He pauses and in that hesitation I sense shame.
“What is it Siaosi? Tell me.”
“No. It is not good for a boy to tell his sister such things. But just know that some palagi don’t treat Samoans as equals. They might tell you nice words, buy you gifts and even get in a relationship with you, but you are never on the same level as them. Be careful Scar.”
In that moment there is no pretence between us. He knows what I am asking and I know he is gifting me a vulnerable part of himself. “Troy is special,” he adds. “I was suspicious of him at first, but then I watched and I see how he treats your sister. I see he loves her more than himself. I see he always holds her up high. Then I know he is real. He is true.”
“So you didn’t ever have to fasi him,” I joke lightly, wanting to break the tense secrecy between us.
Siaosi laughs. “No fasi for Troy!” But he’s not ready to stop being serious. Not yet. “Troy’s friend - Jackson seems like a nice man. Maybe he is different. But it’s too soon to know. Too early to tell. Be careful.”
My cousin has stunned me. He knows about Jackson? How? I haven’t given Siaosi enough credit, dismissing him as a happy-go-lucky ganja-smoker. Before I can quiz him on the topic of Jackson, my mother calls from the fale.
“Bring vai tipolo for the guests. Hurry!”
And just like that my relationship advice session with the wise Siaosi is finished. I scurry back to bridesmaid duties but mulling over his words. Some palagi look down to Samoans. We are not the same as them. We are not equal. Be careful.
I don’t get any more opportunities to stare into Jackson’s eyes. Or to imagine all his imaginary declarations of love for me. Which is probably for the best.
COUSIN SIAOSI’S ADVICE :WHEN A PALAGI DATES A SAMOAN
The first thing you must remember is that Samoans don’t date. Ask any Samoan about this thing called ‘dating’ and they will laugh in your face. All your relatives are your cousins. Anyone not related to you, is your friend and you can’t go anywhere with your friend unless your cousins go too. We don’t date. Not the way palagi’s do anyway.
The second thing you have to know is a Samoan woman can’t ever openly say that she’s attracted to someone. Or interested in them at all. Even if Jason Momoa or Sonny Bill Williams knocked on her family’s door? She would have to say no thank you and please go away right now. If any of her aunties or cousins are watching, then she will probably even get a salu to sweep him out the door. And throw rocks at him as he runs fast down the road. (But making sure to have bad aim because nobody would want to risk scarring their beauty. Of course.) She would have to do the same if it were the son of the faifeau. Or a man who just won the Lotto.
That’s because, like I said, Samoans don’t date. Not officially. And remember, there’s officially only two kinds of woman.
First, you are a good Christian girl who never has sex, isn’t interested in sex (not even with Jason Momoa), but always prays and goes to church, and works hard to serve her family. Then suddenly, you are getting married and ready to be a good wife. How did you find that husband? The official story is that you prayed a lot to Jesus and He sent him to you. No dating. But unofficially? Behind the pa auke scenes, you sent a message to Jason to please forgive you for throwing stones at him and to please meet you at the church youth meeting tonight where you will exchange hot lustful looks at each other from across the hall. Then you will sneak out and meet him at the Marina where you will dance and drink and possibly engage in lustful acts. But ‘date’ him? No.
The second kind of woman is a pa’umuku. A slut. She doesn’t care about the rules or about what people think. She goes on dates and probably has sex in the bushes with every one of them. Then she either gets pregnant or she causes fights and great upheaval in the aiga. She never finds a good husband and she is a source of immense shame to her family, and constant gossip for everyone else. Officially, nobody wants to be this kind of woman.
So if you are a palagi man and you like a Samoan woman, then you have to be smart about it. You have to know the culture. The ways of our people. How do you do it? How do you get to know that pretty girl and make her family love you? You follow these steps.
Be friends with her brothers. This is very important. Her brothers can kill you. Or they can drink Taula beer with you and be happy. If you make them your friends first before you try anything with their sister, then if they need to fasi you, they’ll hold back and they’ll have bad aim when they throw rocks at you. Since you can’t go out on dates with the woman you like, the best way to spend time with her, is to spend time with her family.
