Whispers and Vanities in Samoan Indigenous Religious Culture

Whispers and Vanities in Samoan Indigenous Religious Culture
Tui Atua Tupua Tamasese Ta’isi Efi
Head of State of the Independent State of Samoa
World Parliament of Religions
Melbourne, Australia
3 December 2009
© NB: Please do not cite without author’s permission
(Please forward all correspondence regarding this paper to
hos_research@samoaonline.ws)
This paper is a gentle prayer, a faanonomanu 1 , to the gods of Samoa who
protect the religious knowledges of my forebears. In daring to speak in print
about these knowledges I gently seek their indulgence and blessings.
There is within Samoa a culture of whispers surrounding our Samoan indigenous
religion. I remember as a boy thinking why my mentors, the revered custodians of my
indigenous religious culture whispered in fear and with guilt when speaking about it
to me. Now as a man I am increasingly haunted, especially at this late stage in my
life, by the persistence of this fear and guilt. In fact, despite my fervent belief in the
core precepts of my indigenous religious culture, I too am guilty of whispering in the
same vein when repeating what they had told me.
In preparing for this paper I have been wondering how many others share a similar
experience. As a Samoan I have been worried about this culture of whispers for many
years. It still worries. In reflecting on why, I have to admit that it is perhaps because
I am, by nature it seems, an impatient person and as more and more years pass I fear
that I have left my contribution to an address of it too little too late. In thinking about
this I have had to take stock of my impatience and reflect seriously on the challenges
of speaking openly and in detail about such a topic, about what it is that I am
promoting, and exactly what I hope to achieve in doing so.
The short answer is I don’t know exactly. But, generally speaking, I do know that this
paper is a continuation of a search, one that began many years ago. What I hope to
generate here, as before, is an openness to dialogue about the good and bad of our
indigenous knowledges. I hope to reaffirm the need for forums for open and
constructive sharing; forums powerful enough to impel a desire amongst teachers and
scholars to speak and write with clarity, rigour, passion and pride about the poetry,
logic and nuances – the beauty – of our Samoan indigenous religious culture; forums
where the not so beautiful aspects can also be probed and debated. Through these
1
Faanonomanu literally means to seek through gentle persuasion the gods’ blessings (faanono,
meaning to persuade gently; manu meaning blessings).
1

forums I hope to generate a culture of informed pride about our indigenous religious
beliefs whereby contemporary custodians can impart to those eager to learn the best of
what our forefathers had to offer.
Before I delve into the basic tenets of our Samoan indigenous religious culture, let me
explain what I mean here by the culture of whispers.
A culture of whispers
A culture of whispers can include those whispers that are life-affirming, loveaffirming
and faith-affirming, such as a mother talking in loving whispers to her
unborn child or an audience whispering in awe at the majesty of the Sistine chapel.
The elements of love and awe that motivate and define these whispers are implicit in
tala tuumumusu, i.e. in the culture of whispers engaged by Samoan custodians when
passing on sacred knowledge. The culture of whispers I wish to dwell on in this paper
suggests a continuum where tala tuumumusu lies at one end and a more disturbing
kind of whisper, those of tala taumusumusu, lies at the other. Unlike tala tuumumusu,
tala taumusumusu are comments usually motivated by arrogance, jealousy and/or
spite.
Sister Vitolia Mo’a draws a useful distinction between tala tuumumusu and tala
taumusumusu. 2 She suggests that one is sacred and profound and the other dismissive
and pejorative. Tala tuumumusu imbues in the whisper a reverence for the knowledge
imparted and its tapu or sacred qualities. Tala taumusumusu is by definition
irreverent. The word tau in taumusumusu refers not to the imparting of knowledge
through a process that bespeaks awe (as implied in the term tuu, meaning to give
lovingly), but to the making of pejorative throwaway comments that are meant to pass
on prejudice and dislike. Sister Vitolia expresses the difference like so: “Tala
tuumumusu clearly exposes [tala] taumusumusu as a murky, half light activity, more
childish than mature, less informed, insecure and suffering from entrenched
hypocrisy” 3 .
The culture of whispers that surrounds the Samoan indigenous religion today sits in
between tala tuumumusu and tala taumusumusu and involves a sliding scale of
whispers whereby tala tuumumusu are the ideal and tala taumusumusu are the least
ideal. Whether the act of whispering is more tala tuumumusu than tala taumusumusu
or vice versa depends on [a] the nature of the knowledge or information passed on, [b]
the motivation for passing it on, and [c] the degree of guilt or shame felt when passing
it on. For example, it is not uncommon in today’s context for a family custodian of
indigenous knowledge to also be a staunch leader of a Christian church. When
passing on his knowledge about the origins of his chiefly titles and lands to a
designated receiver or nainai, it is possible that he would do so with minimum or no
guilt. This is because one can talk about what titles and lands belong to whom and
why in quite a perfunctory manner. However, when this custodian begins to talk of or
is probed further for the meanings and nuances of his chiefly titles, the names and
2
Personal communication by email, 16 November 2009. I am grateful to Sister Vitolia Mo’a
for her willingness to respond to my request for feedback on a draft version of my thoughts on the
concepts of a ‘culture of whispers’ and the ‘vanity of vanities’.
3
Ibid.
2

origins of his residences or for the meanings and nuances implicit in the languaging of
family chants or songs, this Christian custodian would more often than not become
uncomfortable and his whispers would start to expose the influence of his Christian
hang-ups. In this situation the custodian’s whispered talk would move from being an
exercise in true tala tuumumusu to one that involves elements of taumusumusu.
Although the main instigator of the guilt and shame that is endemic within this culture
of whispers can be traced back to the monocultural biases of early Christian
missionaries, these biases have become, as in other places, ‘indigenised.’ Samoans
now refuse, on what we perceive to be our own grounds, to entertain the thought that
maybe our forebears had something useful and profound in their ancient religious
beliefs and practices for our modern religious lives. While the full impact of early
missionary bias among Samoans has begun to weaken as Samoans search and learn
more about their indigenous history, we have yet to find a way to move beyond our
Augustinian guilt so that we speak of our ancient religious beliefs without fear of
reprimand.
To delve just a little further into the complexity of this culture of whispers, it might be
instructive to also point out that whispering in and of itself engenders exclusivity.
The act of tuumumusu, while an act of reverence, is deliberately exclusive. For those
not chosen to receive such knowledge there can be envy and ill-feeling and this can
give rise to taumusumusu. During ancient times passing on in-depth religious and
cultural knowledge associated with family genealogies, place names, historical
figures, ceremonial rites and honorifics, including everyday practices, would fall to a
select few. Such knowledge gave power and status to these custodians and especially
those respected as custodians of district or national histories. The knowledge of this
inner circle of custodians was generally uncontested.
The process for authenticating the knowledges of custodians included participation in
rigorous debate. Custodians would meet to share and argue about different historical
events, facts and/or theories. Each custodian would be obliged to prove their
arguments or facts by triangulated references to known nomenclature, genealogies,
historical time periods, existing place names, and so on. Each argument or claim of
fact had to hold up against common sense rules of logic and evidence. But implicit in
both the detail and the telling of all these custodial knowledges was an overriding
belief that they were God-given; that the origins of all knowledges, all power and
status, of all that is successful and good is God-derived and God-oriented.
Tala tuumumusu were and are family treasures. They defined family roles and
responsibilities within the village, district and/or national scenes. They determined
political hierarchies (the boundaries and rules for claiming authority over lands and
chiefly titles). They dictated the relevance of social conventions and prescribed moral
standards and religious norms. These knowledges and their custodians gave ancient
Samoan society measures for their religious and moral life.
It is not surprising that Samoan families, villages and districts fought over the
authenticity and legitimacy of their tala tuumumusu and were wary of tala
taumusumusu. Negotiating the boundaries between Christian and indigenous values
has meant for many Samoans a duality in the way we live our everyday lives. The
culture of whispers of taumusumusu identifies the impact of European colonisation on
3

