Coming to America...or Am I? Part 2

I'M HERE!

(Who Am I?)

"It's not magic, it's knowing."

Anon.

 

One of the first and most thought-provoking things I learned in Hawaii was the idea of the 'translated self'. In theory, it is the notion that we as indigenous people exist in colonial spaces as 'Caucasian-friendly', 'understandable', 'presentable' versions of ourselves. This - how we speak English everyday and wear 'appropriate' professional attire to corporate jobs, is not us. We are other, and so we are striving, generation upon generation, to Anglicize, Romanize, Westernize, Christianize and basically completely revise who we are. As our languages get translated and lose their mana to become mere shell caricatures of the original oratory, so we become, as Albert Wendt once wrote, "caricatures of ourselves."

I've had a very interesting time trying to deconstruct this whole concept. It's deeply important to my worldview now, but I've had to contextualize it (as one must- there is no homogeneous 'Pasifika' identity!) so that I can fully appreciate the ways in which it applies to me. For one thing, I am linguistically NOT, in fact, a translated 'version' of me. The 'English me' is the original me 😬. Adding an emoji there because, WOW, identities are super complex! Let me explain this, though: my first language is English. My initial consciousness and its first sprouts of comprehension were all based in the English language. Mentally, I have always had a very consistent, coherent, fast-running dialogue via which my thoughts flow. My internal voice is, and always has been, me hearing my speaking voice talk in English or (once I learned to write), me seeing myself writing or typing in English. The fact that I've had to face up to is, my Gagana Samoa self is a translated self. My acquisition of Samoan came in short leaps and great but disconnected bounds throughout the first seventeen years of my life. I initially learned to speak colloquial Samoan from my peers at school and my extended Samoan aiga. On its own, informal Samoan is very unlike 'common English'. Informal Samoan cannot, for example, be spoken up the front in church or at village gatherings. If you spoke simple, understandable English at a church service, on the other hand, you'd definitely be appreciated and maybe even thanked. Gagana Samoa is as complex to navigate as a very bony fish is to eat (that's a translated saying! See how strange it looks out of its proper context?). 

I have another translated self. My Melanesian self is also a caricature. It is very different from my 'Samoan' translation of me, but I hold it close nonetheless. Only in my twenties have I really been able to think in Pidgin English, and build daily narratives in both a Melanesia language and context. My mother always spoke to my brother and I in Pidgin when we were growing up, but in the way that some people don't fully identify with things such as religion until they're old enough to reason with it on their own terms, I was unable to be me in a Pidgin 'headspace' until very recently. I have spent incomparably longer in Samoa than P.N.G, so I give myself a small bit of grace for my slower progress on this particular translation. But. It's something I work hard on. I attend and participate in P.N.G community gatherings. Until the busyness of recent months, I was a senior executive member of the registered association incorporated which represents P.N.G citizens in Samoa. It was a high honor to serve in that capacity, and it gave to that part of my 'self' a fluency, agency and self-assurance that I have never claimed before. I've had to bring into my everyday world the music, movies and even social media channels of P.N.G in order to really immerse myself in the sense of 'being' that constitutes who I want to 'be' as a Papua New Guinean. I know that I will always be more Samoan than Papua New Guinean in my manner, in my thinking, in my linguistic capacity, and most definitely in my cultural practice. In the same vein, I have accepted that I will also always be more 'English-y' than Samoan or Papua New Guinean. I am part of this 'somewhere in the middle' crust of Oceania. We know who we are culturally and historically, but we also understand that our first thoughts of the day and even most of our immediate subconscious reasoning happens by default in a language that many of our great-grandparents learned late, if at all. 

I've come to this conclusion: there is nothing inherently wrong with translation, or translated selves. In a globalized world, they allow us to interact with our fellow human beings in important and beautiful ways. My parents were of two very different cultures. Each committed to putting forth, daily, a translated self so as to live in harmony and most of all, love, with the other. My father's internal monologue, I know, was always in Gagana Samoa. He only just learned proper English in his late teens. Looking back, I am now able to appreciate how greatly he strove to hold together our multicultural family. He presented and lived as his translated self not only during his relationship with our mother, but also for the final twenty-one years of his life during which he was a father. His choice to live as a caricature allowed us to access and therefore love as well as cherish the brilliant person he was. 

