I refused to cry in front of these strangers. Quietly I pushed my chair away from the table and rose to my feet. “Uncle I totally understand. And I promise you both I will be no trouble. If you don’t mind, I’m very tired. Can I call my grandmother later, after I’ve had a rest?”
Aunty rushed to reassure me. “Of course, Leila. Of course. You go have a good sleep. That’s what you need after your long trip. We can talk again later. Tomorrow we will go to town to get your uniforms for school on Monday. And any other supplies you might need.”
Great. A uniform. Just what I always wanted.
My steps were unsteady as I made my way back to the little room, turning on the fan before tumbling face down onto the bed. The threatening tears, however, did not come. But blessed sleep did instead.
I woke the next morning unsure of my surroundings. The fan whirred overhead and traffic rattled and roared past on the road out front. I must have been asleep for at least ten hours, but instead of feeling refreshed, I only felt sluggish and hot. Ugh. Gathering my things, I slipped down the hall to the bathroom where a cold shower went a long way towards waking me up and lifting my mood somewhat.
Once clean and dressed, I ventured out to find my ‘family.’ The kitchen was empty, but, on the table was a still-hot kettle of kokosamoa, and underneath a netted dome covering was a platter piled high with little round pancakes. Breakfast. I sampled them hesitantly but needn’t have worried. They were delicious. Crunchy on the outside and sweet with ripe banana on the inside. And perfect when dunked in sugary sweet koko. However prickly and unpleasant staying with these people would be, the food, at least, would never be a disappointment. When I was done washing up my dishes, I knew I couldn’t put off the call home to Grandmother Folger any longer. I took a deep breath, before hitting speed dial on the pink iPhone she had given me as a farewell gift before I left. The one loaded with limitless credit “so you can keep me updated via email and direct calls every day on where you are and what you are doing. I want daily reports Leila, do you hear me?! If you do not agree to this condition Leila Folger, then I will have my lawyers make your trip to Samoa VERY difficult. I can put a freeze on all your accounts. And you don’t even want to know what good lawyers and a disgusting amount of money can do to your trust fund if you take this too far young woman! Don’t you dare push me Leila, I can’t stop you from going, but I can make sure you have no money when you’re there!”
Yes, Elizabeth Folger had been scrambling for ammo when I announced my decision to come to Samoa. It was driving her crazy that, as of my birthday a few months ago, I was legally an ‘adult.’ And she was going double as crazy that my dad’s life insurance policy had given me a substantial amount of money immediately that was separate from the Folger trust fund I would inherit when I turned twenty-one. As the executor of the trust, she had been counting on the fund to control me and had been most displeased that the death money gave me the freedom to fly halfway round the world. Away from her. Elizabeth Folger wasn’t used to people defying her. Especially not her own family. But a month after my father’s death, she’d had a mini-stroke and her health was now a barrier to enforcing the kind of control she liked to have over everyone and everything. I had never seen her so frail as the morning I had said goodbye, and it was that frailty more than her threats that had made me agree to accept the phone and now, to use it.
As the line rang, I was rehearsing my replies for all the possible questions and attacks she would have ready for me. So much so, that when she did answer, I was taken off guard.
“Hello.”
“Oh, Grandmother Folger, is that you?”
“Well of course it’s me, you foolish child. Who else would be answering my personal line? Leila? I’ve been expecting your call, you were supposed to call yesterday. Where are you? What is it like? Where are you staying? Is it safe and secure? Do you have privacy?”
I tried not to let my exasperation show in my voice as I replied. “Hello Grandmother Folger. Yes, it’s me, Leila. And yes, everything’s ok here, I mean, alright here. I’m sorry I didn’t call last night but I was really tired from the trip. Aunty Matile and Uncle Tuala met me at the airport and they’ve given me a lovely room in their home to stay in. It’s very clean, very safe. The property is fenced. Nobody else lives with them. Aunty Matile is a wonderful cook and made tons of food to welcome me. We’ve already discussed the rules and guidelines for my stay with them – including the fact that I’m just to go three places while I’m here. Home, school, and church.” I could totally imagine the satisfaction that last bit would give her.
“School in a third-world country, harrumph. What an incredible waste of time, Leila. When you could be working on getting valuable credits at the private summer academy I went to great lengths to arrange for you. Honestly! Your stubbornness serves you no good at all when it is so misdirected. When are you going to shake off this ridiculous mood you’ve got yourself in and start facing up to your responsibilities? Your commitments here at home? The longer you delay college, the more difficult it will be and dallying about in some wretched little island in the middle of nowhere will do nothing for you – not to mention … blah, blah, blah.”
I automatically zoned out as she continued on a much-worn path of brisk recriminations, knowing that she wouldn’t take a breath until she was done with having her say. She was starting to wind down though, just as I saw Tuala’s pick-up pull up at the front of the house. Quickly, I interrupted her.
