Sunday, June 7, 2009
Day 14: Landscape as Art; Language as Music
Aoaraki/Mt. Cook, N.Z.New Zealand, June 8, 2009
Sharon and I arrived in Christchurch last evening after a full day of bus travel and sightseeing. We boarded our bus in Queenstown at 8:00 AM and checked into our Christchurch hotel at about 7:30 PM. That’s a lot of bus travel. In spite of the fact that our bus drive/tour guide “rabbitted on” (talked nonstop) for nearly 12 hours, it was a wonderful trip. New Zealand is a place of wonder—from the Southern Alps to the glaciers to the snow fed lakes on the South Island, to the boiling mud, geysers, natural springs, strange birdlife, and glowworm caves of the North Island.
Photos from Queenstown to Christchurch are linked here. You will see lakes and mountains in abundance, each more spectacular than the next. At this point, our senses are so over-stimulated that we are mentally, emotionally and physically fatigued. If we were not coming home tomorrow, we might need to just take a day off to recover from a full week of aesthetic immersion. Is there such thing as beauty fatigue?
In my last blog, I talked about the names of things. The white man named the remarkable mountain range that runs across the Queenstown area “The Remarkables.” Duh! The Maori name for the equally remarkable lake near Aoaroki/Mount Cook was Tekapu, or “Sleeping Man.” As a species, is our capacity to create stunning visual metaphors inversely related to our ability to invade and conquer the lands of other peoples? Just a thought.
This is the final blog in the South Seas Adventure series. I hope you have enjoyed reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Day 12: Land of the Long White Cloud
New Zealand, June 5, 2009
When the Maori landed in what we now called New Zealand eight centuries ago, they called it Aeteroa*: Land of the Long White Cloud. The Queensland area of New Zealand is situated in what is called the Southern Alps, or, in Maori, Tiawahi Ona Mu: Land of the Green Stone. Apparently, the jade found in this area was prized for jewelry making.
The scenery in this region is the most spectacular we have ever seen. We were dumbfounded by the endless beauty of snowcapped mountains, sparkling clear lakes and ponds, farmlands. and endless blue skies streaked with, yes, long white clouds resting like pillows on the mountain peaks. The southwest coast of the South Island features 14 sounds, one fiord after another. The copious rainfall and snowmelt create a 10 foot layer of fresh water on top of sea water. This layer of fresh water acts as a lens, refracting light in a way that causes the very deep, glacial water to appear a beautiful aqua color. Here is the link so that you can see for yourself a little of what we enjoyed yesterday:
When the Maori landed in what we now called New Zealand eight centuries ago, they called it Aeteroa*: Land of the Long White Cloud. The Queensland area of New Zealand is situated in what is called the Southern Alps, or, in Maori, Tiawahi Ona Mu: Land of the Green Stone. Apparently, the jade found in this area was prized for jewelry making.
The scenery in this region is the most spectacular we have ever seen. We were dumbfounded by the endless beauty of snowcapped mountains, sparkling clear lakes and ponds, farmlands. and endless blue skies streaked with, yes, long white clouds resting like pillows on the mountain peaks. The southwest coast of the South Island features 14 sounds, one fiord after another. The copious rainfall and snowmelt create a 10 foot layer of fresh water on top of sea water. This layer of fresh water acts as a lens, refracting light in a way that causes the very deep, glacial water to appear a beautiful aqua color. Here is the link so that you can see for yourself a little of what we enjoyed yesterday:
The Scandinavians who settled in Iceland were strategic in their naming. The island they called Iceland was quite habitable whereas the one they named Greenland was one giant glacier. This was a clever rouse, keeping other explorers off track and out of their new country. As we travelled to and through Milford Sound today, we paused many times to discuss the names for things. The Maori name for the sound is Piopiotahi which translates, simply, One Thrush. We can’t help but think that this name was given intentionally to divert attention from this visually stunning region: “Not much of anything over there. Maybe a bird or two, but you wouldn’t be interested.”
Another interesting thing about this area of New Zealand is that it is considered a cool temperature rain forest with an average of approximately 23 feet of rainfall per year. That comes to 200 days of rain each year, or , in everyday parlance, "you better take your umbrella with you, because it will rain!" The flora and fauna of the region are also of interest. The forest is primarily populated by a species of beech tree that is evergreen. The leaves are tiny; the trees are magnificent.