Some days, when I sit in my classroom reading or at my study table drinking coffee, I wonder. How many wonderful people have I met whilst in translated mode? How many people have come into my life and met only the Samoan me, or the P.N.G me? Are they out there remembering me in a way that is vastly different from what my inner person knows me to be?

Other days, when I miss my parents, I wonder who they were. They were the most lyrical translations I have ever seen. And as with all translations ever, that is of course only a fraction of the original's power. 

I Was in a Musical about Silence, Part II

What Does Silence Sound Like?

"Oh Lord, You Know, I'm tired."

Is there anything louder than silence? 

That is the question we set out to answer as we stepped onto the stage at the Ministry of Education, Sports and Culture's Arts and Culture Center on Wednesday, December 6th 2023. I remember vividly the bright harshness of the spotlight as it illuminated our first scene, 'School Choir', against a blue-dark auditorium. I'll never stop being in awe of how stage and theater performers weave magic into the atmosphere, right before "a thousand eyes", as Sia once sang. Said audience was, that day, a mix of bubbly teenagers and thoughtful, maybe slightly cynical, adults. And why shouldn't they have been? We were bringing to stage a locally produced, locally directed showcase that was going to do the still-difficult work of opening up conversations about Intimate Partner Violence and Domestic Violence. Of weaving words and music into the spaces where silence belies the existence of such nuances as mental abuse, microaggressions and unexpressed psychological trauma.

The magic of Performing Arts is felt not only by the audience. We as a cast experienced it too, in a very real way that gave us strength and agility, maybe even more than we had during the dress rehearsal the previous day. From Eseta and Benjamin's melancholic opening dance, 'Tired', to my brother's narration of performance poet Ioane Otineru's post-colonial ode to gender disparities in Samoa, everyone felt strong and so performed STRONG. Our first review, by pioneering Samoan performance poet and novelist Sia Figiel, commended the "physical and emotional strength (as well as the) conviction and confidence" with which the production was presented.

When I stepped on stage to perform my first piece, 'Ode to She Who Held Up the World', I felt a power and urgency that pushed me to remember every single word. It also encouraged me to give our audience the full gamut of all the many, MANY emotions that I feel about generational silences and the way religion, economics and culture weave a 'quilt' of trauma around so many mother-daughter relationships. I thought of my Samoan grandmother- herself a mother to three daughters and a grandmother as well as great-grandmother to many more. It was not until she was gone that I learned she had always dreamed of doing the very thing I was now blessed to be doing: writing for and performing on stage. It made me sad and it made me angry and somewhere between the two, I found a new kind of strength. My main emotion 'generator' has always been sense memory, so I thought of my father when I sang those words, ua fa'afetai Iesu, Lou alofa, ua e aumai mo matou nei ni tina. Really good art forces the artist to look within themselves and find truth, or at least, meaning. When a thing means something, we feel it. And when we feel it, the art has done its job. It is successful. It is a nice song or a good book or a funny movie.

I am not a dancer (not in public, at least 😂). Dance is on my bucket list of 'talents' that I want to somehow manifest myself into having. For this reason- but also because dance is beautiful- I have a very focused way of watching people when they dance. Samoa Performing Arts and Creative Excellence (S.P.A.C.E) produces some of the most magnificent, genre-bending dances Samoa has ever seen. Their storytelling is articulate to the point where words would only serve to misconstrue and spoil what is already perfectly clear and heavily palpable. Of all the things I love about S.P.A.C.E, one of the main ones is the willingness of their director, the brilliant Valentino Maliko, to let new and aspiring dancers join and also to work closely with them. Alofau Rile, my auspicious and highly ambitious student, had a late-night epiphany and decided he wanted to be part of the dances too. That they gave him the space and support to find his footing and leap into success is testament to how the right people in the right place can make dreams come true. Benjamin, Grace, Elisapeta, Eseta, Alofau and Tamiana all have unique ways of moving and feeling the beats and rhythms. They are, after all, individuals. No two people will dance the same dance to the same song in exactly the same way. I noticed this immediately in the all-male number, set to Hozier's 'Take Me to Church'. Where Tamiana's hand movements are strong and well-defined, Alofau's are graceful and fluid, whilst Benjamin's are swift and bouncy, with a hint of wit and gentle humor.

