O le fale oe le Fe’e : the house of the Octopus.

"I'd like to be, under the sea, in an octopus' garden in the shade.
He'd let us in, knows where we've been, in his octopus' garden in the shade.
I'd ask my friends to come and see an octopus' garden with me" - The Beatles

In oral history, the Seumanutafa lineage can be traced back to le Fe'e- literally the octopus. In the early 1890’s, Reverend John Stair, and British Consul John Williams hiked from Apia to the ruins of a temple, known as the ‘Fale o Fe’e’ or Temple of the Octopus. The short story below combines the legend recounted by Williams, and the walk journaled by Stair.

 

O le fale oe le Fe’e : the house of the Octopus.

‘Do you mean an animal- a real octopus... or a man who was like an octopus?’ the priest asked. ‘Where did it come from?’

‘O le Fe’e na sau mai Fiti.’ murmured the brown man, crouching to sit on a large flat-topped stone.

‘The Octopus came out of Fiji... an aitu,’ Williams translated, without being asked.

‘Aitu?’ the priest again.

‘A spirit,’ Williams went on.

‘A demon?’ furthered the priest.

‘Probably not- neither good nor bad’ Williams countered patiently.

‘Sometimes an animal… perhaps a man’ the old man went on. Williams translated softly.

The priest watched the old man’s eyes twinkle and wondered at his age. He could have been anywhere between thirty and seventy- his eyes were bright but narrowed by the sun and his close cropped hair was black. His stomach was flat and the tendons in his timber coloured forearms rippled gently below the skin, though he held his machete loosely.    

‘…maybe he was a man like an octopus, or an octopus like a man… maybe he had many hands or he moved as though he had many hands…,’, the old man continued. ‘Perhaps he could change himself, and become like the stones and the coral, to hide... or to watch’.

The priest looked around the clearing they sat in, at the large, crumbling blocks of white stone- seemingly frozen in the act of tumbling to the grass. They were collectively disorganised, and yet unmistakeably placed in a rough circle, stacked in places. He and Williams had already walked more than a day from the ocean. Cut coral blocks could not get here easily- no man would be able to carry them alone. Several thick wooden poles still stood, mossy and branchless within the broken block walls.

The old man talked on: ‘When he came, first he came near to Apia, he rested a little while on the beach. But it did not suit him, perhaps there were already aitu there, or too many people, but he left the sea. He must have followed the river… he could not be too far from water.’

The priest sympathised. The walk up had been through thick, green jungle, made more dense by the oppressive humidity. His ankles and calves ached from balancing, as they had marched over uneven lava boulders lining the river which they had followed up the valley. He congratulated himself again on not yet having removed his jacket and tie- no small concession to the heat and atmosphere. He had already consumed a pint or more of water, and he was no octopus.

‘He lived first in a cave,’ the old man stated, as though his conviction were rising.

‘There’s plenty around.’ Williams waved vaguely at the surrounding basalt stone cliffs, peeking from the jungle below the mountainous spurs.

‘To build his home- he must have had help- many aitu came.’

‘Bloody plenty of them’ thought the priest… ‘there’s a spirit for morning, noon and night every day of the week- for every battle and cause.’ The priest had already experienced great difficulty in trying to convince people there could be only one God. They laughed at the thought. ‘Your one God would be too busy’ one prospect had commented seriously. ‘To watch over my brother fishing, and my children playing, and my wife working and to still be with me when I call on him to help me gamble.’

The old man had settled into his story now, and carried on without prompting. ‘One day, before his house was finished, some women came to bathe in the river nearby. One was heavily pregnant… when the time came, she cried out in pain. The baby did not come quickly.’

‘The aitu who were helping the fe’e to build his home heard her cries and they fled the noise. The fe’e followed up the mountain.‘

A rumble rolled up the valley and Williams looked up at the sky, to see it bruised, grey and purple toward the harbour they had come from. Rain was coming, and they would not be able to stay much longer.

‘For a time the fe’e waited’ the old man stared out at the rising storm above the ocean. ‘But eventually, he became impatient and he grumbled.’

‘He had a found a perfect place for a home, and had even begun to build it, now he wanted to return to it. The fe’e sent an aitu as a messenger to the village that the women had come from. It is near here.’

