Picture Day

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A four inch long Gecko, frequent visitor to the apartment.

Several views from my drive to work.  The harbor at Pago Pago.

 

A couple of shots of a flower that fell from a tree I have yet to identify.  I yields fruit about the size of an orange, but I don’t know if the fruit is edible.

The children must complete their chores.  Here one is raking leaves and grass clippings beside one of the major streets.

A Samoan custom is to bury your dead loved ones in your front yard.  I can’t help but empathize in thinking about my Mama and Daddy buried in my front yard.  I guess people don’t move from their homes.

A breadfruit tree beside the road.  Just imagine Oak trees which produce fruit the size of one of which could make a meal.

A roadside market.  Taro, unidentified root, breadfruit and bananas.

Taro – the bulb of an Elephant Ear.

Breadfruit in a basket woven of a coconut frond.

Breadfruit and two species of bananas.

Unidentified food and unidentified vendors from the roadside market.

Fresh fish from the roadside market.

The entrance to the Maliu Mai bar adjacent to my apartment complex at Freddie's Beach.  Troy Polamalu visited here when he paid a visit to American Samoa, his family’s home, a couple weeks before my arrival.

The ocean-side swimming pool at the bar.

Another view from the bar.

A view of the waves crashing into the volcanic rocks at the bar.  The rocks are jet black, rough and slippery.  This is no place to take a swim.

Next: Take the Bus.

My Birthday

I’ve enjoyed some special and memorable birthdays on my sojourn on the planet, and right up there with the best of them was the celebration of my 59^th, this past Saturday the 27^th.  On this day Junior’s church was having a fundraiser.  It was a beer bash.  You heard right – a church used a beer party for a fundraiser.   I take it a beer bash is a somewhat common way of raising money for certain churches, although I would not expect so for a Mormon or a Baptist Church.  But Junior’s denomination is Pentecostal and the consumption of alcohol is not taboo for them.  As Benjamin Franklin is quoted as having said, “Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.”* A beer bash is used to raise money for any sort of thing.  Say a member of the church needs surgery that can only be performed off-island.  The church members may just throw a beer bash to help finance it.  It just so happened that Junior’s church was having a fundraiser on my birthday to reconstruct their church building.  Pay $20, and it’s all you can eat and drink. 

Oka

They have a DJ playing music, blaring, actually, which is how they like it, over a mighty powerful set of speakers.  The food consisted of oka, taro, banana and pork.  Oka is a local preparation of cubed raw fish in a mixture of coconut milk and chopped cucumbers and tomatoes.  Most food places here sell oka, but they mix in an additional ingredient which seems to be mayonnaise.  The mayonnaise makes it much richer.  The oka at the beer bash didn’t have any mayonnaise and it made it so much better than I’d had before.  The taro is boiled and sliced, and, I think, the bananas are green bananas which have been boiled or baked in coconut milk.  The pork was roasted.  All the food was good; maybe a little on the bland side, but good.  The beer was Vailima, which is brewed in neighboring Western Samoa, and could be considered the national beer.  I like it just fine, I’m pleased to say. They had a keg of Vailima.  They also had cans of Coors light.  The party was a happy hour affair, lasting from 2 to 4 p.m. to help minimize the risk of anyone getting too snockered.

Junior and his lovely wife, Lina.  Lina, having been told to be on the lookout, had found me at the airport in Honolulu while I was in line at the counter and where she was returning from a five day seminar in LA.  What a lovely lady!

The ladies of the church served as waitresses and brought plates of food and cups of oka and made sure your beer cup didn’t run dry.  They also from time to time walked around with trash bags to gather up the trash, helping to keep the place nice and tidy.  And there was dancing.

Samoans are passionate people.  They LOVE to sing and dance.  All the buses have music blaring, mostly local radio station V103, which plays an eclectic mix of popular American dance tunes, reggae, hip hop, and Polynesian dance tunes and ballads.  On one of my bus rides, the driver, with one hand on the wheel, was gesticulating to a Polynesian tune with the other, first, opening his hand and sweeping it out, then at a crescendo, grasping at his heart as he sang along with the music.  It was a delight.  Many of the folks here seem to know all the words to all the songs on the radio in English and in Samoan.  They played the same mix of music at the beer bash, and you could easily spot the enchanting and rhythmic Polynesian influence on many of the dance moves.