“Grandmother Folger, I have to go now. Matile is taking me to town to get uniforms for school on Monday and I can’t keep her waiting. It was lovely to talk to you. I’ll call you again tomorrow – or maybe just send you an email. Bye!” I hung up before she could protest, and put the ringer on silent before going to help Matile carry in plastic bags of shopping. She nodded appreciatively.
“Thank you, Leila. Tuala and I went out early to do some shopping at the market. We didn’t want to wake you but I left you some breakfast – did you eat?”
“Yes thank you. And those were the best pancakes I’ve ever tasted Aunty.”
A stiff smile was my reward as Matile moved about the kitchen putting her groceries away. “Was that your grandmother you were speaking to on the phone earlier? Is everything alright?”
“Yes. I checked in with her, let her know I’ve arrived. I told her I would be enrolling in school on Monday.” As if a lecture from thousands of miles away wasn’t enough, Matile then proceeded to speak to me sternly.
“Good. It’s important that you keep in contact with your grandmother. I know you haven’t had much exposure to your Samoan culture, but here in Samoa, a young woman would never disobey her elders and travel around the world by herself this way. We are very sorry for your grandmother. She must be so worried about you and frustrated about your trip. I hope that while you’re here, you can learn many more useful customs and traditions, about what it means to be a tamaitai Samoa, a Samoan woman. Now come, let’s get you to Carruthers store in town for those uniforms.”
I took a deep breath and followed her out the door to the car, reminding myself stay calm Leila, be polite, you’re a guest here, she’s your aunty, be patient, nod and smile and agree with everything.
Thankfully, Aunt Matile’s lectures were substantially shorter than Grandmother Folger’s and the ride to town was punctuated only by Tuala’s attempts to be a helpful tour guide as he pointed out places he deemed to be of interest along the route. Places like the church headquarters on the main Beach Road where he and Matile worked. The Police Station. The Mulivai Cathedral. The weary courthouse where a sniper had shot a protesting Mau leader. The government building of offices on a stretch of reclaimed waterfront land. I looked around with great interest. Apia was small. Dusty. Hot. And colorful. I loved the abundance of flowers everywhere and the view out to the golden blue harbor was breathtaking. We stopped first at an ATM so I could withdraw some cash, the Samoan tala notes feeling strange in my hands. At the clothi
ng supplier, buying the uniforms was painless as the first one I tried on, fit perfectly. It was the colors that had me reeling – bright orange pinafores and sunburst-yellow blouses.
“Ugh, Aunty, this uniform is hideous! Who dreamed up this color combination?”
She only pursed her lips at me as she took our purchases to the counter. “Samoa College is the oldest and finest high school in the country. Young people are proud to wear these colors. And they try their best not to disgrace them.”
O-kaaaay. I repeated what was fast becoming my Samoa mantra. Leila, breathe. Be polite. You’re a guest. Be nice. Be patient. Be quiet!
I tried hard to sound meek. “Yes Aunty Matile. I will try very hard not to disgrace the uniform or you and Uncle Tuala.” She looked at me suspiciously as if she could read the falseness hidden in my words and I struggled to keep a straight face that spoke only of reticence and humility.
“Harrumph, well then. Let’s get going. Tuala will be wanting to get back to the house in time for the rugby game that’s coming on this afternoon. Come along, I think we have everything.”
Laden with uniforms we made our way back to the car and the short drive home. Passing a cemetery where frangipani trees dropped their petals on moss-covered graves had me thinking, and, back at the house, once the shopping was all safely stowed away and Matile was preparing dinner, I took the moment to ask her for directions. To my mother’s grave.
The silence was ominous. Both Tuala and Matile froze and looked at each other. My gaze went to first one and then the other, waiting for the answer. Uncle Tuala spoke first.
“Leila, your mother is a sensitive topic in this house. Your aunty Matile does not like to speak of her.”
“Oh. I see.” But I didn’t. The woman was my mother, surely I of all people had every right to ask where her grave was? I persisted. “I’m sorry if it’s painful for you, Aunty. If you could just tell me where I can find her grave, I can get myself there?”
Aunty Matile turned her back on me and vigorously stirred the pot on the stove, throwing her answer over her shoulder. “Your mother is not buried in town. Now let us talk of something else.”
I took a deep breath. “Aunty Matile, the main reason I came to Samoa is so that I could learn as much as possible about my mother. My dad didn’t tell me a lot about her. I’ve never even seen a photo of her.” I quickened with excitement. “Do you have some pictures of her I could look at, please? It would mean so much to me to be able to know what she looked like!”
Matile dropped the pot she was holding. It fell with a crash, splattering boiled taro everywhere and bringing Tuala abruptly to his feet.
“Matile! Are you alright?”
Matile was trembling as she shook her fist at me. “Leila, no more questions about that woman! No more!”
My confusion made me ignore the warnings. “Why not? I don’t understand? What’s wrong with talking about my mother?”
“That woman is – was – none of your business.” was her taut reply.
“How can you say that?! I’m her daughter, she was my mother. How dare you tell me she’s none of my business!”
