster struck. Empty beer bottles are routinely kept, for cash-back recycling- but this bloke had a stash that was worth a months salary, stacked neatly about his fridge. Unfortunately, on going to grab a coldie toward the end of a night of drinking, he lost his balance and sat down, hard, in the middle of his trophy collection, tearing himself a new orifice just north of the pre-existing one. He went home with some detailed souvenir needle work which you can't pick up in the craft markets.

Or the woman admitted to the hospital suffering pneumonia, who was later found by visitors wrapped shivering in a curtain, against the polar hospital air con. She discovered that in-patients here are expected to provide their own bedding and food.

Another young volunteer picked up a uterine parasite- about which little could be done, other than to return home and wait roughly 9 months for it to appear and gurgle at her. She's expected to recover fully in about 20 years.

One lady, who referred to herself as a bit “high maintenance”- required insurance to organise return flights to NZ and a few weeks off to have a small but “sus looking” mole removed from her leg. She departed permanently, less than 6 months into a 2 year assignment.

Even small injuries can present a considerable threat. Another volunteer has a small, angry cut on his leg that's going on 3 months old, and which resists healing despite a range of antibacterial ointments and several courses of oral antibiotics. Some medicines just seem to annoy it. I wonder if maybe his adversarial approach is the problem... he may be better off just playing it some classical music and talking to it softly.

On top of all of that- every body suffers occasionally from dog bites, rashes, stomach bugs and an innumerable range of fevers caused by influenza, chikungunya, or dengue- few of which are officially diagnosed, just because there's lot of point in talking to a doctor to get more of the ubiquitously prescribed paracetamol. So far, from my extensive and awesome medical kit, I've used all of the antibiotics, betadine, a bottle of neurafen, a pack or two of panadol, antihistamines, cold and flu tabs and other assorted bits.

What's left in the kit appears to be for near death experiences...

It's little wonder that we recently received an email notifying that the personal insurance cost for volunteers has been increased.

Going Troppo

“People are strange- when you’re a stranger,

Faces look ugly when you’re alone

Women seem wicked, when you’re unwanted

Streets are uneven, when you’re down.”

- People are strange, The Doors

Studio setting, 2 revolving chairs on a small dais separated by a small glass topped coffee table. A small man dressed like a Parkinson impersonator enters. Somehow, he has the voice right- but there is a toothless gap in his smile and his smartly coiffed grey hair looks as though its not permanently attached.

“Welcome, welcome…ooh- you’re too kind, yes…all right, settle down there you! Ha! Thank you very much. Lets get on with it shall we…”

The man fans one delicate hand at the unseen crowd, and takes a seat, crossing his immaculately suited pantlegs.

“Tonight my guest is someone who may not be known to many of you, but who is almost completely unknown to himself, and intimately well known to me- his Parkinson shaped shard of fractured psyche…That’s right, he’s you, he’s me, he’s a wee bit mental, and he’s here tonight…come on out Iakopo.”

Parkinson’s reflection shambles onto stage in worn rubber jandles, fading board shorts and a pilling cotton singlet. His hair looks like he cut it himself without a mirror- and his dentistry looks like it was done by a visually impaired miner. His skin is probably brown, but under the studio lights appears the shade of orange most often associated with game-show hosts and oompa-loompa’s. There are purple smudges under his eyes, and he looks sideways at where the camera should be, as though it may not…

They embrace briefly, and Parkinson whispers something at which they both chuckle before sitting down.

“Soooo…” begins Parkinson. “You’ve been busy…in, ah, Samoa, I hear?” Parko’s voice ends on a high note- leaving the question.

“You hear wrong Parko” drawls the guest.

“I’ve been about as busy as a one-armed primary school teacher who’s first semester lesson plan is ‘How to count to 5’…

There are broken buzzy bees that are busier than I am…

If I was any busier, I could be diagnosed with narcolepsy…”

“Haha” Parkinson chuckles, without sincerity… “Well you must be doing something?”

“I walk a lot Parko…I walk to work, I walk home…sometimes I take a day off…”

“I see- and what do you do when you get your nose from the grindstone, eh? When you finally get a rest from all of that stuff you mentioned?”

“…and walk...” finishes the guest

“I see. I’ve heard about this…” encourages Parkinson, nodding. “You really love to walk, right! I mean, you’re marching up and down a mountain every day? I hear you’re introduced to people as ‘that bloke who walks a lot’…is that right, yeah?”

“Ah, yeah. It’s hardly a claim to fame Parko. Frankly I’d rather my epitaph didn't read- 'Here lies Jake, he could really get good value out of a pair of sneakers...'  Not much of a legacy that Parko.
I'd much rather be known as that bloke who came up with a smashing idea about how to break the endless circle of misappropriated aid money; so that it might instead be used feed, educate and clothe those people who can’t afford to do it for themselves; and who for some reason are further disadvantaged by the very process designed to help them- often just because some fat, western educated, local git decided that the too much he already has, still isn’t quite enough, and stretches himself to fill out a couple of bureaucratic forms - designed specifically as one further hurdle for people who are struggling to find a place to learn how to read- and thereby manages to get a fully funded overseas professional to come and work for absolutely f-all within an underwhelming and financially suspect organisation, which is completely failing to fulfill the purpose for which it was established, but somehow is allowed to make a 'profit'....Walking? Nah- I wouldn’t say I love it”

“Oh? So why do you do it?”

“Walk?…well, seems useful…comparatively..”

“Useful? Can you explain useful to me?”

“Well…I like the sun- and I get to watch it set, and rise…I walk to work, and do something, and then I walk home- and do something else…” the guest pauses, then adds “I guess it stops me going mental…”

“Not really!” laughs Parkinson, winking at the crowd.

“Yeah- good one Parko. Haha” from the guests laugh, it appears that the lack-of-sincerity contest is escalating. “Oh, and I get to talk to some people…”

“Like who- who do you talk to?”

“Security guards, people on the street, gardeners…people”

“I see, I see…and what do you talk about?”

“About?...”

“Yes, yes, what kind of conversations do you have?”

“I normally say something like ‘Malo’- which just means ‘Hi’.”