Due to the introduction of predators, 47 bird and animal species of New Zealand have gone extinct since people arrived less than a millennium ago, Among them are a number of flightless birds including some types of kiwis as well as the gigantic moa, a distant cousin of the emu, that stood 9 feet tall. Its slightly smaller cousin, the bush moa, was a brilliant blue and lived in this rain forest. These birds must have been remarkable to watch running through the beech trees. An endangered cousin of the moa and kiwi lives in this forest, but we didn’t see any today. Maybe next time.
A species of parrot, the kia, also lives in the Milford Sound region. It is the only parrot in the world that lives above the snow line. Kia are the official bad boys of the forest, too. They are constantly dreaming up ways to cause mischief by doing annoying things like pulling rubber gaskets out of screens and windows. Our bus driver told us that recently, a kia got down into the luggage compartments under his bus and flew off with some poor tourist’s passport. We can just imagine a bunch of kia in their leather jackets, smoking cigarettes, loitering around a street corner hawking passports.
Speaking of names for things, we got a kick out of the white man’s names for these amazing geological phenomena. Our favorites were Doubtful Sound, Halfway Bay, and The Remarkables, (a mountain range with peaks up to 7000 feet). These names are pretty pedestrian compared to the Maori names which always add a touch of mystery to what one is viewing. Gives a little insight into the comparative capacity for creative thought between the cultures. Hey, but even if the invaders couldn't write a line of poetry, they had steel and the musket.
In the words of our bus driver and tour guide, I won’t keep “rabbiting on.” We hope you enjoy the pictures.
____________________________
*If there are any Maori scholars out there, please excuse my phonetic reproductions of many of the Maori words.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Day 10: Convert! Or Die?
New Zealand, June 3, 2009
I apologize for the gap in postings. Sharon and I met up in Auckland on June 1. (May 31 for you. We are living in tomorrowland until next week when we again join you on that side of the international date line.) We have been touring the North Island for a couple of days. In this very civilized country, it’s hard to find free wireless and the hotels want to charge $10 for a half hour.
Our first tour was a two hour bus ride through gorgeous countryside from Auckland to Waitomo to Rotorua. Rotorua (‘second lake’ in Maori) is both a lovely town on the water, and the heart of Maori (MAO-ree) country. Wes, our cab driver, was a Maori who, in a completely disimpassioned way, pointed out places along our route sites of bloody battles between Maori residents, the settlers, and British troops that were called in to help the new settlers (who were getting seriously whooped by the Maori). As Wes tells it, as the numbers of British settlers increased, they broke treaties by settling on Maori land. At first the Maori allowed the “visitors” to stay until it became apparent that the object of these behaviors was not sharing the land, but stealing it. When the people would not leave, the Maori slaughtered them. Rather than accepting these nasty confrontations as the results of their own misdeeds, the settlers went on an all out, 20 year killing rampage with the help of the British military. These Land Wars, lasting from the 1860’s through the 1880’s, resulted in the nearly complete annihilation of the Maori people who were fighting to the death to retain their homeland, or a least part of it. Whereas the Maori people once populated the entire area between what is now the heart of Auckland, New Zealand’s largest city, through the entire Rotorua region, they had now retreated to a small area around what is now Rotorua. On a later tour, another tour guide, also Maori, told is that the annihilation of the native people had been so complete that at one point they had been deemed extinct.
This is not an unusual story, but a sad one. It is easy to make a connection back to the Samoan people who gave up their beliefs and ways when white religion and culture were superimposed on theirs. From there, it is natural to make the connection to our own Native American people who were hunted to the brink of extinction, and to the people of Africa who were enslaved to enrich “our” new country. White makes might makes right. But back to the narrative.
The Maori are a Polynesian people who sailed to New Zealand about 800 AD, probably as other islands throughout the Pacific became over populated. New Zealand was uninhabited at the time and had no predators of any kind, no poisonous snakes, insects or plants—a virtual Eden. The Maori brought dogs and rats with them which began to tip the ecological balance of these islands. One of the tour guides explained that Maori tribes can talk to each other, although there are minor differences in “accent” or dialect. She also thought that Maoris could probably communicate with Samoans, Hawaiians and other Pacific Islanders, but with difficulty.
