I AM VASHTI
"But the queen Vashti refused to come at the king's commandment by the eunuchs. Therefore the king was very angry."- Esther 1:12
Who are you named after?
In Samoa, names are super important. And we don't necessarily get named after important people. A lot of folks I know are named after places, months of the year, body parts, numbers, weather patterns, colours (not just the traditional ones like Brown and White), and even movies! I actually once met someone called 'RoseTitanic'. We, as a people, are super invested in the stories (and details!) that catch our attention and impact us deeply. Names are a crucial part of the fabric that makes up Samoan (and Polynesian) society. We are, first and foremost, story-tellers. Words are of the essence. Your name has to be a word that means something, and that shows the way back to where you come from as well as forward, to where you're going.
I've listened to many debates about names before a child is born. My gosh, I've even heard people argue over prospective children's names mid-way the wedding planning process. I know of many people, even those in my age group (mid-20s) who still choose to go the traditional Samoan route and give an eldest child a name from the father's side of the family. Whatever people choose, one thing's for sure: In Samoa, it's not our custom to give a child a name 'just because'. Your whole fa'asinomaga*, or the whole history of your parents' or grandparents' love story, usually has to be in there somewhere.
I've heard it said, even, that a name can either be a curse or a blessing. I don't believe that, but I do find it interesting. They say people often become what you treat them like, or what you say they are. Super fascinating that sometimes it is possible to trace 'failure' and 'success' back to the most common thing we get called every day: our names.
My paternal grandmother, Vasati Ulaula La'ulu-Tafuna'i, was born on May 12, 1939. This was twenty-two years before Samoa gained independence from the British Empire, and only twenty-one years after the deadly Influenza Epidemic. It killed at least twenty percent of Samoa's population. When my grandmother was born, Samoa was right in the middle of its independence struggle, and Eurocentric values as well as customs had infiltrated almost all spheres of life. Christianity, with its long dresses and even longer prayers, was the staple religion by then. Christian names were the norm for children born in those years. And not just any Christian names. If you were born into a God-fearing family, you would be given the name of a brave hero or an exceptionally obedient heroine. Think Joseph (Iosefa), Miriam (Miriama), Moses (Mose) or Esther (Eseta). For reasons I still don't know, my great-grandmother gave her eldest daughter the name Vasati. Translated, it is 'Vashti', the name of the defiant Persian queen whose disobedience cost her her marriage, her family, her home and her reputation.
My great-grandmother was a pastry chef at one of the early Chinese eateries in Apia (Fong's, I believe it was called.) In many ways, she was a woman swimming against a stubborn tide.
Smack-dab in the middle of colonial Samoa, at a crux between two major value systems, Leoi Baice did what women all around the world were still being discouraged from doing in the 1910s and 20s: she had a career. She is one of many strong Samoan women of that era who dared to dream, and dared to live those dreams to the fullest. Whether this influenced her to name her daughter Vasati, instead of Eseta, I will never know for certain. But I do know that my grandmother lived up to her name, and that I wouldn't be where I am today if she didn't.
Vasati had fourteen children, all of whom she raised and put through school despite various seasons of widowhood and divorce. She worked no less than three jobs at a time, beginning when she was a teenager (1940s) and only retiring a few years before I was born (1990s). Vasati's ultimate dream was to become a playwright, musician and actress. She wrote stories and songs which only ever got performed for the missionaries and people of her village. She learned to read and write in English, the colonial language, and made many friends, both Samoan and non-Samoan. One of her best friends was a German woman named Moola, who became like a sister to her. My grandmother never talked herself down, or displayed self-depreciating behavior in the presence of non-Samoans. She believed she was just as good as any woman OR man, black or white. She dared to think that. That all people were created equal.
Whenever I hear the name 'Vashti', in Bible study or on television, I remember a story my grandmother told me when I was a kid:
"I was working at a guest house- reception, housekeeping and that sort of thing. It was just a few years after Samoa became independent, so there were still many rules in place. Tourists and locals alike had to abide by them if they stayed at our guest house. No cursing, no littering, no public nudity or inappropriate behavior or words. We were trying to balance things between fa'aSamoa and also Christian teachings. Be respectful to everyone, you know? Well, one night, these fine European gentlemen came in. They bought some beers and sat together chatting for a while. At first, everything was fine. Then, towards midnight, they started talking very loud and saying some very silly things. It was mainly us girls on duty and you imagine it- three or four Samoan girls and a whole lot of drunk men. My colleagues felt so nervous, especially because the men were breaking the rules of our guest house. I asked them what we should do and they said, 'just leave it. They're white. They'll make a fuss and get us kicked out of work.' I wasn't going to just leave it, though. I went and asked them nicely to please make their way to their rooms if they weren't going to order any more beers. They did go. But they didn't go to sleep. No! They went to the showers, threw their used towels all around the hallway, went into one room, and continued making noise. They acted like they owned the place, and our manager had already gone home for the night. I went straight to that room, carrying their wet towels, banged my fist on the door, and called them to open up. They were so shocked. I threw their towels right at them, and threw my big cleaning broom in too, then told those boys: "you better fold your towels and put everything away before the manager comes in at 6am tomorrow. Then, pack all your bags and leave. And there's the broom- sweep your room before you go."
Yeah, my jaw was on the floor too, hearing that story. That's not even the end, though. She told me, "they packed their little suitcases faster than I've ever seen anyone pack anything away, threw all the bed-covers into neat piles, tossed their towels in the laundry area and rushed out. It took less than an hour. I've never seen grown men rush away like that before. But they left. And the floor was spotless too."
Whenever I hear the name Vashti, I think of independence. I think of being a strong woman in a dis-empowering world. I think of reclaiming ME, the way my country reclaimed itself in 1962. First in the Pacific to be independent, my Samoa.
Esther is a beautiful name. My grandfather's mother was named 'Eseta'. Esther is courage, gentleness, and sacrifice. But Esther is also a figure that is weaponized by patriarchal narratives. She is used, and misused, against the demonized 'other' figure of Vashti. And yet, both are important. Vashti's refusal to be put on display like an object ushered in the era of Esther, without whom the people of Israel would not have been saved. In a world where docility and passiveness are idolized as 'feminine', sometimes, you have to dare to live outside the mould. In a world of Esthers, sometimes you have to be a Vashti.
My grandmother, Vasati, in her late 30s, I believe.
*fa'asinomaga: traditional heritage (a combination of your genetic ancestry, villages/districts of origin, and titles/ social privileges associated therewith)