‘The fe’e said tell them “I will go to the place where I was before. I will be the matua of the land and their sign in all things. I will return to my home.”’

‘He came back?’ asked the Priest, turning as a small stream of dust and pebbles tricked from the nearest blocks. Nothing else moved. The jungle, noisy and bustling with birds on the hike up, was now still and silent.

‘Ioe’

‘An agreement was made’ added Williams. ‘Now the villages in this region use the Octopus as an emblem, a symbol for their warriors and canoes.’

‘Faititili o le fe'e tautala‘ ended the old man, standing and tapping his machete on a stone as he gazed out at the skyline.  ‘O le taimi nei e alu’

‘Faititili? Thunder’ guessed the priest. ‘Is he afraid?’

‘Perhaps... but not of the weather. It’s time to go’ Williams stood up and looked around the clearing for the porters. He pretended not to notice a thick green vine retracting, disappearing behind one of the nearby stones.

 

This story has been adapted from the sources below:

'A SAMOAN LEGEND'- presumed by J. C. Williams, Esq., the British Consul at Apia

“O LE FALE-O-LE-FE'E”: OR, RUINS OF AN OLD SAMOAN TEMPLE by Rev John B Stair

Seumanutafa Moepogai and the storm of 1889

I wrote here a long time ago, about Judge Gurr and Fanua, and their deportation from Samoa in 1927, for their opposition to New Zealand governance of Samoa. That blog mentioned Fanua’s father, Seumanutafa Moepogai*; my great, great, great grandfather.

Seumanutafa lived between 1852-1918, 66 volatile years in which modern Samoa would begin to be forged. A blog is an inadequate biography - what follows is simply one story.

Seumanutafa Moepogai was born ‘Talalelei’, in 1852 and he was renamed after being adopted from his wider family. Adoption is, and was, common in his society- once adopted and renamed, there remained no question of identity or place in his aiga (one could hold one place in a family or many simultaneously). His daughter Fanua herself would also be adopted by Seumanutafa and his wife, Faatulia.

Seumanutafa is described in several historical records, and by Robert Louis Stephenson, as ‘Chief’ of Apia- and although it may be an incomplete translation of his position, it indicates his status:

“I have been once down to Apia, to a huge native feast at Seumanutafa’s, the chief of Apia.” Wrote RLS; later describing a photograph of the 3 of them: “Seumanu…is chief of Apia, a rather big gun in this place, looking like a large, fatted, military Englishman, bar the colour.  Faatulia, next me, is a bigger chief than her husband.”  (1891)

The respect between the Seumanutafa and Steveson families, was obviously reciprocated as Stevenson recalled: “Seumanu gave me one of his names; and when my name was called at the ava drinking, behold, it was Au mai taua ma manu-vao!  You would scarce recognise me, if you heard me thus referred to!”

In the 1880s, Seumanutafa’s Apia was the central battleground for more than one civil war - the flames of which were stoked by Germany, the USA and Britain wrestling for colonial influence.

War for supremacy or control was not new to Samoa. For three millennia prior, Samoan rule had paradoxically been both divided and bound by titles. Power shifted according to the rivals of the day- it was not fixed in a single title; dynasties waxed and waned as power was attained or lost in battle, or built and consolidated through trade, negotiation and relationships. By Seumanutafa’s time, Samoa had four recognised ‘paramount’ titles.

However, in the colonial Pacific, it was inconvenient for palagi to deal with multiple regional leaders (least of all those that felt an obligation to make decisions through a complex democratic system of nu’u fono ma le matai- village meetings and representatives). For colonisers, a single ruler was needed, to negotiate - or preferrably not - on behalf of the ‘nation’. The ensuing Samoan wars to claim and consolidate titles were brutal.

However, one deciding event in the wars, and the one for which Seumanutafa would be well remembered was determined not in battle- but by nature, when on March 15, 1889 a great cyclone struck Apia harbour.

At the time, Britain, America and Germany all had warships in Apia harbour, providing military support, arms and occasionally indiscriminate airborne shelling - in support of their chosen champions.

When the cyclone struck however, the proverbial tide turned. According to US Rear-AdmiralL.A. Kimberly, in his report:

“SIR: It becomes my painful duty to report to the Department the disastrous injury and loss sustained by the vessels under my command in the harbor of Apia during the hurricane which swept these waters March 15 and 16.

