The Island

The island itself is alive. It comes in, creeping. We build houses and walls, but the fight to beat it back is perpetual. The island doesn't rest, it keeps on growing in the hot humid air, patiently reclaiming. This photo says it all. 

Haircut

Last Saturday I decided it was time for a haircut. The shaggy look in the heat wasn't working. So, after buying a few more cleaning supplies, I went looking for a barber’s shop. After driving for a few minutes I found one, a small cinderblock building. I parked and stepped inside. My first concern was price. I didn't want to get all the way to the end and then get a $40 bill. Besides, I only had about $15 cash and this didn't look like a credit card kind of shop.

Inside, two old men were sitting, one by the barber’s chair, the other on a bench upholstered in red vinyl. They both raised their eyebrows when I stepped in. I tried closing the door behind me, but it wouldn’t catch. The man on the bench grunted, which I understood meant don’t worry about it. I didn’t.

“How much?” I asked.

The men looked at each other.

“Price?” I tried.

Finally I saw a white board on the wall with prices. Kids were $8. Adults, where were the adult prices.

“Ten dall’a,” the guy on the bench said.

Then I saw it. Adult cuts -- $10. I had ten dollars. The barber motioned me over to the chair. The sheet went on and tucked in around my neck like normal – good sign. He ran a comb through my hair. Was he getting it ready to cut or trying to figure out why it wasn’t black and curly? I wasn’t sure.

The barber grunted. It was deep and throaty and may have been a Samoan word. I couldn’t be sure.

“Um, business man,” I said. It was a term of art I had heard other barbers use to describe the sort of haircut I was after. I hoped he would recognize it. No luck.

He shook his head. “Short,” I said.

“Sho,” he said.

I tried to show him with my fingers. He didn’t seem interested. Spinning my chair, he pointed a comb at the posters on the wall displaying hundreds of young men in profile, each sporting a different haircut. Good. I menu. I can order up what I want. Let’s see, where are the photos of the business men, the elders, the white people. None, none, none. All black. Tight stiff curls carved with names, images of athletes, lines, and shapes.

“Huh?” the barber grunted pointing at the wall again.

“No, not exactly, I don’t see…”

Apparently out of patience, the barber turned the chair so I wasn’t facing the mirror, snatched his electric clippers, and went to work.

He came at my hair from interesting angles, not using his free hand or a comb to pull the hair away from my head. He was carving more than cutting. My only hope lay in the fact that very little hair was falling, whatever the damage was at least it wasn’t deep. But then again, for $10 I didn’t want to be shaggy again in a week.

After two or three minutes, he pulled out a straight razor, cleaned up my neck, slapped on some aftershave stuff and spun me around. Not as much damage as I had expected, but not much improvement either.

He spun me around again and pulled off the sheet. Wait! Ten dollars for two minutes and a fraction of an inch of hair, I don’t think so. “Shorter,” I said. I’m a black belt in charades; I’ll get my point across. I lifted my hair with one hand and showed him the length. I made scissors with my other hand and demonstrated just to make sure he got the point.

Another grunt and the sheet when back on. He didn’t bother to tuck it in around the collar this time. More carving. More locks of hair gathering around me. Another two minutes, a spin in the chair, a quick look in the mirror. Fine. I decided to cut my losses (bad figure of speech I realize given the situation).

I handed over the ten bucks and headed out to my car for a better look. Let’s just say, if I were relying on my looks for success in life, I would have gone in and demanded my money back. But since my looks are, if not a liability, at least not an asset, I decided to live with it. At least the hair was off my neck. I ran my fingers through my hair to shake out some of the follicle shrapnel and drove home to do some more cleaning.

A few local secrets

Okay, I am starting to learn a few of the local tricks of living in American Samoa. First money. The money here is very flimsy and soft -- feels like tissue paper. I guess it just never gets retired, so the same bills from the sixties are still in circulation. I was next to a guy at McDonalds the other day and his dollar bill actually ripped in half when he pulled it out of his wallet. The fibers just came apart. Also, if you want to be like the locals, you hand your dollar bills over all wadded and crinkled up, not flat and smooth. Maybe it's because they're trying to disguise that the bill has come apart and is in three pieces. Finally, most places accept credit cards, but the cashier usually has to dissapear into a back office to run it.

