Coming to America...or Am I? Part 1

I'M HERE!

(Where exactly is here?) 

If we could edit each other's dreams, what would we change?

Well, that was a pretty ominous epigraph. It's making me want to write some kind of poem. 

Alright, so...I caught my first ever flight to Honolulu on a hot Friday afternoon. Sweat was in my hair, on my neck, even on my memory-deprived OPPO A3 phone. I had no time to reflect too deeply on anything. To appreciate that I was going somewhere I had never been before. I had a few moments whilst packing. I slipped my mum, dad and grandma's memorial pins into my makeup case. One can't be too sentimental when one has a big trip to the Free World coming up. 

The six hour flight from Samoa to Hawaii was by no means the longest or most stressful I have ever experienced. Remember, I endured the world's fourth longest flight (17 hours, whew!) twice in the space of, like, five days last year. But...I was still a little anxious when the cloud pockets started moving us around as we approached the Northern Pacific. One thing I immediately figured out is that there's a lot of turbulence around the Hawaiian archipelago. I would experience heaps more of it, flying out to D.C, and even leaving, towards Fiji. 

On the flight, I was seated next to one of my soon-to-be RPIL colleagues from Fiji. Ironically, she would end up being my roommate during our D.C field immersion. Life is cool like that, I reckon. Halfway through the plane ride, she asked if we could switch seats. This gave me her window seat, and I was so so soooo excited because I could now take a video of us landing in Hawaii. The beautiful ocean, The tops of palm trees. The...people. 

Ah, but all dreams must die. Mine did, quickly and quite hilariously. As we touched down in Honolulu, it was drizzling, the turbulence had made us tired, and...I could not see a THING! Just, nil. There were the usual orangey-red lights on the wings of the airplane as we descended, and I could just about make out the shapes of buildings in the nighttime haze. But that was it! I'm ashamed to admit (but I have to- won't learn if I don't) that I had for so, SO long ascribed to the colonizer's gaze. You know, Pina Coladas and alo'a shirts...It's pretty stupid, really. I'm Samoan, for heaven's sake. We have so many of the same darn problems. In the first week of our fellowship, we learned that any person from a colony or former colony inherits a colonial legacy. That often includes the colonizer's worldview, wherein native people are "subjects and objects" (a former boss of mine once gave us that wording as she tried to describe this phenomenon). We allow ourselves to be subjected and objectified, before (sometimes unknowingly) subjecting other indigenous people to this brand of objectification. 

Very quickly, I established that neither Hawaii nor this fellowship was here to play. Someone once wrote that when she was getting her malu tattoo, she wanted to look at the tufuga before the actual process started. She wanted to ascertain that he meant her "pain". That he was going to test her physical endurance and mental fortitude. I took one look at the graffiti in the last tunnel we passed through as we drove to Manoa Valley, and knew that this place and its people had weathered centuries of pain and suffering. I knew I would not leave here without having seen and felt it too, even in the smallest possible measure. 

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!)

      

Are You In It For The Long Haul?

Life is a Long-Haul Flight

Teachers: ever get a panicky email from a student who's submitted the wrong draft of an assignment, but you're 36,000 feet in the air and in a different timezone?

That was my experience on my first ever long-haul flight. I was on an Emirates plane, less than five hours out of Auckland and passing high above the beautifully lit Australian continent, when a notification pinged on my Chromebook. Said Chromebook only had about fifty minutes of power left- fifty minutes against the flight's remaining time of approximately ten hours. The two elderly passengers beside me had already drifted into a very peaceful nap (lucky for them! 😭), and my Samoan manners had kicked in. "Don't wake these poor people up with your loud typing." A friend at uni back in Wellington once told me that my typing sounds like firewood being chopped with an exceptionally strong ax. There is no school of music (or thought!) in which that sounds soothing during a long flight into a different timezone. I had my laptop on only so I could read through my notes for the conference I was going to. I ignored the email 'notif' for fifteen minutes, and then two more came in. Five minutes after, another three. I realized I couldn't ignore whoever or whatever it was that was popping up so urgently in the middle of the Indian Ocean. I opened it to find a very distressed student, detailing how they had sent me what was actually only a draft (and not a very good one), and then stating how this was probably the tipping point of their academic life and "it's all over now, isn't it, Miss?"