When the gale commenced there were in the harbor the following men of war: U.S. ships Trenton, Vandalia, and Nipsic; H[er].B[rittanic].M[ajesty's]. ship Calliope, and H[is].I[mperial].G[ermanic].M[ajesty's]. ships Addler, Olga, and Eber...”

Within those two days, 6 warships- 3 German and 3 American- were beached or wrecked and almost 150 of their crewmen dead.

What is most remarkable though, is that more palagi lives would have been lost- had not the Samoans leapt into the deadly sea to save their antagonists. Seumanutafa led the rescue.

Rear-Admiral L.A. Kimberly again: “Seumanutafa, chief of Apia, and Selu Leauanae did excellent service in saving life, and took the lead in directing the work of the natives. They organized boats' crews and carried out the suggestions of the offices. Seumanutafa took charge of and steered the boat which was the first to carry lines to the wreck in the early morning of the 17th, while it was yet dark, and the passage across the reef and approach to the Trenton was beset with difficulty and danger”

The actions and courage of the Samoans were undeniably heroic:  

“The natives in the surf, under the direction of two of their chiefs, Seumanu Tafa and Salu Anae, had succeeded in getting lines to the vessels, and double hawsers were quickly stretched to the shore. Scores of eager hands were outstretched to assist in the work. The waves broke high on the beach, and the undertow was so strong that even the natives narrowly escaped being carried out into the bay. The white men on shore scarcely dared venture into the surf. The rain poured more heavily. The clouds of flying sand grew thicker and more…

To one who saw the noble work of those men during the storm, it is a cause of wonder that they should be called savages by more enlightened races. There seemed to be no instinct of the savage in a man who could rush into that boiling torrent of water that broke upon the reef, and place his own life in peril to save the helpless drowning men of a foreign country.”-  A.H.Godbey A.M. 1890

The sheer scale of the loss gave pause to the German and American fleets- but it would be another decade before the 3 foreign powers would settle their disputes formally, in the tripartite agreement of 1899 (which would be drafted by Seumanutafa’s son-in-law Judge Gurr)- separating American Samoa from German Samoa.

Seumanutafa lived on to see the arrival of the New Zealand expeditionary force which took power from Germany in 1914, without a shot fired. The Kiwis included a young former customs clerk from Wellington who would become his grandson-in-law, Lloyd Halliday.

In 1918 Seumanutafa fell finally to the influenza epidemic brought by the Talune, along with almost a quarter of his countrymen and women- but that’s another story.

 I wish to offer my sincere thanks to the Seumanutafa aiga for keeping and sharing your stories. I have borrowed from them to tell this brief story, and I do so with respect and love.  Fa’afetai tele lava.

*Records from the time refer variously to Seumanu, Seumanu Tafa, and Seumanutafa Pogai- based on photographs and events, and references to his family, I must presume these refer to the same man.

The Ministry of Truth

‘Who controls the past controls the future, who controls the present controls the past’- 1984, George Orwell.

‘Believe nothing you hear, and only half of what you see” -Edgar Allan Poe

“Unless I see the nail marks in his hands, and put my fingers where the nails were, and put my hand in his side, I will not believe” - Thomas, the apostle (John 20:25)

It’s less than 10 years since David Roberts coined the term ‘post-truth era’… or maybe it’s more than 10 years and it was Steve Teisch… post-truth, alternative facts and similarly counter-intuitive terms, have entered common usage while some of the world appears to have moved to a common acceptance that the truth is not only subjective, it may be unimportant, it is inevitably inconvenient and apparently, something of the past. 

As Julius Caesar burned the great library of Alexandria, the greatest collection of recorded knowledge on the flat map of the time, he may have wondered what use is there in gathering the knowledge of the world if a flame can obliterate it… and shortly thereafter, if a scribe might create a new and more convenient version of the past?

We now have the wits of the world at the touch of a button- but it’s worth is considerably diminished because that information can be subverted, denied or simply outweighed by a number of unreliable and sometimes indistinguishable sources at the touch of another button.

