Ain't that a shame...

“Words of sorrow and words of spite,
Ringin' in my head right through the night...
Don't you know it's a cryin shame- when you got yourself to blame.
Don't you know it's a cryin shame- you got yourself to blame.”
Johnny Diesel & the Injectors

Aso Faraile...I'm at the markets, waiting while my guests browse. There's a young guy- late teens or 20's-large and muscular lounging against a steel post, flanked by 2 friends, eyeing passers by in the limited shade between the main market place buildings. A neck tattoo- albeit unintelligible- indicates literacy (in that he asked the tattooist for a word instead of a picture...). To the unfamiliar there might be a threatening air to their non committal loitering mid market...but I make eye contact and am obliged by interest and manners to say hi while I wait for my guests. We chat for a second or two- exchanging poor Samoan for passable English.
“He's not so bad” I think, after an exchange.“It can be easy to misjudge people...”
“So...you wanna buy some drugs?” he asks after a bit.
Ah- you've let yourself down there tiger...that's a shame.

The sun is up early on Aso Sa. I've got a car for the weekend, unusually, and so I drive to town for a walk along the waterfront. The Harbourside is empty- but across the road people bustle in out of Churches, like white ants, hollowing and hallowing. The sun is rising, and it's already approaching 30 degrees- but the light is bright and the waves are lapping onto the low tide sand. The sea wall is made for easy walking and there's a breeze beneath the intermittent shady trees...it's nice. But my eye is drawn from the sea and sky, to avoid stepping into the detritus of Saturday night...bbq remnants- plastic forks, “disposable” polystyrene plates and cups, al-foil wrappers and the broken glass have been almost cleared from the walkways- only to become mortar in the sea wall. I look too closely and discover a “disposable” nappy or three...that's a shame.

The Tourism Centre stands opposite the monstrous Catholic Cathedral midway down Beach Road. A cardinal- in red robe and cuttlefish shaped fascinator emerges gloriously from the building surrounded by a fluttering parish of white and brown... “that's nice” I think. Across the street, where in front of me, a man begins to assault a woman, dragging her across the grass in the mid morning sun, not 20 meters away from the hand of god, and in view of all. It's a minute or so before I intervene- while the congregation watch, or look away. It ends with him letting her walk away...at least until I move on. “It's my wife” said the man repeatedly, in what he appeared to believe was a plausible explanation for handling the woman... that's a shame. 

Sunday afternoon, and I'm still in the need of a walk- a week off  with Dad has left me overloaded on “carbs” and insufficiently exercised. I head to Mt Vaea, to take a walk up the mountain to Robert Louis Stevenson's grave site. The birds sing loudly- protected here from hunting (an edict from the burial of Tusitala on the hilltop a century ago). The track is dry-ish for the first time in several weeks. As I sweat and climb, my heart begins to find it's rhythm-”this is nice” I think... My eyes wander from the trees to the track to maintain my footing- not fast enough to miss the water bottles and lolly wrappers cast aside at numerous points by sweating fat fools who can't sustain the weight of an empty plastic bottle as far as the bins at the top of the hill or in the carpark...that's a shame.

If you're too unfit to carry an empty plastic bottle to a bin- don't bother exercising. Just hurry up and die.
If you don't know how to dispose of a disposable item like a nappy- you're not competent enough to purchase one (let alone to raise a child).
If you're standing in front of a church watching someone commit a domestic assault, and you don't have the ability to intervene- you don't need God, you need the wizard of Oz to give you Courage, a Heart and a Brain.

Rev it up

" Steering with her knees, she's got both hands free
Using cruise control, you know- reaching over she likes to tease
She said let's ride, rev it up, rev it up little boy and ride
She said let's ride, rev it up, rev it up, little boy, and ride
Just use your body, don't you hitch-hike
When you ride with me, little boy, take it any where you like..."
- Jerry Harrison "Rev it up"

Samoans may be the most considerate drivers in the world.

Classical road rules are rejected in favour of a toot, raised eyebrows and importantly- an empathetic observation of the other driver (...but just one other driver- this skill is singular…every driver other than the one being considered with this telepathic emotional ability, is an inconvenience which can and must be ignored.)

You can turn left anytime…anytime. There’s only about 5 sets of traffic lights in the country, but if you feel as though the red light is mistimed, or has failed to fully consider the importance of your journey, or if you’re turning left- go right ahead. 