It was amazing for me to compare sound of the Maori language to Samoan as well as the tattoos and wood carvings. There could be no doubt that these people are cousins. It would take an educated eye to distinguish one culture’s weapons and art objects from the other. Even some of the words are the same. For example, in both Samoan and Maori, a haka is this crazy, ritualized dance used to get warriors pumped with adrenalin. My students had acted out their haka during a class exercise, and we observed a Maori haka at one of the cultural shows two nights ago. (These shows always make me more than vaguely uncomfortable. There is something very sad about a vanquished people having to trot out their old costumes, customs, and dances for the conquering people in order to make money. I have attended many of these over the years and I have a sneaking suspicious that we, as white people, are treated to only the most superficial aspects of the culture during these shows. I hope in my heart that they keep the strongest “medicine” and most meaningful rituals for their private use. Perhaps that will be a different post.)
I apologize for the gap in postings. Sharon and I met up in Auckland on June 1. (May 31 for you. We are living in tomorrowland until next week when we again join you on that side of the international date line.) We have been touring the North Island for a couple of days. In this very civilized country, it’s hard to find free wireless and the hotels want to charge $10 for a half hour.
Our first tour was a two hour bus ride through gorgeous countryside from Auckland to Waitomo to Rotorua. Rotorua (‘second lake’ in Maori) is both a lovely town on the water, and the heart of Maori (MAO-ree) country. Wes, our cab driver, was a Maori who, in a completely disimpassioned way, pointed out places along our route sites of bloody battles between Maori residents, the settlers, and British troops that were called in to help the new settlers (who were getting seriously whooped by the Maori). As Wes tells it, as the numbers of British settlers increased, they broke treaties by settling on Maori land. At first the Maori allowed the “visitors” to stay until it became apparent that the object of these behaviors was not sharing the land, but stealing it. When the people would not leave, the Maori slaughtered them. Rather than accepting these nasty confrontations as the results of their own misdeeds, the settlers went on an all out, 20 year killing rampage with the help of the British military. These Land Wars, lasting from the 1860’s through the 1880’s, resulted in the nearly complete annihilation of the Maori people who were fighting to the death to retain their homeland, or a least part of it. Whereas the Maori people once populated the entire area between what is now the heart of Auckland, New Zealand’s largest city, through the entire Rotorua region, they had now retreated to a small area around what is now Rotorua. On a later tour, another tour guide, also Maori, told is that the annihilation of the native people had been so complete that at one point they had been deemed extinct.
This is not an unusual story, but a sad one. It is easy to make a connection back to the Samoan people who gave up their beliefs and ways when white religion and culture were superimposed on theirs. From there, it is natural to make the connection to our own Native American people who were hunted to the brink of extinction, and to the people of Africa who were enslaved to enrich “our” new country. White makes might makes right. But back to the narrative.
The Maori are a Polynesian people who sailed to New Zealand about 800 AD, probably as other islands throughout the Pacific became over populated. New Zealand was uninhabited at the time and had no predators of any kind, no poisonous snakes, insects or plants—a virtual Eden. The Maori brought dogs and rats with them which began to tip the ecological balance of these islands. One of the tour guides explained that Maori tribes can talk to each other, although there are minor differences in “accent” or dialect. She also thought that Maoris could probably communicate with Samoans, Hawaiians and other Pacific Islanders, but with difficulty.
It was amazing for me to compare sound of the Maori language to Samoan as well as the tattoos and wood carvings. There could be no doubt that these people are cousins. It would take an educated eye to distinguish one culture’s weapons and art objects from the other. Even some of the words are the same. For example, in both Samoan and Maori, a haka is this crazy, ritualized dance used to get warriors pumped with adrenalin. My students had acted out their haka during a class exercise, and we observed a Maori haka at one of the cultural shows two nights ago. (These shows always make me more than vaguely uncomfortable. There is something very sad about a vanquished people having to trot out their old costumes, customs, and dances for the conquering people in order to make money. I have attended many of these over the years and I have a sneaking suspicious that we, as white people, are treated to only the most superficial aspects of the culture during these shows. I hope in my heart that they keep the strongest “medicine” and most meaningful rituals for their private use. Perhaps that will be a different post.)
Click here for more photos.