Orwell aptly described the process by which the victor not only writes history, but once in power can consistently rewrite it to suit their changing needs. In 1984, the Ministry of Truth issues the news of the day couched in terms of a fluidly changing history which makes sense of the present, to appease and control the reader- new wars are not begun, they are perpetuated; new alliances not struck, the parties have always been loyal. The Ministry of Truth prints the lies needed to support the current belief.

That distribution of a manipulative message to support and develop a particular set of beliefs, we sometimes call propaganda. That word literally comes from the propagation of the church's message by the cardinal members. It is unsurprising then that the same church which invented propaganda in the 17^th century, is the one which deems the opposing team- the dark forces of this world- to be led by the ‘father of lies’. While ‘propaganda’ was the term used by one side of the political world to describe campaigns of misinformation in opposing states- it’s pertinent to remember that the word belongs to the team which governs the democratic side of the equation, while declaring all other forms of government as unequal, unfair, and untenable.

Where am I going with this?

Misinformation, propaganda and lies are not new… and they’re not the tools of the enemy. Nor is the truth old news. It is fixed in reality. However, after the event, as history, truth is prey to those in power. That’s important, because if the truth changes, the past changes- and our acceptance of what is and is not acceptable as a society, changes.

Our access to information is so broad as to appear infinite, but the sources of information within that scope are factionalised, sometimes constrained and always open to influence. This is also not new.

While I detest the opinionated filters of news and commentary across the political spectrum, I can tolerate the range. I can sift the scat to weigh and measure the falsities and facts, and seek a truth of a kind.

There are things happening in the world now, which are acceptable and were not in the past. Some of these things are simply the nature of passing time. However, some of the messages being promulgated by our leaders today are a distortion of the truth, based upon a distortion of history which supports actions outside the moral scope of those which we- or at least I- had previously agreed as a part of a civilised society.

Right now, there are movements in some political spheres which aim not just to deceive- to provide misinformation or propaganda supporting one side of an argument- but to absolutely discredit and then remove the other side of the argument. To remove the opportunity for opposition or dissent.

If we allow the sources from which we seek information to be reduced, threatened or manipulated- if we depend too heavily on some sources and not others- then the ways in which we access and filter our truth must diminish and become vulnerable to the control of those who desire it.

Over the past few years particular people in positions of power have discredited news providers and journalists globally in order to reduce credibility of their critics- criticisms often earned by fragrant disregard for decency and law.

I watched this week what appeared to be a government endorsed act of intimidation on their own public broadcaster, in a country of which I am a citizen. The types of criticism normally levelled at non-democratic states for media censorship were validly directed toward the Australian government. It isn't new- it is part of a pattern of government behaviour over a decade involving progressive changes to media laws, to structures and funding, and documented incidents of interference, with the aim of manipulating public perception, concealing ethically questionable behaviour, and curbing criticism and debate.

When asked this week for a reaction to federal police raids on media organisations, raids with the stated aim of identifying ‘whistle-blowing’ media sources, the prime minister of Australia responded, “It never troubles me that our laws are being upheld”.

On the contrary- when the media is being attacked using civil institutions, for exposing breaches of law committed on behalf of our government; and when our laws themselves are being amended to allow fundamental perversions of justice- then we should all be troubled.

https://www.abc.net.au/news/2017-07-11/killings-of-unarmed-afghans-by-australian-special-forces/8466642

Sunsets

“Maybe I should drop by, maybe I should have called
Maybe I should have followed you and beat down your door
Maybe it's gonna be breaking you every time you fall
But to shower you with pity will do you no good at all, no good at all” 
- Powderfinger ‘Sunsets’

Anguish and despair are not mental illnesses. They’re emotions.

The term ‘suicide epidemic’ is playing heavily in the international and local media. 'Depression’, ‘mental illness’, ‘demons’ and ‘darkness’ are to blame we’re told.

They mean that no-one in their right mind checks out. We’re meant to shuffle off this mortal coil, not leap and certainly not stroll.

There is a danger in the classification of suicide as a symptom of illness, which lies in the inability to distinguish rational despair.

Listening, empathy, and understanding- regularly held up to be a part of the ‘solution’ to ‘mental illness’- require that we understand that sadness is not necessarily illogical, and an individual may choose in their right mind to not continue living.

