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