Even our poetry readings and recitations brought with them the unique personalities of each poet. Where Sia Figiel described my style as "commanding", she emphasized that Krystal's piece was "dexterous" and complementary to it. Lars, a rapper, brought in bars that hurled the message of SHE IS NOT YOUR REHAB at an eager audience who caught every rhyme and line. I think about it now as, many different voices amplify a common cause and help achieve a common goal. Our strength is in our differences.

Like any live performance, there were a few funny moments. Music queued at the wrong time, some wardrobe malfunctions, I even forgot my plain black tee in the morning rush and had to turn my 'HUSH' cast t-shirt inside-out for my narrations. But the combined good work ethic and high levels of trust between cast and crew put on what I know was a great show. And the reviews have all been stellar! (Also, people wanna buy t-shirts of us, so I'm guessing we looked good too, lol).

We've just wrapped filming our musical, something that I will talk about in a later post. For now, I am grateful, and I feel HEARD. The story has been told, and now, it is up to those who listened to live it, learn from it and pass it on. Also, someone said we should go on tour...

The cast of 'HUSH: The Musical' with directors: 

L-R: FRONT ROW- Benjamin Lelevaga (dancer, chorus member [tenor])Tamiana Olano (dancer, chorus member [tenor]), Lars Gustaf Bell (rapper/ narrator) 

CENTER- Maluseu Doris Tulifau (producer/ director/writer), Eseta Corrine Uili (dancer, chorus member [soprano]), Yvette Alalatoa (producer/director/writer), Abbey Tofamamao Heather (chorus lead singer, actress ['the Teacher], singer (soloist, 'Rise Up'), Krystal Elizabeth Juffa (singer [duet], chorus member [soprano], actress ['Toxic Girlfriend'], performance poet/narrator, writer), Grace Pauga Greed (chorus member [soprano], dancer, actress [' Silent Mother']), Jasmine Koria (chorus member [alto], writer, performance poet/narrator, singer [soloist, song as part of monologue, 'Ua Fa'afetai Iesu Lou Alofa']), Nathan Sam Pomare (chorus member [tenor], actor ['Toxic Boyfriend'], singer [duet])Valentino Maliko (director, choreographer, musical arrangements)

BACK ROW- Brown Girl Woke Representative (name not provided), Elisapeta Fepulea'i (dancer, chorus member [alto], actress ['Questioning Daughter']), Alofau Rile (dancer, writer, chorus member [tenor]), Daniel Koria (narrator, writer, text editor)

 NOT PRESENT- Ioane Otineru (writer)

I Was In A Musical about Silence, PART I

HUSH, and other Sounds

The beginnings of HUSH: The Musical

Starring: Nathan Sam Pomare, Krystal Elizabeth Juffa, Jasmine Koria, Daniel Koria, Tamiana Olano, Alofau Rile, Benjamin Lelevaga, Grace Pauga Greed, Elisapeta Fepulea'i, Abbey Tofamamao Heather, Eseta Corrine Uili, and Lars Gustaf Bell 

The Official Poster for HUSH: The Musical (2023).

Two weeks ago I was in my first-ever musical. The work was a collaborative production of Brown Girl Woke, Samoa Performing Arts and Creative Excellence (S.P.A.C.E), the United Nations Education, Social and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) and the Ministry of Education, Sports and Culture (MESC). I was a writer, vocalist and narrator/performance poet in the show. Busy does not even begin to describe this season of my life. 

At our first writing session, we, the writing team, threw around several onomatopoeic words and phrases. We knew right from the beginning that we wanted the narrative to have a poetic, lyrical flow. Think, ocean waves and sandy sea breezes. The focus of our work was to be IPV (intimate partner violence) and DV (domestic violence), and the way in which silence both perpetuates and prolongs these societal woes. We talked about the sound 'shhh' that is often heard when a child talks too loudly. 'Shh' is a very interesting expression- it can also be used to menacingly get someone's attention, or to jokingly brush off someone's attention. For some reason, as we all sat around the table making the 'shh' sound, the word 'HUSH' came to my mind. I blurted out, 'Shh sounds like HUSH!"...and everyone thankfully indulged my idea (lol). Thus, the musical got its name. And the serious work of drafting scenes, sequences, choosing songs and arranging the cast list began. 

