My Own Shade of Brown

my own shade of brown

this Samoan me God-bronzed gene-baked trap me not in clichĂŠ but set me free my friend judge me not and let me be my own shade of brown

For my family.

My parents, Pastor Ativale and Selesa Mulitalo My sisters, Sarona, Senara, Oilau Verena and Sepora My dogs, Benu and Baxter For your support in all my endeavours, I am forever grateful.

Fa’afetai le alofa, fa’afetai le agalelei.

Ia tele so outou manuia i le alofa o Le Atua.

my own shade of brown Tai Mulitalo

A Place In Time 21st Century Documentary Project

University of Canterbury, School of Fine Arts in association with Shoal Bay Press

First published in 2001 by the University of Canterbury School of Fine Arts in association with Shoal Bay Press P O Box 17-661 Christchurch New Zealand Text and images copyright Š 2001 Tai Mulitalo ISBN 1-877251-04-6 All rights reserved under international copyright convention. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Design and typography by Hamish Meikle Printed by Rainbow Print Ltd, Christchurch

With support from the Pacific Arts Committee of Creative New Zealand

contents

acknowledgements a place in time my own shade of brown

9 11 13

peta asomua neemia leitu sofia daly reverend lapana faletolu adele naseri kose seinafo

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acknowledgements

My sincere thanks to Peta Asomua, Reverend Lapana Faletolu, Adele Naseri, Neemia Leitu, Sofia Daly and Kose Seinafo for their generous co-operation in sharing their stories. Grateful acknowledgement also to their family members and friends who appear in the book.

Special thanks to Glenn Busch who has been a key figure in making the publication of this book possible. At the time of printing, I was based in Melbourne, Australia, due to sporting commitments. In my absence, Glenn liaised with publishers and found funding to help offset printing costs. He also assisted in editing photographs/interviews, and provided invaluable feedback at every stage of this project. More importantly, Glenn was an influential and significant mentor in my time as a student at the School of Fine Arts, University of Canterbury, New Zealand.

He not only taught me how to develop my first roll of black and white film, but of most importance, he made me realize that photography is not just about making images.

My Own Shade of Brown was produced in my final year at art school, and it is the culmination of an intensive period of learning and "seeing with a camera". It has been an enriching and rewarding experience to have studied with Glenn. I am ever grateful.

To my sister, Sarona, an endless source of creative ideas and humour, thank you. Her poem "My Own Shade of Brown", written to give the project a focus, also provided the book its title.

Hamish Meikle of the School of Fine Arts, University of Canterbury worked his magic in the design layout, while juggling other projects and a full teaching load. For his commitment to this project, my thanks.

David Elworthy and Ros Henry of Shoal Bay Press, for your belief in this project, my sincere thanks. I am indebted to you for the opportunity you have allowed me to share the Samoan voice.

Grateful acknowledgement is also made to Creative New Zealand for the grant towards the cost of printing.

Finally, to all those who gave support to this work in its initial stage when it was "just another Fine Arts project", thank you.

Tai Mulitalo

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Together with a sense of social responsibility, self awareness is perhaps the most valuable asset a people can possess. A well informed society is fundamental to the intelligent social and political choices necessary to that society’s own well being.

These were the words that began a petition presented to the Kirk Labour Government in the summer of 1974. Dr John Orbell, a political scientist, photographer Larence Shustak and I had conceived of the idea of a photographic unit set up to document the lives of ordinary New Zealanders on an ongoing basis. At the time the petition was looked at with interest, but the chances of such a unit becoming a reality disappeared with the sudden death of Norman Kirk in August of that year.

Twenty-five years later these same words have been resurrected and used as the starting point for a new ongoing multimedia documentary called A Place In Time. Arising out of the School of Fine Arts, University of Canterbury, the project looks at the city of Christchurch and the reality of the lives of a cross section of its people. While geographically narrower in scope than the

a place in time

21st Century Documentary Project

original concept, the project is in all other ways more expansive. As well, the advent of digital technologies has given us far greater possibilities in regard to the collection, storage and production of the work we are now involved in.

Research for A Place In Time began in 1997, with the actual collection of documentary work beginning on the 1st of January, 2000.

Using photography, moving image, audio recording, oral history and documentary writing, we have begun accumulating material and storing it within our own digital archiving system. Historically, such material will grow in value over time. More important, it is our intention that the material from this archive be used concurrently to produce work of significant artistic, social, cultural and educational value.

My Own Shade Of Brown, by Tai Mulitalo, is the first publication to emerge from the archives of the A Place In Time, 21st Century Documentary Project. It is an important and long overdue book, a substantial piece of work on a significant subject.

To remove yourself from all that is known — home, family and friends — in order to search for a new life elsewhere is a brave act fraught with complication. Nothing you have known before can prepare you for it. This book seeks to understand something of that complex and ongoing experience through the lives of those who have lived it.

A collaboration between the Samoan participants and its Samoan author, My Own Shade Of Brown looks at the difficulties and possibilities inherent in all new beginnings.

It illuminates that continuing search for an expression of identity in a place not yet fully familiar and the always inevitable struggle to preserve the known and understand the new.

Ostensibly a Samoan experience, it is in essence the experience of all those who, in search of new lives, have come to call this city home.

Glenn Busch Director

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my own shade of brown

I was at the Post Office the other day trying to decide which of my stamps was most pleasing in colour, and whether or not I should place the stamp hard against the edge of the envelope, or more to the middle so as to give the stamp room to ‘breathe’. I have an interest in design and the organisation of space on a page matters to me. Anyway, while I was worrying about where to place the stamp, it occurred to me that I was being watched. I looked up and saw a Palagi man in his late fifties staring in my direction. To my surprise he walked over and said something to me in a foreign language. Then, in English, he asked if I’d understood what he’d said. Amused, I answered, “No”. “Aha!” he said, beaming triumphantly, “I just said hello to you in Indian.

I knew you had to be either Indian or Maori but I couldn’t be sure.” Startled, I told him that I was Samoan, but he kept on talking.

I didn’t want to be rude so I remained silent.

Only after he left did I vent my annoyance that he hadn’t known I was Samoan.

Another morning I was in a taxi driven by a Chinese man. He’d been in New Zealand for four years. Most of that time had been spent in Auckland but Christchurch was now his home.

We were talking about the high cost of airfares out of New Zealand and I told him how much it would cost me to travel to Samoa. He turned to me with a startled look and said, “You can’t be Samoan.

You’re not fat.”

A little after that I began working as a parttime kitchen assistant at the Christchurch Public Hospital. It turned out that the Palagi woman who hired me actually believed that she had hired a ‘lovely Indian girl’. That was how she described me in her introduction to the other assembled workers.

If my cultural identity was problematic for some, my gender identity was even more so.

I used to have very short hair; sometimes I wore it blonde, other times blue. I found that people responded to my hair in different ways. Because my hair was so short, traditional Samoan women asked my mother if I had lice problems; the more liberal dismissed my appearance as a ‘fashion statement’. Most of the time though, I was mistaken for a boy. In shops I would get

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comments like, “May I help you sir? Oh, you’re a girl.” A friend of mine suggested I should wear bright red lipstick and extremely tight tops. No thanks.

My most annoying memory was an incident at the ice rink. An ice-hockey player since 1995, I am a regular skater at public sessions and can skate for hours perfecting drills. During one of these sessions, I walked past a group of young girls, perhaps no more than eleven or twelve years of age. As I went by, one called out to me, “Can you be my boyfriend?” I wear my hair long now.

Growing up as a woman in the Samoan culture was complicated by my father’s role as a church minister. Within Samoan circles the church minister is highly revered, so the family unit is under constant scrutiny. For every ‘truth’ my father preached, I had to be the perfect example. I conformed to all the cultural and religious expectations imposed by the Samoan community, expectations enforced by my father. I was told how to think, how to behave, and how to dress. For years I have lived in his shadow.

There is no room for growth in shadows. I wanted my independence. It was important to me that I did not offend my parents, but it

was also important that I had psychological freedom. At university I was exposed to a different set of rules and cultural behaviour.

University encouraged independent thinking and the need to question everything, whereas at home my father’s word was law.

My father is a respected minister and I would never question his word in public. It was in the quiet moments at home, in a nonconfrontational manner, that I asked him to elaborate on his decisions. The ability to adapt and adjust my thinking in specific situations has been my survival tool. It has been a constant struggle to find the balance between the Samoan culture that teaches obedience and respect for your parents, and white culture that teaches individual rights and freedom of speech.

Nevertheless, it is this very struggle that has shaped who I am today.

Cultural identity is important to me. I have always had to view the world from two cultural perspectives: as a Samoan and a New Zealander. At home my parents ensured that my sisters and I knew how to behave and think like Samoans. For this reason we only ever spoke Samoan. My parents believed that knowing our language was an important part of our identity.

As immigrants they struggled with the English language, deciding in the end that our school teachers would be the better English tutors. Being bilingual has helped me shift between the two cultures.

Although I was born in Samoa, I have lived in New Zealand since I was three months old. It is my family and my ability to communicate in the Samoan language that keeps me connected to my culture. The motivation for this book was my own need to know how other Samoans define their cultural connection.

My Own Shade of Brown is an expression of cultural identity. Six individuals express their Samoan identity within a New Zealand context. I am not seeking to offer a singular perspective or a definitive answer to the question of Samoan identity. It would be wrong to measure the reality of all Samoans against such a small sample. I acknowledge that there is a historical and traditional framework of cultural values and practices upon which the majority of Samoan people structure their existence. My intention here has been to emphasise that there are many different ways of connecting to one’s culture; different ways of existing as a Samoan.

In this age of social and multicultural diversity, Samoans themselves need to accept, grasp and process the diversity within their own culture. Every Samoan has their own shade of brown

Tai Mulitalo

My father died of a heart attack just before I was born. He died on the first of July. I was born on the fifth. That was in 1977.

Eleven years later my mother died of breast cancer. She was ill for a long time. Two and a half years she was sick but she didn’t stop, she carried on working all that time.

I knew that Mum was going to die. I knew that it was going to happen. Not knowing exactly when it was going to happen, that’s what scared me. About a year before she died my younger sister and I were sent to stay with my uncle and his wife during the holidays. I think Mum did this so we could become adjusted to how they lived. Mum would always ring us to see how we were, how we were getting on. I loved hearing her voice on the phone. It meant that she was still there for me.

After she died, I would go to my room, sit on my bed and think about her.

That’s when I would start crying. Even now, all these years later, there are days when it’s still difficult. Mother’s Day, Father’s Day and birthdays. Those are the days when I feel alone.

peta my own shade of brown

Peta

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When Mum died, all us kids were split up.

My older brothers had to go flatting because they had no one to take them in. My older sister went to an aunt and uncle in Vanuatu.

My younger sister and I were the only ones who stayed together.

My aunt and uncle were really good people but they were too strict for me. They had two younger boys, but raising teenage girls is a different sort of thing altogether. They wanted me to do well but they were really strict about school. I always had to be home on time and then there’d be all these chores to do around the home, all that sort of stuff.

In the end I guess I just didn’t fit in and they asked me to leave.

I was sixteen when I started flatting; still at school. Halfway through that year I left and started working part-time in a supermarket.

I was also getting the Independent Youth Benefit. I remember my aunt and uncle had to write a letter saying that I couldn’t live with them. I don’t think I really minded being on my own, I was meeting lots of new people, I could come and go when I wanted and I could have anyone I liked stay over. It felt good actually.

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My favourite memory is my mother singing.

She would be at a party having a beer, and she’d start singing. She sang a lot of different songs. Old songs that all of my uncles and aunts sang. We used to have hangis for Christmas and on special occasions they would sit around with a guitar, singing and drinking beer. I would be running around playing Hide-and-Seek or Spotlight with my cousins and friends, just being a kid. I remember drinking a lot of fizzy drinks as a kid. Mum drank beer but I had the fizzy drink. I miss that feeling.

My older sister lives in Nelson now. She has two little boys and they’re gorgeous. I love being with them. My favourite thing is to lie on the couch and have them both snuggled into me. The youngest one is very shy and is just getting to know me so he doesn’t cuddle as much as the older one. It’s good to get him to sleep and then cuddle him heaps.