The crowd rooted on the dancers, singing and clapping with the music.  Junior told some authority figure at the party that it was my birthday.  Next thing I know someone was making an announcement – in Samoan - and Junior said to me, “That’s you.  You gotta dance.”  So, I danced.  I asked Kalara, who is the girlfriend of one of my co-workers and who was seated at my table to join me.  It was a hoot, and everybody started throwing one dollar bills at me, so many, that they had to bring out a box to collect them all.  One gal came and plastered a dollar bill onto my sweaty forehead.  Soon others joined us on the dance floor and everybody had a rollicking good time with the palangi (the white guy).  I got lots of hugs and handshakes. The money thus collected became part of the funds raised.   After that dance was over and I sat down they got a line dance going.  I’m just sitting there basking in the feeling of the obvious care and respect these people have for each other.  The acceptance apparently causes people to feel less inhibited on the dance floor, and, as Margaret Mead noted in her Coming of Age in Samoa, even a jester got up and busted some moves, to everyone’s great hilarity.  Mead’s observation that human kindness is the virtue most respected among Samoans kept reverberating in my head.

There is a continuum of human sexuality.  It gives us stunningly sexy women, and manly men, but it also gives us effeminate men and manly women – with ALL manner of variations in between.  I find the rich variations in the manifestation of the human spirit utterly delightful.  I am so grateful that not everyone is like me; that we’re all different and we can celebrate those differences IF we’re guided by loving thinking.  There is a class of individuals in Samoan culture composed of effeminate men who inhabit the far reaches of the continuum.  They are known as fa’afafine (fa fa fee nay).  Here is is wikipedia article about the culture. They openly dress and act as women, and there was one at the party.  There was no contest as to her being the best-dressed person there.  She was welcomed and accepted as a member of the crowd, although there was a little sniggling going on by a few.  I assume the fa’afafine are accustomed to that sort of thing and she gave no impression whatsoever that she was disturbed by it.  She accepted her fair share of invitations to dance, as well.

Anyway, a beer bash church fundraiser on a little tropical island was a helluva way to celebrate my 59^th birthday.

*The actual quote was not about beer.  Rather it was about wine:  “Behold the rain which descends from heaven upon our vineyards, there it enters the roots of the vines, to be changed into wine, a constant proof that God loves us, and loves to see us happy.”

Next:  Picture Day.

Man Dress II

Just for you, Kim.  I'll have a special picture day for the blog Wednesday.

Man Dress

I have mentioned that American Samoa could have been the Garden of Eden.  That the abundance of food sources makes it unnecessary for people to sow a garden, then reap what they have sown.  Rather, the garden here sows itself, the people need merely reap.  The Bible makes much of sowing seed and reaping the harvest (see, e.g., the verse quoted below).  The Bible also references seasons.  Here there are no such seasons.  There is a wet season and then there is the less wet season.  

Leviticus 25:3 “And thou shalt sow thy field, and six years thou shalt prune thy vineyard, and gather in the fruit thereof.

There are, of course, several other verses that make reference to sowing and reaping.  Other than the metaphor of harvesting the fruits of your labor, e.g., poor choices yield poor consequences, at least as a reference for food, those Bible verses are irrelevant to Samoa.  A homeless person here need not go hungry.  They don’t have to sow.  Merely reap.  Hungry?  Just pick yourself a banana, papaya, mango coconut, orange…

What impresses me so much about this culture as I find on a daily basis, is their pure kindness.  In her book, Coming of Age in Samoa, Margaret Mead observed that human kindness is the virtue most esteemed by Samoans.  Little children shyly wave to me and smile, and might sometimes even engage me in conversation.  Strangers look at me with a smile, kindness in their eyes, and a greeting of “Hello,” which I take as an invitation to stick out my hand and say, “Hi.  I’m Joel Shiver.”  I could cite many examples of pleasant interchanges that have resulted from these meetings, but here’s the story of one in particular.