“Yes, mmmmm, and what do they say?”

“Well…they normally say ‘Malo’ too…”

“And?”

“um...well, sometimes they say stuff like ‘e fia savali oe, uh?’’’

“Really! How interesting…and what does that mean?”

“well, roughly- it means… ‘you must really like to walk, eh?’…”

“Ah…haha, yes, very good.” Parkinson is laughing again, but his guest isn’t sure why. He smiles benignly at where the crown should be, behind the lights. "Well at least it must keep you fit, then?"

"Fit? Fit? Ha!...mate, I'm not even close to fit...I'm so thin I could be the plot of the next Fast and Furious film....I'm a double breast augmentation away from being on the next series of 'Survivor'...I mean, my ankles are in stunning condition from the sheer abuse of Samoan hillside pedestrianism, but I'm otherwise about as fit as an imitation Stradivarius made out of nothing but struck matches...proverbially speaking my friend, I am not a fiddle..."

“Sooo…let me ask you this…um, I’ve heard that there can be a bit of a scene up there- if you know what I mean…and why not, eh? What with the beaches, sunsets, cocktails…eh? And those infamously amorous islanders?”

“Not really…”

“So you’re not out every night partying? Not out dancing on tables with bikini clad tourists? Not doing the old Volunteer 2-step and trying to get youself into one of those medical statistics they briefed you about?”

“’breifed’!- haha- good one Parko”

Parkinson looks bemused, but remains silent.

“…uh, nope,” adds the guest, finally.

Parkinson leans over and whispers something to the guest. You can vaguely hear his voice through his shrouded mic muttering in a thick welsh accent “you’d better give me something soldier…you’re about as interesting as the fart I had after lunch”

"...Seriously ? I can't keep up with waking up- without contemplating that sort of carry on. There's a bunch of Aussie volunteers who are looser than the wheelnuts on a south auckland BMW...as well as a number of Kiwis who eminate health and wellbeing the way a white t-shirt emits WTF under a black light...A local social calendar with enough charity events to embarrass Princes Harry, William and the one who sang Purple Rain combined...but, frankly, I'd rather hang about home, wash my sheets and have a cup of tea...or a bottle of wine...or beer or six...and cook the kind of curry that makes you careful to brush your teeth left handed."

The guest pauses, while Parkinson nods at him.

“I s'pose occasionally a few volies…um, that’s volunteers…get together for a gin or something” the guest offers.

“Ah…go on…” Parkinson leers, good naturedly.

“Well- I just tend to drink…um as a bit of a preventative really…you know..”

“Against what? Dengue? Chikungunya?”

“Sobriety, mostly” grins the guest.

"Well, it's an inspiring story!" Parkinson starts to wind up.

"Inspiring? I'm so unispired- I feel like a Kanye West and Beyonce Knowles album collaboration which critics are calling "their best work yet"... I've got nothing mate...I've got so little to go on, that I'm surprised I haven't been offered a half hour current affairs show on New Zealand television...I am, my friend, bereft of inspiration and purpose...

Somewhere a bell tinkles…

“Alright, thanks for your time, a pleasure, a real pleasure as always!” smiles a clearly relieved Parkinson, rising to embrace his guest again… “We’ll be back in a minute, don’t go away…”

Camera fades, and you can hear disembodied voices over one still active mic… “Parko- mate, um…can I get a lift…”

Malololelei Reserve...and the legend of Mt Vaea

"When I lack perspective- it’s best to find a mountain and walk up it."

Malololelei is a small, affluent village, a little up the hills from my place. From there you can look out over Apia, and further east and west along the North Coast of Upolu. There’s a patch of land there- some 600 acres- which runs from the mid Upolu mountains down to meet the Mt Vaea reserve.

Trying to find Malololelei Reserve on a map or online is like trying to find a light beer in a Samoan liquor store. Walking tracks in Samoa hide…anything left for a short period to the forest- especially the resounding vacuum of a track- falls back to nature swiftly, as though embracing it’s abolition.

The land around Malololelei was once property of the Catholic Church, sections of which have been traded or sold off over the last half century. What has become Malololelei Reserve belongs to the Ah Liki family (an Apia dynasty)- and has been gifted to the people of Samoa. The reserve’s management shared in partnership between the family and the Ministry for Natural Resources & the Environment.

…and it is splendid.

Wide tracks graze the forest, treading ridges and folding down spurs- occasionally peeking over a canopy, salted with tava’e and manu sina. Tall trees, labelled in Samoan and Latin (surely a rare literary combination), shelter a host of small things, which harp and toot like woodland woodwind. Endangered manumea hide here. The fruit doves, fiau’i, manutangi and manuma appear in brief flight, before concealing themselves to hurl flutey remarks from the trees.

From the top of the park, you stare down Mt Vaea’s knuckled spine toward Apia, and the ocean beyond…

In legend, Vaea was born in Vaimauga (east, at the right of my view of Apia). He had only one brother- his name was Fa’atausili.

As they grew, Vaea became large & strong, dark &, handsome...while Fa’atausili was different; a small, pale and softly spoken shadow of his elder brother.

With Vaea’s strength came the attention of women and men, and so his pride grew, and eventually he became to believe in his own invincibility. If Fa’atausili was envious of his brother’s fame, it did not show, for he loved him as brothers do.

One day, 3 brothers from Fiji came to test the legend of Vaea and almost found themselves added to his list of conquests . They were defeated and saved only when their young sister Apaula revealed herself from where she had hidden in their boat, to beg for the mercy of Vaea, tears rolling down her shell smooth cheeks.

The great Vaea scorned the men, allowing them to escape with their lives but stripping them of their pride and in the bargain claiming pretty Apaula for himself.

It is said that Vaea and Apaula fell in love, and eventually Apaula fell pregnant with their first child.

When the baby was to be born, it was custom that Apaula’s brothers return to escort her to give birth to the child on their own island. Reluctantly, Vaea let his pregnant wife go, but he stood and watched their journey from Savalalo (at the foot of Mt Vaea).