I’ve never been to Samoa. I wouldn’t mind having a look — going for a holiday. I don’t know anything about Samoan culture really.

I’d be interested to see it but I don’t think I could get right into the culture — the church thing and all that sort of stuff — I don’t think it’s for me.

I’ve only just met my Samoan uncles and aunts in the last three or four years. I have an aunt and uncle on my father’s side I know really well. I know they care about me because they used to look after me when I visited them in Nelson. They organised a party for my twenty-first birthday and they even gave me the key to the door. The only problem is that they treat my younger sister differently because she has a different father.

At my twenty-first, a lot of my dad’s family came to meet me but no one talked to my little sister. She wasn’t crying but she just felt really stink they didn’t acknowledge her. People can be good to you and yet at the same time not realise how much you can be hurt.

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I like to think of everyone in New Zealand as ‘Kiwis.’ People ask me what my background is and I tell them I’m a Kiwi. I know that I’m half-Samoan but I see myself as Kiwi.

I don’t really look at people as having different cultures. I look at their personality and if they’re a nice person, that’s cool.

It doesn’t make much difference to me what their background is.

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As a kid I had trouble with the way I looked.

It was confusing knowing that I was brown, yet here I was living with white people. My mother was white, most of my friends were white and I really wanted to be white as well.

Also I used to worry about my clothes.

I always got dressed in hand-me-downs because my mother couldn’t afford the trendy labels and even though I knew this, I still wanted cool clothes. I really wanted to look like the other kids when I went to school. My aunt and uncle wouldn’t buy me the trendy labels either, they didn’t want me to live like that. It wasn’t until I was older that I realised it was okay to be different.

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Peta

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I lived with my boyfriend for about three years until we decided it was better if we separated and just hung out. My partner is part Scottish. I don’t think there’s anything bad about inter-racial relationships. If you get on well and understand each other’s culture, that’s good.

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I have four best, best friends but Fiona is my closest girlfriend. She’s the most loyal. We met at school in the third form and we hung out together all the time until I went flatting.

We didn’t see each other for about a year.

It wasn’t until my friends started flatting and doing the same sort of things that I did — going out to see bands and so on — that we started hanging out again. I’ve got lots of good memories of Fiona because we’ve done heaps of fun things together. She’s one of those people that you can do anything with.

We might just be going for a walk in town but we’ll be laughing all the time. We’re always cracking jokes. She’s great to go out dancing with too. Recently, we both went to see a band from Nelson and they were singing a song about being happy. That’s the way we are. Always bouncing around having a good time. Being happy! That’s the sort of friend she is.

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Last year I worked as a classroom assistant for six and seven year olds at Aranui Primary School. I loved it, it was really cool. It also made me confused about what I wanted to do in life. Because of it, I put in an application for Teachers College. Hopefully I’ll get in. I’d like to study either early childhood or primary education. I’m not sure which. I can see myself as a good teacher though, yeah, because I love kids.

If I don’t get in to Teachers College, I might do something in tourism. Perhaps I could work as an air hostess and cruise the world cheaply. I would have to brush up on my Japanese and German, maybe learn some other languages as well.

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I’m quite happy with my life now. I’m not really afraid of anything. Well, I guess what I’d be most afraid of is to never be truly happy — not having a home, not having a family and close friends. That would be the one thing I’d be afraid of.

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I don’t want to be a slave for someone else.

I want to have my own business — be my own slave. Earn my own money. Nobody wants to get up early on a cold morning to slave for someone else.

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My first job, the first one I ever had, I just walked up to the Fisheries and said, “I want a job. Have you got some forms to fill out?”

After I filled out the forms I went to some other factories before going home for lunch.

In the afternoon I got a calI. It was the Fisheries and I was wanted for an interview.

I got the job and stayed there for five years.

I’ve worked in top positions and low positions.

I’ve picked apples and I’ve worked as a salesperson at Farmers and Deka. After completing a professional cooking course at Polytech, I worked as a waiter at the Park Royal. I left because I didn’t like the stuck-up attitude of the people there. I’ve also worked as a chef at Noah’s, but I wasn’t there for too long because of my legs. I had gout problems. After that I worked at MacDonald’s and became one of the managers there after five months. I was single at the time and the money was all right. Now that I’m married with kids, I’ve had to go back to the Fisheries because the money’s great. I’m now back at my first job and I’m one of the supervisors.

When I first entered the New Zealand workforce, I was shocked at how people would always swear. There’s no respect here compared to Samoa. I was a school teacher in Samoa but some of the swearing I had never heard before. I can’t do anything about the swearing and so I just work with it. I find that Samoans working here get influenced by the swearing and are doing it too.

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I think religion is the best thing about being a Samoan. The people at work, the Palagi and the Maori, most of them don’t go to church.

My friends at work have asked me, “How come Polynesians go to church?” I just tell them that is the way we were brought up.

We had to go every Sunday and it’s hard to change. And then they ask me why I go to church on Saturdays instead of Sundays. I tell them I went on Sundays when I was younger because I was forced to. I’m married now, I have children and I can make my own decisions. My beliefs have changed because I’ve listened, I’ve learned, now I follow. If I wasn’t a Samoan, I don’t think I would have gone to church.

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When I was younger, there were fifty-one Sundays where I had to do the umu and the chores, but on White Sunday, I could actually rest. Same with the other kids. We didn’t have to do any chores on White Sunday.

On this day, Mum and Dad would serve us breakfast which was very, very unusual.

We would also get new clothes — a shirt each for the boys and a dress each for the girls. My parents had to find the best white clothing for us and I would look forward to going to church to compare who had the nicest clothes. Anyway, I think the best part of White Sunday is having your parents spoil you for the day. When it was over I would lie there in bed and think, “Oh, another fiftyone weeks to go.”

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The Independence celebration in Samoa was important to me too because it was the only time that my parents gave me money to spend however I wanted. Most of the time, when we were in town with mum and dad, they hold the money. They do the spending.

But on Independence day, I held the money.

