Day 2: Falling Victim to Fa’alavelave

American Samoa, May 26, 2009

This is the view from my hotel. No wonder Paul Gauguin, the impressionist, moved here and never left!

I did my homework before I traveled to Samoa. I knew that part of the culture was a kind of generosity that makes mainlanders grimace in pain, clutching their hearts. The tradition is called fa’alavelave, and it means, loosely, give until it hurts. Ceremonial giving is an expectation, not a choice.

I’m not sure what I was thinking yesterday when I admired the lovely, colorful traditional outfits of the three women who were presenting in class. Maybe it was jet lag. Maybe it was the humidity. Today, one of the students picked me up at the hotel, ostensibly to talk about her progress in the class. She said “Want to go fabric shopping?” I said, “Sure! I love to look at fabric.” We looked at about a hundred bolts of nice cotton poplin, one print more bright, bold, and savagely beautiful than the next, and I picked out some fabrics to buy. I had heard that there were tailors in town who could measure you and produce a custom article of clothing in a day, so I thought I might do that. I stood at the cash register, wallet in hand. Of course, not knowing Samoan, I had no way knowing that my student had paid. I argued in vain. I blushed. I protested. I may have even stomped my feet. I’m sure I seemed grotesquely American during those moments to onlookers in the shop.

Once I calmed down, my student said, “let’s go get your measurements.” I said, “Sure, but I pay for this. I really do want to pay. This is already too big a gift.” We drove behind some shops to a little dress shop called ‘Amy’s.’ As she, Amy, I presume, measured, we all chatted, and I pulled out my wallet, “Do you need a deposit?” “No, it’s taken care of.” This time, I politely said thank you and rolled my eyes. All the women in the shop cracked up. These Americans!

Well, I’m picking up my newly tailored things on Thursday. In the meantime, I am fiendishly plotting how to outdo my students’ fa’alavelave with one of my own, something that will delight and surprise them. No, I’m not planning on automatically giving everyone As. But I will think of something and now wish I had brought gifts from the states. I’ll need to scramble. A warning to Nan and Chuck, the instructors who are coming here after I finish: the fa’alavelave is alive and well in Samoa. Be careful what you wish for.

I have learned something important about this culture, and it has to do with the role of women here. This is still a very traditional, patriarchal place. Whereas women have always been responsible for family, home, children, church and village, they are now also working in very demanding jobs outside of the home, which means they work and give incessantly. I’m not even sure they would comprehend the idea of “me time.” Selflessly, tirelessly and uncomplaining, they labor day and night for the benefit of family and community. The women in our program are directors, principles, school counselors and teachers. They make key decision every day and the buck stops with them, many times. Moreover, at least one of our students is a matai, a chief, which means she is a primary decision maker on village issues—in addition to all of her women responsibilities as the mother of 36 (not all birth children, of course) and grandmother of 9.
I learned another Samoan word last night, one that women use constantly here: fa’amahalo—forgive. They gently admonish each other, “fa’amahalo” or “just let it go.” If they didn’t, they might just die of resentment.

I think there is a relationships between the extreme burden put on women and the epidemic of obesity. There is no complaining, there is no getting away, there is no saying “no,” there is no talking back, there is no stop to the onslaught of expectation that they give and give and give. The only choice they have is to stuff their feelings. I wonder if anyone has done research on this?

As promised, today, I did get those pictures from my hotel. The beauty and quiet of this place is almost overwhelming. I have not felt so centered in a very long time and I am enjoyed the unstructured hours for reading and thinking, oh yes, and for blogging.

One more thing…

I forgot to write about the animals. There is a cute little cat that lives in the restaurant. She doesn’t look to be more than 5 months old, but she is full of kittens already. Yesterday at breakfast, she got up on my lap and we had a pet fest. There are stray dogs, too. I was warned about them by the uptight attorney who sat next to me on the plane from Hawaii to Pago Pago. However, the dogs seem shy and sad and harmless, even to me. Dogs really do need relationships with people to be happy. These mutts are a gloomy bunch. My favorite, though, are the chickens. Glossy black and red-brown chickens that just appear anywhere and run around aimlessly like a bunch of harebrains. Why not? It’s Samoa!

I’ll be back to you on day 3.