As he watched the boat near its destination, Vaea saw Apaula go into labour and then give birth. He looked on with a growing realisation and dread as the baby emerged into the waiting arms of Apaula’s brothers. The child was killed before it’s mother and the distant eyes of Vaea, and the tiny body cast into the ocean to the creatures that live there. Vaea watched in disbelief and helplessness as they celebrated their revenge for Vaea’s arrogance and mockery, and Apaula wept and bled in the boat beneath them.

Vaea was overcome with grief. He roared at the men, at the sky and at the impassive ocean which held him at bay. He bawled and collapsed to weep- his hands and toes tore at the earth and his knees pressed great hollows in the soil. Sadness drained the strength from his muscles, and spilled it from his eyes and mouth to muddy the dirt. Vaea cried until the beat of his great heart began to slow and finally he found that he could not move, so great was his misery. His fingers and feet began to petrify, and lichens and moss began to inch over his hardening knuckles.

By the time Apaula was able to return her stricken husband, he could move no more.

Vaea murmured a few last words to his heartbroken wife, before his lips stilled. She must find his brother, Fa’atausili, that he might avenge their child.

Apaula ran to find Fa’atausili, not knowing where to look, and it was a long time before she finally found him at Falealupo, on the farthest coast of Savaii. When she came upon the pale Fa’atausili quietly sitting above the cliffs, she wondered how this insipid shadow of her great Vaea could possibly avenge their family.

As she spoke to him of her dead child and her petrifying husband, Fa’atausili remained still, his expression unreadable. Gently he reassured Apaula, and eventually he convinced her to leave him. Only when Apaula left, did Fa’atausili enter the shadows of a nearby cave and there, in the the darkness, gently uncoil and release the anger which lived inside him. What emerged from the cave was no longer the man Fa’atausili, but the embodiment of wrath, and it set forth to hunt Apaula’s brothers with wicked intent.

Apaula could only return to her still and silent Vaea, and curling herself about his massive earthen body, she wept. Her tears pooled beneath the mountain to create the fresh water spring at Lalovaea, which they now call Loimata o Apaula (the tears of Apaula)


Legend adapted from several sources…including
http://1samoana.com/samoan-legend-vaea-and-apaula/

birds at
http://www.samoanbirds.org/

Jailbreak

"Gonna make a jaaaail-break...and I'm lookin' towards the sky
I'm gonna make a jaaaaail-break...oh, how I wish that I could fly
All in the name of liberty
All in the name of liberty"

-AC/DC Jailbreak

Below is adapted from a recent news story…

A mass prison break at Tafa’igata a fortnight ago involved 10 prisoners, the youngest a 13-year-old boy.

(Why would a 13 year old boy be in prison?)  

The incident was confirmed by the Assistant Commissioner of Prisons and Corrections Service, who said the prisoners escaped through a hole on the wall of their cell.

(…a hole…in the wall of their cell…)

The prisoners had dug a hole through a brick wall.

 (The bricklayer was unavailable for comment…)

“There were nine prisoners plus another that was remanded in custody that escaped,” he said.

(…so 10 dudes, escaped through one hole, in one wall, in one cell…who are apparently unrelated and in different forms of custody…)

He added that three other prisoners in the same cell decided not to follow the rest.

(…so 13 dudes, had access to one hole, in one cell……who are apparently unrelated and in different forms of custody…)

Seven prisoners were found on Sunday...

(…were they in church?)

while the rest were caught on Monday. All have now been now secured

(...secured...in what sense?...surely you don't mean the prison...)

Ulugia said there are contributing factors to why prisoners always manage to flee

(...“always manage to flee”?)

“…we have been operating with a very minimum staff…and one of the other issues is that we don’t have a security fence as a backstop.

(...“backstop”?)

“Five prisoners that escaped before, had broken through bars and windows which were really secure.”

(..."really secure”?...I feel like this man needs a dictionary…)

“So again, it comes down to supervision and unsecured buildings.

(…"unsecured"? They literally walked through the wall…and out of the un-fenced, un-guarded yard...no need to check the locks…)

“There is also no security fence as a last defence for the safety of the public.”

(really?…a fence seems like a relatively primary measure for imprisonment- rather than a superfluous last line…)

Ulugia pointed to staffing issues. He said seven officers are suspended over an ongoing matter that is before the Court. “Unfortunately we cannot hire new officers until these cases are cleared.”

 (…let me guess…security issues?...but can’t replace them…cause the seven guys before the court, might be cleared…and then they’d be allowed to…um…)

He said the prisoners are being dealt with internally.

(…ooooh…)

There are 670 convicts including women being housed at Tafa’igata.

While at large, the prisoners were linked to a number of crimes- including armed robbery and the attempted assault of a female tourist by a group of men on the Mt Vaea walking track ...

hot air & sunshine

“And my heart was breaking and got left unlocked
Didn’t see you sneak in but I’m glad you stopped
Tell me something I don’t already know
Like how you get your kisses to fill me with electricity”

-Arctic Monkeys

An aid funded programme of renewable energy development (hydro and wind) to replace diesel generation, and damaged infrastructure is ongoing in Samoa.

Over the last fortnight of I’ve been helping with what might be an overly specific niche business training course…I could tell you about it- but not without a beer.

Anyway- one challenge was the departure of electric power midway through the course- thankfully killing off the twin jet powered air-conditioners blasting 16 degree virus laden fumes through the room.

But, in tribute to modern tropical architects…even opening all the doors and windows could not avert trapping every degree of natural heat & humidity - while still managing to completely avoid catching any of the incessant and presumably irritating cool sea breeze which habitually blows over Apia harbour.

Which brings me to the EPC- Electric Power Corporation…a wholly government owned, monopoly electricity provider.

On that day- as well as irritating me, the EPC had managed to knock out the power to parliament mid session. One optimistic parliamentarian putting it down as a minor issue related to  “deteriorating services” in the “aging” parliament building…now undergoing a $20M aid funded redevelopment.

It seemed slightly ironic that it was the same week that the PM and representatives from EPC were on the front page of the paper holding a giant cheque (presumably latex) for a $1 million tala government dividend.

..turns out it was not ironic at all, considering it was less than a month after EPC declared 62 redundancies (from a total of 400 employees) and a $900k saving in payroll.

