Reflections on a Writing Project Trip to Samoa
By Jim Smart
Kamehameha Schools
I tried to catch my breath as I gasped at the view from the top of Rangitoto island in the middle of Auckland harbor. I hadn’t expected lush jungle vegetation on such a recent volcano. I hadn’t expected the hidden caves and misty pathways, and the view from the top was overwhelming my senses. The sun was brilliant in the southern hemisphere. How did I get here?
Back in 1998 in Honolulu the Hawaii Writing Project Summer Institute was nearly over. Tad and Joan Elliott, two guest speakers from North Carolina, came to talk about travel to places in the South Pacific I’d always dreamed of. Samoa, New Zealand....but this was not a cruise or a tour group. This was a group of teachers visiting schools, staying with teachers and their families, and sharing ideas in different cultures. This was traveling light, being flexible, and finding yourself in unpredictable situations. The Hawaii Writing Project ended, but the idea of a Pacific Odyssey stayed with me.
I plotted ways to get included on the trip. By mid winter I began casually mentioning it to my wife every now and then. I asked around at my school to see if I could get help with the funding. Finally I took a deep breath and contacted Tad and Joan, and I was in. Two weeks in the south Pacific.
We landed in Samoa in the pre-dawn hours. It was too dark to see what the place was like yet. We got through all the airport procedures and were herded onto a colorful wooden bus. The darkness began to dissipate as it putted away. We began to see what sort of country we were in. The ocean flashed by on the left, while on the right were houses spaced apart with great grassy lawns filled with the occasional free-roaming pig or rooster. There are no fences in Samoa. People were emerging from their houses, dressed in bright island colors. Many were waiting by the road for buses. There are no bus stops. You simply stand by the road wherever you are, and get on any bus that will stop for you. Then you let the driver know when you want to get off, and he stops. The fare is calculated by some mysterious means, but like everything else in Samoa, it’s amazingly cheap to an American.
I’ll never again complain about the copy machine breaking down at work. In Samoa I saw teachers in crowded classrooms with no supplies or electricity even babysitting their own children while they managed a group of thirty or more. Mats on the floor, holes in the wall, and no chairs, just rows of low tables. I brought two bags full of colorful picture books to donate. I wish I’d brought more. Teachers work with the chalkboard and a single blank ruled book for each student. The Children grow up speaking Samoan at home, and learn English in school.
The children in Samoa wear uniforms to school. Most schools have a white collared shirt that goes with a single colored lava lava, a skirt-type wrap worn by both men and women. Businessmen and important government officials wear a suit and tie on top with a lava lava on the bottom.
Besides being teachers and scholars, we were tourists. We toured around the island and saw the beautiful beaches and valleys. We stopped our rickety, colorful bus at a place with hundreds of beach fales, which are buildings with no walls. I had a chance to go snorkeling and saw the most amazingly colored corals and fishes. I brought a bright blue starfish ashore for the other teachers to see.
I had expected these sorts of exotic places and lots of interesting schools. But the most rewarding and memorable part of the trip was staying with host families. This is a whole different sort of travel where I got to meet teachers and their families and see how they really live. Think of the difference in experience between staying in a Waikiki hotel for a week or staying with a local family. At the hotel you would see the sights in the guidebooks. But with a family, you would learn the out of the way places that local people enjoy. You would see the neighborhoods and the local sporting events and the real music that locals listen to, not that Don Ho stuff. This is what I experienced on this trip.
I stayed with a minister and his young family. The house had running water and electricity, and a TV. There are only two channels in Samoa, one for Pat Robertson’s religious shows, and one for government pronouncements.
My roommate and I were fed huge meals by the family. The custom is not to dine with guests, but to stand by and watch them eat. Occasionally the minister would eat with us, but never the women. There were delicious papayas and other fruits, and seafood, and things cooked in banana oil. I quickly learned to unlearn my custom of “clearing my plate”. Because if you eat everything on your plate, they fill it up again, and you have to start over. So I learned how to leave lots on the plate. After pushing my plate away Samoan style, we retired to the living room. Only then did the women have a chance to eat.
On the last night the Samoans threw a great big party for us. The weather was warm and stuffy, even at night. By now the Samoan food had started to wreak havoc with some stomachs, so we weren’t quite as festive as we could be. We socialized until midnight and then caught another colorful bus to the airport. Actually, we almost missed our flight, which would have been bad, since the next one was four days later.
I will never complain about the cold again, especially the wimpy sort of cold we get here in Hawaii. When I got to New Zealand it was 5:00 a.m. at the start of their winter. My body screamed that the contrast between here and Samoa was too much for it to take. I bought every bit of wool I could find. Each day I would add some sheep to my wardrobe, and the next day I would still be cold. Socks, sweaters, gloves. The locals would be walking around very lightly dressed, as if this were just a summer’s day. I finally bought long underwear, which allowed me to look as if I were dressed as sparingly as the Kiwis, when in fact my secret weapon was hidden underneath.
All the hubbub of the modern world and the frigid air of the southern winter felt like a slap in the face after the third world pace of Samoa. Time to wake up! In New Zealand we spent time in three major cities—Christchurch, Dunedin, and Auckland. We visited many schools. Like the weather, the contrast between schools in New Zealand was extreme. The Kiwis are leaders in education. Each classroom was organized, vibrant, and well-run. The teachers display the work of the children with such care. In Samoa we had been offering ideas and supplies, but in New Zealand we were the learners, catching new ideas and making connections to our own classrooms.
The host families I stayed with were very kind. I stayed with an old couple and heard stories about the man’s visits to Antarctica and how he fought and was injured in World War II. He showed me his home brewed beer operation out in his garage. Another family I stayed with took me all around the surrounding area to see the stunning cliffs by the sea and out to the interesting pubs to hear loud bands late at night. It was all very magical. Back at the top of the volcano, the view of the pretty sailboats on the sparkling water continued to dazzle. Rangitoto is only a few hundred years old. The thing sprang up out of the waters of the bay right in front of the Maoris. Amazing. And if I hadn’t stayed with a terrific host family in Dunedin, I never would have known about climbing it. Local knowledge. That’s what you get when you tour the world with the North Carolina Writing Project.