our Samoan religious sensibilities. Forty years ago Samoan novelist Albert Wendt
wrote of the impact of this culture of whispers in Samoa. He said:
“The missionaries (and all other puritans) brought pornography by instilling in us the
bourgeois morality of Europe, making us ashamed of the very stories and situations
which made us laugh. The puritan would have us believe that one does not exist
below the navel. According to a poet friend, “The missionaries came with a Bible in
one hand, and a chisel in the other.” True Samoan humour went underground and
remains there in those circles we call “respectable.” Occasionally it emerges in print
… verbally our youth reveal it among themselves on more public occasions; the more
madly daring of our orators glorify it in the face of the sanctimonious; on the radio,
some of our choirs – especially the older male choirs – sing of it with great gusto; in
our more traditional faleaitu [comedies] actors display it with gleeful abandonment.
And it is good. For our true humour is still alive and may someday – when we have
purged ourselves of the guilt we acquired during our colonial experience – surface
again in novel, poem, song and play. Perhaps by then the “Victorians” among us
would have “passed away” and we will see no need of censorship, of the fig leaf and
the chisel” (cited in Richard Moyle, 1975: p.228). 4
In 2009 the censorship Albert Wendt spoke of still lingers, if not by direct action then
by omission. The Samoan indigenous religion is not to be ashamed of, and especially
not by Samoans. It is core to our identity as Samoans. Without it the traditional
foundations of Samoan culture become untenable and easily replaced.
I turn now to provide a brief outline of some of the basic precepts of my indigenous
religious culture.
Samoan indigenous religious culture
The Samoan indigenous religion posits a thesis that places God as ancestor. It
promotes that this God, God Tagaloaalagi 5 , was progenitor of all living things on
earth (humans, animals, plant, cosmos, sea, land, etc) and that as such all relationships
between these living things are governed by the imperatives of being kin. That is, in
the Samoan version of creation God is progenitor of man. Man is therefore God
descended and there are genealogical links between man, the Sun, the Moon, the Seas,
the Rocks and the Earth.
In the Samoan version of Creation, there is no Adam and Eve. There is no Eden and
tempting snake. There is no forbidden apple and no camouflage of fig leaves. In the
Tagaloa mythology, earth and all living organisms, including humans, originated from
a “Big Bang”, i.e. the tumultuous separation of Lagi (heaven) and Papa (rock). This
thesis is closer to the scientific explanation for the origins of the planet earth than to
Christian biblical text. Following the separation of Lagi and Papa, God Tagaloa sends
his messenger Tuli (plover) to Papa to help create plants and trees. Tuli is also
attributed with discovering and germinating the lands of Samoa, Tonga and Fiji. Tuli,
4
Richard Moyle (1975) cites this quote as anonymously written. The reference: Anonymous
(1969), “Glimpses of home”, Tautai (Samoan Roman Catholic newspaper), June 3. As editor of this
issue of the Tautai, I note the author for this article was Albert Wendt. This was confirmed by Albert
Wendt by email correspondence.
5
There are variations to the spelling of the name of the Samoan supreme mythological God
Tagaloaalelagi. For convenience the name Tagaloaalelagi is hereafter shortened to Tagaloa.
4

on Tagaloa’s instructions, then designates the human form from ilo (bacteria that
become maggots). Samoans named the ankle tuli vae and elbow tuli lima in
recognition of the work of Tuli. 6
Across Samoan indigenous religious traditions only God Tagaloa, who presides in the
tenth and ultimate heaven, is the principal. The boundary between man and all other
living things is tapu or sacred because of their shared divinity with God Tagaloa.
This belief underlined Samoan religious thought and practice and permeated every
aspect of ancient Samoan life, i.e. how they worked the land, fished the sea, built their
houses, engaged with each other, structured their society, celebrated life events
(births, deaths and marriages), joked with each other, flaunted their bodies, and their
sexuality, and treated their ill. The religious underpinnings of fagogo 7 or ancient
creation stories, songs, and tini 8 or marriage, auala 9 or funeral and/or medicinal
chants and their authors’ views on sexuality and the human body are usefully revealed
and promoted through both tala tuumumusu and tala taumusumusu.
To relay how the messages of ancient stories, songs, chants, dances and/or medicinal
incantations were passed on between generations, I want you to imagine
eavesdropping on conversations held between Samoan custodians and their nainai or
designated receivers. Each custodian holds great mana in their families, villages,
districts and nation. They are of senior age and reputation. The sharing takes place in
a faleo’o or Samoan hut outside the village compound near the sea, where the salty
scent of the ocean mixes with the sweet-smelling fragrances of mosooi 10 and lagaali 11 ,
where manutagi 12 and lupe 13 chirp noisily in nearby trees, and the bushes are all green
with life and seem to be smiling at you. At dusk the sky turns an orange-red as the
sun moves towards his resting place for the night. In this magical setting the voices of
the custodians fill your senses. Your mind is fed and challenged. And, in their voices
you catch a glimpse of the pride, reverence, mischievousness, and at times reticence,
in their sharing.
First is the fagogo or story of the mating of the sun with a human woman.
Fagogo: Mating of sun and a woman
6
The symbols or motifs of the vae tuli (feet of the Tuli) are commonly used in Samoan
traditional art, such as in tatau (tattoos) and other art forms. The Tuli formed the image of man, on the
instructions of God Tagaloa, using his feet. The significance of the vae tuli motif is therefore its
connection to our creation thesis. In this thesis, Tuli as a bird predated both man and plant-life. For
further discussion of these points, see Tui Atua (2009d) “Tau mai na o le pua ula’ – Samoan
fragrances in Samoan thought, Address to the Pacific Thought Symposium (e-copy at: www.head-ofstate-samoa.ws).
See also Tui Atua (2009c), “Bio-ethics and the Samoan Indigenous Religion” (In
Suaalii-Sauni et al, Suesue Manogi).
7
Fagogo is the common Samoan term used to describe the ferreting out of meaning or
substance. Generally it is applied to the telling of a fable, tale or story whereby the storytellers would
tailor the story in such a way as to ensure that the message they wish to convey to their audience is well
emphasised.
8
Tini usually means reaching a goal or objective. Here it refers to the celebration of achieving
the goal or objective of marriage.
9
10
11
12
13
Auala is generally translated to mean pathway or road.
This is the cananga odorata, “a tree bearing very fragrant flowers” (Pratt, 1893: p.224).
This is the agalaia edulis, “a tree and its flowers are used to scent oil” (Pratt, 1893: p.179).
This is the ptilonopus fasciatus bird (Pratt, 1893: p.210).
This is the carpophaga pacifica or pigeon bird (Pratt, 1893: p.193).
5

