My Samoa

Samoa is the first home I knew. I was speaking her language before I understood there were different languages – often confusing my parents by having broken conversations in Samoan and English.

I remember fragments about our time there, and often I wonder if they are even my memories, or just the result of stories I’ve been told. But some memories, I’m sure, are mine…

I remember bathing in waterfalls and wanting to stay in the warm, calm water forever; I remember getting my ears pierced by a local witch doctor and being rewarded with warm, buttery taro*. I remember feeling the heat all the time and cherishing gentle breezes when they would decide to float by.

I remember sitting on the beach, little toes wedged in the sand, thinking my childish thoughts; wondering about the oceans beyond me in a simple-kid-like way. Then I remember my brothers running up behind me, wild and crazy-eyed, excited to have ‘hunted’ and killed their first chicken. This chicken turned out to be our neighbour’s pet. I can’t remember if we ate chicken that night, but I know I was never allowed to talk about it…

I remember slightly different things too, like hiding under our kitchen table for three days after a huge cyclone ravaged the island, destroying nearly everything around us. I remember being very still and calm, not really understanding what was going on but knowing it was a big deal. We moved from Samoa not long after, and things weren’t ever quite the same. An innocence was gone, and the future looked overwhelmingly complicated.

I go back to Samoa tomorrow for the first time since then – over twenty years. I am excited, but also nervous. I’m scared my simple, childish memories will be tainted – I want to hold on to them forever. But I also want to go back and see how it feels as an adult, to find out if my magical island still exists how I remember.

* Taro is a root vegetable.