A series of potholes indicates “pedestrian speed would be too fast here- give way to everything except pedestrians”. Nothing ever indicates giving way to pedestrians. Driveways, pedestrian crossings, and footpaths- are all zones within which pedestrians are both unexpected, and discouraged. They are instead places to park, possible ambush sites, and good spots to stop and converse with cousins or police (sometimes over a beer). 

A taxi doing 10km/h uphill in a 50km speed zone, with a trail of 5-10 vehicles behind him, is as acceptable as overtaking a bus going downhill at 70km on a blind corner- in the same zone. Nothing should inspire anybody ever to toot in anger- a nominal toot generally indicates “I’m about to perform a dangerous and exciting manoeuvre in your vicinity- look away.”

Mood and weather are critical to what has been dubbed the “samoan tele-empathetic intuitive navigational knack”… or simply S.T.I.N.K. driving.

It doesn’t stop when they stop either….parking, especially to offload passengers, should be as close as possible to the building entrance…walking is a cultural taboo. Can I:

…double park?    -Yep;
…in the road?    -no problem;
…block lanes in both directions stopping traffic?    -How fat is the passenger?
…in local terms?    -OK, just do it;
…Leave the road, mount the footpath, and get in-between the school fence and the bus offloading school kids?    -Why not?

The authority of the Police adds a great deal in this environment, and every day at peak times, police can be seen adding imbecilic icing to the chaotic cake, by standing only at intersections where there are existing traffic lights, pedestrian crossings and round-a-bouts…directing traffic in white gloves (sometimes just one glove, covered in rhinestones- often using nothing but late 80's dance moves…OMG…what if the King isn’t dead?)

Yes, Prime Minister

“Any fool can criticize, condemn and complain - and most fools do.”- Benjamin Franklin

Quotes below, over the course of just a month, from Prime Minister, Tuilaepa Sa’ilele Malielegaoi... (the man who leads Samoa, but hopefully cannot be said to represent it...)

On Family Planning in Samoa: 

“I’ve heard them say that the reason for this is because some parents can’t afford to care for children. That should be said about countries overseas where it is cold but for us, we are used to running around with just a piece of lavalava from the morning until night.”
“The only thing that is mentioned in the Bible is a blessing upon Abraham where he was to be fruitful and multiply so that his children will be as many as the stars and the sand on the beach,” said Tuilaepa. “I have not found in the Bible anything that says one child is enough.”


On NZ “spying”:
Tuilaepa said he cannot understand why New Zealand – or any other country for that matter - would want to spy on Samoa. 

Besides, he pointed out that if the telephone conversations were indeed intercepted, the New Zealanders would not understand the Samoan language so the information becomes useless to them.
Most of telephone conversations involve parents asking their children in New Zealand to send money...

On Samoa 7’s Rugby:
“They’re lazy, they don't want to play. The phase of rugby we have reached unfortunately has become an eyesore.” The Prime Minister blasted the team’s “poor ball handling, lack of speed, being individualistic and the absence of team work.”
Some of them”, he said, were "cowards who run sideways and pass the ball with their eyes closed”.

On issuing Fishing Licences to Foreign Vessels:
Prime Minister, Tuilaepa Sailele Malielegaoi, yesterday downplayed concerns about the government allowing Foreign Licensed Fishing Vessels to fish in Samoa’s Exclusive Zone (E.E.Z.) saying:
“If we can issue a billion licenses so be it"...“the more the licenses issued to foreign companies the better”.

“It is not important how many licenses are issued,”
“The problem is people do not understand.”
“That is because the fish will be here today and in Tonga tomorrow..."
“What we should do is to go out at sea and wait until the fish gets here and then catch it.”
“Well, like time and tide waiting for no man, the tuna doesn’t wait for our fishermen!.”
“ If those vessels bump in to each other out there in our small fishing zone, and have competitions over who has the smallest catch, and eventually go bankrupt.... well, that’s not our business.”


Thanks to the Samoan Observer for recording these strokes of genius.

missionary style

“There was a woman in the jungle, and a monkey on a tree;
The missionary man, he was following me...
He said “Stop what you're doin'- get down upon your knees,
I've a message for you that you better believe.”
Eurythmics- Missionary Man

What there is of recorded Samoan history, owes a lot to the missionaries of the London Missionary Service (LMS). Prior to their 1830'sh arrival...(the year, not the time, although 18:30 is a sensible time to appear if you're expecting dinner)...anyway, prior to their arrival, Samoans had kept their history orally for over 2000 years.