This story is one of our stories of creation. In this story the Sun sees a beautiful
human woman and desires her. He then chases her, trying to win her favour. The
woman is however coy and avoids his advances. Samoans use the word aloalo to
mean “resisting overtures”; in this case the overtures of the sun. A number of Samoan
girls today have as their first or birth name Aloalolela, in remembrance of this story.
The story continues that after some time the woman is then attracted to the Sun and
decides to have him. She sets out to the horizon to try to catch him. As the Sun is
setting for the day the woman catches his attention and manages to successfully net
him. The action of netting something is expressed by the Samoan term seu, which is
used by Samoans to describe how the woman captured the sun, i.e. seula (seu
meaning to net; la referring to the Sun). The image of netting the sun is premised on
the image of attempting to catch or net seabirds or gogo. Here people would go out to
certain points where there were rock extensions in the sea and where small fish tended
to congregate in large numbers. These places were generally well known as the
favourite fishing ground for gogo. The gogo were sought after because their feathers
were considered the best fishing lure. The terms seula and seugogo make useful
metaphors for orators wishing to convey the image of capturing something difficult to
catch.
To net the Sun the woman had to wait until the Sun got to a certain point in the
horizon. After successfully netting him the woman then gives herself to him. As they
mate the setting of the sun is delayed. This delay is commemorated in the term
Tolola, literally meaning to delay the setting of the sun (i.e. tolo meaning delay, la
meaning sun), which is today still the name of a chiefly title in the village of Safune.
A child was born to the woman from her union with the Sun. He was called
Tagaloaui. According to the fagogo of the custodian this child became one of the
original forefathers of Samoa.
In telling this story the custodian imparts two key things: first, narrative affirmation
and respect for the familial relationship between humans and the cosmos, and second,
a moral narrative about male and female relations and the rituals of courting. 14
After this fagogo the conversation moves to a discussion on the sacred relationship
between man and animals.
Welcoming the naiufi
Pupu Luki, a head fisherman in Fagafau, is remembered in this tala tuumumusu. One
of the custodian’s whispers that when Pupu went fishing for naiufi or shark 15 the
village would get excited at the prospect of a good catch. Prayer vigils by his family
would be held during the night to ask the gods for protection over Pupu and his
companion. Fishing was not perceived an exercise of luring, trapping and killing
mercilessly, but of inviting the fish to give honour to the village chief’s mana by
being an equal adversary and then ultimately by gifting himself to the chief to help
14
Joan Metge (1998) and Karen Lupe (2007) in their respective works on Maori storytelling and
Samoan indigenous consciousness talk of the importance of stories such as this fagogo to the identity
formation of children and to an understanding of the social psychology – the social heart – of a people.
15
According to Rev George Pratt the naiufi was a shark that was ‘rarely taken’ (1893, p.228).
6

olster or sustain the chief’s status in the village. For the naiufi it is believed that they
are a special gift, a direct endowment from Tagaloa. This is evidenced in the
honorific term for sacred fish, which is tamasoaalii (tama soa meaning “aide to”; alii
meaning “chief”): God Tagaloa’s gift was for these sacred fish to become aide to the
chief. This affords these sacred fish special status and entitles them to the rituals of
respect befitting a person of paramount importance. In this sense, when fishermen
speak to the naiufi in chiefly language, his special status as tamasoaalii is
acknowledged. The naiufi are thus considered more than just food.
The custodian explains that when Pupu Luki and his companion went out to fish for
naiufi they would leave late at night, about 11pm, and proceed to the reef, then out to
the deep ocean. They would use a shark rattle (an ensemble of coconut shells tied to
an orange tree stick) to let the shark know where they were. After rowing for about
an hour in deep ocean waters Pupu Luki would put the rattle into the water and twist it
around to make a sound similar to that of a moving bonito. And while rattling he
would chant:
Afio maia oe le manaia
Welcome to you the manaia – the head of the untitled men’s guild
Afio maia oe le tausala
Welcome to you the tausala – the belle of the ladies’ guild
Afio maia oe le tamasoaalii
Welcome to you the tamasoaalii
O loo ou faatali atu
I await your coming
Pupu Luki believed that the shark was his equal. He believed that they shared a
common descent and destiny and that the shark understood this. This belief is
captured in the way that he spoke and acted towards the fish. The fish was welcomed
as a manaia or tausala, who as the head and usually finest of the aumaga (untitled
men’s guild) or aualuma (ladies’ guild) is afforded high respect.
As the shark approaches Pupu Luki addresses him in chiefly language, saying
soothingly:
Afio maia ua manaia le ele o le savili i lou seesee mai
Welcome! The blowing of the wind improves by your coming
But the shark circles the canoe and leaves. Pupu Luki turns to his companion to make
sure that he is not afraid. His companion, on seeing how big the shark is and how
small their boat seems cannot help but be afraid. Pupu knows that the shark can sense
this and so is not surprised that the shark turned away. He tells his companion to be
brave as the fish can sense fear. Pupu then addresses the shark again:
Ua mae’a ona laolao le va o a’u ma le soa
Afio maia oe le manaia
Afio maia oe le tausala
E le vale sou tali
O le a ou faatali atu!
7

I have sorted out the problem with my companion
Welcome to you the manaia
Welcome to you the tausala
You will be given due recognition
I await you!
As the shark nears the boat it is as if he is deferring to courtesy. When he gets close,
Pupu deftly places the noose around his neck, quickly tightening the noose while
making sure that there is enough slack for the shark to swim away from the canoe so
that they do not capsize when the shark struggles to free himself. When realising that
the noose is around his neck the shark at this point loses all chivalry and transforms
into a deadly adversary, reminiscent of the protocols of combatants in a knightly
contest during the Middle Ages.
In struggling to free himself the shark then leads Pupu Luki and his companion on a
merry chase across the ocean for about three hours. As the shark weakens he
struggles less and seems quiescent. At this moment Pupu pulls on the rope to bring
him in but the shark comes to life again and surges forward. Pupu lets him go until
again the shark slows and again seems quiescent. Pupu does this twice and when he
pulls the third time the shark acquiesces, following Pupu’s lead with the rope. Pupu is
then able to steer to the side of the outrigger and pull the shark’s head up high enough
out of the water so that his companion can strike him with a club to make sure he is
dead.
In recognition of the shark’s worthy struggle and gift to the village and especially to
its chief, the village upon being informed of the catch by Pupu and his companion
(through victory dance and chant) respond in turn:
Oi le manaia e
Oi le tausala e
Oi le manaia e
Ua a’e i fanua e
Mua ia ina mua!
Behold the manaia
Behold the tausala
Behold the manaia
who will come to our land
Let us chant this first.
Chorus: Indeed you are the first in my consideration!
Oi Luki e le manaia
Oi Luki e o le tautai e
Oi le alii o tautai e
Mua ia ina mua!
Behold Luki the manaia
Behold Luki the master fisherman
Behold the chief among Tautai
Let us chant this first.
Chorus: Indeed you are the first in my estimation!
8