How do you respond to that? ... When I was preparing to sit my first exams as a high school student, my father, also a teacher, gave me some advice: "Look at the questions/scenarios/instructions carefully. If they contain more than three words, use a pencil to separate the two or three distinct parts. More than three words usually means the question has more than three parts. Questions, within a question. And you will need to answer them all if you want to get the two out of two or four out of four. People get three out of four marks when something is missing. Don't miss anything." I've never gone wrong following that time-tested wisdom. A very wise man, my father was. 

Sitting in my cold seat, staring out the window at the aircraft wing gently palpitating against the dark sky, I closed my eyes and tried my best to meditate on the advice I'd been given so long ago, by someone who is no longer here. As I played and re-played my father's calm tenor voice in my head, many memories of my own school years wove themselves into my thought-line. I could see myself sitting in the back of our Year 8 classroom, feeling so nervous because I was one of three 'nerdy' students who had been moved from Year 7 to Year 8 to trial the Year 8 National Examinations. This was to help answer a question that a lot of our teachers had had for many years: 'Are the Year 7 and 8 curricula so well-aligned that a reasonably 'good' Year 7 student might pass the Year 8 Nationals and be eligible to move straight to Year 9?' There I was, twelve years old in a class of thirteen and fourteen-year-olds who all already knew each other well. I was very nervous...and very unprepared for the exams. What we discovered that year was that the strands of the two curricula were very well-aligned, but the bulk of the content in some of the major strands of the 'difficult' subjects (Science and Social Studies) was vastly unalike. My Year 7 notes were not gonna cut it. Not even close. Without my knowledge or consent (😅) my mother took the initiative of asking the nicest Year 8 girl she could find if we could please have some notes for Science and Social Studies. Mothers, aye? To this day I still laugh at the memory of how mortified I was when said girl came up to me after class one Friday and handed me not only a whole folder of notes, but also BOTH her actual exercise books so I could photocopy what she had jotted down throughout the three-and-a-half terms I'd missed. There are so many comedies, drama-dies and book series about how mean and petty middle-school and high school kids are. But I'll tell you this: there are millions of great kids who are so well-raised and grounded that I don't think all of Hollywood would even KNOW how to properly portray them on screen or paper. What they say about women in film is also very true about teenagers: the ones you see on screen are NEVER as amazing as the ones you meet in real life. I made it into high school (yeah, all three of us guinea pigs passed the exams!) because of an undeserved act of kindness. I didn't know the girl well. But she saw a need, and she helped me. To this day, I count her as a dear friend. Precious, rare, beautiful. (We had a laugh about all of this over ice-cream and fries a few years ago).  

I opened my eyes. Back to the panicky email of my student, thousands of miles away and below. The cabin crew were bringing out 'breakfast'- a piping hot spinach ricotta that we could have with either coffee, juice or water. It occurred to me, as I slowly removed the packaging from the food, that I was here, on my way to Dubai, and then Europe, because someone had given me a random kindness that I didn't even have the courage to ask for myself. And she wasn't even holding it against me like some people might have- Coconut Wireless in these parts of the world loves a good "I helped her get everything she's showing off about" story. I was not only given a great gift, I was also given a great amount of grace. 

I clicked to open the 'compose' tab, and copied in all my students who were due to submit the same assignment. Others had actually not sent me anything yet, so the panicker was way ahead by even just worrying about the task. "Being as I am currently on leave, and will not be able to mark anything, anyway, I would like to grant you all an extension of three days on the final term task. You may send it in before midnight, your time, on the new due date. Those of you who've submitted 'drafts' are welcome to send in your final, correct files on this amended date as well. All the best, and be kind to one another :) "

I've been blessed with a lot of success in my career as an educator, but none so great as the feeling of having paid forward a debt that I had owed for more than a decade. If you receive grace, all you can do is pass it on. As I checked the flight map, I saw we had eight hours of flight time remaining. There was no land below or ahead of us for miles. Middle of nowhere but also in the best place I had ever been. My journey had come full circle. 

A short and not-very-good clip I took of our sunrise landing in Dubai.