I would hold it in my hand and I would feel good about it. I’m the boss.

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We lived by my mother’s rules and my older brothers reinforced them. They would beat us up. We were taught to respect other people, to be at home for evening worship and no swearing whatsoever. Even though I got smacked a lot, I still listened to what my mother said. I spent most of my time doing chores either at home or at the pastor’s house. My Mum made sure that I was always at the pastor’s house doing chores. I even slept there. In a way, I was like the pastor’s son. When he was away in town, he’d leave me in charge of the school which made me really happy.

I wasn’t planning on coming to New Zealand.

I was a school teacher in Samoa and I was planning to go to the Brigham Young University in Hawaii — a Mormon university.

But my mother begged me to come and help out with my sister’s school work. My mum said, “Ua lava le na poto ae alu e help i lou sister.” — that’s enough schooling, please help your sister. I had an older sister who came in 1979 but my baby sister was here in 1984 on a scholarship at Avonside Girls High. I’ve got two brothers in Samoa and six sisters.

One of my sisters died, otherwise we’re all alive. I’m the fifth, the ‘baby boy’ and to be honest, I’m mum’s boy. I do whatever she says. Even though I really wanted to go to Hawaii, I still looked forward to coming to New Zealand. In those times, when people said they were going to New Zealand, it was like they were going to heaven.

When I was growing up in Samoa, my father only had fifty dollars a fortnight to look after us. It was all we had for everything until some of us started working. I was able to help when I was at Teachers College because they paid the trainees. To help my parents I paid for the uniforms and school fees of my two younger sisters.

I arrived in June, 1985. It was winter and my family were at the airport ready with warm clothes. That was good because I just walked out with a singlet.

You know, when you come from Samoa, you come with a warmth inside and it keeps you warm. But after a few months in Christchurch, all my warmth was gone.

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One thing I’d like is a food business, I like serving food, you know, decorating and being creative with it. My other goal is to be a faifeau, a minister. Well, actually, my wife really wants me to be one and I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. She talks to me about becoming a faifeau to serve the Lord. When she says that, my heart goes, “I love serving the Lord but there are different ways to serve the Lord.” People say that every time they see me I’m happy and that I have a big smile everyday. I’d like to be remembered as a happy person. I think if my mind was fully into becoming a faifeau, I would have gone and done it sooner.

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I don’t think the New Zealand-born Samoans are losing their culture. If they are, they can’t do much about it anyway. They haven’t seen the life in Samoa and so to them their own lifestyle is a Samoan one. Unless they’re taught, they wouldn’t know. I teach my kids about the culture but I’m not too worried if my kids can’t speak Samoan. I mean, when they’re in school, they’ll need to know English. I think as long as my kids understand Samoan and obey me, that’s okay. I’m very strict with my kids. I’ve said to my wife that when I smack them, she’s not to say anything that will influence them. And if she smacks them, I’m not going to say anything either. It’s only when we’re in our bedroom that we would discuss what has happened so that the kids won’t hear. That’s how I’m teaching my family.

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I’m now looking after my two nieces as well as my own two boys. I’m proud that I have kids. I never thought that I’d get married and have kids. But now, I’m so happy that I have my boys. The girls are doing really well in school and that makes me really proud. I thought that the girls should really have been sent to live with one of my sisters, you know, a female. But mum trusts me more than my sisters. She thought it best that the girls should stay with me, a male, and that makes me really proud too.

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A lot of the people that knew me in Samoa never thought I was going to marry a man.

I was brought up with a mother who allowed me to be either a girl or a tomboy, I was never expected to behave according to gender expectations.

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I was allowed to do all the things that my brothers and other boys did. I went with them to the plantation to plant taros and did all the macho kind of work. I also did the fishing and climbed the coconut trees.

I think I climbed more coconut trees than any man in our whole district.

I was born in Tafatafa, a village within the Falealili district in Samoa. I think that I was very fortunate that my own personality as a macho woman gave me all the challenges and chances to be what I wanted to be.

I was very much like a boy and my nickname was ‘The Man’. It wasn’t until high school that they changed my name to ‘Bad Beaver’ because I was always in trouble. I did anything the teacher said not to do.

Coming from a tomboy background where I played with guys made me scared of playing rugby with girls. I worried that I might be stronger than them. I felt that I might hurt them. For the first couple of years I kept thinking that I was a boy playing with girls.

It affected my game, but a lot of people saw that I had potential and knew that I could play better. I’ve been playing now since 1991. In 1996, I was selected for the New Zealand Teachers College women’s rugby team. Now I’ve been selected for the New Zealand University women’s rugby team.

At 38 I’m the oldest player we have. Most of the girls are under twenty-one and have very little experience. I find it quite hard to play with less experienced players. I prefer to play with more experienced people because it improves the game.

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I was a primary teacher in Samoa and I taught for nine years before I made the move to New Zealand. I was twenty-seven when I arrived. I loved teaching in Samoa but it was also difficult because I had to juggle my school commitments with my responsibilities at home. I found myself mentally drained and tired all the time. I have three brothers and four sisters. I’m the seventh child but I was the only income earner and that was a very stressful position to be in. We also earned a little from selling coconuts and taro but it was never enough.

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I’m here because I saw New Zealand as a land of money and it seemed like a good place to raise a family. Of course when I arrived I soon found it wasn’t the dreamland that I’d made it out to be. I thought it would be an amazing place, somewhere you could get a job whenever you wanted one. Where everything would be easy. That was my interpretation of life in New Zealand. It was what I’d heard people say, and so I had this vision of New Zealand as a wonderful free land. In Samoa, I didn’t have to pay rent or board. Living at home I would just take anything because that’s what it was like there. What’s in the home belongs to the family. It didn’t take long to find out New Zealand was a different sort of place. Having to pay rent as well as sending money to my family in Samoa soon made me realise that living in New Zealand wasn’t all that much fun.

I had a younger sister who had been living in New Zealand before I came but we stayed with different families. I had to send the most money to Samoa because the family my sister stayed with took all her money.

I remember buying clothes for my sister so that she would have something nice to wear.

I didn’t find work until my third month in the country. That was in August, 1988.

