Whispers and Vanities in Samoan Indigenous Religious Culture

“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.
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