One of the things I am most thankful for is that I starred in my first musical under amazing direction. Brown Girl Woke's Doris Tulifau and Yvette Alalatoa, and S.P.A.C.E's Valentino Maliko were an absolute dream to work for. They were visionary, perceptive, creative and super accommodating of our cast's different schedules (and personalities!). Directing and producing a musical in the developing Pacific is very different from running a show in, say, Auckland or Sydney. For one thing, you will most likely be working with artists whose 'art' is but a part-time or spare-time endeavor. Most people- especially young people- in our part of the world cannot afford to do their craft full time. The majority of our cast, and even the directors themselves, has full-time work and study schedules PLUS a myriad of family and community obligations that we had to very carefully work around. Then, of course, there were the usual setbacks like illness and bad weather. I should know...I had a bad episode of vertigo mid-week, two weeks before the show opened. I literally woke up in the E.R (fun times!) with a nurse (who happened to be a former student of mine!) telling me I had low blood pressure. Side note, I could barely talk but was so bloody proud to see my student living out the full fruition of his dream! Yay for Pacific success :)

Something I'll never forget is the human compassion and kindness that our directing team extended. They wanted the show to be a success, yes, but they also cared deeply about the health and well-being of their performers. I got the rest of the week off and they checked in on me constantly. Dream work environment, if ever there was one!

The final cast was a twelve-member ensemble. We were all versatile performers, the majority of us being able to sing, dance, write AND act. The Pacific is brimming with talent, but still lacks opportunity. Just before opening day, my brother arrived from Melbourne for his usual end-of-year holiday. He's an amazing performance poet, writer and rapper, so of course I kinda-sorta talked him into joining us. Yes, Samoa is THAT small-you and your entire family be in a play together before you know it 😂 

As a cast, we got on GREAT. Everyone was super supportive- there is nothing quite like knowing your co-workers are truly, genuinely rooting for you. If I had to attribute our success to any one single thing, it'd definitely be this. We had a lot of laughs, and a ton of great conversations about everything from where we grew up to how to become TikTok famous. Remember when Nelly sang "we started as strangers, now we leavin' as brothers'? Yeah. This was the vibe. We worked long nights sometimes, plus there was the general exhaustion and of course, for us narrators, a couple of slip-ups and forgetting lines. But we worked through it, and an absolute gem of a lesson that I have learned from this experience is that PEOPLE make all the difference. You can have the most high-tech, state-of-the-art facilities or the biggest budget in the world. An unsupportive team holds everyone back. I'm so blessed, so grateful, that this was not our case. We were a team in that cliche but important way: together, everyone achieve(d) more. Thanks team!

(to be continued...)

Who Do You Think You Are? Part II

They Call Her 'Alayo'

"Alayo", he said. "One for whom bread is not enough."

-A Raisin in the Sun, Lorraine Hansberry

When I remember my first trip to Europe, I remember, more than anything, the various emotions that I felt on the way and whilst there. It's like that, I think, with most things in my life. I remember events, places and people based on how they make me feel.

After overcoming that initial laundry hurdle from Part I of this story, I was faced with what I can only describe in the words of Po, reluctant Dragon Warrior: my old enemy. Not stairs (well, yes stairs, but not so much!). No. My old enemy is social awkwardness! I know, I know. I have three/four jobs, ALL of which require daily interaction with people both virtually and IRL. Word to the wise: Socializing more and working more with people DOES improve social anxiety, but it often does not 'cure' it. I'm using the word 'cure' here because it best describes the kind of social awkwardness and anxiety that I have.

I still recall the first day of the conference. Curators, Vice Curators and other executive members from Global Shapers Hubs all around the world were lining up to register for the summit. As I descended the staircase to join them, I could hear them chattering away about checking into their rooms, meeting their roommates (omg!) and picking up their welcome packs. I was a little sad to be leaving the room I had had to myself for my first two nights in Geneva. Of course, there was also a little pang of excitement as I went to see where they were going to move me. That registration line was one of the most transformative experiences of my life. I've never before been in such a happy, welcoming environment! Everyone, and I mean, EVERYONE, was saying 'hello' like old, long-lost high school friends. Sometimes, interactions in these kinds of spaces can feel forced or pressured. However, there was absolutely none of that in any of the queues we stood in. Despite our jet-lag, several missing bags, and even a mistaken room number or two, everyone was so thrilled to meet people with similar ambitions and challenges.

