Nice waterfall, falling on the black sand beach.
I got a text from one of the other volunteers the other day. It said “Treasure the surprises that each new day brings.” So, when Ruta, the 50+ widow who’s visiting my family from New Zealand asked if I wanted to join her on a road trip on New Year’s Eve, I jumped at the chance. It was either that or study Samoan grammar.
We headed first to a waterfall about 45 minutes away. Next to the waterfall is a small fale where her uncle once lived. One of her cousins now lives there with his wife and three children. We spent some time there, enjoying the waterfall and views as well as having some niu (the liquid from a young coconut) with the relatives. Ruta scared me to death by climbing down some of the rocks on the waterfall. They were slippery and she didn’t strike me as the mountain goat type, but she had a great time and made it back to dry land without incident.
When we first arrived at the fale, Ruta was approached by her cousin’s wife and told she had to pay $10 for us to look at the waterfall. The funny part was that when Ruta replied “Hey, I’m family, don’t you recognize me?” the other women was quite embarrassed and explained that she just saw the Palagi and assumed we were strangers. It’s typical here that if you want to go to the beach or some villages, whoever lives there will charge you for the privilege. Not a practice that encourages tourism, unfortunately. Then again, if I had next to no money and lived at the top of a cool waterfall, I’d probably be charging you to hang out there, too.
We stopped to pick up some fried chicken and chips for lunch and took it with us. We’d decided we wanted to go swimming and I suggested the beach fales in Lano, a village only a couple of miles from where I live. Since it was a holiday, I was concerned that we might find a crowded beach, but as you can see from the photos, that wasn’t a problem.
When we first arrived, there were two other people there, but they soon left and we had the amazing lagoon to ourselves. First we feasted on the takeaway and some tiny, sweet bananas, then I swam and floated for a few hours and could have stayed all day. It’s a good thing I didn’t since even though I’d taken precautions, my face got a bit burned.
After more time relaxing in the beach fale we headed home. It was a perfect way to spend New Year’s Eve day. By the way, the price of using the beach/fale for the day was $3 tala, about $1.50 USD. I believe it’s $10 tala to spend the night. With that, you get a mat and a mosquito net, and breakfast. Even better, Ruta introduced me to another cousin who has comparable fales on an equally beautiful beach that’s spitting distance from my house-to-be. Free for us family members.
The plan for the evening was church. The family I live with attends Assembly of God and their church, along with two other denominations were having a joint service to bring in the new year. The youth groups from all three churches had been practicing songs, dances and skits for weeks and would be performing. The church was packed when we arrived and the service started at 9:50 p.m. First I was told the service would start at 8, then I was told it would start at 10. Apparently it just started when everyone got there.
I almost burst out laughing when I saw a dog strolling down the aisle from behind the alter. Samoans use dogs for protection and chores. One of our dogs, for example, has been trained to herd the pigs and keep them in the area behind the house. One of my favorite events of the day is watching Blackie run at full speed to nip at the hooves of the huge porkers. Who knew that pigs could run that fast when highly motivated?
The point is, Samoans don’t treat their dogs like pets and it’s rare to see them indoors. They fight the pigs for table scraps and sleep wherever they find a place. So to see one in church, especially in the most holy part of the church, just struck me as funny. Luckily I contained my laughter, since no one else even seemed to notice.
After a day filled with sun and swimming, I was pooped and started yawning about an hour and a half into the service. I enjoyed it, but watching a 20 minute reenactment of the arrival of the first English missionary to come to Samoa, done in Samoan, didn’t keep me on the edge of my chair. Ruta and I had driven to the church together and she nudged me and said “You’re tired, we’re going home so you can sleep.” Usually, I find it a bit annoying when people announce my bedtime to me, but I really was tired and happy to head out early. Even happier this morning when I found out the service had gone on until after 2:00 a.m.
On our way back from the beach fale earlier, we’d stopped at a “bakery” (a house where a guy lives and bakes) so Ruta could order a large pie. Initially we were going to return to pick it up, but the guy called and said it wasn’t ready and that he’d deliver it. When we got home just before midnight, we discovered that he hadn’t. So, back in the car to the bakery. The main road was filled with people strolling, preparing to ring in the New Year. The Catholic Church near my soon-to-be house was lit up and packed. A siva was going on in front of the church and people were crowded around, dancing, talking and laughing. We passed several other churches and each was full of people celebrating New Year’s Eve, Samoan style.
The baker was still up and baking but didn’t have the pie. He said his brother had just left to deliver it. Amazing that you can’t get a pizza delivered in Samoa, but a pie large enough to feed 30 people delivered at midnight on New Year’s Eve? No problem.
We were passing the Catholic church again when midnight struck and all the church bells in the village started ringing. We pulled to the side of the road to watch the festivities and listened to the Catholic choir, standing in front of the church, lead a Samoan song. I didn’t expect it, but hearing something other than Auld Lang Sine got to me and for a minute I was incredibly homesick. Then I thought about the fabulous day I’d had and got over it.
The only disappointment of my first Samoan New Year’s celebration was the pig. I’d been told that they would be roasting one of the pigs on a spit, a New Year’s tradition. I hated seeing the pig killed, but as a confirmed meat eater, was thinking about how tasty it would be. First thing on New Year’s morning, I asked the pig assassin when the cooking would start. “Uma.” Done. Huh? It’s only 9 a.m., how could it be done? Seems I misunderstood. Yes, he and his friends were roasting a pig, but they roasted and ate it while I was at church the previous evening. He said it was delicious.
I was nervous but she was having a blast.
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