…not long after tendering in the local newspaper for 15 new vehicles

(which if valued somewhere between $60k and $100k - would equate to $1M to $1.5M)

…while they speculated about “outsourcing” operations such as “powerlines… pulling wires, putting up wires, trimming trees…and running power stations.”

…Confusingly, back in May this year, EPC was proposing a reduction in rates to consumers. “And it’s not normal for any utility to do that,” they said.

They’re right. It’s not.

Even then stating that…“ the pressure is on for E.P.C. to generate a profit as required by the law”. A figure of 7% ROI. “E.P.C. has never achieved the 7% …the new Minister has put his foot down on State Owned Enterprises to produce profit to Government..."

E.P.C.’s total equity of about $200M makes that about $14M.

…oh, and then there’s the $10M loan from the Asia Development Bank which they’ve requested be “converted into a grant”.

Ever had a loan like that?

EPC has been a basket case for a while…if you look back a bit further…

In 2015…

“…E.P.C. is at a debt to equity ratio of 96 per cent- almost all of its assets are financed by debt”

In 2012-13

…compensation for Directors and executive management increased by 26%

…Director’s sitting allowances increased by about 380%

(from $2,218 per Director in 2012, to $8,400 each in 2013.)

… in Samoan tradition, catering for Board Meetings increased 330%

($7,904 in 2012 to $26,207 in 2013).

…while a dispute arose between EPC and the Ministry of Revenue on unpaid import duty of $1.9M.

…and EPC annual net profit dropped roughly 80%

My favourite understatement is that of the Chief Auditor, that…“the Corporation’s activities expose it to a variety of financial risks.”

http://www.samoaobserver.ws/component/search/epc/%252F?ordering=&searchphrase=all

Baby Animals

The puppy storm struck not long after 5:30 on a Monday morning. 

I'd woken up and set to making rice for the dogs, to eek out leftovers & sardines. My eyes were still gluey with sleep, when I opened the door and a wave of mud, fangs, fur and claws surged in...it reached my knees before receding, washing about my ankles and dragging away some of my more sensitive skin on ninety needled claws. A muddy, bloody, high tide mark left as evidence on my calves and the floors I mopped yesterday.

I got the puppies tray down, fed the remaining big dogs, and raced back into the house to rinse the cooking pot (to avoid creating an ant farm in the kitchen)...then quickly grabbed my pre-packed bag, pulled on my shoes and bolted.

It all took about 30 seconds too long, and I had to shuffle back through the pups...trying not to slam puffy paws in the door, trying not to stand on them, trying to extricate my shoe laces from mouths and paws and maintain my balance in the pre-dawn dark. 

I wondered how I was going to avoid the puppies following me out the gate and into the dangerous world outside...and as the door clicked shut, I realised I'd left my keys on the bench.

I broke back in- to cries of support from my canine fan club, and began to repeat the process. It wasn't yet 6am.

This sort of thing had been happening every morning for several weeks. But it was on this morning that I felt a horrible thing... “I hate puppies”, I thought, as I folded myself through the bathroom window and fell headfirst onto the floor.

Who hates puppies?

I did. 

I stalked to work, now late, taking no pleasure in the sun breaking above the harbour- and I wondered about the best ways to shuffle 36 tiny paws from this mortal coil.

Just stick them in a sack...simple. Tie it up, throw it in the river...you won't even have to look at them. Haven't got a sack, I thought...and I'm not sure I hate them enough to spend a months wages on 40kg of flour. Yes you do, I thought. But what about beer money? Ah...

The river's not far away. I could probably just erect some sort of catapault. Yeah, a puppy sized sligshot on my deck. I've got some coconuts of similar size and weight- for range testing...heaven forbid they don't make it to the river, and land somewhere soft...they might find their way home.

There's a bit of work in it- but the materials are available. It will have to powerful too. 

Then I realised...if I'm going to build a puppy throwing device of such power- I probably wouldn't have to throw them so far at all. Just very fast, at something near. A short, exhilarating ride to a quick death. Heck, they'd probably love it.

I thought about the neighbour's wall- it's not going to require too much accuracy. Just have to avoid the louvres. The clean-up will be a bugger though...and it may have repercussions in neighbourly relations.

So, I'll need to remove the evidence- no little bodies...

(my stomach growled...little buggers made me miss breakfast too- I didn't even get a cup of tea!)
I need a puppy solution- something quick, something simple, something satisfying...
“Something pie-like?” suggested my stomach.

And so was born, Baby Animal pie.

Pastry is the key to any good pie. I left work early...stopping to buy butter and flour.
When I got home, I was already starting to feel better...I patted one of the puppies and kicked another couple out of the way as I closed the door (gently...wouldn't want to bruise them).

I grabbed an aussie rock classic and popped it into my beat up cd player. Music to cook by.
A guitar screamed, drowning out the small yelps coming from outside.
“I wouldn't ever wanna rush you...I don't wanna lose you...I'll never fuss you...” Suze deMarchi belted, assuring me to take my time. 

Sage advice when one is making pastry, I thought. 

Batch one didn't go as planned, although I followed the recipe to a tee. It might have been the heat. My ice water and butter were temperate within moments, and my pastry resembled nothing so much as a scone dough.

Scones wont work, I thought. I haven't got any cheese. 

“Life was never meant to be painless...” crooned Suzie. 

True, I thought...I ditched the 'damper' and started again.

By the time Suzie revealed “Lookin back I must have been- working for the enemy...” I was starting to lose patience. The second batch of pastry was looking ordinary and I'd realised I forgotten to get onions.

Stick with it Stowers, I calmed myself. You're an international volunteer now- you knew there'd be challenges.

Batch 3 was the last of the butter. The pressure climbed a notch- it was now or never.

The outcome was bad- but not inedible. 

“You ain't gonna get my love tonight!” Suzie was shouting at me now. “You're getting what you're given, but you ain't got a right!...I don't like your attituuude...”

I was already frazzled when I turned to get the Gravox. I kept it handy for flavouring things the puppies didn't like- they ate almost anything, the Gravox was just for the really weird stuff...like dog biscuits. The box was empty save a dusty lining...already exhausted by ensuring the puppies wouldn't go hungry. 