Just Sharon, myself, and a young woman from Great Britain were toured through Glowworm Cave and Glowworm Grotto by yet another Maori guide. That was a breathtaking experience. The caves are made of limestone, so they are like a white cathedral inside. The glow worms were viewed from a boat in a darkened chamber of the cave. The glowworms are pupae that have created these chemical lights to attract insects that also hang out in the caves. They all dangle down a little filament which the insects get tangled up in as they fly toward the light. Glowworms are all over the ceiling and walls of the cave. In the pitch black cave, it looked like constellations of stars above us.
The Rotorua area is geographically very interesting. There are cold springs and hot springs, boiling mud, spewing steam and geysers. Yesterday, we were treated to all of these as well as a lovely nature walk and a show at the Agrodome where we saw sheep shearing, and watched sheep being micromanaged by some very manic and determined dogs. The dogs, a couple specially bred variants on the border collie, are able to “persuade” the sheep to do just about anything, just by using intense eye contact. I was glad to see that the sheep did not seem afraid of the dogs, even the ones that are trained to run along their backs from the back to the front of the herd. Actually, they seem more annoyed than anything. In fact, the sheep and the dogs seem to be friends. One of the back-walking dogs was sitting on a sheep’s back, licking its head quite affectionately at one point. This world is a strange and wonderful place.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Day 8: Where’s the Wal-Mart?
American Samoa, May 31, 2009
What makes Samoa unique? Perhaps one thing is that it has not yet been ‘franchised’. Okay, to be fair, Pago Pago has the most successful KFC in the world; and McDonalds is terribly popular with young and old alike. In fact, perhaps these two companies should be sued for ruining the health of the last two generations of American Samoans; half of the adult population now has type 2 diabetes.
Due to the fact that none of the three commuter companies that run between American Samoa and Samoa will fly on Sunday mornings, I needed to go over to Apia on Saturday for my Sunday flight to Auckland. This seemed merely inconvenient and an added expense at first, but it turned out to be another gift. I found overnight accommodations at a place called the Airport Lodge about five miles from the airport and a thousand miles from civilization as we know it. The lodge was a series of six or so little cabins, just big enough for a bed, a tiny table and a bathroom. I splurged and got one with air conditioning for a whopping 163 Tala or about $60 American. Above, I have posted pictures of a) The Airport Lodge from the road; b) The dining fale (fah-lay, which means meeting place) where I dined and chatted with fellow travelers from Germany and Australia; and c) A picture of my little cabin and its beautiful surroundings. It’s not every day that one gets to stay overnight in a rainforest.
This experience got me wondering: What makes this part of the world so different? On neither American Samoa nor Samoa proper, is there a mall, a Gap, a Starbucks, a Costco, or a Wal-Mart! A complete and utter absence of Wal-Mart! In Cabo San Lucas, Mexico, a dessert paradise on the sea at the Southern tip of the Baja Peninsula, the natural beauty is swiftly being paved over to create a place that is convenient and familiar to American visitors, complete with a huge Wal-Mart rising like a behemoth from sand and brush. Even on The Big Island of Hawai’i, a relatively unspoiled place by American standards, you can find the Wal-Mart—a hulking, ugly, bloated building surrounded by a sea of asphalt. They paved Paradise, put up a parking lot.
The Samoan version of shopping for clothes is the antithesis of the Wal-Mart experience. Here is how it is done. First you go to the fabric shop where bolts of material are stacked on shelves according to price: $1.99, $2.99, all the way up to $5.99 for the real good stuff. You wait the requisite amount of time to be waited on, probably according to how powerful your ‘aiga is. Then you make a selection and explain how you want to use the fabric. “How much will I need?” you ask. The sales person squints at you with an expert eye, “Oh, three and a half yards to be on the safe side.” Then she deftly cuts you a length of your new fabric. So far, so good.
Second, you go down the street to the little dressmaker shop, where three or four women (perhaps including a fa’fafini) are working and chatting at a few of sewing machines. Everyone looks up and smiles and greets you, and the expert dressmaker comes out from behind the counter. It’s decision time. The dressmaker hands you a floppy, worn, Xerox copy of a booklet, filled with a dazzling array of hand drawn puletase designs. You will recall that a puletase is the modest, two piece tunic and long skirt first introduced by the missionaries that is now traditional Samoan dress for women. After marveling at the ingenious variety of ways missionary-wear can be made beautiful, you select one; a simple and safe design, in my case.