Which leads to number two. Be a servant. In Samoa, we have a special word – faiava. It means, man who comes into woman’s family and is next to dirt. Just kidding. It means man who comes into woman’s family and so he has no voice, no rights, no nothing. There, doesn’t that sound better?!
When you are at the woman’s family, you must make yourself useful. Do the feau’s. Always go to the kitchen, never sit in the living room. Even better, go to the outside umukuka where the cooking boys are and help them with the firewood and to valu the popo. Help make the umu and the saka. You could be the CEO of your own company, or the Captain of the All Blacks rugby team, but if you don’t know how to do chores and recognise that your place is at the bottom of the family feau’s chart, then you’re doomed. You may get the girl but her family will forever be stabbing you in the back and loudly mocking your uselessness to everyone they know. Samoans may be impressed by money and prestige, but if you want our lasting respect? Then understand that above all else, we value service.
Be nice to her grandma, to her aunties, to her mother, to her great-grandma. But never look at her sisters. Stare at the ground. Don’t smile at them. Don’t laugh with them. Don’t share food with them. You can be friends with her brothers but stay away from her sisters. In Samoa, the line between brother and sister is very clear. Don’t make the mistake of being friendly to her sisters.
Always take your shoes off before you come inside the house. Or else we will know you are dirty. Who wants a dirty man for their daughter? And I have to say it – make sure you kaele before you visit. I say that because I have noticed some palagi’s have different ideas of what clean means. We shower in the morning and the night. We shower after rugby practise. We shower before we go to church. We shower before we go to Bingo. My palagi friends say that sometimes they ‘forget’ to kaele. For several days at a time. What kind of person FORGETS to kaele?! How is that even possible?
Always bring food when you visit. Bring food on Saturday for the lunch. Bring food on Sunday for toonai. Bring food to birthdays, parties, funerals and baptisms. But never bring a salad. That’s not real food. That’s just asking for our disdain. And portions are very important. If there’s five people in her family, never bring a dish with only five servings on it. That’s a sure sign that you are the worst kind of palagi. Siu and le mafaufau. Cheap and you have no brains. For example, a good way to casually drop by on a Sunday evening? Bring ten loaves of hot fresh bread from Siaosi’s bakery and a tray of coconut buns to have with koko. That way you are acknowledging the existence of not only her parents and brothers and sisters, but also her grandparents, her aunties and uncles that may be visiting, and any cousins that are working in the umukuka.
If you really want to go big, then bring a Size Two roast pig. And a basket of umu kalo and palusami. Plates from Treasure Garden are also acceptable. Not the cheap plates with too many vegetables. No. The sweet and sour pork. Lemon chicken. The whole fish in black bean sauce. And egg foo yong. Combination noodles. Other events require a box of herrings or a pusa moa. A five pound corned beef pisupo. Remember, when you date a Samoan girl, you are dating her family. Which means feed her family.
No public displays of affection. Don’t touch her. Ever. So what if you’ve been visiting her family for a whole year now? So what if her grandmother calls you her son, and her father lets you watch wrestling on the TV wit
h him? Men and women who are dating #notDating, don’t touch. It’s good if you ignore her most of the time when you come over to visit. Everyone in the aiga knows that you’re there to see their daughter, but we will all pretend that you aren’t. And if you ruin the fantasy by trying to hold her hand or compliment her? Then we will be forced to throw you out. And fasi you.
Good luck!
Jackson
The longer I stay in Samoa, the more I’m learning. Take today for example. The wedding present extravaganza was supposed to be a complication-free event. As explained by Naomi to Troy who then explained it to me. I quite liked the sound of it actually. The wedding presents would be opened publicly and witnessed by all the family, and then key members of the family would be allocated gifts. I guess when you have 600 guests, no wedding gift registry and multiple copies of the same thing, it made sense to share the abundance with your family. Especially since they’d all helped with the wedding and contributed so much to the new couple.