The shark is welcomed into the village with joy and gratitude; gratitude for his
courtesy and courage and as well for God Tagaloa’s benevolence. Luki is
congratulated because he as manaia of the land has overcome the naiufi who is the
manaia of the sea. When the shark or naiufi is brought to shore he is covered with a
fine mat in recognition of his special sacredness.
This act of respect and the rituals which attend the preparation for cooking reflect the
highest courtesy. Only tattooed men were entitled to prepare and cook the naiufi.
The dress code for those responsible for preparing, cooking and serving him was to
have a pe’a (traditional male tattoo), to wear garlands of flowers around the neck, a
skirt of ti leaves around the waist, and to have tauseisei or a flower behind each ear.
As only men could handle the naiufi, this dress code marked the pinnacle of high male
service culture (gasese) and manhood. In adhering strictly to these welcoming,
cooking and serving rituals the village gave due recognition to the courage and
nobility of the naiufi.
Understanding ancient Samoan fishing culture requires accepting the thesis that man
does not have absolute dominion over the sea. While man can fish from the sea, he
takes only what he needs to live, knowing that he, the sea and the fish need to respect
each other in order to survive.
On the topic of fish, an interesting conversation on the traditional treatment of the
common ailment of laoa, i.e. where a fishbone gets stuck in the throat, is overheard.
Treating laoa
When fish was a staple part of the local diet in Samoa, laoa was a common ailment
and was generally treated by taulasea or traditional healers. The treatment involved
the common elements of acknowledging through chant a family god of significance to
the taulasea and recognising, by having the patient either face towards the sea or into
the wind or by fanning the patient’s face to create wind, the spiritual and kin
relationship between humans, the sea and the wind. The religious aspects of this
treatment are obvious.
In the village of Sasina, Savaii, a taulasea would wave her hand from side to side in
front of the patient’s face and then chant 16 :
Oi Tafo ia e, alofa ia Pai
Ua laoa i le ivi o le malau
Afai e paū aua le paū i fale ae paū i fafo
Oi Tafo ia e alofa mai.
O Tafo, have pity on Pai 17
Who is choking on the bone of a malau fish
16
The records of ethnomusicologist Richard Moyle of these healing chants and practices are
invaluable today and form one source of evidence for the medicinal chants I draw on in this paper. See
Moyle, R. (1974).
17
Pai is a term used by Samoans as a placeholder for an unspecified person/s.
9

If it falls, let it not fall in the house, let it fall outside.
Tafo, have pity. 18
After chanting the healer then asked the patient to swallow and at that point the
patient would find the fishbone gone.
This treatment would only take a minute or two and most times was successful in
dislodging the fishbone, successful enough at least for people to return to the taulasea
for treatment when faced with the problem again.
In the village of Sagone, Savaii, there is another taulasea who treated for laoa. He
usually asks the patient to face into the wind and then sit behind the patient, after
which he would chant:
Oi Afo e, Afo e,
o Pai lea ua laoa i le ivi o le manini
Pule oe pe ave i totonu pe ave i fafo
Oi Afo e.
Afo, oh Afo,
Pai is choking on a manini bone
It is up to you whether it goes inside or outside
Oh Afo.
The chant is whispered three times. At the end the patient is asked to drink some
water. Following this the patient would either vomit up the bone or swallow it. This
taulasea believed that the wind is a messenger of the gods, able to carry the request of
the healer and the pain of the patient.
A taulasea in Uafato, Upolu, has a similar approach. In his treatment the taulasea
fans the patient’s face, asks him to face towards Asafo (a family god who resides in
Tutuila), and then he would chant:
Faasaga ia Asafo. O le ivi o le manini.
Face towards Asafo. It is the bone of the manini fish.
After chanting the taulasea would rub the throat of the patient, at the end of which the
fishbone was usually gone.
The chant of Uafato highlights the kin relationship and geographical proximity
between Upolu and Tutuila. On a fine day if one is able to climb to Malata, the
ancient fortress at the top of the mountain just behind Uafato, one will see Tutuila. 19
Uafato is also the place in Samoan history where the government of Tagaloa once
resided.
18
The English version of this and all the other laoa chants cited here is taken from Richard
Moyle’s article on Samoan medicinal incantations (1974, p. 174-175). For the purposes of the points
made in this section on laoa, I have drawn from Moyle’s English translations and provided a Samoan
translation.
19
See Kramer, A. (1994, vI, p. 362). Reference is made to Malata in Fagaloa. Uafato is today a
part of Fagaloa.
10

The god of this Tagaloa government was believed to be the Supreme God Tagaloa.
His earthly manifestation, whose chiefly title was Tagaloa, was head of this earthly
regime in Uafato. The ancient Samoans who subscribed to the Tagaloa tradition
would go to Uafato to pay homage. This involved saying prayers, fasting and
meditating at each of the nine prayer mounds (known in Samoan as lagi) located at
different levels up the mountain, starting near the bottom. There were nine such
prayer mounds representing nine heavens or places of spiritual engagement. These
prayer mounds served as places of worship around which a community of people
settled, most of whom were adherents of the Tagaloa religion. When worshippers
walked from one mound to the next they would acknowledge through prayer the
different stages of creation, as recorded in the Tagaloa auala or funeral chant. 20 It
was believed that on death the spirit of a person would travel the auala or pathway up
this mountain towards the ninth heaven or lagi 21 . If the deceased had achieved during
his/her lifetime each of the levels of spirituality required to enter each heaven, they
would proceed through until they reached the ninth heaven, their final destination.
The tenth heaven where God Tagaloa resided was beyond the ninth heaven, beyond
the earthly mountain, into the cosmos and the realm of the unknowable. In life and
death the tenth heaven was considered beyond man’s reach. This thesis on the
spiritual and temporal realms of human life was part of Uafato indigenous history and
implicit in their religious chants, including their medicinal incantations.
The laoa chant of a Ti’avea taulasea provides the last example of healing practices.
The significance of this chant is that unlike the other three chants, this one provides
clear evidence of the character of the religious duality experienced by Samoans today,
where there is an explicit joining of their Christian and indigenous religious beliefs,
even if somewhat awkward.
In this treatment the Ti’avea taulasea would ask his patient to face seaward, fan his or
her face and then chant:
Folo, oi Folo e, ia e alofa mai
O Pai ua laoa i le ivi o le mu
O Iesu o le taulasea,
O Iesu e maua ai le fofo
Ia e alofa mai.
Folo, oh Folo, have pity
Pai is choking on the bone of a mu fish
Jesus is the Physician, Jesus will cure him
Have pity.
After the chant the fishbone would usually have dislodged itself.
The religious and cultural underpinnings of the healer’s medicinal knowledge are
apparent within the traditional treatment of this relatively straightforward and
common ailment. The treatment of laoa provides a helpful example not only of how
indigenous religious beliefs are embedded and embodied in traditional Samoan
healing practices – the main casualty of the culture of whispers – but how religion
20
21
See a full account of this Tagaloa funeral chant in Tui Atua (2009a, p.155).
The term lagi is used to describe a spiritual heaven and a place of worship.
11