No onions, no gravy, crap pastry.
Suzie stopped singing.

I gave up...breathed deeply...counted to nine (one for each of the little monsters) and deposited the lump of dough on a shelf in the fridge next to my earlier attempts. I grabbed a large, icy cold beer, and wandered outside to find a host of tiny bodies snoozing, scattered & motionless about the deck like toys. 

The sun was beginning to set as I sat and propped one foot against the balustrade, sucking back half the beer in a single draft. Something fluffy settled down on my other foot, and I looked down to see a small trusting brown body curled about it, eyes closed, breathing softly.

“Hope you little bastards like scones...” I muttered.

(Nine, eight week old puppies were successfully and carefully re-homed this week, in an exercise which raised $500 for the Animal Protection Society. Before handing them over, each was treated for worms, fleas & ticks and vaccinated. They will be desexed at no further cost to the owners. 

Mum, Constanza, is also slated to be desexed- as soon as we can catch the cunning bitch.)

Zita & Alan Halliday

"I know we've come a long way

We're changing day to day,
But tell me, where do the children play?"

- Cat Stevens

In the sunset corner of the Magiagi cemetery, at the western end of Vaivase Rd, there is a small overgrown patch, bound in corroding steel posts and chain, where rest two of Nana’s siblings.

When Dad- Cornwall- visited earlier this year, he recalled visiting the children’s grave with his mother, half century ago, before departing Samoa. We searched, amid the familiar names of early Samoa, evidently still neighbours- Brighouse's and Paul’s, Retzlaff’s and Merideths’, but the grave we sought was elusive on that day.

It was ‘Aunty’ Freida who later helped me, remembering the burial in a conversation- though I do not know the story of their deaths. By chance, I found myself at the cemetery again last evening- walking past on my way somewhere else, less important. I remembered Aunty Frieda’s directions, and in the dying daylight, strayed in. Without her help, I could not have found the inconspicuous plot, or the headstone concealed by ivy and grass, nor would I have had reason to strip away the vegetation to read:

In Loving Memory of

Zita Shirley Lenore

Aged 8 years

Alan Lloyd Revere

Aged 7 years

Children of Henry Lloyd

And

Teulia Diana Halliday

Died Apia Samoa 1927

Batman

Billy Clanton: "You're so drunk, you can't hit nothin'. In fact, you're probably seeing double."
Doc Holliday: "That's why I have two guns, one for each of ya."
...
Doc Holliday: "It appears my hypocrisy knows no bounds."
Wyatt Earp: "Doc you're not a hypocrite, you just like to sound like one."
- from the film Tombstone

It's about 3 on Saturday afternoon, and I'm ute cargo again, travelling a short way uphill and into some native bush on the hills overlooking Apia. It's cool enough to be comfortable, and as we bounce to our destination, the potholed asphalt becomes potholed dirt, and finally twin tyre tracks in the long grass trail cleaving the bush.

Young Tala, Via, Willy and I are on the back- with an esky and lock box. Charlie and Pat- aka "Uncle F"- lead us in the cab.

We pull up near some moso'oi trees- favourites of the native pigeons (lupe & manutagi) and fruit bats (pe'a). A trio of tava'e (white tailed tropic birds) linger high in the sky above the trees- streamer like tail feathers twice the length of each bird, trailing them.

The lockbox secured in the back of the Toyta Landcruiser is opened to reveal an arsenal of shotguns and rifles which could arouse Charlton Heston. They're handed out without ceremony or instruction- and I'm immediately and acutely aware that I handle guns about as often as I go to the dentist...which frankly, could be more often.

Willy's .22 rifle is perfect for a novice, with a scope fitted, and a simple bolt action. I immediately forget which way the 'safety' action works- and have to ask Charlie. "I think it's this way- yeah, that should be it..." he says vaguely. Admiring his confidence, I leave the bolt open displaying the bullet-free chamber, until I have a clear shot & work it out for myself.

Uncle F, Tala and Via head into the bush, seeking manutagi or lupe- the colourful fruit pigeons which were once a Samoan staple, and are not yet a delicacy...more like a to'onai treat.

The remainder settle to watch the fruit in the tops of the maso'oi trees near the track, a favourite of the manutagi. It's sometime later that I spot one through the scope. I've seen them before, but they're naturally shy (with good reason) and so the scope offers me a clear view of a large dove, red crested, white bellied, with a yellow and green cloak...he looks like a trusting 8 year old has coloured him in without paying attention to the requirement for camoflage.

"See anything"...
"Not really" I lie. I do- I just don't particularly want to see a hole appear in the snowy breast.

There's a few booms from the bush- and not long after, Pat and Tala appear, a plucked wing hanging from the pocket of Pats hunting jacket- one of two pairs in there.

Pat- Uncle F- is 69 years old he says, and appears as fit as some men at 40, seeming to defy a steady stream of cigarettes and beer around the back of the ute.

If there were a Tokoroa Dictionary- then by definition, an inanimate object would be anything Uncle F hasn’t shot at, fought, or had intimate relations with it. (In fact, following anyone of those 3 events, a previously animate object may find itself within the other category.)

They call him Uncle F, because as well as being bilingual (like everyone except me in the company), Uncle F has developed a favourite expletive of infinite expression which peppers every sentence. When he finds out who my Dad is, he laughs and smiles saying something to the effect of
"I f_n worked with your f_n Dad and your f_n uncle...f_k, I love those mother f_rs...I used to go to their f_ing parties, funny as f_k…” and so on…

Occasionally a fat purple-green fiaui (white throated pigeon) flies over. Big cousin to the other pigeons, but not favoured for its flavour- they seem to know they can get away with a brief appearance...but none are silly enough to stay long.

As the sun sinks and the sky melts to blue, first one, then another pe'a begin to appear. I've watched flocks of hundreds from my balcony at home- but tonight there are fewer. Maybe a dozen loners float over the clearing we're in. I enjoyably waste 1/2 a dozen shotgun shells scaring the daylight out of some- driven more by lack of skill than conscience. Pat and Willy bag 6 between them. We've been in the bush for about 3 hours- but the bat shooting lasts only about 20 minutes. "Uma- that's enough" is the consensus.

