Chapter 6/THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING TO ME!

On my initial tour of Samoa, at a cocoa plantation.

"ISLAND DREAM"

Chapter 6

THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING TO ME!

Hassie Gaugau

I was up early, the next morning.  Now that I was a "typical tourist," with my trusty camera in hand, it was time to begin "touristing."  Rain had fallen during the night and the plants and flowers outdid themselves.

Seated cross-legged, on the lanai, of one of the small fales, native women strung hibiscus blossoms onto palm fronds.  These flower sish-ke-bobs were stuck into any potted plant that didn't furnish blooms of it's own.  The women smiled and greeted me just as the breakfast "bells" sounded.

In the dining room, I was seated with a woman from Michigan.  "I teach anthropology, at the University of Guam," she introduced herself.

Two men were seated with us and they too were world travelers, which left me, and my limited globe trotting experience, with a twinge of inferiority.  Their conversation was interesting and they even included me, so my twinge passed.

The tour was to leave "promptly at nine," the sign had plainly stated, but I had time for a short walk into town.  I felt like a different woman as I strolled under the canopy of trees.  No longer the tired, dejected, disenchanted adventurer, now I was the happy, wide eyed, vacationer.  Everywhere I turned there was a picture to be snapped.  The policeman, in his starched blue uniform with a form fitting shirt and "skirt" instead of trousers, and a bobbie style white helmet; a little old man in his black "skirt" (lavalava,) white shirt, and tie and clutching a briefcase while he walked barefoot; a bright-eyed young girl who ran after me crying, "buy buutful necklace lady?"

I wandered further than I realized and after looking at my watch had to hurry to make the nine o'clock departure.  But as I arrived the driver and tour guide had just pulled the bus to a stop.

"Hello and welcome aboard Samoa Scenic.  I'm Anna, your tour director," she said.  "And this is Mailagi' your driver."

She had a list and as she met and greeted each new comer, she checked off our names.  Promptly at "nine twenty" the bus pulled away.

We passed through town, each of us "rubbernecking" at all of the unusual sights.  Anna pointed out stores and advised us about shopping courtesies but as we left the stores behind she looked toward the ocean.  "Joe, look over there, those are Samoa's weapons against outside invasions."  

We all turned in that direction and saw four small cannons, pointed out to sea.  She continued to address one of us by name every time that there was a point of interest or a joke to pass along, but she never referred to her list again.  She entertained us with stories and jokes all around the area.

"Over there is our House Of Parliament," she said.  "It was designed by Peace Corps Volunteers from America.  Next to that are the tombs of our former kings."

The stone monuments gleamed in the sunlight as we tried to see and take pictures of everything.  Shower trees rained their multicolored blossoms on top of the bus as we drove into a cocoa plantation.

"Mailagi' will bring some cocoa fruit for you to sample," she announced.  "I'd venture to guess that you would never imagine the taste."

He brought pods that looked like small green footballs.  With a swift blow, against a rock, the pod split and there were pulp covered beans clustered inside.  He passed the treat around.

"This is delicious!"  Each of us sucked the sweet-tart nourishment from the beans.  "I can't believe that this is where cocoa comes from.  There's no hint of a chocolate taste."

That was not our only new taste.  We were treated to the mellow apple flavor of the cashew fruit, the bitter purple of the fresh roasted cocoa.  The fragrances were out of this world.  Not only cocoa and coffee, but toasted coconut filled the air with lusciousness.  Anna showed us trees that gave everything from kapok, for pillows, to bark for medicine.

"So you see," she said, "before the papalagi came, we already had everything that we needed."

I didn't know for sure, but I thought I detected a little resentment in her voice.  Not that I blamed her.  It must have been the same in America before the white man came.

But soon, the road began to climb and Anna's jokes returned.  We crossed crystal streams and ducked under magnificent banyan trees.  The road curved into a wondrous sight.