Now for the moment of truth: Out comes the tape measure, and you are sized up on every possible dimension. If you are in American Samoa, you cannot hide from the truth of those numbers as they use the English rather than the metric system.
Third, a day or two later you drop by the dressmaker shop again where you are greeted by smiles and a little stir of excitement. The boss gets your new outfit and takes you to changing room in the back which you immediately sense if not air conditioned (which explains why everyone is working in the front). You prepare to don the garments with both anticipation and trepidation: “What if this doesn’t fit?” “How will I negotiate the social discomfort in a culturally appropriate way?” Ruminating all the while, you struggle into the outfit—you struggle because it has been two minutes and you are sticky with sweat. Then the puletase is on, and it fits perfectly! You quickly retreat to the front and the cool, to approving murmurs and more smiles.
My puletase is beautiful. It is the most comfortable real garment that I have ever had on. Nothing pulls or gaps no matter how I move, and it does look good. The fourth photograph above is me modeling my new outfit. The cost? Twelve dollars for the fabric, and $28 to have the garment made. The experience? Priceless.
What makes Samoa unique? Perhaps one thing is that it has not yet been ‘franchised’. Okay, to be fair, Pago Pago has the most successful KFC in the world; and McDonalds is terribly popular with young and old alike. In fact, perhaps these two companies should be sued for ruining the health of the last two generations of American Samoans; half of the adult population now has type 2 diabetes.
Due to the fact that none of the three commuter companies that run between American Samoa and Samoa will fly on Sunday mornings, I needed to go over to Apia on Saturday for my Sunday flight to Auckland. This seemed merely inconvenient and an added expense at first, but it turned out to be another gift. I found overnight accommodations at a place called the Airport Lodge about five miles from the airport and a thousand miles from civilization as we know it. The lodge was a series of six or so little cabins, just big enough for a bed, a tiny table and a bathroom. I splurged and got one with air conditioning for a whopping 163 Tala or about $60 American. Above, I have posted pictures of a) The Airport Lodge from the road; b) The dining fale (fah-lay, which means meeting place) where I dined and chatted with fellow travelers from Germany and Australia; and c) A picture of my little cabin and its beautiful surroundings. It’s not every day that one gets to stay overnight in a rainforest.
This experience got me wondering: What makes this part of the world so different? On neither American Samoa nor Samoa proper, is there a mall, a Gap, a Starbucks, a Costco, or a Wal-Mart! A complete and utter absence of Wal-Mart! In Cabo San Lucas, Mexico, a dessert paradise on the sea at the Southern tip of the Baja Peninsula, the natural beauty is swiftly being paved over to create a place that is convenient and familiar to American visitors, complete with a huge Wal-Mart rising like a behemoth from sand and brush. Even on The Big Island of Hawai’i, a relatively unspoiled place by American standards, you can find the Wal-Mart—a hulking, ugly, bloated building surrounded by a sea of asphalt. They paved Paradise, put up a parking lot.
The Samoan version of shopping for clothes is the antithesis of the Wal-Mart experience. Here is how it is done. First you go to the fabric shop where bolts of material are stacked on shelves according to price: $1.99, $2.99, all the way up to $5.99 for the real good stuff. You wait the requisite amount of time to be waited on, probably according to how powerful your ‘aiga is. Then you make a selection and explain how you want to use the fabric. “How much will I need?” you ask. The sales person squints at you with an expert eye, “Oh, three and a half yards to be on the safe side.” Then she deftly cuts you a length of your new fabric. So far, so good.
Second, you go down the street to the little dressmaker shop, where three or four women (perhaps including a fa’fafini) are working and chatting at a few of sewing machines. Everyone looks up and smiles and greets you, and the expert dressmaker comes out from behind the counter. It’s decision time. The dressmaker hands you a floppy, worn, Xerox copy of a booklet, filled with a dazzling array of hand drawn puletase designs. You will recall that a puletase is the modest, two piece tunic and long skirt first introduced by the missionaries that is now traditional Samoan dress for women. After marveling at the ingenious variety of ways missionary-wear can be made beautiful, you select one; a simple and safe design, in my case.
Now for the moment of truth: Out comes the tape measure, and you are sized up on every possible dimension. If you are in American Samoa, you cannot hide from the truth of those numbers as they use the English rather than the metric system.