I don’t have a car, and since one of the other two lawyers from my office who reside in the same complex has a car, I catch a ride to work.  On the way, we pass a store, Forsgrens, which is something of a department store, maybe comparable to a Walmart, except on a much, much tinier scale.  In any event, it is a nice resource in this second world country.  Moreover, there is an entrepreneurial private bus system, with many, many buses, which facilitate cheap, quick and easy transportation all around this small island of barely 76 square miles.

So, today I asked my co-worker to drop me off at Forsgrens so I could buy some supplies:  coffee for the office, a coffee cup for myself, some memo pads…. then I could have the adventure of taking the bus from there to the office.  A dollar fare is cheap enough to pay for that.  I get done with my shopping, and walk to find the bus stop.  It’s raining, as it is often apt to be on this tropical island.  Forsgrens is located in what could be described as a mini-mall, with covered walkways surrounding it.  So, I stop at the end of the porch to scout out the bus stop, and this beautiful woman says to me with a warm and gracious smile, “Hello.”  I stick out my hand and introduce myself.  Her name is Tonya and we fill one another in on who we are, where we’re from, our spouses, etc.  When I told her what I do, she inquired as to whether I’d acquired my lavalavas.

A lavalava is a man-skirt.  And an ie lavalava (EE-AA-lavalava) is a formal man-skirt for wearing as professional attire.   Tonya’s husband works to the American Samoan tax office so she is familiar with professional attire.  I could wear a coat and tie to court, but the true Samoan way is an ie lavlava, dress shirt and a tie . . . and flip flops.  Seriously.   I had been previously informed of the ie lavalava, so I had only brought one pair of dress slacks and one dress shirt with me.   I needed a wardrobe of ie lavalavas for court.  I explained to her that my plan was to have Junior, our office investigator, take me to a seamstress for my measurements then buy the material for her to make me some ie lavalavas.

Tonya suggested I simply go to Forsgrens, as they carry lavalavas, and it would cost less.  It was raining, and I figured the rain would end soon, so I thought about it a couple of seconds.  I turned and went back to Forsgrens.  As large as I am I am considered a medium amongst American Samoan men, so I had no trouble finding one that fit.   I bought two, and wore the first one I tried on to work.  The people at work were very pleased that I am adopting Samoan customs so quickly.  I am pleased that they are pleased.  Anyhow, it was the result of that most congenial encounter with Tonya that resulted in this most positive experience.

My theory is that the Lord has amply provided for the food and shelter of the people of American Samoa.  Freed from the burden of sowing, they turn their energy elsewhere, like to positive interpersonal relationships.  It’s a joy.  Samoa is practically 100% Christian, and I am interested in learning how the virtue of human kindness informs their Christian faith.   Wouldn’t it be nice if foxnewschristians allowed the virtue of human kindness to inform their Christian faith?  I’ll leave you with one final verse.  Luke 12:27 “Consider the lilies how they grow: they toil not, they spin not; and yet I say unto you, that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.

Next:  My Birthday.

First Impressions: Of Dogs and Traffic and Flying Foxes

I grew up in a household that enjoyed the company of dogs.  Somewhere there’s a picture of me as an 18 month old with my arms around our white English Boxer, Bullet.  Ever since I can remember, dogs have been a part of my household – except, maybe, during undergrad, and a couple of other brief interludes.  I’ve had bird dogs, a Golden Retriever, poodle, chihuahua, Jack Russell, dachshund and others.

At one time, as a high schooler, I acquired an English Setter. I laboriously built her an 8 x 12 concrete-floored pen, with six foot high welded wire on creosote posts.  On a daily basis I was out there mixing the concrete in a tub by hand to pour 8 feet by 18 inch slabs.  I don’t recall how many tubs it took to pour the 12 feet, but, I can attest to the fact that was a lot of concrete mixing.  And, if you’ve ever mixed concrete by hand, you know how hard the work is.  I built the pen with the floor on a slight slope to the rear to better facilitate the rinsing of the dog poo, and I religiously rinsed her poo to maintain a sanitary pen for her.  God knows, that was a long time ago.  I kept her two weeks.