"This is called "the road of loving heart," she said.  "The mansion, that you see, in the distance is now the official residence of our Head of State, but it was the home of the "Tusitala," the teller of tales, Robert Louis Stevenson.  These teak trees, that line the road were planted by Samoans, out of the great love that they had for him.  He is buried atop Mt Vaea, that you see beyond the house."

What I wouldn't give to live here in a house like that, I thought as I craned my neck to see as much as possible.

The little bus labored valiantly as we continued to climb.  We left behind the houses of rich merchants, bankers, and the "afakasi" (half cast,) again, Anna seemed a little peevish.  We wound our way into the rain forest.  Giant tree ferns drooped with moisture from last night's rain.  We had climbed above the humidity and heat and the cold air was invigorating.

Strained almost to the limit, the little bus finally crested the mountain and we started down.  In the distance the ocean of the island's far side shimmered.  Mailagi' put the bus into low gear to slow our decent and I guess, keep us from hurtling down the mountain.

"The marines didn't have time to waste grading the ascent or decent," Anna laughed, "they just needed to get from one side of the island to the other."

Suddenly we pulled off the road and stopped.  "You can get off here," she pointed toward a railing about fifty yards from the bus.

We mumbled to ourselves and each other as we stepped onto the rutted ground.  "What could possibly be here to look at?"

Just before I reached the railing, the sun broke through low hanging clouds and a sliver of sunlight pointed directly to the reason.  My breath caught, and I could hear the same thing happening to my traveling companions.  There, across the valley was the most spectacular waterfall that I could ever have imagined.  Lush jungle seemed to hold it tightly bound while a lacy veil of water plunged a thousand feet into a barely visible pool.

"I can't believe it!"  Isn't that the most beautiful sight that you've ever seen?"  "This was worth the whole trip!" were comments heard all around.  Anna and Maliagi' just smiled at each other and motioned us back toward the bus.

Cameras clicked and whirred until we could break ourselves away to walk reverently back to our ride.

"Okay ladies, remember on our way up we passed a fabric factory and I promised that we'd stop there on the way back, well gentlemen, get your wallets ready, we'll be there soon."

The reverence was broken and chatter about purchases began.

Beautifully designed fabrics rolled through the screening process.  Yards of material, every color under the rainbow spun past.  Dresses, sarongs, shirts, skirts, table cloths, and napkins were for sale, made from the patterned yardage.  While the others tried on, and pondered over what purchases to make, I made a quick choice of a few yards for a lavalavas to use as swimsuit coverups and went back to the bus.

Anna and Mailagi' waited patiently for their charges.  "That didn't take you long," she smiled as I climbed aboard.

"I wanted to talk to you," I said.  "I have fallen in love with this place.  How would a foreigner, such as myself, buy land and live here?"

"No outsider can own land in Samoa," they answered in unison.

They must have seen my crestfallen look, because Anna laughed and asked, "Are you married?"

"No."

"Well that's your answer." she said.  "Marry a Samoan, that's how you can stay and have some land too."

"You're kidding!"

"No, as a matter of fact, Mailagi' here owns land and he's not married," she smiled mischievously.

"You got money?" Mailagi' asked.

"A little."

"You got the money, I got the time," he sang the old song with a crooked smile that lit his face.

  The others finally returned, and we all oohed and awed over each others' purchases.  But now the tour was finished and we arrived back at the hotel barely in time for lunch.  Everyone talked, laughed, and shared their favorite moments of the tour while they enjoyed another delicious meal. I, however, hardly noticed the food or paid any attention to their banter.  My mind lingered on that intoxicating crooked smile.  So he was interested in me because I had a little money, was he?  Well we'd see about that.

That afternoon, I sat by the pool and thought, "if I can come out a little every day, then maybe my white skin might get a little tan before I return to Oklahoma."  Unfortunately though I was too restless to stay in one place long enough for the sun to do it's job.  So after another wonderful shower I changed and went to the hotel gift shop.  Tee shirts for the girls, maybe they would wear these, even if "mom" did pick them out.  A few post cards for family and friends and a beautifully designed sarong for me to wear to the fia fia (celebration) that evening.  But suddenly fatigue swept over me so I struggled back to my room.