Willy shows me in the light of the ute the differences between the two species of bat. They're covered in kitten fine fur, and their wings are soft and pliable- between latex and lycra (probably a word beginning with "L" then...) Their talons are ebony fishhooks.

I recognise most as the the ginger fox headed pe’a taulaga - the mango tree raiders of my childhood spent in PNG and Australia. One bat is larger and darker than the others. Pe'a vao- the Samoan flying fox- they're rarer, they don't roost in large noisy groups like their common cousins- preferring to fly alone, and not restricted to nocturnal movements.

We bump home, cargo again- guns away, beers out- a new moon is crescent, thin and resting just above the horizon, it's points upward, as though it were waiting to catch Venus which glows brightly above it. Night darkens further, stars spill brightly across the sky, and a cold edge is honed on the evening wind.

The following day, Willy instructs me on the preparation of three of the bats we share for to'onai. "It's like helping Batman undress", he says, making a single shallow cut straight down the spine of the bats, before deftly peeling off his "cape", gutting and cutting them  into thirds to steam. One is wrapped in lu'au (taro leaves) with onions and seasoning- and steamed over a bbq. The others are steamed with a subtle gravy. They taste good.

I love to hunt- I'm just not very good at it. I have been critical of hunting native animals here and elsewhere. It is humbling to be able to experience it with people who consider this privilege a part of their culture...and who are happy to share it so that I might understand.

Notes:

The International Union for Conservation of Nature lists the pe’a vao (Samoan Flying Fox) as being "Near Threatened". Populations are thought to be in slow decline, but it has a wide range and is quite common within that range. The main threat it faces is deforestation.

The pe’a taulaga (Pacific Flying Fox) is listed as being of "Least Concern" It has a range across the Pacific and is hunted in many cultures. Populations are thought to be in slow decline, due to degradation of native forest for logging and cultivation.

Val Kimer as Doc Holliday in 'Tombstone' - best 'good-bad' character in a Western Film.

the game

"Don't hate the player, hate the game
Niggas, sharpen your aim
Every baller on the streets is searchin' fortune and fame
Some come up, some get done up, except the twist
If you out for mega cheddar, you got to go high risk"
- Ice T

"We asked the NZ Rugby Union for the All Blacks to come to Samoa...
and they sent the Junior All Blacks
and so, we asked again...
and they sent the Maori all Blacks...
and then we asked again...
If only we had known that we needed only to ask John Campbell..."
- Samoa PM Tuilaepa Aiono Sailele Malielegaoi, in his welcoming speech to the All Black team. 

It was like watching a storm coming…black clouds gathering, and a change in the air- but frankly bugger all was happening that you could put your finger on…right up until the moment it struck.

By the time the All Blacks moseyed into their official welcome in front of Government house on Tuesday, clad in thongs, lavalava’s - with a gentle waft of ‘vincibility’ about them- they’d realised the importance of a simple footy game to a nation. 

Frankly- Samoa went a bit mental. 

Last time the AB’s played the Manu, some 7 years ago in NZ, records were set...not good ones. This time would different - as Manu captain Ofisa Treviranus, dubbed the ‘peoples captain’- probably said…

It was hard to tell, because I speak about as much Samoan as I do French- but I caught the words, taumafai (try), malosi (strength), Atua (god), tagata (people) and taeao (tomorrow)…apparently someone was going to try very hard to do something tomorrow with the help of God and the people…

Even if you missed that much- you couldn’t miss Ofisa’s stirring tone- which began quietly and humbly, and built until it sounded like he was addressing a column of Roman soldiers who’d found themselves inconveniently deeper into Persian enemy territory than they’d anticipated, & wearing skirts.

Game time came and went- and you saw the result (or you’re reading the wrong blog)…

But, for a week around the country, banners and flags, body paint and wigs availed every available surface- there wasn’t a fale, post, car, car-like object, cripple, nipple, pet or coconut in the country which wasn’t black and blue…

Sole- "How should we decorate?"

Sunga- "mmmm...so we’ve got fabric, paints and 5000 acres of coconut trees..."

Thousands of stacked "rugby balls" lined every major road...inventive, edible, creative (but fairly painful if you try to punt one for touch).

Real sportsmanship is greeting a foreign, and very likely to be victorious, sports team not with jeers and shouts- but with quite sincere marriage proposals and signs bearing lovingly contrary slogans like "We love the Manu & God Bless the All Blacks"...

"Nothing is impossible with God" cried banners for the Manu...and while it seemed like highly optimistic faith initially, the outcome in terms of not just the game- but the entire week long event, proved it aspirationally accurate...

Economically- it’s unlikely any major trade deals were struck, but the simple effect of impressing and welcoming a bunch of rugby mad Kiwi’s who might otherwise have spent their Winter break in Denerau or Rarotonga can only be positive.

Logistically- complaints of ticket availability and affordable pricing faded and all but disappeared by the time the game came. Crowds peacefully and cheerfully went absolutely apesh*t for their teams whether at the game, at a bunch of pubs, at home in their fales and at the big screen event in central Apia. Every event was tremendously, if mysteriously, well organised. 

Politically- the PM and head of the SRU brushed off criticism of his management and involvement (in simply everything)- to drag his not insubstantial self up a yet higher pedestal.

Spiritually- Samoa’s faith was stirred, tried and rewarded. 

Nationally and fundamentally- The tagata o Samoa again redefined their independence, determination and reputation for extraordinary hospitality

…it’s hard to imagine more successful outcome, and it was a privilege to be here to witness it all.

My player of the day awards to:

John Campbell for being a journalistic dog with a bone; 

'the man from Putaruru' who found time to share a beer despite a hectic AB schedule and who hooked us up with great tickets; 

and especially to my Mum for being here to share it all with me.