“You are too Westernized, too palagi to understand. You are too palagi to show respect to us, your elders? To us who have taken you in when your own palagi grandmother cannot handle you anymore?! Tapuni lou gutu! Shut your mouth now!” Aunty Matile’s tirade abruptly halted as Tuala moved to place a warning hand on her shoulder. He squeezed her arm gently before turning to me.
“Leila, as long as you are staying here in our home, you WILL speak with respect to your aunt. You WILL show fa’aaloalo to us, your family. And you will accept that there are some things we do not speak of. Ever. This is a God-fearing house. This land does not belong to the spirits and myths of the past. We are Christians and we will not have anything to do with such beliefs here.”
I turned and fled to my room, unwilling for anyone to see me dissolve in a tearful emotional mess. All the while though, questions screamed in my mind.
I don’t get it. I want to know about my mother – what does that have to do with his stupid spirits and myths? What the hell is he going on about? I came to this awful place to find my family, to find out about my mother and instead I’m stuck in a house where they won’t even allow me to talk about her?
For the first time, I considered the dreadful possibility that coming to Samoa had been a huge mistake. Exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster ride of only my first day in my new home, I fell asleep clutching a picture of my dad. The one person who had loved me. Laughed with me. And left me. I had never felt so alone in my life.
The rest of the weekend passed in subdued politeness. Matile and Tuala said no more about the confrontation in the kitchen and I followed their lead, maintaining a distant civility as they took me to church with them, introducing me to people as their niece, “here for a very short visit from America.” Church was followed by a sumptuous lunch expansive enough for at least ten more people, and I did the dishes before going to my room to surf the net, sending a silent prayer of thanks for Grandmother Folger’s forced gift. I shuddered to think how I was going to survive my stay in this house without a lifeline to the outside world. And so it was with unusual niceness that I drafted an email to Grandmother, telling her about my Samoan experience so far. I left out the part about my disagreement with my new relatives though. Grandmother had never tried to hide her distaste for my Samoan mother and I had a feeling she would be right on the same page as Aunty Matile and Uncle Tuala.
As I lay in bed late on Sunday, I could see the southern sky splayed in all its majestic diamond glory from my window but my heart was a million miles away. In Potomac. Where my dad was buried. Not for the first time in the past eight months, I cried myself to sleep. Would I ever stop hurting this much for my dad?
TWO
Monday morning dawned fresh and clear with a light sprinkle of hot rain. I lay for a while in bed just listening to the sounds of life outside my window. Dogs barked, growling at passersby on the dusty front road. Birds – so many birds chattered in the lush richness of the backyard. A cat yowled in protest as someone threw a splash of water from the cook house in the neighbor’s back yard. A bus roared past, gears grinding, wooden seats rattling. Children laughed as they walked by the roadside on their way to school.
School. I sat bolt upright. That’s right. It was my first day at school in Samoa. I grimaced with disgust at the school uniform hanging next to the bed. Could it get any more outrageous? Oh well. I didn’t want to be late on my first day so I had to swallow my revolt and dress quickly. School started early in this country. I had to be there at 7:30 for assembly – or so Aunty Matile had informed me.
Breakfast was hunks of hot bread with slabs of butter melting onto the plate. A pot of thick, sweet kokosamoa that burned the tongue. Licking the butter drips off my fingers, I mused – no wonder Samoans were all overweight and built like football players. If they ate carbs like this every day. Hmm … I would have to do something about making changes to the household diet if I wanted to stay the same size. Because this hot bread and koko thing was way too tempting to refuse every morning! Grabbing another piece of bread to savor in the car, I made sure to thank Aunty Matile for breakfast and wish her a ‘lovely day’ – and was rewarded by a fleeting smile from the usually sour-faced old woman.
Uncle Tuala was giving me a ride to school – at least until I figured out the bus routes myself. I didn’t know how I was going to be able to do that since apparently there was no regular bus schedule … or any printed timetables … or even proper bus stops.
“So, how do people catch the bus to school on time?” I asked, thoroughly puzzled.
“Oh, you just look out for the right bus on the road and when you see it coming you wave at it and it stops. Then when the bus goes past where you want to go, you pull the wire and it stops.”
“Umm … and how can I be sure it will go where I want it to?”
“Beca
use. Everyone knows the way the bus goes. There’s not many different roads you know, Leila.”
Okay. So catching buses would be one thing to add to my list of ‘what to learn if you want to live in this country.’ In the meantime, I would be suitably grateful to Uncle Tuala for taking me to school. Unbidden, a memory flashed of my car at home. The thoroughly-unlike-me, red Mazda Miata that Dad had bought for my last birthday. Completely shocking me. And terrifying me. How was I supposed to hold my head up high driving such an obviously wannabe preppy car? But he had insisted. Taking me for driving lessons on deserted roads so I could get used to it. Blasting the stereo with his country songs and deliberately embarrassing me by singing along to the music. Especially whenever we had pulled up next to cars with boys in them and Randy Travis soulful voice warbled through the trees.
Telesa - The Covenant Keeper Page 3