The more I learn about Samoan traditions, the more I’m learning about Scarlet, and the more I’m coming to understand how difficult it is to separate a person from her family in any way. So for me to hassle her about stepping away from her family’s judgement and not care so much about what they wanted for her, what they think of her? Was stupid of me. How could she break free from her family when they were an intrinsic part of her?
I was pushing it staying on so this long. The office was on my case. There were projects that needed me on them and Rex my PA was getting testy during our daily phone calls.
“You were only supposed to be gone for two weeks sir,” he said in a particularly aggrieved voice this morning.
“Things have come up,” I said in what I hoped was a soothing tone. Rex had a tendency to freak out when everything wasn’t perfectly controlled. He was a micromanager, which made him effective at his job, and made my life much easier. And usually I was more than happy and ready to carry my share of the workload. Because I loved my work and had a tendency to work too hard and too long. Something my ex had always hated and a reason why she eventually broke up with me.
“Rex, I know you have everything under control there. Give me a few more days. I have something important to settle here.”
“Oh a construction project for us perhaps sir?” His business radar pinged eagerly at the thought that maybe I was staying on in Samoa to drum up business for the company.
“Not that kind of project. It’s personal.” My tone left no room for further argument and Rex backed off.
“Of course sir. Everything is fine here,” he said smoothly.
I had bought myself a few more days, but for what? I need to breach this distance between Scarlet and I, but how? And what exactly was I hoping for?
Scarlet
The next day we are up early to make a mad dash for the ferry to Savaii. We are doing a wedding party pilgrimage to go see my Grandmother’s sister. Great-Aunty Pativaine is the matriarch of my mother’s aiga. Too frail to make the journey to Apia for the wedding, but strong enough to demand we seek an audience with her so she can ‘bless’ the wedding union. Or else curses will rain down upon us all no doubt. You don’t mess with the elders. Especially not when they’re as old as Aunty Pativaine. She doesn’t know how old she is exactly. Could be ninety-nine. Or a hundred and ten. What is certain is that she has a mind as sharp as a shiny new sapelu, and that means she has an accumulated arsenal of legacy power and genealogy knowledge. You can’t argue with someone who’s been alive as long as she has and her testimony about lineage has literally made and broken matai chiefly title holders across the country. If she says your grandfather lied about how he got his claim to a title? And there’s nobody else left alive to contradict her? Then the Lands and Titles court will cede to her every time. Knowledge is power and in a country with communal land ownership, Aunty Pativaine’s family history knowledge reigned supreme.
Aunty Pativaine is also responsible for the Savaii delegation gown that Naomi wore briefly at the reception. We are taking it with us on this pilgrimage so that she can wear it when we see Aunty. To do otherwise would be a gratuitous insult, not to mention, really stupid. Naomi may be a very model of a modern Samoan woman, but even she doesn’t turn her nose up at the power and authority of a matriarch. There’s always been whispers that Aunty Pativaine is in cahoots with Teine Sa. Or that she used to be one herself, a spiritual healer and bearer of curses.
The ferry ride is glorious. The sunrise is breath-taking and there’s dolphins dancing along the side of the boat, splashing in the lacy surf wake. I stand by the railing, watching Upolu fall away behind us and with it, a growing lightness within, like all the upheaval and emotional stress of the last few weeks is being left behind.
Salelologa is busy and dusty as usual. A small child is selling niu and she bestows me with a gleeful smile as I buy an entire basket. She gets another coconut from a different basket and adds it to mine, “A present for you!”
But her smile quickly turns to suspicious disgust as she finds an American coin amongst the handful I have handed over to her.
“E le kaulia le kupe lea!” This money is no good here. Useless!
A cluster of children gather round for added moral support, all lacerating me with disdainful looks and mutterings about how rich Samoans from overseas come here and try to rip off poor children in Savaii!
I fumble through my purse, apologising profusely, looking for more coins. Why is it that when you need them – then you can’t find any? “I’m sorry. It was an accident. I promise. I didn’t do it on purpose.”