Eleitino Paddy Walker

“My journey has been one of unifying the arts and the senses through the medium of music. And my music is of the Pacific: inspired by the sounds of my childhood in Samoa. Music soothes my soul and takes me back to my island beginnings of making melodies under the palm trees with my family and my ukulele.”
-‘Aunty’ Paddy Walker (nee Halliday)

I can only begin by begging the tolerance or forgiveness of those who may read this and who know much more than I. Today I have found myself reading about the life of my great Aunty Paddy (my Grandmother’s sister), upon her passing earlier this week. Her 97 year life is already extensively well documented, attesting to more than one normal lifetime of great accomplishments…I am sorry that I did not know her well, that the knowledge and words are not all really mine, and so that this blog may seem a poor tribute.

Eleitino Paddy Walker, was my Nana’s sister. 

Her list of accomplishments is almost endless… leader, educational author, musician and composer, councillor, fashionista, peace ambassador, …supporter, mentor and advocate for women, youth and families of the Pacific…she was founding president of P.A.C.I.F.I.C.A, has been a UNICEF leader, was nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize, given the Order of the British Empire, and a Distinguished Fellowship from the School of Critical Studies in Education…

For all of her achievements, perhaps my favourite is that I should be able to refer to her as “a distinguished fellow”. (It must also then be said, that she was a very beautiful lady).

Aunty Paddy left Samoa, for New Zealand about the age of 10- and (if you read this blog) you might recognise the approximate date as that of the ordered deportation of her grandfather- Judge Edwin Gurr, who was removed to New Zealand with his family, accused as one of the orchestrators of the passive resistance against the NZ administration in Samoa.

While the Gurr’s and Halliday’s departed Samoa for a time, they took a part with them, (as Samoan’s do). The title Eleitino was carried down from Aunty Paddy’s Grandmother Fanua, daughter of the Chief of Apia. It is one of the great ali’i or chiefly titles. (I have Facebooked a picture of Aunty Paddy’s Great Grandfather, Seumanutafa Moepogai, Ali’i O Apia.)

On arrival in New Zealand, Aunty Paddy attended St Cuthbert’s boarding school- as would my mother, some 40 years later. This coincidence quietly joined another, in that my mother and I were in Robert Louis Stevenson’s home in Vailima, looking at a century old photograph of Seumanutafa Moepogai this week on the same day Aunty Paddy passed from this world into the next. 

There is much more to know about Aunty Paddy’s life - but I’ll take more time to find it, and know it. The purpose of this short script was simply to thank especially Aunty Paddy- and remember my Nana, and the mothers and daughters of our aiga- who have shown gracefully, purposefully and determinedly that we all might succeed in, and inhabit- not just a village or city or an island or a country- but the Pacific, and the world.

http://www.pacifica.org.nz/
http://cognitioneducation.com/blog/celebrating-our-heroes-and-champions-eleitino-paddy-walker-first-pasifika-distinguished-fellow
http://www.nzherald.co.nz/viva-magazine/news/article.cfm?c_id=533&objectid=11250415
http://www.education.auckland.ac.nz/en/about/news/news-2014/2014/04/11/Leader-recognised-for-decades-of-service.html
http://www.pacificislandeducation.co.nz/about-us/we-are-the-fale-newsletter/book-review-the-peace-bird-i-can-make-someone-happy/

Savalivali lemu

"...just slow down everyone
You're moving too fast
Frames can't catch you when
You're moving like that"
- Jack Johnson

"Better a little which is well done, than a great deal imperfectly."

- Plato

Many of my colleagues will admit readily that planning isn’t a strength of our organisation, or in fact any organisation here…in fact “organisation” is probably not a term that should be bandied about with too much vigour…in fact “vigour” isn’t a term which should…um- well, you get the point.

But that doesn’t mean that nothing happens.

My work is organising a Trade Fair…centre of town, about 30 separate small businesses will be showing their wares in front of the Samoan government building. There’s a big rugby game on this week…I’ll tell you more about that another time. Stalls, food, music, entertainment, visiting dignitaries, tourists- it’s a shebang, a big affair. John Key will be there- but so will John Campbell…only one of them is incredibly popular. It will be one of, if not the, biggest tourism event of the year.

The Game was announced over 6 months ago.
The Trade Fair was announced a fortnight ago- when funds were allocated to the organisers (us).
It starts on Monday.
Today is Friday.

We just had a meeting to talk about what needs to be done. Our first meeting.

As I watched a manager explain why he was so far unable to source 300 t-shirts of varying sizes…today, I thought- I have been spoilt. In my last job we had a marketing manager so responsible, that I wondered how he slept at night. I wanted to be at his house one Christmas – just to see the gifts given to the family of a man who put so much time, preparation and thought into everything. I mean, if that was how he treated work, the people he loved must be drowning in consideration . If he were here- I’d have known in May what I was wearing, what time to be there, what to do- I would have been prepared.

But…it’s different here. Preparation is something one does for Church…preparation is for to’ona’i (the Sunday meal)…planning is something you do over a pia, when you’re deciding whether to have the next beer or whether you’re hungry yet (answer- “le'ai, not if there’s still more pia”).

Put simply- planning and preparation are two words more “p” words to go with palagi, which are too long, and haven’t really caught on.

However- and this is the point- I have absolutely no doubt, the function will be a smashing success. There is a simple, quiet, efficiency which denotes the moments before something important in Samoa. Where the shadows seem to flex and grow, and bodies and teeth and too much floral print seem to spring gently from gardens, called to giggling duty…and stuff begins to happen. It’s organic- watching the something grow, as the quiet evaporates into laughter and smiles (and the occasional shout)- and it all comes together. The town will be a flutter, the tourists will ooh and ahh- and a great time will be had by all.

It can be frustrating this lack of planning- of not knowing what's next, not being able to “get ahead”….but it seems that while the rest of the world plans, and predicts and schedules efficiently into the future. Polluting, and pillaging, consuming and whining away what’s left of nature- speeding toward fate. Samoa ambles, meanders, savalivali lemu…unable to stop or turn backward, but there is absolutely no hurry to get to where it doesn’t want to be.

the 1%

“What? The land of the free?
Whoever told you that is your enemy…”
Yes I know my enemies…
Compromise, conformity, assimilation, submission
Ignorance, hypocrisy, brutality, the elite…”
- Rage against the Machine “Know your Enemy”.

