First, I want to apologize for no photos. I was set to spend my morning and a big chunk of my money (I get "paid" $35 tala a week and 2 hours of internet is $18 tala) to update my blog, catch up on email and upload a bunch of great photos. Then I realized that because my camera uses a special memory chip, I need the adaptor, which is safely locked with my laptop at the hotel. I won't have access to it until we move back to Apia in two weeks. So, I'm sorry. Please use your imagination to picture what I describe. May be better than photos.
Yesterday was Culture Day, something we've all both looked forward to and dreaded. The day is designed to give us a real taste of Samoan life. We were told to bring food to cook (a live chicken, pig, breadfruit, bananas, taro leaves, coconuts, taro, papaya and bananas) and told to ask one of our family to come with us. Because my family members were busy, I went alone and passed on taking the chicken and pig.
The day started early, at 6 a.m. when we were divided into two groups. Six of us stayed at the fale of a very nice Samoan family in Lotofaga (which is the village next to where I currently live). The rest of the gang trekked off to the nearby plantation. Their job was to dig up some taro and bring back some popo - ripe coconuts - the brown kind you can buy in the grocery store. Our job, back at the fale, was to make some supoesi (papaya soup) that we'd feed the plantation guys.
I love supoesi (and virtually all Samoan food) and was happy to learn to make it. It's an easy recipe: scoop out the seeds ripe papayas (remove the seeds first) and put into a pan. Add just enough water to cover. Boil until soft. Add some softened tapioca, salt and sugar to taste and some coconut cream.
Making it the traditional Samoan way, though, is hard. And this wasn't a history lesson. This was just the first dish of the day and the entire meal is what virtually every Samoan family does every Sunday.
We started with scooping out the esi (papaya). That was easy. Unfortunately, there was a communication breakdown, though, and we just scooped into chunks, not small pieces. That meant that after it started cooking, we had to use spoons to mash the pieces into smaller bits. That wouldn't have been bad, except we were cooking everything over a wood fire and it was very hot and smoky. Most families, by the way, still cook outdoors this way in the villages, using wood fires and the "umo" that I'll describe in a minute.
Anyway, after we got the papaya cooking, we started on making coconut cream. Step one, open the coconut. That involves husking it (the ones you see in the grocery stores have been husked) and then cracking it open. Happily, ours had been husked for us, since that's considered "man" work and just us women were making the soup.
I was terrific at opening the coconut. Four strong whacks along the middle of the coconut with the back side of a machete and it was open. My sister Fa can do it in one whack.
I wasn't so good at coconut grating. It involves sitting on a very low, long stook that has a piece of metal on one end. It's about 1 inch wide, with serrated teeth. You push half the coconut against the teeth, while pushing down really hard and shove, to grate the coconut. Fa does it everynight, since she feeds the chickens the grated coconuts. Let's just say it involves strength and some skill and those chickens would starve if they had to depend on me.
I was better at squeezing the milk. You use some type of fiber, scoop up some of the grated coconut and form it into something that looks like a burrito and then squeeze the bejeebers out of it. What comes out is the fresh coconut cream. It tastes absolutely nothing like the stuff you get in the can at the grocery store. It is time consuming and hard to make and is used in most food here. I love it.
I asked where I'd be able to buy the little stool thing so I could grate my own at my own house and was told that wasn't necessary. As a "Pisi Koa" I should tell my neighbors I want some and they will be happy to give it to me. That's the kind of hospitality I'm experiencing here. It's amazing and wonderful.
But I digress - back to Culture Day. The troops arrived back from the plantation. Mika was carrying a stick, onto which were tied 4 coconuts (husks and all). His shirt was wrapped around his head and he was a sweaty mess, but with a big smile. Thanks for the sweaty hug, Mika. He commented that one of the Samoans mentioned that it was typical for kids who work in the plantations to carry 30 coconuts at a time, walking over a mile back to their homes. Mika was pooped after carrying 4 and he's a young, healthy guy.