I remember walking long distances every morning trying to find work in any factory that would take me. Door-knocking at factories, looking for a job like that, it was hard for me because my English wasn’t that good. Although I could understand what people were saying, it was difficult for me to respond and get my thoughts across.

My first job was in a carpet factory and there weren’t many Samoans there. After six months I was training the new staff. I worked there for two years before I got sick of the noise. I was used to working and interacting with people. I missed that.

Although you’re with people in a factory, you’re not interacting directly with them because you’re working with machines.

When I was learning English, I really wanted to speak like a Palagi. There was a Maori woman who heard that I wanted to speak like a European and she said to me, “I think you’re just beautiful as you are. In the way you speak, your accent, it’s part of your identity, your culture, and you should never think about losing it.” What she said made me think because I had never thought about my identity in that way. I don’t have perfect English even now but I’ve got the basics.

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Learning has never been an easy thing.

Even as a child I had to make time to do my homework. The first thing to be done was chores. I was never allowed to do homework when I had chores to do and so the only time I could study was when everyone went to bed. At times I would study from eleven at night till six-thirty the next morning.

Sometimes my mother would stay up with me trying to get me to sleep. A lot of the time though I didn’t sleep at all before going to school. If I didn’t do my homework, I would get a hiding at school from the teachers. In Samoa, the teachers could do anything they wanted. I got a lot of bad hidings. One I remember was in junior high school when I forgot my sports uniform. For the whole weekend I couldn’t sit down, I was so bruised. What was worse, if my family found out that I got a hiding at school, I would get another one at home. Every time my parents gave me a hiding they said that they loved me and that they didn’t want me to be bad. I think it was the physical punishment from school that made me determined to do my homework even if it meant losing sleep.

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I don’t want my children to be brought up the way I was. My upbringing was driven by physical punishment. That’s the way it was.

I grew up in the sixties and seventies and the mentality at the time was, spare the rod and you spoil the child. My mother never said to me, “Oh, you’re a good girl, you’ve done well.”

Instead, she would compare my recent school report with the previous one and tell me that I wasn’t doing well. All I remember is that it didn’t matter how many good things I did as a kid, I only needed to do one thing wrong to get attention. I don’t want that for my children. Everything they do matters to me. All the changes in their life matter to me because when I was brought up, nothing mattered. My parents thought that it would make me a strong person.

As a Samoan mother, I want my children to learn the Samoan language.

Knowing your language connects you to your culture and the Samoan way of thinking.

I think it’s important for them to know that they’re part Samoan.

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It’s quite a complicated thing to be a Samoan within a New Zealand context.

One thing you need to be a Samoan is determination. Every Samoan wants to do well and to have a good level of competency in what they do. Being Samoan also means to believe in God and Jesus. The religious love and getting involved in church is important to me. I like the idea of supporting each other without the expectation of something in return.

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I enjoy every aspect of church. Especially the singing. I was brought up to sing in church. The best part for me, spiritually, comes from the singing. I’m both Catholic and Methodist but most of the time, I was brought up Catholic. My father was a very strict Catholic and he died when I turned three. My mother was both Catholic and Methodist. I think the main difference between the two are the saints. The Catholic saints are more acknowledged in the church than Jesus. Some of my confessions when I was a kid were just lies. I would go in to confess and say, “I’ve stolen and I’ve committed adultery.” I told more lies than the truth. I only did confessions because I heard other people doing it. It’s quite amazing what you say as a kid without knowing what you’re saying. Now I’m Methodist. Although I was in the church, I had to be elected in the Ekalesia which is a selection of people that can participate in special services and accept Jesus. My mum elected all of her kids. I was ten at the time and I didn’t understand what I was getting involved in. I was forced to do a lot of things. I don’t actually know why we wear white. I’ve never been given an explanation. I have heard people say that you can wear any colour to go to pubs and nightclubs but when it comes to church, you wear white.

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I got involved with the radio programme, Samoa E Le Galo, because they had a DJ competition that I won a few times. In the competition, you make your own programme and then they put you on air as a DJ. They rang me to see if I wanted to join. On the radio I either broadcast the local news about what’s happening within the Samoan community or I translate news items from newspapers. Sometimes I don’t do the news because it’s all bad news and it depresses me. When I do the news, I like to see the balance — something nice, something nasty and something good. I get very emotional if it’s bad news and people can hear it in my voice, so that’s why I don’t always deliver the news when I’m supposed to.

I’m also the Vice-President for the Samoan Students Association at Canterbury University. When I joined, I had very specific expectations. My way of looking at the association was that every student will speak Samoan and raise issues about what they have found difficult in their studies.

To me, an association for Samoan students was for sharing information, studying together and talking about the Samoan culture. Instead, what I found was an emphasis on the association as a social gathering for students. It has nothing to do with how students feel or how they study.

No one else seems to share my view and I think that’s because it’s being controlled by people outside of the student body. Ideally, it should be run by the students. It’s all politics and you really need a group of people to support your view to make changes. It’s sad what the Samoan Students Association has become.

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Education is very important to me and to my family. I’m the only one in the family that has reached tertiary level in education. Although no one else has reached this level, my family has very high expectations. It’s what drives me — knowing that my family has faith in me and that I can do better. I sat the Teachers College exam for pre-trained teachers from the Pacific Islands and got accepted. At the college I retrained for the Diploma of Primary Teaching and I graduated in 1991. Last year I graduated with a Bachelor of Education and I’m now working on completing my Masters degree. I’m still thinking about what I can do with my qualifications. I have work experience with young children that have disabilities and I’ve worked with the elderly.

My other option is to teach but I would love to create a new job for myself and to be a coordinator for Samoan sports, any sport.

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I would love to think that I’m a role model for other Samoans but more than that, I’d like to think that I’m a role model for my own children. With education, I’d like to go as far as I can so when I say to my children, “I want you to do this,” they can see that I’ve done it myself.