When the Summit first kicked off, they allocated participants into smaller groups called Purpose Circles. We'd meet every morning, between sessions, and every evening, before going back to our hotel. As the name probably suggests, the Purpose Circles were to help connect Shapers on a human, personal level. They were to provide a 'base' that we could come back to for moral support as well as, hey, just people to eat lunch with :) This is such a gift for a socially awkward, anxious person like myself who is still learning to be comfortable in crowds. Our purpose circle comprised of eight Curators/ Vice Curtaors: Alliance (from a hub China), Madhav (from a hub in India), myself (from the one and onlyyyy hub in Samoa), Emmanuel (from a hub in Nigeria), Madai (from a hub in Mexico), Bengu (from a hub in Canada), Anastasija (from a hub in Serbia), and Joel Dean (from a hub in Jamaica). Our leader was Thales, a former Shaper, from Brazil. Each Purpose Circle had a number- ours was '45'. 

When I was growing up, the youth at church used to sing this beautiful song: The Circle of Friends. Attending the Global Shapers Summit 2023 and meeting people from all walks of life, all manner of nationalities and cultural as well as religious backgrounds, has made this a reality for me. I remember eating lunch with Madhav, Emmanuel and, surprise, one of my wantoks from P.N.G: Kurere. As we searched for a shady spot to eat and look out over Lake Geneva, Madhav asked us, "have you guys read The Alchemist?" We then all said at the same time, I kid you not- "The universe conspired to help me find you!"


What a beautiful testament to our shared humanity. To the commonness of our love for learning, for art, for friendship, for sharing. That four complete strangers from four supposedly dissimilar and geographically distant parts of the world should say the exact same quote from the exact same book at the exact same time is proof that humanity is capable of so much magic and beauty. And that the universe still conspires, every day, to help us love and heal and grow.

Emmanuel and I, after a great afternoon of discussing books, books, books, and how awesomely cool the European summer is compared to the saunas that we call home. #Nigeria #Samoa

One amazing thing I learned about my new friend Emmanuel, from Nigeria, is that he too is crazy about literature! Lit lovers are a dangerous combo if you don't wanna hear about books, books, and more books...for three hours straight! And by books, I mean, we know every theme, quote, plot point...publisher's name! What a brilliant thing it is to be drinking apple juice and analyzing Chinua Achebe in the middle of Europe! From Achebe, we naturally progressed to talking about the Foundation N.U.S staple, A Raisin in the Sun. It's the best friend and worst enemy of so, so many young people who take HEN005 (Introduction to Literature) in Samoa. It has also been one of my forever loves. A play that speaks life and power into dry bones. When Emmanuel told us he was a Yoruba, just like Joseph Asagai, I knew I had to ask him for the actual meaning of that famed (and majestic!) nickname Joe gave Beneatha. "Alayo". According to the play, it is supposed to mean, "one for whom bread is not enough." It's intended as a compliment to Beneatha's stubbornness and independence. She was, after all, a Black woman in 1950s America who dreamed of becoming a doctor and marrying for love. She was told to give up, to shut up, to settle down, to calm down. In a world where women are faced with so many ups-and-downs, imposed, often, by others, Joseph sees and admires Beneatha's refusal to be shut down or locked up. "What does Alayo MEAN?" I asked my new friend. "You hear things in more depth when they are spoken in your native language. I know Lorraine Hansberry was an American. But you are a Yoruba. So, you must tell me, please, what do you hear, when they say, ALAYO?"

Emmanuel smiled. He's a lawyer and a tech developer and marketer. Witty, wise, thoughtful, and very mindful- as most young people from former colonies are- of the reverence that our indigenous languages deserve. "Alayo," he finally answered, "is not a name that can be summarized in one or even a hundred sentences. It is too full of meaning, too deep and too wide, for any single definition. You can't, you know, contain it!" He was going to apologize to me for giving what he thought must be a limited definition. I stopped him. "That," I said, "is the best thing I've ever heard." And then I told him and Madhav I wished I could change my name to Alayo😂

Over that weekend, I met so many amazing young people who are changing the world for the better. Some had flown out of active war zones just to be there. Just to tell their stories, and to hear the stories of others. I estimate that seventy percent of the people I said hello to had no idea where (or what!) Samoa even is. I'm a proud Samoan. That was a humbling and eye-opening few days for me. Perhaps this is kinda what the Overview Experience is like for astronauts? I remember a retired astronaut once said, "you look out...everything you've ever known is there. It fits right behind your thumb. It's amazing, You can even cry!"