The euthanasia debate in this nation and others often hinges- as will the legislation- on the terminality of illness, and the competency of a person seeking to consent to end their own life.

In other words, it’s ok if you’re going to die anyway. Well, who isn’t?

In a world with increasing pressures of population, of rising intolerance, and where the gap between ‘have’ and ‘have not’ is not just widening- but is increasingly accepted, it requires a set of rigid personal mental filters not to despair... for others or yourself, for your family or your values, for your home or for the planet – or simply for the loss of shared compassion once described as ‘humanity’. 

Social media feeds and other everyday influencers strain with self-help and creak with conviction, pissing positivity in great rainbow showers, meant to balance the obvious and immediate reality of a world that has some very serious problems, all of which are ours.

If you accept that- and you may not- then it’s possible to look at the described ‘suicide epidemic’ not as a rash of mental instability spreading from an unknown source- but as a rational reaction by a species to overpopulation.

Sometimes, the problems are more immediate and personal- but that simply demonstrates the rationale.

“On May 28, 2014, Robin was finally given an explanation for the tangled lattice of sicknesses that had been plaguing him. He was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease"- excerpted from 'Robin' by Dave Itzkoff.

In August the same year, Robin Williams would commit suicide.

After a life of 63 years Robin was contemplating a painful death and mental decline. However, for some reason, reports on his death needed to include ‘lifelong battles’ with depression, alcohol and drug use, as though they were cause. Frankly, if every comedian with depressive tendencies or who liked a tipple were to commit suicide, well, there wouldn’t be any jokes in the eulogies… These factors are not irrelevant to Robin’s life- but neither does his choice of death seem unreasoned if we simply consider the immediate circumstances and his perspective, without accumulating a log of every drink or sad smile over his lifetime.

When a 26-year-old Iranian refugee died in June 2018 on the island of Nauru, he became the twelfth person to die in Australian offshore detention and the fifth asylum seeker to die on Nauru. He had at that point been detained for 5 years.

Call it depression if you like- but I don’t think there is anything irrational in the viewpoint that the man’s case could plausibly be described as pretty fucking hopeless. Debate the immigration policy amongst yourselves- but I’m unsure why it was necessary for media coverage to imply it was a death due to mental illness? Broken, distraught, hopeless- yes.

Sometimes, we simply refuse to listen when something could not be said more clearly…When prominent gay rights lawyer David Buckel set himself on fire in a park in Brooklyn in 2018, he left a suicide note. He intended for his death to make a statement about protecting the environment.

"I struggle to believe that this is a protest suicide. I think that, underneath, he's got to be in a very dark place, it's not characteristic of David"- said a friend.

I agree that it is by nature and definition, very uncharacterisitic. It’s a bit of a one time show. Not every communication requires interpretation. He wrote down his reason. Why would we not believe someone who has gone to the extreme to deliver what is in essence a simple message? Is it easier to ignore what’s said- undermine it- to class it as a form of insanity?

"Why don't the newscasters cry when they read about people who die? At least they could be decent enough to put just a tear in their eye..." sang Jack Johnson.

In New Zealand this week they did cry, when one of their colleagues, Greg Boyed, 'died suddenly'. He had "...battled depression for years before his death." we were told- instantly upon news of his death.

"How to tackle New Zealand's depression crisis" rang head lines. "A common misconception is that depression is an extreme form of sadness whereas the reality is absence of emotion. It is a deep void of an oppressive nothingness that sucks all pleasure out of living." Really? Fuck!

That seems quite a leap to take instantly. He's dead. He must've been sick. In the head...
Or it is possible that there is a bunch of stuff we don't know about the dead and successful newscaster.
"Why don't the newscasters cry when they read about people who die?"

“Most people who attempt suicide don’t want to die – they just want their pain to end or can't see another way out of their situation.” - opening line of the Mental Health Foundation of New Zealand website.

I am not saying that suicide and mental health are not significant issues. 

What I am saying is that they are not the same issue. 

If we fail to recognize that there are real reasons for despair, and instead continue to address suicide as a flaw in the health of the individual, then the genuine and startlingly obvious problems, the circumstances which sometimes leave people without hope will remain unaddressed- and suicide with them, as a very natural response. 

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.