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Patrick is part-Maori, I met him in Auckland where he was working in the immigration office. Even though it hasn’t been easy for us, I think inter-racial relationships are a good thing. We married in 1994 after we had our first child and another one was on the way. I’m still married because my husband is so committed to me and for all his support, I really salute him. He has tried so hard to understand what Samoans are like — sending money to Samoa or paying the airfares for my nephew and nieces without expecting the money to be reimbursed. In the early days of our relationship I would take the money and say, “Ask no questions, get no lies.” At that time, I didn’t have the vocabulary to explain to him the Samoan culture of giving money. I adore him for trying to understand and sticking it out with me. I think a relationship can work if you both communicate with each other.

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There are some things today that make life more stressful than it used to be. I seem to have a lot more responsibilities to juggle than I used to. Before I just had my own things to do. Now I seem to be so busy, I’m expected to be everywhere. Sometimes it worries me about the family, they are on my mind a lot. As long as my husband is with the children though, that’s the one thing that makes it okay. If they are with him I know that they are safe.

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My life is dedicated to the church.

I want to do my best not only because I am Samoan, but also because I am a disciple of Jesus. In everything that I do, I must always remember that I am a minister for the church. As a follower of Jesus I must behave appropriately.

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People respect the ministers in any congregation, but they won’t respect me if I misbehave — if I don’t earn their respect.

When I was growing up I was taught to respect older people and to honour my parents. It was also important to be a Christian because when you’re a church person, you’ll be more responsible in your actions. When you’re tempted to do something wrong, you remind yourself that you are a follower of Christ, that your actions must not bring shame to your parents, nor to your community, nor to yourself.

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I come from a family of ten boys and it was always in my mum’s prayers that one of us would take up the ministry. You always heard my mum saying that. Her parents were ministers in Samoa for over fifty years and so she was involved in the church all her life. It was important to my mother that one of her own children would be a ‘sacrifice’ for God and his work. I also have three sisters and my parents adopted six more kids. That’s a lot of children. I always felt sorry for my parents, their loyalty had to be spread a long way to make sure that everyone got what they needed.

The majority of my family came over in 1959.

My parents and I came in 1969 when I was seventeen. I’ll be fifty next year, but I still think of myself as young because my older brothers and sisters are in their sixties. My parents have now passed away but all nineteen of us children are still alive.

The best thing about being a Reverend is knowing that you are working for God. I was ordained in 1987. One of the great joys that I have in the ministry is being a leader, being someone who is looked upon as a role model for the church. I also enjoy meeting with people and communicating what God wants to tell the church. I’m concerned that people walk in line with what God wants.

There are a handful of Samoans who declare themselves to be atheists. That is a shame.

They either don’t know their roots, or their understanding of God is from another culture. We must remember our motto, Faavae i le Atua — Founded on God. Our forefathers used that term because they wanted Samoa to be a country where God is important.

Samoan people are very proud people.

It’s not that they are trying to be better than other people, they simply want to do the best for their family’s sake and to make sure that their God is not ashamed of what they do.

To be Samoan means that you want to know your culture, to know how your culture deals with a situation. You want to know your language, you want to know your roots, you want to know your church, your Christianity, your faith. That is being Samoan. I am always proud to be Samoan, no matter where I am.

I always think that if New Zealand-born Samoans are beginning to lose out on their culture that it stems from their home life.

Perhaps the fact that there are so many other influences within our society contributes to this as well. On the other hand there are some New Zealand-born Samoans who are marvellous young people.

They stay at home, they listen to their parents, they go to school, do their studies.

They are the ones willing to learn their culture and their language.

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All forms of the Samoan culture are significant in their own right. You can’t say that a particular wedding, or funeral, or a title installation is more important than another.

One could say that Samoans are poor because of their culture. When we come to New Zealand, our highest priority is to help our families back home. Yet, I find that the way the Samoan culture is performed here, makes it difficult for families to offer financial support. Families in New Zealand are struggling financially because when they do things, they try to do it the ‘American Style’.

They try to put on a big performance. I try to discourage that way of thinking in order to ease the financial pressure.

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Inter-racial relationships can be difficult to understand. Nobody really knows where other people are at. For me, I married a Tongan and we get on well. If my relationship with my wife were to break down though, it wouldn’t be very good for the family. Being involved in a multicultural church, what I want to see happening is interaction between the different cultures.

We have Niueans, Samoans, Palagis, Tongans, Maoris and Cook Islanders. We must realise that in a community we can never live on our own.

My children are part of me. I have done my best to give them what I believe is important.

They have been taught how they should behave. If they go off-track now, after they’ve been given instructions and support, there’s not much I can do.

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Being a person who wants to follow Jesus is the most important thing of all for me. If you get that priority right, all the other things will fall into place. If I wasn’t a Christian, I wouldn’t be where I am now. If I’m a good father, I’m a good father because I know Jesus. If I’m a good minister, it’s because I want to follow Jesus.

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My parents never spoke to me about contraception. We weren’t allowed to talk about sex. The rule was no sex, until you’re married. I had to stop taking communion at church because, according to my religion, I’d disrespected the word of God and my family.

I have a baby, I’m not married and I’m living with my partner.

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My sister was supposed to tell my parents that I was pregnant but she got my brother to do it. He’s sort of different and so they can’t get angry at him. If they did, he’d get really shitty and go crazy. At that time I had my own flat and so I didn’t see their reaction.

They told me that dad was really angry and that mum was crying. She kept saying, “Oh, poor thing, poor thing.” My brother did his best, he said, “We are Christian people. You can’t disown her. It’s a part of life. You have the heart to forgive her.”

When I came to see my parents I thought I was going to get a hiding. I know of girls who’ve been kicked out of home and beaten because they got pregnant. Dad just said, “Ia vaai i le mea leaga ua e alu ma fai” — (look at the bad thing you’ve done).

He gave me a long lecture. He also told Bobby that he had to marry me. These days I live with my parents. I guess I’m one of the lucky ones.

My parents have always worried about what other people were thinking. We had to have this image of a ‘good girl’, which meant I had to go to church all the time.

I was not allowed to miss out even if I was out the night before. If I wasn’t up in time for church, the next thing you know is dad coming in with the jandal. Then it’s like, “Quick girl, run!”

If we did something wrong, we got a hiding.