Third, a day or two later you drop by the dressmaker shop again where you are greeted by smiles and a little stir of excitement. The boss gets your new outfit and takes you to changing room in the back which you immediately sense if not air conditioned (which explains why everyone is working in the front). You prepare to don the garments with both anticipation and trepidation: “What if this doesn’t fit?” “How will I negotiate the social discomfort in a culturally appropriate way?” Ruminating all the while, you struggle into the outfit—you struggle because it has been two minutes and you are sticky with sweat. Then the puletase is on, and it fits perfectly! You quickly retreat to the front and the cool, to approving murmurs and more smiles.
My puletase is beautiful. It is the most comfortable real garment that I have ever had on. Nothing pulls or gaps no matter how I move, and it does look good. The fourth photograph above is me modeling my new outfit. The cost? Twelve dollars for the fabric, and $28 to have the garment made. The experience? Priceless.
Days 6 & 7: Let’s Party, Samoan Style
American Samoa, May 30-31, 2009
Before I left San Diego, my colleague, Steve, said “They’ll probably have a party for you.” I thought, “How nice.” I thought back to when I taught in Ireland. When the class was over, my students took me to the pub and supplied me pint after pint. Just like in movies, there was Irish singing and poetry, and after last call, the bartender locked the door of the pub, and we continued to party. That’s the Irish way.
The Samoan meaning of party is something quite different. Last night, we were wrapping up our final class. Students had been working all week and in class every evening for five consecutive days, and, I must say, I did work them hard. As I closed, I complimented the class on their engagement and diligence and ended by saying “You’ve worked really hard and it’s Friday night. Have a wonderful evening and I hope I can come back and work with you again.” Then, someone yelled out, “Not so fast!”
Out came food and more food. Someone put a chair in the middle of the circle of chairs and said, “Sit down. We have something for you.” Each class member came and brought me something, fabric, lavalavas, towels, mugs, earrings, bracelets, necklaces, hair clips, a lovely print, and a case of wahoo tuna (which I am assured is the best in the world). People kept coming and gifts kept piling up. At one point I had four lava-lavas around my waist and I nearly passed out from the heat. The gift giving was so fast and furious that I had no idea what had come from whom. Give and give…Samoan people seems to get such joy out of it. Someone had my camera and captured some of the faces during this gifting ritual.
I don’t believe in being falsely humble. I have enough flaws and enough wisdom to be naturally humble at the right times. I do, however, know one thing: I am a very good teacher. I know my stuff and I am enough of an entertainer to make class time relatively painless. However, I also know that my colleagues are equally skilled, and that the Samoan students throw a lavish party for each and every one of their visiting professors. Everyone else who has taught in Samoa before me has kept this a secret, but I am letting the coconut out of the bag. Fellow professors: be prepared and bring extra luggage!
On to Saturday: I flew from Pago Pago (actually pronounced Pongo Pongo) to Apia (AH-pia) today and got to see American Samoa from the air. You have seen the towering mountains carpeted in green rain forest in my pictures. You’ll have to imagine how spectacular the view from above was, because I was so entranced that I couldn’t tear myself away to get the camera. What a place!
I also saw big sea turtles from the plane, hundreds of them. At first I wasn’t sure what I was looking at. The pattern of light and shadow in the waves would break in unexpected ways. Then I saw—a big head and the clear shape of a turtle, and another, and another, as far as the eye could see. It was hard to determine their size from the plane, but they seemed to be maybe two or three feet in diameter. Such magic!
I wonder what kind of sea turtles were, and whether they were coming in to the beach to lay eggs or something. Maybe they were just hanging out enjoying their turtle day, oblivious to their wonder. I’ll try to remember to Google so that I can tell you what kind of sea turtle hangs around the shallow waters of American Samoa in late May, and why.
Seeing the water teaming with giant sea turtles was an experience I will never, ever forget. I guess as the planet shrinks, our imaginations about animals are becoming zoo-sized to match. We might see a half dozen of something penned up huthat might normally travel hundreds of miles in groups counting in the thousands. To be taken by surprise by such a spectacle in the wild—a species thriving in its natural habitat—was a gift beyond imagination. This must be my time for receiving gifts.