The work to prepare the main course got going then. We cleaned breadfruit, yams and taro by scraping off the skin with the edges of tops of tin cans. We prepared young taro leaves and filled the with coconut cream and wrapped them for palusami (which is delicious - sort of like a creamy baked spinach). The reason I mentioned that some were dreading the day was the next part. We killed, plucked and gutted chickens. We (okay, our Samoan families) killed and dressed 2 pigs. We wrapped whole, large fish in coconut leaves.
The young Samoan men got the big fire going and added the lava stones to heat. After the stones were red hot, they swept away all the wood ash and started adding the food, which were covered with more hot stones, then covered with leaves. At the same time, the chickens were put on a smaller fire to boil.
We worked on learning to weave baskets out of palm fronds while everything was cooking. We also had a drawing to see which roles we'd each take for dinner. Samoan culture is very traditional and roles very clearly defined. The matais (chiefs of the village) and honored guests sit in the open fale and are served. Young women and the untitled men (young men who are not a chief) do the serving and fanning of the matais and guests, which keeps them cool and keeps the flies away. They also provide bowls of water and towels before and after the meal for handwashing. We were drawing roles - 5 got to be matais (4 Talking Chiefs and 1 Ali'i, or head chief).
Sia and I were approached by Sa'u, the language coordinator, before we drew roles. He explained that because we are over 50, it would be very uncomfortable if we were chosen as servers, since as senior women, we would NEVER be expected to serve others. As Fa told me when I was leaving home: "You are a queen here and must accept what others offer." Sia opted to be part of the drawing. I was planning to, since I knew the Americans would think I was taking advantage of the situation if I used age as an excuse to make them serve me. But then Lumafale, who was my first language teacher and a good friend, came to me to beg me to change my mind. She explained it would be very difficult for the Samoans if I served them and would ruin the day for them. So, I opted to eat first, with the matais. Luckily, Sia drew the role of Talking Chief, so joined me with the matais.
We were served woven mats covered with leaves and tons of food. It was delicious and tasted even better, knowing we'd done a lot of the work. The Samoans, even though technically we were doing everything, did a lot of the work, because if they had counted on us, we'd still be there husking coconuts.
It was a bit awkward, being served and fanned by my fellow trainees. They were hungry, too, and had to watch us eat and were not allowed to speak. That's the tradition. And that is how it works in Samoan families. I've been at meals where I eat (as the guest) first, then the adults, then the children, who have been serving and fanning us.
The bad news for the servers was that we ate all the palusami, so they didn't get any. The good news for them, was that they got to eat in another fale, where they could talk and joke around. We ate in silence, then listened to speeches of thanks by the matais. At that point, it was raining softly and all I wanted to do was slip down onto the mat and take a nap. Yes, we all ate while seated on the ground.
After the food was gone and dishes done (by the servers, while we listened to more speeches) it was time for entertainment. The group from Tafitola (for training, there are five trainees in four different villages) had been practicing a dance and changed into matching shirts and lava lavas. They performed a slap dance that was rhythmic, well done and hysterical. Four sat on the ground, slapping knees, chests, hands, shoulders etc, to the rhythm of the sticks that Lumafale, their trainer, was hitting. In this type of dance, there's a guy who stands and gives orders and keeps the dance going. Mika was the star of the show, dancing up a storm, while yelling in both English and Samoan. He mimed creating a spiritual "juice", much like making coconut cream and then "pouring" it on the clappers. We laughed and enjoyed it immensely.
The dance was the fitting conclusion for a terrific day.
Speaking of Mika, I got a letter last week from Betsy, Mikas mom. We were on a break, so I read it to those sitting around. I had to stop a couple of times, though, because her words and sentiments choked me up. She'd printed some photos of her and her son, Mika (aka Joseph Michael in the USA) and wrote about my leaving my life in the US behind to go to Samoa. I was really touched. Plus, we all got a good laugh out of Mika with an afro (he has curly blonde hair).
Betsy, I asked Mika about you yesterday and I think you'd appreciate his response. He described you as the person he wants to be when he grows up. A saint with a sense of humor. He clearly loves and admires you greatly. Mika is a sweetheart and one of the most popular among all the trainees. As with any group of 20, folks have favorites. Mike is one who mixes and mingles well with everyone. Thanks, too, Betsy, for the stickers - my kids in Faga will love them!
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