It wasn’t like the Palagis, “Right you’re grounded,” or “You’re not allowed to watch telly”. People may think that getting a hiding is bad, but in our culture it’s discipline. It was dad that made sure I behaved. Us kids were all scared of him. What dad says, goes.

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When I was younger, I used to sneak off to meet my boyfriend. I wasn’t supposed to have one. I wasn’t allowed one until I finished high school. When the phone rang I’d run to answer it before dad could get to it.

I wasn’t even allowed to talk on the phone if it was a guy. I was expected to go to school, come home, do homework or read a book.

It’s good to know who you are, your background and your ancestors. If you don’t know where you come from, then you don’t know who you are. I’ve never been to Samoa. I was born in Christchurch. I would go to Samoa if I had enough money, I’d like to see the festivals and the dancing.

My parents taught me how to speak Samoan from day one. It’s important to know the language but I think you’ve got to teach them a little English as well, for when they go to school. When I started school I could only speak Samoan. I remember one time, dad had to come to school and when the teachers spoke to him he’d just nod his head.

Of course, these days his English is better, but back then he’d just say, “Yes, yes.” He had no idea what they were saying. I always used to say that I didn’t want to take him to Report Day because he couldn’t understand English. Also I had a lot of unexplained absences and my work was falling behind.

Ha, then I realised that this was great because if my teachers said something bad about me, dad wouldn’t know it. He’d just sit there, nodding, and say, “Oh, yes.” After that I took him all the time.

The problem with our culture is that we are given names that no one at school can pronounce. My first name is Taufau and that’s the name I used at school. It was always a problem. I was either ‘Toofoo,’ ‘Tahfee’ or ‘Tahneefah.’ When the roster was called, I would always go up and point to my name, just to make sure they knew which one it was.

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I have two older brothers and a sister. I’m the youngest and I’ll be turning twenty-two in December. It’s hard being the youngest. I had to do all the chores. It’s like, “Clean this, clean that.” Sometimes we’d have people visiting us who’d talk on and on. We would have to stay up and serve pancakes and coffee even if it was three in the morning.

I’m thinking, “Hey, this is not the islands.

We’ve got work tomorrow.”

Before I started working, I used to stay at home and look after the baby. My partner, Bobby, would always say to me that we were both working, the only difference was that I wasn’t getting income for looking after the baby. I knew it wasn’t fair on him though to be the only one working. I’m not earning a lot now but I know he appreciates my help.

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I was asked to play netball for a Tongan team. The girls are all right. It’s only when they start speaking Tongan that I get a bit worried, especially when they all look at me.

Being the only Samoan, it gets a bit scary because we’ve got that history of Tongans and Samoans at war with each other.

I don’t know about other religions but in our church the minister’s expenses are paid by the people. They pay for the mortgage, the phone bill and the food. On top of that, the people also give money fortnightly for the minister and his family. My parents put a lot of money towards the minister and the church. They always say, “Oh, it’s part of what God wants us to do.” The only time I get angry is when mum complains that we have no money to live on. There are so many things going on at church that we have to put in for, and then each family wonders why they’re always running out of money.

I don’t think God wants us to give our money here or there. I think he just wants us to praise him.

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I discipline my daughter but I don’t beat her, not like what I went through. I don’t want to teach her with physical violence. I teach her to respect her elders but most important, I teach her to respect her parents. I want my children to be able to talk to me if something is wrong or if someone did something to them. I want them to be able to trust me and to know that I would never disown them.

My main goal now is to become a full-on Christian. To walk with the Lord and to raise my daughter in a way that will benefit her. I pray that she will stay at school to get a good education and then get a good job.

Now I know where my parents were coming from and what I did wrong. I’ve learned from my mistakes and I don’t want my daughter to do what I did.

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I had a teacher who went out of his way to look after his Samoan students. I want to do the same, to make a difference with the Samoan kids here in New Zealand. I want them to know that they too can achieve like everyone else, if not more. But the public exam weighs heavy. I teach them when they’re young, form one to form four, but at the same time I’m thinking, what happens to them after that?

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One of my big things at the moment is getting the pass rate up. A big challenge for us at school is the learning style. Many of our students are kinaesthetic learners.

Teachers are generally visual learners and they teach visually which is one reason why our kids fail. A kinaesthetic learner needs ‘to do’ which is why our kids are good at acting, singing and sports. If you can apply those skills to the classroom and change the activity so they’re not just sitting, our kids will have a greater chance of passing.

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At Teachers College we were told that we’d be teaching kids who’d never been to the beach in their lives. I remember thinking, is that true? Then, hey, that’s me too!

Nowadays we go to the beach often but when I was growing up we never had a car, so we never went to the beach. The main things we went to were church or things for the Aiga — the extended family. We would either be in a taxi or in someone else’s car.

For my twenty-first birthday we hired our first car. It wasn’t until a couple of years later that we finally got our own family car.

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As a teacher, I’ve found that if you’re good at different things, you’re given them as jobs.

I’ve been given sports and I’m trying to get rid of it. It’s not the career path that I want to take. My vision was to work with Samoan students and to encourage them to be strong and positive about being Samoan.

We’ve always been strong on culture here at Cathedral College. It’s great we have a Samoan culture group. We had a cultural festival in 1992 and ’94 for secondary schools in Christchurch. The students and I worked together to organise speech competitions, an a cappella competition and a cultural dance evening. The following year the culture group went off to Samoa for the seventh South Pacific Festival of the Arts.

For many of the students it was their first time ever in Samoa. During the first week we stayed together but after the performances we all went off to our various relatives. The Palagi kids paired up with the Samoan students. I had three Palagi teachers with me and they just loved it. They learned to go with the flow in that it didn’t matter if your hair wasn’t done or you hadn’t put your make-up on. It was okay to sleep on the floor and you could even eat with your hands.

My first trip to Samoa was a reward for being a good boy in School Certificate. I’ve been quite a few times since but that first trip was really exciting for me. To finally meet people that I’d only heard of around the old dining table, that was great. I was born in Christchurch but language wasn’t a barrier because my parents brought us up fa’a Samoa. The only things I had to get used to were the namu, the mosquito, and the heat.