Before I left San Diego, my colleague, Steve, said “They’ll probably have a party for you.” I thought, “How nice.” I thought back to when I taught in Ireland. When the class was over, my students took me to the pub and supplied me pint after pint. Just like in movies, there was Irish singing and poetry, and after last call, the bartender locked the door of the pub, and we continued to party. That’s the Irish way.
The Samoan meaning of party is something quite different. Last night, we were wrapping up our final class. Students had been working all week and in class every evening for five consecutive days, and, I must say, I did work them hard. As I closed, I complimented the class on their engagement and diligence and ended by saying “You’ve worked really hard and it’s Friday night. Have a wonderful evening and I hope I can come back and work with you again.” Then, someone yelled out, “Not so fast!”
Out came food and more food. Someone put a chair in the middle of the circle of chairs and said, “Sit down. We have something for you.” Each class member came and brought me something, fabric, lavalavas, towels, mugs, earrings, bracelets, necklaces, hair clips, a lovely print, and a case of wahoo tuna (which I am assured is the best in the world). People kept coming and gifts kept piling up. At one point I had four lava-lavas around my waist and I nearly passed out from the heat. The gift giving was so fast and furious that I had no idea what had come from whom. Give and give…Samoan people seems to get such joy out of it. Someone had my camera and captured some of the faces during this gifting ritual.
I don’t believe in being falsely humble. I have enough flaws and enough wisdom to be naturally humble at the right times. I do, however, know one thing: I am a very good teacher. I know my stuff and I am enough of an entertainer to make class time relatively painless. However, I also know that my colleagues are equally skilled, and that the Samoan students throw a lavish party for each and every one of their visiting professors. Everyone else who has taught in Samoa before me has kept this a secret, but I am letting the coconut out of the bag. Fellow professors: be prepared and bring extra luggage!
On to Saturday: I flew from Pago Pago (actually pronounced Pongo Pongo) to Apia (AH-pia) today and got to see American Samoa from the air. You have seen the towering mountains carpeted in green rain forest in my pictures. You’ll have to imagine how spectacular the view from above was, because I was so entranced that I couldn’t tear myself away to get the camera. What a place!
I also saw big sea turtles from the plane, hundreds of them. At first I wasn’t sure what I was looking at. The pattern of light and shadow in the waves would break in unexpected ways. Then I saw—a big head and the clear shape of a turtle, and another, and another, as far as the eye could see. It was hard to determine their size from the plane, but they seemed to be maybe two or three feet in diameter. Such magic!
I wonder what kind of sea turtles were, and whether they were coming in to the beach to lay eggs or something. Maybe they were just hanging out enjoying their turtle day, oblivious to their wonder. I’ll try to remember to Google so that I can tell you what kind of sea turtle hangs around the shallow waters of American Samoa in late May, and why.
Seeing the water teaming with giant sea turtles was an experience I will never, ever forget. I guess as the planet shrinks, our imaginations about animals are becoming zoo-sized to match. We might see a half dozen of something penned up huthat might normally travel hundreds of miles in groups counting in the thousands. To be taken by surprise by such a spectacle in the wild—a species thriving in its natural habitat—was a gift beyond imagination. This must be my time for receiving gifts.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Day 5: East Meets Meritocracy
American Samoa, May 29, 2009
Here are three strong women of the MA in Educational Leadership Samaoan cohort.
“Shhh! Hear that rumbling and grumbling and quaking? It sounds like a volcano about to erupt!” Startled, I look up at these mountains made of lava, and I wonder, Could it be? “But wait! I think it just may be the sound of 10 Samoan students, complaining about my work demands.” Without words, my students shake the ground, expressing their indignation and disbelief. Their faces say, “You mean we have to do something to earn each and every point?” “Unfair, unfair!”
Samoa is a fascinating place for an American teacher and scholar. Here, the size and strength of one’s extended family and village, or ‘aiga, not one’s abilities or achievements, confer status. As one matai (chief) told Margaret Mead, “In the past we had two gods—Tagaloa and the village; the greater of these was the village.”[i]
Samoa is a fascinating place for an American teacher and scholar. Here, the size and strength of one’s extended family and village, or ‘aiga, not one’s abilities or achievements, confer status. As one matai (chief) told Margaret Mead, “In the past we had two gods—Tagaloa and the village; the greater of these was the village.”[i]
The village is all, family ties reign supreme, and all men (and women) are not created equal. This paradigm is as foreign to modern day Westerners as infanticide, and almost as shocking. Moreover, one’s standing in the community determines how much slack others are willing to give you. Because this is the paradigm, it feels like the only truth to the people inside the culture, just like Americans can't imagine being handed something just because.