The world is a massive melting pot of stories, hopes, dreams, fears...Of all the attempts there ever have been to define what it means to be a human being, I will always like best the one I have taken from my friend Emmanuel's respect and understanding of his language. Humanity is so broad, so powerful, so ambitious, so full of strife. The moment you accept your greatness, but also your smallness, you take the first and most crucial step in celebrating the diverse magnificence of the race that we all belong to: the human race.

Who Do You Think You Are? Part I

In Europe, they Call Me 'Madame'

Of all the things I've ever been called - both nice and unflattering (ah, life!)- the most memorable one is the European courtesy, "Madame". Madames have always been, for me, grand corseted figures in super-white powder foundation. There's something matronly about it. "Madame." Alas...there I was. A twenty-five-year-old Polynesian first-timer to the Northern Hemisphere. Talk about a culture clash!

If you're wondering where I got such fanciful stereotypes/ perceptions of a word that's actually a really common courtesy in Europe, please know that I place the full blame on Ever After and the dozens of bulky historical fiction tomes that litter my reading list. I know, right? I'll give myself grace on this one, though. The stories you're about to read are from what was only my first time out of the Oceania (Pacific) region. And what a time it was! #blessed

My first view of the famed Swiss Alps. I was overcome with a million different emotions, all at once. I made sure to play the Sound of Music's 'Climb Every Mountain' as we landed, in honor of my father, who loved and taught about Europe, but did not live to see it. 

Going to Europe is a rite of passage, isn't it? Well, it was, for a lot of people I knew as a teenager. It's the making of a social grade. The ticking of a box. You get bragging rights and photos for 'the Gram', and if you're from a tiny little speck like Samoa, you'll be featured on the Coconut Wireless front page. If you don't know what that is, count yourself lucky (😴). I know this idealization isn't limited to those of us in the small (and vast!) Pacific. Europe is, after all, the seat of much of what we still consider to be 'world history.' I've put that in speech marks because it's a whole other conversation about colonial and imperial narratives as well as white-washing. That's for another post, most definitely. Back to the point, for now: Europe is a dream destination, a life goal, even, for many people all around the world. If I'm being completely honest, I never actually really desired to travel to Europe. It's not that I was actively opposed to it or anything. It just wasn't on my immediate bucket list. If you'd have asked me a year ago where I'd go if I could travel anywhere in the world, I'd have immediately answered: South Africa. Now THAT was the seat of my childhood dreams. My father was an Alan Paton fanatic (zealot, lol?). Another story for another post, this one is.

I remember the first time I saw the very tips of the Swiss Alps. I'd seen pictures of them on chocolate boxes and plastered across various walls in Auckland and Wellington. I'd watched The Sound of Music more than a hundred times, at the least, and I knew all the words to that beautiful song: 

Climb ev'ry mountain 

Ford every stream!...

Nothing, and I mean NOTHING, had prepared me for how beautiful  the descent into Geneva, Switzerland would be. The clouds melted into snow-capped mountain ranges, deep dark rock contrasting the whitest (and first ever!) snow I had seen in my life. We didn't get snow in Wellington, only random hailstorms that conveniently always seemed to start while I was walking to school! Oh, gosh...Anyway, the Swiss Alps! I had Climb Every Mountain on repeat as we slowly came down, through the thick clouds. It was a pretty steep climb, I remember. I have a lifelong fear of heights, and a fear of falling in general. I recall the nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach- there was a point where I actually thought we might just fall the rest of the way down. Fear of the unknown, you know? But fall, we did not. We touched down comfortably on a sunny tarmac overlooking the ever-gorgeous mountains. I stepped off the plane in the heaviest skirt I own, a long shirt, socks pulled up long too, and gloves. Boy, was I an idiot! I had known it would be summer in Europe at the time, but I'd imagined European summers might be like most of the New Zealand summers I'd had- think autumn, but with brighter sun rays. Oh, the despair of breaking into a sweat as I walked through the airport. It was bloody hot! Like, almost Samoa-hot! 

