Where? and Back Again: O lo'u aiga samoa- My Samoan Family

Hey everyone! I’m sorry I’ve been slacking on the blog. Yes, I recognize the pattern. Sorry.

Life has been pretty simple, and here is a quick summary of the past few weeks.

Church. School. Assessments. GLOW (Girls Leading Our World). Flu. Lice. Food Poisoning. Term break. VRF (Volunteer Report Form). Taro and breadfruit. Screaming children. Naked children. Happy children. Peace Corps friends. Samoan Family.

Yeah, Lelei mea uma (everything is good). Overall, I’m pretty adjusted to my life here most the time. I occasionally go through phases of pretty severe homesickness, especially since there have been a few deaths back home. But the best cure for missing my family has been spending time with my Samoan family. I truly feel grateful to how inviting and open this family has been to me.

Every volunteer in Samoa is assigned a host family. Some volunteers live in the home with a family (like we did for training), while others live in a small home near a family. I was given a house in the most active part of the village. I’m near the churches and the shops, and a very short walk to school or the resorts. I’m surrounded by families on all sides, very nearby.

Unfortunately, my assigned host family lives further inland. I’ve never managed to walk the full 20 minutes it would take to get to their home without being stopped to visit with other families first (Samoans are typically very hospitable and very happy to receive visitors), which makes it difficult to visit them. Another issue with my assigned family is that my host mother is my principal. This just didn’t work out. I believe that my principal wants to maintain a professional relationship. She is a very busy woman who runs a school and has four children of her own. She doesn’t need a twenty something white daughter who couldn’t speak the language or still had to be taught a lot about Samoan culture. It wasn’t an ideal set up.

I spent my first six months in the village a little disappointed by my lack of having a Samoan family, and envied volunteers who had been truly embraced by a family. I made friends with my neighbor, Ana. She is the English and accounting teacher at the local high school, and her fluent English skills made her my go to person any time I needed help with language or needed someone to explain cultural misunderstandings. Her family gave me an open invitation to eat to’ona’i (large meal served after church) every Sunday. They invited me to attend village events with them, and I visited once or twice a week. But mostly, my language skills suffered, and I spent most evenings alone in my house.

In May, I found out that my grandfather passed away. I went to Ana to tell her that I didn’t want to do whatever we had planned to do that day. She said ok, and I settled in for what I thought would be a long night alone. To my surprise, a few hours later, one of Ana’s children knocked on my door and started peeking through windows. “Peta, my grandmother say come… for eat.” I tried to decline the invitation, but the child wouldn’t accept it, repeating the line she was given to tell me in English. “My grandmother say come for eat?” I decided that maybe it would be better to not be alone anyway, and I went.

They sat me at the table with Mama. Mama is a very friendly woman in her mid 60s who speaks more English than I initially thought. Someone told me her name when I first arrived, but everyone calls her Mama, and I could not remember her real name. She told me that she wanted me to come and sit with her for dinner because her legs hurt and she couldn’t sit on the floor with the rest of the family. I secretly suspected that she didn’t want me to be alone and sad, but I didn’t say anything. I ate with Mama, and she taught me a few new Samoan words. I sat and talked with Ana and her cousins that evening and went home, imagining that I would be alone all the next day.

I feel like this picture captures the essence of Mama

But surprise. A different child appeared at my door. “Mama send me to bring you.” Once again, I tried to decline. I knew someone would be there to eat with the old woman, and she didn’t ACTUALLY need me. But the kid wouldn’t accept my refusal, and I went. And the same thing happened the next night and the night after that, and the night after that. I started enjoying eating with my neighbors every night, even if I didn’t always enjoy the food. They stopped sending children, and I started coming voluntarily. I started asking for help with Samoan, and my language has improved a lot since I get so much more practice. I started helping the children with their homework in the evenings, and we watch the news together. Sometimes we do lotu (when the family comes together, sits on the floor, says a prayer and sings a hymn). I started bringing back food any time I take a trip out of the village for the family. If I’m sick and don’t come for dinner, someone comes to my house to make sure I’m alright (side note: other Peace Corps volunteers and I use to debate how long it would take our villages to realize if we died in our houses. I’m now happy to say it would only take one day. Before, I use to say “until the corps started rotting”). I still call the old woman Mama, even though I learned her real name is Aivale. She introduces me as her fanau palagi (white daughter). Ana has become like a sister, and her children see me as the weird white aunty who doesn’t let them walk around the house butt naked anymore, but knows tons of fun games and songs. The rest of the family has accepted me and looks out for me. They keep a close eye on my house and wait with me when I have to take busses early in the morning because they want to protect me. Slowly but surely, I’ve been adopted by a new family.

Even though it is really difficult to be away from home when there is a death in the family, I was surprised at how my neighbors were there for me in such a big way, and how it has entirely changed my life here. I feel more integrated and protected, my language is improving, and I’ve just felt better overall about my time in my village. Ana, Mama and the rest of my new Samoan family are amazing and welcoming and warm, and I will always be grateful.