So, I have about 10 students that are insisting (in many nonverbal, but easily read ways) that I should simply give them the points because they are very busy people! Should I? Some of the other students have come to me privately, thanking me for setting a standard for all to abide by.
Just as work is not distributed fairly between men and women, those with lower status tend to do much more work than those with high status. One of the students mentioned that she had asked another instructor not to give group assignments because the burden falls to one or two to do all of the work for the group. I appears that students who feel oppressed by the existing ‘aiga system are very happy to adopt a meritocracy. They are used to working hard without acknowledgment, and I bet it feels good to be recognized for once. Otherwise, I bet life feels like one big fa'alavelave, forever giving and giving and giving.
This gets me to thinking…should cultural norms be admired and sustained just because they existed before, exists now, and probably will go on existing for the foreseeable future? That doesn’t seem like a good reason to me. When people are being oppressed by the status quo, shouldn’t we look to the oppressed group rather than the oppressor for clues on the correct response to a society? Are we being culturally sensitive when we perpetuate oppression by condoning it as a cultural norm? Or are we just going along, like Uncle Toms, because we don’t want to speak truth to power: "Oooh, someone might be oFENDed!" For example, why, as Westerners, are we tolerant of a culture that keeps its women subjegated, beaten down, ignorant, penniless, tormented, and objectified, then covered from head to toe to hide the bruises. Where does political correctness leave off and human rights begin? In the words of my favorite politically incorrect social commentator, Bill Maher, “Don't be so tolerant that you tolerate intolerance."
Yes, I have been alone too much this week. I think I may be brooding. In two days, I will meet Sharon in Auckland, and we will begin our adventures in New Zealand. I leave Western Samoa on Sunday at 1:00 PM and arrive in Auckland at 3:30 PM Monday, four hours (and 24 hours) later. Sharon and I have been laughing about all the cool Star Treky things that might happen while crossing the international dateline. We think that the most likely impact will be a temporary breaking up, like a bad Skype connection: "you're breaking up, Scotty! (zap zap)", only to be reassembled a moment later. I'll let you know how it goes in a couple of days.
This gets me to thinking…should cultural norms be admired and sustained just because they existed before, exists now, and probably will go on existing for the foreseeable future? That doesn’t seem like a good reason to me. When people are being oppressed by the status quo, shouldn’t we look to the oppressed group rather than the oppressor for clues on the correct response to a society? Are we being culturally sensitive when we perpetuate oppression by condoning it as a cultural norm? Or are we just going along, like Uncle Toms, because we don’t want to speak truth to power: "Oooh, someone might be oFENDed!" For example, why, as Westerners, are we tolerant of a culture that keeps its women subjegated, beaten down, ignorant, penniless, tormented, and objectified, then covered from head to toe to hide the bruises. Where does political correctness leave off and human rights begin? In the words of my favorite politically incorrect social commentator, Bill Maher, “Don't be so tolerant that you tolerate intolerance."
Yes, I have been alone too much this week. I think I may be brooding. In two days, I will meet Sharon in Auckland, and we will begin our adventures in New Zealand. I leave Western Samoa on Sunday at 1:00 PM and arrive in Auckland at 3:30 PM Monday, four hours (and 24 hours) later. Sharon and I have been laughing about all the cool Star Treky things that might happen while crossing the international dateline. We think that the most likely impact will be a temporary breaking up, like a bad Skype connection: "you're breaking up, Scotty! (zap zap)", only to be reassembled a moment later. I'll let you know how it goes in a couple of days.
I may or may not be able to post tomorrow, Day 6, depending on the availability of internet service. I certainly will have time on my hands. It looks like I may be in the Apia (Western Samoa) airport all night. Don’t ask…
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[i] Smitz, P., & Farfor, S. (Samoan Islands & Tonga, 5th Ed. Victoria, Australia: Lonely Planet
[i] Smitz, P., & Farfor, S. (Samoan Islands & Tonga, 5th Ed. Victoria, Australia: Lonely Planet
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