If you've ever tried to convey a message accurately through two or more people, you'll know that there's a good chance that the outcome won't be precisely what you intended. However, Samoans pledge their oral system was flawless, passed word for word through generations, translated absolutely accurately...like when princess Sina tragically fell in love with a giant eel whose severed head became a gift coconut...(it's also possible that legend and history become merged over this tri-millenial game of Chinese Whispers).

A few exceptional missionaries saw the opportunity to record some of what existed, in stories that had been created and evolved over some 80 generations...before it was lost.

Welcomed at first by some important regional chiefs, LMS branded protestant christianity found a captive audience.

Samoa already had gods. Gods who governed the seas and the seasons, the crops and the people- gods like the great Tagaloa. But when papalagi ("the skybreakers”) appeared, the Samoan gods were forced into concession by their believers.

There might be an intricate set of reasons for giving up your beliefs, in the face of new and incredible things...but for the sake of a short blog, I'll endorse the common simple theory...wealth.

To a culture for whom iron tools were a nifty concept; whose fabrics were not just seasonal but vegetable, and who thought beef was something for rival hip-hop crews; a boatload of white men in tailored trousers and brogues; bearing everything from axes to corned meat and cotton; who arrived on ships larger than the biggest known fale... appeared wealthy beyond imagination.

Such riches had literally never been imagined. And these pale new arrivals came to say (roughly) that if you followed their God, you too might find yourself on a home sized canoe, crossing oceans seeking new types of potato, and have your trousers made to measure...(or at least die and share in paradise).

Regardless of what they said- the palagi God appeared to have endowed whites with some very cool stuff.

The old Samoan gods bought coconuts, and babies and rain at the right time- which was nice- but they didn't create individual wealth on the same scale of the God who made pointy, smoke sticks that killed things from a long way away (which is a very useful tool to have, if you're tired of solving your political differences from the same distance as Rory McIlroy deals with a ball near a tree - a club length.)

So, new Gods were gratefully embraced and the old were forgotten...to an extent.  In truth, they simply evolved, the old became the new. Samoans adapt- so Tagaloa adapted. Samoa accepted Christianity, without completely relinquishing fa'asamoa...

Within 20 years of the LMS arrival-  Catholic Marists, Methodists and others followed, and were received in a similar fashion, much to the chagrin of the LMS. While the missionaries might have argued fundamental differences- to Samoa, they clearly all believed in the same God. So with typical hospitality, they were welcomed.

By the 1900's, Samoa had been divided into territories by the major Churches, and the majority of the population were converted Christians.

And Sunday became a very quiet day indeed...

jandal vandals

“What goes around- really goes around...”
from the film Fallen.

I'm walking home, it's early afternoon on Saturday, and it's oven hot...the road is beginning to melt, and my sunscreen and sweat are conspiring to blind me, dripping away, offering little protection to my reddening skin...

There's a man who looks to be resting, standing in the shade of a tree on the footpath. His basket of coconuts is on the ground. I walk past and smile, but it's another 10 meters before I register his bare feet.  You could fry bacon on the concrete footpath.

I'm wearing sneakers- they're hot, but keep the ever-present flies off a scratch on my foot, and save me rolling an ankle on the hill home. So, I take my worn black rubber thongs from my bag- hand them to the guy, we smile, and he pops them on, shoulders his coconuts and continues his walk. It's time I bought some new ones.

An hour later I reach the waterfall and reservoir at the bottom of Mt Vaea- still a further half hour walk from home. The heat hasn't relented and I seek refuge in the deserted, icy, semi-shaded pool. After a minute or two, I reach for a rubbery piece of rubbish floating near the bank. It's a black thong- my size. A quick investigation finds its partner. They're slightly less worn than my last pair. I slip them on, bagging my shoes and walk home.

Same day, mid afternoon, and three, six-week old puppies who have appropriated my deck welcome me home all tails, teeth and tongues. I play for a bit, until they tire- I feed them and head inside for something cold.

An hour later I walk out, to find the puppies asleep, and my newly acquired black rubber footwear... in more than the customary two pieces...

Some days karma works overtime.