permeated everyday Samoan life and how everyday Samoan life permeated its
religions.
There is some debate on equating the message and mana of Folo with that of Jesus.
In particular on whether the taulasea was saying that Folo and Jesus both existed but
existed equally in their own sphere, or whether in the ultimate they were really one
and the same, i.e. the God of Christianity was also the God of pre-Christian Samoa?
There is only a dilemma in acknowledging both religious systems in the same breath
if one is considered lesser than the other.
When considering the question of the sexuality of the human body, differences
between the two religious orders are most pronounced. In pondering this, the
custodian then turns the conversation to the sexuality of the body.
The sexual and reproductive body
According to Samoan indigenous traditions the reproductive and sexual organs of the
human body underline human divinity and spirituality. They are the instruments for
procreation and symbolise the power to make new life. Sex in this equation was the
vehicle for procreation and as such a sacred act.
The body throughout history has been a site of war as well as love. The tensions of
war were alleviated some by establishing suitable marriage liaisons between warring
political parties. Similarly, the vanities of the elite were indulged by arranging
marriage between the offspring of only those within their circle. In both cases
consolidating the marriage required both a sexual and reproductive body. Preparing
the body for sex, where the ultimate aim of sex was to give sexual pleasure and
procreate successfully, meant having to offer more than a perfunctory education on
the dos and don’ts of copulation. It meant understanding one’s own sexuality and
making the mind and body comfortable with the idea of sex. This was something
easier to achieve when there was less social and religious stigma associated with the
naked body, the genitalia and their public mention or display.
In ancient Samoa it was more common for girls to marry during adolescence and
virginity was prized as a sign of good breeding. In preparation for marriage and often
as part of their learning within the aualuma, they would be taught through playful and
serious conversation by faatosaga (traditional birth attendants) and/or other suitable
elder women, about the erotic sensations of the body. They would learn through these
women about female and male sexuality and receive counselling about the ups and
downs of marriage and parenting. Most times these teachers were also close family
members. For the inexperienced and naturally timid, exposure to this kind of sex
education before marriage made the wedding night seem less frightening and geared
them towards the idea that sex was not only key to human survival and so should be
respected, but that it was also something that should be enjoyed and celebrated.
For mainly practical reasons, clothing the body in the warm climate of Samoa was
during ancient times kept to a minimum. Wearing a traditional pe’a 22 or malu 23
22
Pe’a is a term used to describe the traditional male tattoo because it resembles the image of a
bat hanging off a branch.
23
Malu is term used to refer to the notion of giving shelter, cover and/or support.
12

eflected manhood or womanhood more than a desire to cover the skin. In public it
was only the genitals that were kept covered and this was in protection of their
sacredness. The female breasts were not necessary for the conception of new life and
so not afforded the same tapu as the genitals.
The public display and deliberate flaunting of the genitals only really occurred during
formal sacred events such as during tini or marriage rituals or auala or funeral rituals
and/or at the pinnacle moment in poula 24 where the beauty and sexuality of the body
was flaunted in dance, such as during the sa’ē 25 (one of the preliminaries before the
taualuga 26 ). Sexuality in this context was always to be read as ultimately aimed
towards procreation and as an endowment from God Tagaloa and a reminder of the
divinity we shared with him.
In thinking about the sa’ē dance the custodian smiles. The sa’ē involved anyone,
except children, who wanted to join in. In being the dance that needed to create the
right ambiance for the taualuga in the faafeagaiga o aumaga ma aualuma 27 , where it
was hoped that by the end of which sex would occur (except for those who had to
preserve themselves for political reasons), the words and movements of the sa’ē were
deliberately designed to provoke a sexual reaction. The sa’ē sent the message that in
the clearly defined and monitored space of the faafeagaiga o aumaga ma aualuma,
sexuality can and should be celebrated publicly.
The ritual dance of the sa’ē is an unsynchronised dance that would begin with the
young virgins entering the dance house first, followed by more mature women and
then the more elderly women. 28 During the dance the women would tease and
tantalise the audience by exposing themselves openly through generous and
gregarious dance movements and by chanting or shouting sexually-explicit phrases to
provoke reaction from the men. The men would usually respond by approaching the
young virgins in exaggerated bashfulness, playing coy by attempting to hide their
genitalia with a leaf or piece of cloth. The older women would mock them and the
men would in turn respond. After this to and fro of words and gestures (all performed
in dance and chant form), the men then do away with the leaf or cloth covering their
genitalia, fully exposing themselves to the women in great merriment while trying to
catch the attention of those female dancers they fancy.
In this forum the male and female dancers have to be comfortable with their
nakedness and in the public display of their sacred parts. This was achievable then
because Samoan social and religious discourse perceived the sexual organs not as
instruments of sinful pleasure but as gifts from God Tagaloa.
24
Literally the term refers to the night of the shrimp. People tended to see the behaviour of the
shrimp as hyperactive or very energetic. They were believed to be prolific breeders and assumed to be
very sexual. Poula captures these metaphoric meanings.
25
Richard Moyle draws on the journals of the missionary John Williams to describe this dance.
The quote cited by Richard (1975, p.240-241) is taken from John Williams journal 1832/1833.
26
Taualuga (taua meaning coming together; luga meaning high) is a shortened version of the
term taumaualuga, meaning peak meeting point in the roof of a house. The term taualuga thus refers
to the high point or pinnacle of an event. In this case, it is the high point in the poula.
27
This is literally the meeting (faafeagaiga) between the (o) untitled men’s guild (aumaga) and
ladies’ guild (aualuma).
28
The evidence for the retelling of this dance form is taken from Richard Moyle’s article on
Samoan sexuality. See Moyle (1975).
13