“It's a mystery to me
We have a greed, to which we have agreed
And you think you have to want more than you need…
Society, have mercy on me
I hope you're not angry if I disagree
Society, you're crazy indeed
I hope you're not lonely without me”
- Eddie Vedder “Society”

Samoa will receive about AUD$70M in foreign aid funds just from Australia and NZ this year
…then add in aid from Japan, US, China, the EU and others
…and remittances- money sent back from Samoans overseas (currently estimated at $12M per year)
…and you’ll surpass $200M

That equates to about $2000 tala gifted per man, woman and child- one of the highest concentrations of foreign aid on the globe.

According to Ministry of Commerce Industry and Labour...
- 117,500 reported Samoan working age population
- 37,800 Samona Labour Force...
- Reported employment rate 91%
- which leaves 79,700 working age adults not considered "in the labour force..."

$150-$200 tala- average wage earning per week in Samoa for employees.

$80,000 tala- average market minimum for an assistant CEO (equivalent to a commercial senior manager)

Such figures require some context. To put this in a global perspective…

USD $34,000 per person after tax 

Annual income required to be in the world’s weathiest 1%

USD $1,225 a year

Global median income

7.244 billion
World population as of July 2014

$1.25 per day
The World Bank's global poverty line measure

1.9bn people 

lived on less than $1.25 per day in 1990

1.3bn 

lived on less than $1.25 per day in 2008

$2 per day
Median poverty line among developing countries

Between 1981 and 2008 the number of people living between $1.25 and $2 doubled

$79,767

Average salary in Australia June 2014

$76,538
Average salary in NZ January 2015

“It is too difficult to think nobly when one thinks only of earning a living.”

"When the people shall have nothing more to eat, they will eat the rich..."

- Jean Jacques Rousseau 

“We all know how 'modern democracies take loaves from the wealthy.' It's the slipups in the 'pass them out to the poor' department that inspire a study of Economics.”

- P.J. O'Rourke

"Overcoming poverty is not a task of charity, it is an act of justice… poverty is not natural. It is man-made…”

- Nelson Mandela

“Once poverty is gone, we'll need to build museums to display its horrors to future generations. They'll wonder why poverty continued so long in human society - how a few people could live in luxury while billions dwelt in misery, deprivation and despair.” 

- Muhammad Yunus

“I may be no better, but at least I am different.”

- Jean Jacques Rousseau…again

http://www.news.com.au/finance/work/how-does-your-salary-stack-up-against-the-rest-of-australia/story-fnkgbb3b-1227044922950
http://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-17312819
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2082385/We-1--You-need-34k-income-global-elite--half-worlds-richest-live-U-S.html
http://www.tradingeconomics.com/new-zealand/wages
http://wellington.scoop.co.nz/?p=74305

Togitogiga

"I'm in and I'm out
Alien from somewhere else
Dont know what the hell, I be on about
But from here and there, I belong nowhere"- John Butler Trio

John is a landscape architect from Christchurch. He's a volunteer here like me. One of his tasks and passions is to recommend maintenance and development of natural resources which may hold tourist value...like finding prospective walking tracks.

I love to walk in the bush...and there is a lot of bush in Samoa. But, there are not very many marked bush trails. Most people here don't walk for leisure and it's difficult to explain that simple walking tracks will hold attraction for foreign visitors.

I want to walk across the island of Upolu sometime during my stay. It's somewhere between 25-30km. The cross-island road, as I've explained previously, has elements which reduce the fun. What was surprising to me is that there didn't appear to be a feasible alternative to the main road...or at least one which didn't involve tramping randomly through peoples properties or plantations, and trying to explain stuff to them, like “I like to walk in the bush...” or "that's a nice machete"... in broken Samoan.

Then John found a brochure.

The brochure shows a 12km track beginning within a few km of my place at the top of the island, circling a pair of high mountian craters, and descending to a National Park at Togitogiga on the South Coast, where there's a waterfall and picnic area.

Looks cool.

However, the track hasn't been walked by anyone John spoke to in the ministry, or at the park, or in the tourism authority...well, just anyone. There was in fact some doubt the trail existed- until John showed them their own brochure.

So- on Saturday we went for a walk with a couple of other keen volunteers.

There are a couple of archiological features marked on the mystery brochure- a stone mound and fortifications....a stone wall over 100m long, which could be 5 centuries old- or older- based on a couple of other stone construction sites in Samoa. The wall sounds unique. It might be a great attraction- if someone knew where to find it...

It wasn't our intention to walk the whole track- the mountian peak is about 800m high, and the bush is thick. So we followed a river up from the bottom end at Togitogiga.

We didn't go too far- a few kilometers at best (a 3 hour return trip). Progress was hindered slightly by the deep muddy fields either side, home to a smattering of cattle at low end of the river. The river, and the scene is much like a mountain river at home in Summer- shallow, crystal and cool- braiding small islands as we ambled up stream. Heavy grey cloud cover took the heat from the day- but kept us conscious that we may need to make a hasty exit if it rained.

Ivy laden ridges on either side, rose until they were no longer feasible to climb- “a wee bit gorge-y” was the phrase used. We predict the old “brochure track” follows one of those ridges... (constructions at height would be consistent with what I've seen elsewhere).

We settled for simply wandering; enjoying the bush and criss-crossing the riverbed, staring at high waterfalls dropping into small clear pools while ula (yabbies or kura) shot away from beneath our sodden shoes...the occasional colourful bird departing and decrying our approach.

There were 4 of us - and Charlie. We met Charlie in the carpark. Friendly, well cared for and frankly, rather forward in her affections- she's the antithesis of the dogs I wrote about just a week ago. Charlie trotted with us all the way upriver and back again, even allowing herself occasionally  to be carried through deeper parts of the river. Once we got back to the carpark- we had a swim, and watched Charlie stretch out to sleep, and sun-dry on the pebbled bank.

I wish I had more to say- pleasant walk, nice bush, relaxing morning followed by a beer at a nearby beach. Next time I'm going to try walking in to find the track from the top. Maybe over a few months and a few walks we might find or create a track, find the stone sites or identify something which other people might enjoy...