Saturday in Samoa

Breakfast was a bit more subdued than usual today.  Some drifted next door to the KK Market to get a cold soda to help reduce the after effects of last night’s party.  Some settled for the standard toast and papaya. 

Fale introduced a slew of new words and phrases during language class.  The focus was on commands we’ll use in the classroom, so I’m highly incented to study.  I’m trying hard, but continue to struggle with rote memorization.  And the diacritical marks may do me in.  There’s the komaleliu (‘) and the fa’amamafa (-).  One indicates a glottal stop.  One indicates a prolonged vowel and can change which syllable is accented.  With me so far?  If you put the fa’amamafa or the komaleliu in the wrong spot, you could be saying a dirty word.  See why I’m struggling?

After class, five of us crammed into a small taxi to head downtown.  We were in search of the store of the seamstress who’d taken our measurements for puletasis.  A puletasi is a fitted tunic/skirt that Samoan women wear as business/formal attire.  The cab dropped us off right where we asked, but not where we needed to be.  So we took an easy stroll around the corner and up the street.  When I say “easy stroll”, I’m being sarcastic.  When you are in the shade and there is a breeze, it is lovely.  When you’re plodding along in direct sun and humidity, it’s like being at Disney World in August.  Some of us strolled about ½ mile further than we needed to, but eventually we all got to the right place.  I picked up the lava lava that I’d given them to hem last week.  Sarah modeled the puletasi she had made.  She looks gorgeous in it.  My puletasi should be ready next Friday afternoon.

By then it was about 1:30 pm and I was hot and hungry.   Even though technically I could live through a long winter on my store of fat, when I go too long without food, I get cranky.  So, when the discussions began about where to have lunch or should we shop some more first, I bailed and set out on my own.

I stopped first at MacDonald’s.  Not because I wanted to eat there (although I guarantee I will sometime over the next two years) but because I was curious about prices and menu.  I didn’t see the whole menu, because I was staggered at the prices.  $16 for a burger?  That does not include fries.  That’s not a Big Mac.  I could have 4 large meals at DeAl for $16.  I’ll have to have a serious hankerin’ to pay those prices.

I kept walking and came across a family selling their barbecued chicken and lamb.  $8 for a plate of delicious food.  Admittedly, it was a little risky, given the heat and the mayo in the coleslaw and macaroni salad, but it was tasty and I seem to be suffering no ill effects. 

Now, it’s 6:30 pm and I’m thinking about dinner.  It may appear that I only think about food and money.  Actually, that is what I think about when not worrying about Samoan vocabulary.  But it really isn’t all I think about.  Other things include:

Wondering who decided to put the slogan “slippery when wet” on the condoms in our PC medical kits?

How did the lady in the Laundromat know my name? We’ve been told that everyone is related and the coconut wireless is amazing, so did she hear about me from someone else?  Is this how Paris Hilton feels?

Why can we hear thunder but never see lightening here?  We’ve had some humdinger rainstorms.  I love them because it sounds good and cools the air.  But where is the lightening hiding.  It must be there for there to be thunder, right?  Please tell them not to let me teach science.

I still have a lot of clothes I haven’t worn.  They smell and I don’t mean that in a good way.  It’s not that humid and I haven’t put dirty clothes next to clean clothes, which is the laundry equivalent of kitchen cross-contamination caused by using the same knife for raw chicken and vegetables.  I know better.  So why do my clean, never-out-of-the-suitcase from Florida clothes reek?  I’ve begun wiping myself off with a dryer sheet before I leave the house, so I can smell spring time fresh.

As if Samoan wasn’t hard enough, my Spanish is getting in the way.  I say something correctly and my teacher says Malo!  Which means “bad” in Spanish.  I’m conflicted by her praise.  Today, I had to read a list of words and one was “puta”.  Not a word normally taught to “nice” girls. 

The rain has slowed and I’m heading out to KK to get something for dinner.  Perhaps the makings for a tuna sandwich.  Or some noodle ramen.  Eat your hearts out in America.  Here in Apia it’s Saturday night and I’m living large.