So when the words of the sa’ē song,
Tatala lou ie ma lafo i falē
‘Ae ta telefua le sa’ē.
Le esi pula itu tasi e,
Le esi lea suamalie.
Take your clothes off and throw it inside the house
And dance nakedly to the beat of the sa’ē
When the papaya is opened to one side
Then you can tell which is sweetest
…are sung, there is no discomfort among the participants. When the words of the
same song are repeated today the religious sensibilities of Christian Samoans are
either highly offended or made extremely uncomfortable. Because of this the sa’ē is
no longer performed and its song no longer sung.
In traditional marriage chants, such as the Salani tini, reference to sex and the sexual
organs are less explicit and more is made of the allusory powers of metaphor. The full
version of the Salani tini which is being revived today retains most of its stanzas and
the sexual metaphors within, excepting one line which was obviously considered too
explicit to keep. This is:
Mimisā pua’i, Mimisā pua’i.
Sacred sperm spew out, sacred sperm spew out 29
This marriage chant specifically acknowledges the role of the gods, in this case
Palapu the god of love in Salani, in bringing together bride and groom. Through
metaphor it acknowledges the importance of sex, procreation and politics in marriage.
Le alii e, le pulou ‘ena
Vii ou puipui o sega
Ae tuu mai nai ou fega
O ‘oli lava o le vao i Pinega
O ‘oli na e te ‘oli ai
Mua
Hail the man with the brown cap
Hail your guardians, the parakeets
Pass me your lips
The oli from the forest of Pinega
This is the oli flower you will wear
Let us celebrate this first
Palapu e, ua logosula
Ua ita le tago i le oli pula
A ua ita sii le fafaga a ‘oli ula
Mua…
29
Richard Moyle’s translation is “The sacred urine vomits out, the sacred urine vomits out” (see
Moyle, 1975: p.231).
14

Palapu – our god of love – has been apprised by the chant
Angered he does not reach out for the ripe oli
But he takes the whole bunch of red oli
Let us celebrate this first
Asa pae! Asa pae!
Le ala i le Mafa e!
Le ala i le Mafa e!
Mua…
Walk the path that is strewn with oli
The paths in the Mafa
The paths in the Mafa 30
Let us celebrate this first
Soli i tai! Soli i uta!
Fa’i o Aana lona mausa
Ae leai o ‘oli lava o le vao i Auga
Mua…
Tread seaward and tread inland
You may have thought that the best were in Aana
But no, they are oli from the forest of Auga 31
Let us celebrate this first
Fuipisia ma Fuilo’ua
Ua aufuia le vao Atua
Mua…
The waterfalls of Fuipisia and Fuilo’ua
Are the main sources of water for the forests of Atua
Let us celebrate this first
Palapu e, faatu lou i’u
Ua lata mai lou mata i aitu!
Mua…
Palapu e, get your prick up
Soon you will have a commanding view
Let us celebrate this first
Fuatino le tausala
Tupua le manaia
Mua
Fuatino the belle
Tupua the beau
30
According to my mentors mafa is also the name of a place in the top of the mountains that
overlooks the village of Salani. Literally this is correct. Richard Moyle records this missing stanza and
translates the line ‘Le ala i le mafa e, Le ala i le mafa e’ more metaphorically as ‘The way into the
vagina, the way into the vagina’ (see Moyle, 1975: p.231). The omitted line ‘Mimisā pua’i, Mimisā
pua’i’ if it was meant to follow immediately after ‘Le ala i le mafa e, Le ala i le mafa e’ would seem to
support a more figurative than literal interpretation of mafa.
31
Auga is a place in the Mafa.
15

Let us celebrate this first
The purpose of the tini is to bolster the principals in the marriage, namely the bride
and groom. It is meant to help them relax, to arouse them and set the mood for their
marriage ceremony. The event is meant to be a celebration of the coming together of
two persons and two families. It is not meant to be overly formal and sombre.
The point about the biases of Christian Samoa is well noted when examining the
omission of the phrase “mimisā pua’i” (“sacred sperm spew out”) and the retention of
“faatu lou i’u” (“get your prick up”, i’u literally meaning an end). The Samoan words
in the latter are considered less offensive because they are less explicit.
Similarly, two sexually explicit lines of a chant that usually begins the Salelesi auala
or funeral ritual fall victim to the same dilemma. In this chant if the deceased is male
then the chant is worded:
Talofa i lena ate tele,
o le a pala i le ‘ele’ele
Pity that that great penis,
will now rot in the ground. 32
However, if the deceased is female then the chant goes:
Ma’imau lena pali tele,
ua palavale i le ‘ele’ele
That great vagina will be wasted
rotting uselessly in the ground. 33
These two lines of chant are the only references to death in the vaa funeral ritual.
Instead the vaa ritual gives the sex act pride of place making the point that human life
continues despite death. To make this point the performers move solemnly into a boat
formation, made known by their exaggerated paddling movements and as they move
they chant:
Ina soso atu ia
i lalo o le ‘aute o loo i ai le toeaina ma le loomatua
I urge you to approach
Under the hibiscus tree where there is the old man and old woman 34
32
The ate is known to literally refer to the liver (see Moyle, 1975: p.232), however in common
parlance it also refers to the penis. In terms of the object of this funeral ritual it is more likely that the
point about the ate is in relation to the wasted opportunity to procreate which is better symbolised by
the penis rather than the liver.
33
I share the same interpretation of the term pali as Richard Moyle (1975, p.232).
34
Use of the terms toeaina (old man) and loomatua (old woman) are deliberate in that they
suggest reference to the procreators or parents of, or an older generation to, the performers.
16

The moving boat is meant to represent the man’s journey through life. As the boat
moves along it hits a coral formation, metaphor for man coming to a point where he
wants to make a new life, i.e. create a child. The coral formation is therefore
metaphor for the penis. The paddler at the end of the boat, the foe muli, then calls out:
“taliu, taliu, ua to’a i le tu, ua mama le vaa” (“bailer, bailer, we struck a hard coral
rock, the boat is leaking”), at which point the boat becomes the vagina. The
performer playing the bailer then comes away from the other performers and makes
exaggerated bailing actions using a coconut shell. His actions include urinating into
the bailer/shell and sprinkling it over his fellow performers who share in the sacred
belief underpinning the ritual. The urine is equated with sperm, the ultimate symbol
of man’s power to procreate. The ‘sperm’ is thrown on people to make the point that
we are all issues of sperm. To end the ritual the performers move to where the
paramount chief sits, the highest rank issue of Tagaloa, and they flash him, making
the point: “no matter how highly ranked you are, in the ultimate we share the same
origins and destiny” 35 . After the flashing there is celebration and the performers
break into dance. The dance is a celebration of human power and divinity.
The Salelesi auala vaa ritual is a solemn performance and in ancient times could not
be performed by outsiders. It was performed at the break of dawn and people were
forewarned to make sure that nothing, especially children, would get in the way of the
performers. The tapu surrounding the ritual was so strong that interference with it
could bring about death.
In the auala ritual the sacredness of the sex act is shown by the very formal way in
which the ceremony is carried out, from the movement towards the paramount chief
to the mimicking of the sex act to the urinating in the coconut shell and then flashing
of the paramount chief on reaching him. The conversation between the performers of
the vaa ritual and the gods is deadly serious.
In the Salani tini there is still formal ceremony but the conversation between the
performers and the gods is more playful. There is not the need for asserting one’s
divinity in the same way. Rather, the aim is to lift the spirits of the couple in
preparation for their big night. The sa’ē on the other hand, has very little formal
ceremony. The purpose of the dance is to openly flaunt one’s sexuality and if
possible entice a sexual liaison and perhaps even a marriage union. In each of these
events the body and its sexual organs while always tapu were not above being
celebrated. Indeed, not to flaunt it would be considered the height of disrespect and
prudishness, both qualities to be discouraged if one sought the mana of the gods
and/or the interest of a desirable suitor.
In the culture of tuumumusu there is connection between the story of the mating of the
sun and a human woman, the rituals of welcoming the naiufi as manaia, the
traditional medicinal treatment of the laoa, and the ritual celebrations of the naked
human body, its sexual organs and the sex act in funeral, marriage and poula
ceremonies.
35
A common origin in terms of a common genealogy and a common destiny in terms of the fact
that we will all return upon death to God Tagaloa.
17