The problem was this:  I kept her in that 8 x 12 pen all the time.  I was in high school.  I had an afternoon part-time job at the Chevrolet place.  I studied religiously.  I had no time to be a companion to that dog.  I couldn’t handle that.  When I let her out on the weekend, she would run, sometimes several blocks.  I simply could not keep her confined like that.   I hope I don’t need to tell you that that was a profound learning lesson for me.  I forbad my children from having a dog unless they persuaded me that THEY could be companions TO the dog – NOT the other way around.  Anyway, I love dogs.  And I will go so far as saying I think that maybe there’s something not quite right with people who don’t.  Enough said about that.

Here in American Samoa, dogs are everywhere.  They run loose – on and off private property, frequently in the road, although I’ve yet to see a dog carcass on the road.  Perhaps that is due to the fact that the maximum speed limit on the island is 25 miles per hour, and even less in certain places.  People typically drive even slower.  One reason is the quality of the roads.  Potholes are common features on the secondary roads, thus it is necessary to drive slowly.  But, the slow speeds are more a matter of safety – and, courtesy.  The roads are crowded and slow speed facilitates the courtesy of allowing oncoming traffic wishing a left turn, to turn in front of you.  It allows a vehicle wishing to enter traffic from the roadside – from either the right or the left, the opportunity to enter traffic.  It allows for people to cross the road.  You might think that no one would ever be able to move down the road given these generous courtesies.  You would be wrong.  Indeed, the net effect, the unexpected upshot is that, although traffic does move slowly, it moves along extremely efficiently – especially given the volume of traffic and the proliferation of busses.  It is simply remarkable.  Slowing down and being nice brings with it unexpected benefits, not the least of which is a noticeable decrease in any sense of road rage.  Thus, after all that analysis, the absence of dog carcasses on the roadways is not too terribly surprising, even in light of the fact that dogs are everywhere in the road.

I get the sense that dogs are beloved and sacred animals here, much as cows are in India.  The problem is, who cares for them?  Many I have seen are mangy and obviously uncared for.  I’ve seen many females with extended teats, giving me the impression they’ve had many litters of pups.  There’s an oral ritual among the palagi (pah-lahngy – non-Samoans) that the dogs are always ready to attack.  I haven’t seen that, although I am not discounting the truth of the rumor.  The strategy for defense is to bend down as if picking up a rock then make a throwing motion.  Some people carry sticks.   These dogs barely hit 30 pounds, if that, and I personally am not at all concerned about a dog attack.  But they are everywhere.  Perhaps they serve as watch dogs, alerting owners of certain private beaches that an intruder has entered our sacred ground…

(By the way, I am a palagi.  White folks comprise maybe 1 % of the population.  Thus, I am in the distinct minority.  But, no worries.  I’ve never felt anything but the warmest of welcomings into the community.  Unlike the life experiences of some others I’ve observed growing up in the racist southern United States.)

Now, to another canine-referenced mammal.  Namely, the flying fox.  All my life, I’ve watched small brown bats flying at dusk catching small bugs.  And, I can tell you the air is full of small bugs.  What does your windshield look like after driving at night?  I used to sit and smoke cigarettes under the ceiling fans on the treehouse front porch of my house , only to be pummeled by small bugs haplessly finding themselves propelled upon me by the ceiling fans.  The good Lord sure provides for brown bats.  I haven’t yet seen a small brown bat here.  But, I have seen flying foxes.  Flying foxes are fruit bats, about the size of maybe a Pomeranian.  Every night at dusk they fly over my apartment to their feeding grounds.  Most often they fly a hundred feet or so above, but sometimes one will fly only about 10 or 20 feet above, so close over my head I almost feel I could reach out and grab one.  I’ve watched them disappear into the canopy of the woods directly behind my house.  I’ve unsuccessfully tried to get a picture of them flying over my balcony.  I assure you, their silhouette is bat-shaped, and, beautiful.  These flying foxes are simply taking advantage of the prodigious foods provided in this Eden.  How cool is it that they are flying directly above my deck?  Way cool.  Do not make the mistake giving these bats a bad rap.  Flying Foxes are purely fruit eaters.   Thanks.

Next up: Man Dresses.