Yeah right you plastic Samoan.
Sweat soaks my shirt as I take back the coins and hand over a $50 tala note. “Do you have any change?”
Ha. Of course not. She is glaring at me. This tiny fierce niu warrior for social justice looking like she might beat me up because I just tried to con her with a quarter.
Oh what the hell. “Take it all. Keep the change. And again, I’m sorry about the wrong money.”
She grabs the money but is not appeased. Before I can carry my basket and hustle away from there, she reaches in and takes out the bonus coconut. No meaalofa for you!
Are you for real little girl? Really? I apologised and gave you fifty tala for fuck’s sake. I don’t like you. I don’t like any of you niu brats.
I lug the basket back to the truck where Beyonce is laughing uproariously at my shame.
“You could stop laughing and come help me carry this, y’know,” I say.
But she only laughs at me more from the air conditioning.
I am determined to sulk all the way to our mother’s village but Savaii is too beautiful to fester and brood. It’s been too long since I came to the big island and the scenery along the ribbon curves of road quickly soothes and embraces. There’s no ocean quite as blue and sparkling clear as in Savaii. Everything is slower here. More purposeful. Uncluttered by the traffic, bustling commerce and crowds of Upolu. Our vans stop for pigs to cross the road with lazy swishes of their tails. We cross fords through gently flowing rivers where children frolic and their mothers sit cross-legged on glistening rocks in the shallows, doing laundry. Soap bubbles float downstream in the rainbow sunshine.
But my good mood fades when we reach Mother’s village. Throughout the official welcome, all my relatives take it upon themselves to tell me how fat I am. So what else is new? But it seems a bit much to be expected to take it from people who haven’t seen you since you were seven years old? Like, really Auntie-Old-Wrinkly-Bag-Of-Bones? You haven’t seen me since I was wetting the bed and picking my nose in church? Of course I’m bigger now. It’s been twenty-three years and I even got taller and grew boobs.
But I say nothing. I smile. Listen. Nod. Smile some more.
Everyone knows I am the cousin who has come from America, so there’s lots of comments about McDonalds and KFC. About what a lazy life we lead over there, swimming in bathtubs of easy money and eating ourselves sick every day on cartons of
Spam. For some reason, my aiga think that rich people eat Spam and McDonalds every day.
Still I say nothing. I listen. Smile. Listen some more. But in my head, I’m biting back…
‘No actually, I’m working two jobs in the States so I can afford to send money home every week to help support my parents. Cousin Fili, didn’t I send $500 for your mother’s funeral last year? And Aunty Tala, that money my mother gave for building your new church? I sent that. You think that dropped out of the sky? I didn’t get that by stuffing my face at McDonalds. I got it from working my ass off so you can relax here in the fale talimalo, weaving mats that you never finish because ‘weaving’ is actually code for gossiping about everybody.’
But no. I swallow the bitterness and judgement, and smile. My patience is sorely tested by Uncle Savelio though. He’s a cousin of Mother’s and once lived in America before being deported. It was a long time ago but you’d think he was there yesterday the way he starts going on and on about ‘those Mexicans stealing all the jobs and isn’t it a good thing they’re going to build a wall now Scarlet?’ Oh fuck, my uncle is a Trump supporter. Not what I expected to stumble across in Savaii. I mutter something unintelligible and try to scuttle away but he’s excited to have another America-dweller to talk to. Or rather to give him nods of support as he rattles on about the good old days before Obama the anti-Christ.
Somebody save me.
Naomi presents her new husband to Great-Aunty, along with a generous haul of wedding gifts that we have trucked along with us. I can’t see much of the action though because I’m stuck listening to Uncle Savelio. I finally fake a headache and escape. Mother glares at me for running away but I pretend I don’t see her. Hey, I’m not the one who just got married so I don’t need to suffer through all the ceremonial welcoming and blah blah’ing.
Scarlet Redemption Page 5