Bags and passport cleared, I tore off my gloves, rolled my sleeves up as high as they would go, and rolled my socks down as low as possible. Thankfully, the uber-esque ride I'd booked was already there and ready to go. The driver had a chuckle at my unpreparedness for the Swiss summertime, and reassured me that there were only warm, sunny days ahead. 

It was at the check-in desk at my hotel- the Hilton- that I first heard the word 'Madame' in active use. We say 'Ma'am' in most English-speaking countries, which is polite enough, I think. But 'Madame.' My God! It has a different ring to it, doesn't it? All the front desk staff spoke either French or Arabic as a first language, so their way of saying words like 'Madame' has these really beautiful, almost musical intonations. I felt so grand. It was amazing! It is amazing, actually. How something as simple as the way you address someone can impact their self-esteem. Think, Johnny Lingo and the Eight Cow Wife (lol, again!).

I was so relieved to finally get to my room. What a great room it was! I opened my window to see the most amazing thing ever: a sign that indicated the turn-off, on the highway, which would lead you out of Switzerland and into France. "This way to France." Fancy that! I called my family immediately and told them I was looking out the window at France. To add to the irony, my students were studying the European land-locked borders at the time, especially the ones that historically allowed rival troops to traverse into each other's countries easily. How could I have been teaching this stuff for so long, and only be seeing it for myself today? The will and ability of the human heart to imagine, to colour, even that which we have not witnessed, for the sake of others, is something I will forever be in awe of. 

My first proper photo in my hotel room, after seeing the "this way to France" sign.

Having showered twice during the 30-plus hour trip from the Pacific to Europe, I was running out of clothes. I called the Help Desk immediately to ask where the laundry room might be, or if there was a nearby laundromat I might send my clothes to. "Madame, the hotel does all guests' laundry. Please hand yours to the nearest usher and we will add this service to your bill." I thought he may have misunderstood me- I was asking where I could go, ME, to do my laundry MYSELF. Like what I was used to. So, I explained it to him again. " I see, Madame. Yes, you may hand your laundry to one of our ushers. We will do your laundry for you as part of our hospitality services. We'll iron and press your garments, and then return them to you either folded or on a hanger; please indicate which you would prefer." Oh, no! I realized that I wasn't getting anywhere. I had to make a choice. A good one, and a fast one. 

A bit of background to my dilemma: any Pasifika person reading this will know that most of our cultures have taboos, some strict and some merely ingrained, regarding even things as mundane as laundry. The two 'restrictions' that I grew up with were:

1. Do your laundry yourself, especially if you have undergarments in there. 

2. Don't get people older than you to do chores for you!

But I needed clothes! The conference I was there to attend would be opening the following day, with a formal dinner at the World Economic Forum Headquarters. Those were the longest two or three minutes in my life! The brief silence as the Help Desk waited for me to make up my mind was almost deafening. My mother, being Melanesian, is particularly strict on these 'taboos.' My father was always a little more modernized in his thinking. He'd say, "do what the Romans do. You're in Rome, after all." It was then that it hit me. Rome has its own wisdom. This wisdom is borne out of the experiences and values of its own people. All wisdom has some wisdom in it. "If I refuse now, I'll run out of clothes by Day 2 of the summit, and I won't learn a thing about this strange and beautiful place, or these polite and beautiful people who are so so sooooo kind!." Less than five minutes after I agreed to let the hotel handle my laundry, a lovely woman in a red blazer and the nicest shoes I'd ever seen came by to pick up my laundry. She was around the same age as my mother, and I had to actively suppress the deep guilt I felt at having her do my laundry for me. She spoke only French, so it was a bit of a struggle to explain to her about my favorite checkered blue shirt. I always keep it on a hanger, even though it does not need one. Eventually, we came to a good enough consensus, and she said some of the only French words I know: "merci, Madame." A woman twice my age was not only going to do my laundry for me, but also calling me 'Madame'! I really was a world away from where I grew up!

(Story to be continued in next entry!)