The culture of taumusumusu is hinted at when there are competing value systems and
where knowledge is incomplete or withheld and so vulnerable to unfair manipulation.
The conversations of custodians and their nainai in the contemporary Samoan scene
can easily turn from a tala tuumumusu session to a session infused with tala
taumusumusu. The consequence of which is the loss or undermining of what is
beautiful, loving and redeeming of the tala tuumumusu. Nowhere is this more
obvious than when talking about sex and our sexual parts. The following excerpt was
recorded by Kramer who considered the words of the song so offensive that he
couldn’t bring himself to provide a German translation of the Samoan original, instead
recording a Latin translation. 36 Kramer suggests that the song was sung as part of a
kava ceremony. The original Samoan and Latin recorded by Kramer are provided
below:
E le fuia, le fuia, e tagisia
lou vaelau,
E iloga le fafine fiatau.
‘O sa’esa’e le vae taumatau.
Sapini i lalo o le ‘apai.
E melomelo fa’aulatai.
Sega e, sega lava ane!
Sturnus, sturnus, desiderio flagrat
In tua crura varicata.
Noscit femina certare vult.
Tollit crus dextrum,
Intrudit membrum virile.
Rubrum sicut cancer marinus.
Sega sega haeret!
I have taken the liberty of providing an English translation of the original Samoan
words of this song to be read against the English translation offered by Richard Moyle
in his 1975 article “Sexuality in Samoan Art Forms” 37 . Moyle’s work in this article
shows wonderful scholarship. In examining his translation of this song, his use of
question marks in two places suggest that either he was not clear on what the Samoan
words meant and so what the English equivalent would be and/or he was
uncomfortable translating them. His translation reads:
Starling, starling, you cry because of your ? (sic)
It is apparent the woman wants to fuck.
She raises her right leg.
Whips it under the ? (sic)
It is red like the lobster.
Old woman, old woman, there you are! 38
In contemplating whether or not to put my English translation into print I agonised
over how it would be perceived. For a few days I procrastinated on making a final
36
It is not clear from Kramer’s text (1995, vII, p.48) whether he translated the song into Latin or
was merely recording the Latin as translated by someone else.
37
Moyle (1975).
38
Ibid (p. 235).
18

decision. In my moe manatunatu 39 I debated the pros and cons. By not offering a
translation was I not guilty of succumbing to the culture of taumusumusu? However,
if I were to offer a translation would it undermine my efforts to bring out what is best
of our indigenous culture? In the final analysis there was really only one decision to
make. To be able to scrutinise what is best, we must have access to what it is. To be
able to move beyond whispering in fear or with guilt we must be bold enough to say
what it is. This to me is what it is:
Starling, starling we pine for the nimbleness of your leg
You can tell a horny woman.
The way she shakes her right leg
Thrash her under her crevice
It is red like a lobster
Woman, woman, do your thing.
Without the aide of more information on the context for this kava song, it is arrogance
to presume that it is crude and obscene and therefore not worth keeping. This song
can well be part of the celebrations of faafeagaiga o aualuma ma aumaga, and if so it
deserves to be told with the playfulness, pride, verve and mischievousness of the
occasion.
For as Albert Wendt pointed out, these chants might not be the pornography that the
European bourgeois puritan morality had us believe in for far too long. It is, at least
in its original Samoan form and context, an honest human celebration of what makes
us human. In deciding on what is religious, we could learn from the Dalai Lama who
says: “We have enough religions, enough religious, but not enough human beings.
Don’t let us talk too much of religion. Let us talk of what is human”. 40 For me this
means that sometimes in our talk of what is good and true of our religious beliefs and
practices, we forget what makes us human; we forget that all that is human is vanity.
Conclusion: The dilemmas and vanities of our culture of whispers – moving
beyond?
Tala tuumumusu and tala taumusumusu exist as part of the vanities of being human.
In order to survive in the world we develop an instinct for self-protection (the object
of tala tuumumusu) that can easily turn into self-indulgence and self-absorption
(qualities of tala taumusumusu). In the Biblical text of Ecclesiastes there is a concept
“the vanity of vanities” that is described by ‘The Preacher’ 41 as anything that man
seeks in place of God. 42 In chapters 11 and 12 the Preacher pleads with us to release
ourselves of the excesses of our vanities or from the blinds that prevent us from
acknowledging them. In some ways this supports the monk ideal where profound
insight and humility is considered best achieved through a stripping away of the
excesses of life and a focus and refocus through meditation on the wonder and justice
39
Moe manatunatu refers to having a dream dialogue with ancestors and family gods. See Tui
Atua (2009b, p.112).
40
See Picot, I. (2008, p.89).
41
The Preacher here is believed to be Solomon. He is also believed to be the author of
Ecclesiastes. See Nicol, F.D. (circa 1976, p. 1057)
42
Ibid (p.1062).
19

of God. The Samoan indigenous concept of tofa saili 43 pleads for a similar thing. It
pleads for the wisdom to search with humility in contemplation with our gods and
ancestors for that which is good and true; for that which matters.
In interrogating the culture of whispers that surround the Samoan indigenous religious
culture I not only seek to bring to light the vanities of those who dismissed it in
arrogance, but also my own vanities and arrogance for wanting to expose them. In
undertaking this work I am constantly searching the depths of my soul for meaning
and purpose. Although we as humans can never know and should never presume to
know the full mysteries of God’s knowledge and power, there is also something
redeeming about knowing that in the ultimate all that is human is vanity. But in
searching for truth in our religious cultures I find it impossible to believe that the
religions of my forebears during pre-Christian times were not invested with the
wisdom and divinity of a loving God. I can not bring myself to believe also that my
Christian God, a loving God, didn’t speak or connect with my people for all those
3000-odd years before Christianity. It seems a gratuitous insult to both God and my
forebears to assume that there was a disconnect between them for all that time.
In pleading for an open examination of the culture of whispers that surround our
Samoan indigenous religion I query not the relevance of the Christian Church to
contemporary Samoan life and culture, but our collective refusal to engage in a debate
where the dualities of our religious lives could be meaningfully reflected on and
debated. My query is with the idea that as a Samoan nation we can’t seem to bring
ourselves to admit that there might be something worthwhile in the old religious
culture that we could learn from and take pride in today and in the future. I plead
from worry that we may lose the opportunity to hold onto something special,
something that was and still is an endowment from a loving and wise God, something
especially for us as Samoans and for our children.
My friend Brother Stephen Filipo, principal of St Joseph’s College in Lotopa, Samoa,
at a seminar for the National University of Samoa and in conversation with myself,
Rev. Iosefa Tiata and friends, spoke of an epiphany he received when he took a
sabbatical trip to Israel in 2008. 44 During this trip he met and spoke with a couple of
Jewish professors about his search for a place for his Samoan indigenous religion
alongside his Christian beliefs. In conversation with the Jewish professors he came to
realise that the Christian religion he believed in and upheld was written about through
the cultural lens of another indigenous culture, the Jewish culture. Whilst in
Jerusalem he visited the remains of the temple of Solomon, otherwise known as the
“wailing wall”. When he returned to Samoa he paid a visit to the top of the volcanic
mountain called Mataolemu 45 in Savaii. The two experiences were so spiritually
different that he began to wonder at the disconnect.
In 2005 Monsignor Etuale Lealofi of American Samoa, a participant of the Pacific
Regional Interreligious Colloquium on Indigenous, Cultural and Religious Concepts
43
Tofa meaning ‘wisdom’; saili meaning ‘to search for’.
44
I am grateful to Brother Stephen for sharing his story and insights with our group. I am also
grateful to Reverend Iosefa Tiata for accepting the invitation to dialogue with us as part of my
preparation for this paper.
45
This is translated as ‘eye of the volcanic eruption’.
20