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I think cultural identity is crucial for our young people. There are so many that are lost because some of the parents don’t care.

They opt out of fa’a Samoa which means they opt out of Samoan traditions. Kids also need to have contact with other Samoan adults. I was working with a student this morning who has a track record of misdemeanours from his last school. I sat down with him to do a goal-setting exercise and we started out by setting big goals, family goals and personal goals. We then looked at ways of achieving these goals. I plugged the academic line, which I don’t always agree with, but I told him that he did need to get his School Certificate. He seemed interested in the academic side but the Samoan side is a desert for him. I’m glad he’s here. We’ll be doing the Samoan dance in the second term so he’ll be able to mix with other Samoans.

It’s tough being the only Samoan teacher at Cathedral. If I had a Samoan friend here, that would be special. I envy people who work with Samoans. My closest friend was Samoan but he moved up to Auckland.

When he lived here I loved spending time with him because we were both on the same wavelength. I really miss that. Most of my friends are not Samoans and the friends I have now are ones that have children.

I’ve been teaching for thirteen years and I’ve always wondered — when I leave teaching — will people remember me? I don’t suppose they do really. I know what it’s like when people leave and you say good-bye.

You miss them, but as time passes people move on. The one thing I would like is to be remembered as someone who got on with the kids he taught. Someone who loved those kids.

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My father was always in a position of responsibility. He was the president of the Catholic Community and my mother was the president of the Women’s Fellowship. My parents were our role models and it’s probably why my brothers and sisters have all got into positions where we’re either managers or leaders with people skills.

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I have found that being Samoan influences the way people treat me. I can usually tell what their experiences have been with Samoans by the way they treat me. When I meet people, I’m all smiles. I try to put them at ease so they don’t think that I’m going to mug them or anything like that. Anyway, I find it easy to get on with people. My family can all do it.

I think fa’a Samoa is great — in Samoa. The way they look after each other is wonderful, but in practice — here in New Zealand — it doesn’t really work. I’m only speaking from my experience. If anyone does follow it truly, I don’t believe they’re doing well financially.

They won’t be driving flash cars or living in the rich areas. They may be happy, but they’ll be poor. When my father died there was fifty-nine thousand dollars donated in Mea Alofa. It was a huge funeral and dad always said, “When I die, you’ll be well looked after and that will be your insurance, mum.”

After my mother paid the funeral bills she only had nine thousand left. I really resented that. I still do. Especially when I think of all the years that my parents looked after people from Samoa, sending money to Samoa while they had no money for themselves. I guess my father got his reward in heaven.

It was really tough when I first tried to explain to Rose about money donations in the Samoan culture. When I knew she could handle that, I knew she was the one. I used to think fa’a Samoa was the only way but I’ve mellowed in my attitude. Rose made me realise you shouldn’t have to give beyond your means. Her focus is a Palagi focus — the nuclear family. With Samoans it is the Aiga, that comes first. It is the Aiga that looks after the nuclear family. Rose has been really good for me. I still give, but I put my kids first and I’m more selective about who I give to. I would give twenty dollars unless it’s someone who really supported my parents, then I would give more. We’ve just had a funeral recently where Rose and I gave a thousand dollars.

Being a Samoan is more than skin-deep. I think a Samoan is someone who is proud of their culture and is willing to share. With our culture, it’s ‘others first.’ A giving sharing culture. My father worked two jobs to provide for us and the Aiga, but he put the Aiga first. If there was money left over it always went to the extended family. My father was also a real shark when it came to snooker and he’d go around the snooker parlours without any money but he’d come back with money. That was how we survived a lot of the time. The term ‘Samoan’ makes me think about my parents. I also think about rugby, about the Manu Samoa.

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I had the option to go for the All Blacks or to play for the Manu Samoa. I chose the Manu Samoa and I was in the team from 1989 till 1992. I can still remember my first game.

We were in Hamilton and we played Waikato in the New Zealand tour. Anyway, I was standing there and Samoa’s national anthem played. I had never heard it before and as I stood there I thought about my family at home watching me. I also knew that my Aulotu, our church, had gone home to watch.

After I got back from the tour my family told me the camera was focused on me the whole time. They knew I was going to cry.

I was so emotional. I was proud for my parents and I was also proud to be playing for Samoa. I didn’t want to let either of them down.

The first time I ever played rugby I was in Standard Four. I remember my first training.

It was cold that morning and we were told to change into our jerseys. I took off my first tee-shirt, my second one, my third, fourth, fifth — I had six shirts on. Ha, my mum was looking after me.

As I got older, I played centre for Linwood Seniors and from there I played for the Canterbury seven-a-side. Then it was the Pacific Barbarians seven-a-side, before being selected for the Samoan Barbarians XV. I played with them in France and England. It was just awesome to see the world like that.

Being given all these things, food, drinks and clothing and so on, but what I really loved was the team camaraderie. Samoa was the best team I played for. You could just look at each other and start laughing.

We were like a family.

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I stopped playing when Stephanie was born.

It was hard to give up playing that first season because I could still play. I still can.

I hate being the spectator but I’ve had a change in priorities. My kids are number one.

I want the best for my children. I want them to be around other achieving kids and achieving parents but at the same time, I also want them around Samoan people. I find that the two don’t always go together these days. I’m conscious of that. So I’m glad that most of my family live here now.

My grandmother and aunties are here and my mother has a big house where the whole Aiga often gets together. My children mix with their cousins and my mother talks to them in Samoan all the time which is good because I don’t always speak it.

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My parents expected me to marry a Samoan and so getting them to accept Rose was tough. Dad was always proud of being a full Samoan. There was this stigma that the change of blood would dilute the family. My mother also really put the pressure on me about marrying a Palagi and it wasn’t until years later that she could see Rose was good for me.

Rose followed me for ten years because if the girlfriend I had didn’t enjoy rugby, we wouldn’t do anything. Personally, I’m all for inter-racial relationships. I suppose it depends where you want to go in life but I think knowing someone of another race opens up more doors. Also, if you don’t know someone from a different culture there is the danger of being closed-minded. I don’t want that for myself and I don’t want it for my family either.

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