The oscillating fan moved the breeze across the bed.  No need for the AC,  just the coolness that crept through the louvered windows, was enough.  After a short nap I showered yet again, and dressed in my new sarong.  Make up was almost a thing of the past, only mascara and blush, when I had tried anything more, the humidity and heat had literally melted it so that it tended to slide right off my face.  Just outside, I plucked an unknown bloom from a tree, and placed it behind my left ear.  I had learned that behind that ear meant that I was available, and behind the right ear meant that I was taken.  What a wonderful subtle way to "advertise."

The gardens were glorious with the night blooming flowers giving off their heavenly scents.  As I walked toward the big fale the katydids started their serenade, almost as if given a downbeat by some giant bug conductor.  The sounds, the smells, and the grandeur of the big fale brought magic to the night.  As is one of my faults or virtues, whichever way you look at it, I was early.  Only a few others were scattered across the great open room.  I chose a seat right on the front row and sat twisting and turning trying to see everything and everyone.  The artwork of the fale was intriguing.  Giant tree trunks polished to a deep mahogany gloss supported humongous log beams.  Native carvings danced up, down, and across the structure.  Palm branches had been braided around some of the smaller posts, with brilliant flowers splashed everywhere.

At last other guest began to file in.  Two young women, from Hawaii sat on one side of me and a girl from Australia, on the other.  Soon the building was filled to capacity in anticipation of a great show.

The Aussie, Bev, was acquainted with many of the staff,  from the hotel and was currently dating one of the young men.  She had vacationed in Samoa for several years.

"Bev, do you know any of these beautiful men that are closer to my age?" I asked, a little sheepishly.

"As a matter of fact there is a very handsome man who usually dances at these shows.  He's in his fifties, I think.  He has quite a reputation though, two or three American wives, a New Zealander and  several Samoan mistresses."

"Sounds interesting, will he dance tonight?"

"No, he has a plantation east of town and I heard that he hurt his leg last week." 

"I sure would ------- 

The lights dimmed and my voice was drowned out by chants, shouts, and music from the rear of the fale.  Flames flickered inside half coconut shells and were carried by young singers as they made their way to the stage.  Goosebumps hopped up and down my arms as I sat entranced with the sights and sounds.  I flashed through one roll of film, reloaded and began again, as I tried to record every minute.

When one song finished, a young man jumped from the stage and ran up the aisle.  Seated, at the rear of the fale, in a highbacked wicker chair was Aggie herself.  The young dancer helped her to her feet and with applause all around she walked, painfully toward the front, on arthritic legs and feet.  But once, on the stage, the eighty two year old did a dance that any twenty year old would have envied.  This was her traditional "Samoan Siva."  By the time she finished everyone was on their feet in a resounding ovation.

This thunderous applause was joined by an infectious drum cadence.  Two young men drew our attention outside, by the pool, where they twirled fire knives in a rousing finale.

WHAT A SHOW!

As everyone was coming down from such a spectacle we realized that mountains of sumptuous food had been laid out on tables outside the fale.  The young people, who just moments before had entertained us on stage, now waited to serve the non-ending banquet.

Pineapple; salads; entire roast pigs; fish; ham; chicken; curry; raw fish; pork and Samoan sweet and sour; and dishes that I couldn't even have guessed.  There were fresh, whole, cold, coconuts to drink and the inevitable ice cream with pink wafer.

Almost ashamed of my mounded plate I was beckoned by two of the ladies from the tour.  As I sat down, we looked at each others' plates and laughed.  We all had wanted to try everything and it showed.  While we ate, three of the server/musicians tuned their guitars and ukuleles and began to play and sing beautiful, unfamiliar, Samoan music.

A more perfect evening, I had never seen, a more perfect day, I had never had, A more beautiful dream come true, I had certainly never known.