of Peace and Good Governance 46 voiced similar dilemmas. As part of the colloquium
record he raised a question that had been nagging him since he was a young priest in
the early 1970s: “Is the indigenous religion of Samoa, which the Christian missioners
were supposed to have stamped out, really dead; or is it alive under the guise of
Christianity?” 47 At this colloquium Monsignor Etuale was re-energised by the very
real possibilities that the colloquium promised for an open and honest dialogue
between Samoa’s various religious cultures.
When asking ourselves as Samoan Christians why we might feel the sacredness of
God at Mataolemu more than at the Wailing Wall; or, whether the God of Christianity
and the God of pre-Christian Samoa are one and the same, our responses are
inevitably constrained. What constrains is the vanity we seem to find most difficult to
let go of, i.e. the paradoxical arrogance of posing the question while at the same time
doubting its legitimacy to be posed. In other words, we boldly think of how we can
best convey the beauty of our tala tuumumusu, but in the same thought fear that it
might not be as beautiful as we think.
I cannot see how we can adequately address our culture of whispers without opening
it and its contents up for intelligent and loving conversation. And we can not do this
without access to those contents. We owe it to our forebears, whose names we carry,
whose inheritances we flaunt and fight over and whose spiritual presence continues to
guide and support us, to remember and recite their songs, stories, chants and
medicinal incantations as fully and as proudly as they deserve. We owe it to them to
be able to defend with love and intelligence why we think something they gave us is
not worth holding on to.
I draw courage in trying from Clive James, who in writing about the challenges of
making oneself accountable to his or her principles, point out:
“…courage is hard to come by: …to have buckets of guts you need to be a little bit
mad. Hence the discomfort which haunts any of us who write about the subject: the
malaise comes from our self-doubt, and the self-doubt is the surest sign that the
murderers…are still with us. …if we seek reassurance about human dignity instead
of mere acceptance of human weakness… we must try to remember why Judas found
it so hard to look into the face of Christ – not because of the divine serenity that was
there, but because of the self-seeking calculation that was not.” 48
I want to end this paper by sharing with you the plea of a father to his child whose
words spoke to me as if they were written by my forefathers for me. Pete Anderson, a
resident of Melbourne (Australia), whose words I share, is suffering from the deadly
Motor Neurone Disease. It might be said that my forebears suffer from the disease of
knowing that among their issues there is constructive disbelief in the legitimacy of the
inheritance they left them. In the words of Pete Anderson it is as if they are simply
saying, as Ga’opo’a did: “Tupua, tautuana ma oe le atunuu” (Tupua, bear in mind the
land of our fathers). Pete writes:
46
Held in Samoa, Dec 2005. See publication of colloquium proceedings in Tui Atua, T.T.T.E et
al (eds) (2007).
47
See Suaalii-Sauni, T.M., Murray, A., and Lealofi, E. (2007, p.259).
48
See James, C. (2007, p. 333).
21

“My worst fear is that you won’t remember me when I’m gone or, at least, you won’t
remember me for who I really am. During quieter moments when I gazed at your
picture on the wall in the year I was first diagnosed, this sense of foreboding was
almost too much to bear and I would break down and cry into my hands. At that
stage I believed I had only a couple of years left and that you would grow up with no
memory of me but for a few vague recollections and some photographs. I longed to
be abundantly more to you than that. Now that I have lived through your
kindergarten years I yearn to experience your school years. Every birthday and
Christmas we celebrate together is a bonus but, once joyously celebrated, I fix my
attention on making it to the next, jealously hoarding every moment I can with you,
etching myself further into your being. Perhaps the most oppressive of all emotions I
am forced to brave is the sense that my condition is somehow restricting your
opportunities to experience all that a child your age should – for that I am deeply,
deeply regretful. I pray that upon reading this as an adult you won’t feel that this has
been the case and will have rich, full and resonant memories of your childhood and of
our time together. Mum and I try hard to maintain a sense of normality and attempt
to give you everything you need but in the end, though we want to with all our hearts,
we can’t protect you from harsh realities, as cruel as they may be. Sometimes I am
hard on you and have high expectations of your behaviour but I make no apology for
that. I know that sometimes my frown and the disapproving shake of my head irks
you but I am also aware of my duties to prepare you for life well into the future, a life
where self-discipline, honesty and integrity will provide solid foundations.
Every parent has aspirations and dreams for their children. I simply want you to be
happy… Happy with who you are and what you have become. Life will continue to
throw at you many challenges but you are made of the right stuff to meet them…. I
hope you continue to laugh unashamedly and hysterically as it is in your laughter that
you warm the hearts of so many other people. I pray that you remain open to others,
open to learning, and open to new ideas and new experiences.
…Unfortunately our paths lead in different directions but I will always be walking
with you – or running as you so often tend to do. Don’t forget to stop every once in a
while and give me a fleeting thought, maybe when you are at the beach, when you are
sad, or in need of help. I will never be far away – there will always be a spirit that
binds us. You are a very special gift and I love you with all my heart. I always
will.” 49
Pete’s words tap like the gentle winds of Puava, gently reminding me that in times of
trouble or discontent healing is not out there but within myself. His words tell me that
my forefathers loved me and always will; they want what’s best for me and always
will; and they want me to dream dreams and see visions as they did. They want me to
try to see what they see in their tala tuumumusu, not by whispering with guilt but with
awe. They want me, my generation and the next generation to continue the
interreligious and intercultural dialogue on indigenous religions despite its challenges
and shortcomings and to do so because we are children of Samoa and we believe it the
right and loving thing to do. I hear their plea and this paper is my pledge to always
try.
Soifua.
49
I am grateful to Pete Anderson for giving me access to his words through his brother, my dear
friend, Matt Anderson.
22

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