Back Home In Savaii

American Samoa is only about 78 miles from Samoa. It seems much farther, though. I enjoyed the complimentary continental breakfast at the hotel. Honeydew and peanut butter for the toast. You won’t see that in Samoa. The only disappointment was the big bite I took of what I thought was cantaloupe. No, papaya.

After time lounging, I checked out and took the shuttle to the nearby airport. The driver was from Savaii and I’ve been to his village. Nice talking to him. The airport is small and open air. Check in was easy and the clerk was friendly. He asked if I had a connecting flight to the mainland. No, just catching the bus to the ferry. To expedite things so I wouldn’t miss the bus, he put a priority tag on my luggage, which seemed somewhat unnecessary. The plane and the airport are so small that the “luggage handler” (who is also the reservations clerk and check in guy) opened the door of the plane and smiled at me. We chatted as he hauled the luggage into the terminal. I don’t think it could get any more priority than that.

There were several cabs waiting so I hopped in and explained I needed to make a couple of stops before heading to the bus. First the PC office to drop off my dental receipts and pick up a video and book friends had left for me. Next, the hotel where stayed earlier. To save luggage space for chocolate, they were nice enough to keep my new mosquito net for me. Then on to the market.

I was the second one on the bus, so I got a good seat in the front with plenty of leg room. I also knew I’d be waiting almost an hour to leave for the wharf. It was hot, but breezy and I had Mr. Kindle to keep me amused. Plus the crowd at the market is always good for people watching.

Vendors came by repeatedly. Most selling drinks and snacks. Cans of Shasta and cold bottles of drinks. Some were orange and some white. All had their labels removed and the seal had been broken. Banana and ulu chips are standard snack items, along with Twistys. Twistys are a sort of like Cheetos but come in a variety of flavors and not as tasty, in my opinion.

Vendors were also selling more practical items. One guy had a box filled with pens, super glue, bandaids and sunflower seeds. Everything a traveler might need.
A large woman sat next to me, holding a toddler. She immediately gave the little girl a large open bottle of orange soda. I figured I’d be wearing it before the trip was over and I was correct. Within five minutes half of me was soaked in orange soda. The mother noticed and wiped off what had spilled on her. She didn’t comment on the puddle in my lap.

It was a crowded bus and because I was too squished too move, I got a bad case of “bus butt”. That’s what we call it when you sit on a hard wooden bench for over 2 hours, with someone sitting or leaning on you and you can’t move to keep blood flowing to lower extremities.

A pleasant surprise was that two of my sisters and my “father” got on the bus soon before we left. Nice to have company during the wait for the ferry and the ride. I sat next to one of the girls on the upper deck and asked which guy she thought was best looking. She indicated the palagi sitting in front of us. I felt obliged to chat with him and discovered he’s from Israel and had been traveling for several months after finishing pharmacy school. He’s staying at the beach fales in the next village from ours so we made sure he got on the bus with us and that the driver would drop him off at the right place. He promised to visit for some cards and conversation. Just call me cupid.

I realized when I walked in my house that my friends can’t stay here when they get off the flight from the States. After just a couple of days in a nice hotel, the flaws in my home jumped out at me. Don’t get me wrong, I still love it and appreciate the luxury I have compared to many. But for someone fresh from America, dealing with jet lag, it might be a bit much. Perhaps a day or two first at the resort to get acclimated.

I put up my new mosquito net. The old one was for a single bed so was too small. This one is softer, a double and has a slit in one side to make it easier to get in and out without having to untuck and retuck the whole thing. I don’t like mosquito nets. They’re hot and a pain to arrange every night. But I slept well and didn’t wake up with dozens of bites, which is what has been happening, even with the mosquito coils.

One of the real perks of where I live is that my family runs a store. It’s small. More like a kiosk, really. You just walk up to the window and place your order with whoever is working, usually Peter. I bought some chicken, potatoes, onions and eggs. He gave me a huge discount as a thank you for the chocolates I brought the family.

As I was staring at the water on the ferry crossing, I realized what I’d enjoyed most about American Samoa. It was the anonymity.

Here, everyone knows me and knows what I do. What time I get up, what I eat, who I talk to, and what I buy are all discussed. Not in a mean way, just because there’s not a lot going on and I’m the only palagi living here. As I’ve been typing this, sitting on my bed, the door and windows are open. At least 10 people have walked close enough to my house to say hello and ask what I’m doing. “Why aren’t you in church?” “There’s no church today.” “Why?” “I don’t know.”

I hear about other PCVs. They hear about me. It’s that D-list celebrity status thing. I chat with someone in the market from a village on the other side of the island and they’ll go home and tell people about it. In Pago, I was just another tourist, passing through.

Talking to the young Israeli on the bus made me realize how many things I like about life here. It was a nice evening and people were outside, walking, socializing, playing rugby and voli. I pointed out the best store on the island, which is at the edge of my village. The amazing lagoon that I get to look at every day. It was nice to have a group of kids yell my name and wave when they saw me driving past.

Last night as I curled up with Mr. Kindle under my new mosquito net, I heard the ocean. It was high tide. I could hear the new puppies mewling for their mother under the faleo’o next door. I loved having television, hot water, air conditioning and palagi food in Pago. But it wasn’t home.