Second, the Sa. Okay, all you BYU alumni out there, remember when they would play the national anthem over the loud speakers and if you didn't stop and salute, you would get dirty looks. Okay, now imagine that only enforced by Goliath-sized samoan men in red skirts -- that's the Sa. Every day in most villages, a village official will come out at 5:55 and start banging on an old gas canister (like ones used to fill balloons at the grocery store). This is the five minute warning. At 6:00 more banging and the Goliaths come out -- they are called "aumaga” and are the non-deputized village police. Now, if you are driving on a main road, you can continue during the "sa" but if you stop -- there's no starting again. If you're walking, you stop and try to get inside somewhere or at least fold your arms and look somber, avoing eye contact with the aumaga. If you're driving on a side street, you stop the car. Most people go inside, except the aumaga. Seven minutes of reverence are observed then more banging and you can go on your way. Presumably, people are praying in their houses during the sa. One of my friends who has lived here a long time said that once in his village when someone flagrently violated the sa, folding chairs, rocks, and coconuts where thrown at his car. He was lucky that one of the aumaga didn't pick up his car and throw that too. So, the sa, apparently serious business. Sounds like kind of a cool tradition, actually. I applauded the commitment to religious devotion even if it does run somewhat afoul of certain fundamental principals, such as agency. However, when I learned that the reason this tradition is continued today -- village chiefs get money from the cultural preservation department to keep it going -- it became a little less cool. Wonder if they get a bonus for vandalizing the cars of violators.

The People

If islands grew in proportion to the goodness and kindness of their inhabitants, I don't suppose the entire Pacific Ocean could contain American Samoa.

The people here have been so wonderful to me. People have taken me into their homes, given me delicious food, and sent me back to my hotel with the next two meals, carefully wrapped. I came to the island with no car, and tonight I have two, just because that’s the way people here are. Take mine, a person I only met the day before told me, keep it for as long as you want.

I went down to the hotel reception to heat up my dinner, and someone saw that I didn’t have a drink, so they brought me one.
I was talking to a lady in the hotel lobby while I ate and somehow we got on the subject of pianos. My daughter is a classical pianist, the woman said. Right, I thought imagining a plucky version of chopsticks. You should come hear her sometime, she said. I’d love to, I said. And I meant it because I don’t have much else to do in the evenings. Actually, the woman said, she will give you your own concert right now. This junior in high school then sat down at the piano and played as well as I have ever heard anyone play. Technically challenging stuff played beautifully. I applauded and they were so happy. So was I. It’s a very good place here. I am sure there are problems too, but the people I have met have been so friendly and helpful. I found a house today to rent. They are giving it to me at an amazing price. The wife wasn’t even planning on renting it, but was willing to just to help me.

American Samoa -- Pago Pago

So I discovered today that all this time I have not been in Pago Pago. I have been west of there. So, late this morning I went to the bus stop to go exploring. Here is a bus stop:

After awhile a bus came a long:

Just like in Alice in Wonderland, since I didn't know where I was going, I didn't think it mattered which direction I went. However, after about a quarter of a mile, the bus driver told me he was finished working for the day. Sorry, ride over. Okay. So I got off and found another bus headed the other direction.

Here are some photos from the ride. Sorry some are blurry, I was hanging out the side of a bus.

Here is downtown Pago Pago:

On the way home I stopped at McDonalds for lunch. Apparently it is graduation week here in American Samoa and everyone goes out for fast food to celebrate. Very long story short, I waited for over a half hour in line to get my Asian Salad (too much fast food this week and not enough vegetables). Now, I have seen a lot of amazing things since I have been here in American Samoa -- amazing senery, rain the size of silver dollars, super friendly people who like to talk about religion -- but by far the most unbelieveable thing I have seen in my two and a half days here is a family that spent $150 at McDonalds. Now I admit it was a large family, both in number and girth, but I would have guessed $75 at the most. The bags of food just kept coming, and I kept waiting. Wow. Incredible.

It was stake conference here today, so I went to the priesthood session and the general session (back to back 4:00 and 6:00). Most of the talks were in Samoan, so I didn't get much out of it; however, I have never heard better singing anywhere in the church. Everyone sings, and everyone sings well. Hearing the music alone (the choir and even just the congretation) was worth listening to the hours of uninteligable vowels streaming out of the speakers' mouths. The singing was powerful both in volume and spirit. I look foward to two years of listening to these beautiful voices.

One last thing, I woke up with the first pinch of a sore throat this morning. Did I sleep with my mouth open? Is it a common cold? Have I been infected with the recent E. Coli outbreak on the island? I don't know but it's fun to speculate.

One last photo for the kids, I believe these are vines for swinging - Tarzan-style:

The Rain

So I'm sitting in my hotel room this morning, getting ready for the day when suddenly there is this roar outside. What the heck? I opened the door and experienced my first Samoan rain (I called it a "storm" and was mocked mercilessly by the locals). Apparently this is normal or at least not uncommon. But I've got to tell you this was no April-Showers-Bring-May-Flowers-West-Kaysville shower this was a get-the-kids-and-the-animals-and-meet-Noah-at-the-boat downpour. Unfortunately, these photos don't do it justice, but here's what I've got. (I'm going our armed with my camera tomorrow for some better photos).

Talofa

A few quick photos. Here is the waiting area in Hawaii to get on the plane to American Samoa.

Outside my hotel: