Pacific Tsunami Galu Afi

29/09 "I don't want to remember. It's too hard."

2011-09-30T17:02:00.000-07:00

Photo by Pele Wendt.

I didnt want to do this. I didnt want to talk about this. I didnt want to remember that today marks a year since the release of the 'Pacific Tsunami' book. And two years since the event which changed so many peoples lives, so drastically - forever. I didnt want to think that tomorrow morning, Samoan time - families in many different places around the world, will pause to reflect on what happened that morning when the earth shook and the ocean answered.

I didnt want to remember what I was doing. What I was thinking. What I was feeling when my natural disaster paranoia was actually realized and yes, a tsunami really did happen. And people were dead. And villages were wiped out. I didnt want to open my mind to the memory of organizing with an amazing group of women to make soup and hotdogs, going to the disaster zone - like so many others - with nothing but the fragile hope that we could try to help, in some small way, any way, possible. I didnt want to think about the woman sitting by the side of the road. Watching. Waiting, "for them to find my baby." The uselessness of giving her a cup of soup. Her thanks. Her dead smile. The useless hug I gave her. I didnt want to remember the tears I cried as we drove away. The same useless tears Im crying now.

But most of all, I didnt want to think about the hours, days, weeks, months spent interviewing people. As they opened their shattered lives and hearts - to me - and to you. Sharing their stories. Of loss, pain, suffering, faith, heroism, hope, anger and bitterness. The three hours spent with Jared and Netta Schwalger as they relived the day the wave took their two children and their parents. The days spent searching for the body of their son. The nights filled with dreams as a little boy called to them from a mangrove swamp, 'Daddy, Mummy where are you? Why arent you coming to get me?" The month spent in hospital as volunteer specialists from NZ and Australia battled to save Netta's leg. All the times I listened to that audio recording of their interview. Again and again. Not wanting to get their story wrong. Not wanting to mess it up. Not wanting to somehow write it any less than what it was. An experience repeated many times over with others and their stories. With Mika and Ave from Lalomanu who lost their two children -the father who's little boy was never found. Who went to the morgue every day to wait. To look at just one more body. One more incomplete piece of a person. In the hopes that his child would be found. And Ave who could hold her remaining son and say with assurance and faith - "The tsunami took two of my children but I thank God that He has left me this one. This is the child that will have a future." With Taitasi from Leone in American Samoa building a bonfire so that her missing daughter would not "be lost and afraid in the dark." With rescuers like Comm Tony Hill and Vaughn Simpson. Doctors like Ben Matalavea and Riki Puni. Nurses like Henrietta Aviga. Public health responders like Andrew Peteru. Counsellors like Elena Peteru and Malia Manuleleua. So many people. So many stories.

No, I dont want to do this.

Anniversaries and memorials are important things. They are there to remind us. To make sure we don't forget. Events, people, experiences, emotions. But for some people the tsunami lasted longer than for others. For those living with the loss of their children. Their parents and extended family. For those struggling to rebuild a life, a home, a village, a community. For those who battle nightmares. Of working with the search teams. The body recovery. For too many people, the tsunami is something they want, they need - to forget.

A year ago, I went back to give people their copy of the book.Two weeks ago I went back again. To give money from the book sales to survivors who had shared their stories. Many greeted me with smiles and welcoming hugs. Many confessed to me, that they could not remember ever being interviewed. One mother said, "When I got my copy of the book and saw my picture and read my story, I couldnt believe it because I cant remember telling it to you. Its like I've blocked so much out from that bad time. I dont want to remember any of it. I am saving this book for my children and their children. I never want them to forget what happened here. What happened to our family and to our village. But me? I dont want to remember. Its too hard."

I continue to be grateful for the opportunity of being chosen to be a gatherer - a recorder - and then a storyteller for so many people of the Galu Afi of 29/09. The experience has changed me, changed my life, my perspective in so many ways. I continue to be humbled by the trust that so many survivors and rescuers placed in me, and in you - the readers of this book. I still feel that the book could have and should been so much better. Could have and should have spoken so much more powerfully about so many people's strength, courage and endurance. I read it and I see errors. And names and faces of people that were left out. And Im sorry that the record wasnt better. More accurate. I wish I could have been a stronger person, a better writer. I went with Lagi So'oalo and interviewed people and I cried. I wrote their stories and I cried. I proofed and edited with Joe and Celine Keil - and there were more tears. If I hadnt done so much crying, maybe it would have been a better book. One more worthy of the stories shared.

I have stayed close to one family in particular from the tsunami project. Mika and Ave from Lalomanu. My sister Pele paid for their children's schoolfees after the tsunami. Sent money for gifts of food, clothing and other essentials. On my last trip back, I met Ave's newest son. A little boy they have named Aleki - after the son they lost. The son who is on the Missing Persons list from 29/09. I held him in my arms, soothed him while he fussed for his mum and was humbled by the blessing, the miracle of new life. Mika and Ave live in a small, rough house built with tsunami funds. Yes, they are struggling to move on. To rebuild. To make a new life for themselves. But Ave said it best, "I hold this boy, and I remember the baby I lost. And I think about my daughter who died. But the Lord has given us another child. We have a new life to look forward to. Blessings and praise be to God."

There is a lot of reasons why we honor this anniversary. Why we pause to remember. We remember those who died. Those who served and gave so much of themselves. We ensure lessons learned are being put into action.

But for me? If Im being totally honest. On this anniversary of the 29/09 tsunami?

I dont want to remember. I dont want to talk about it. Because I'm still trying really hard to forget.

Remembering 29/09

2011-09-30T16:55:00.000-07:00

Mika and Ave in 2009.

An interview with Radio Australia on the anniversary of 29/09. An interview with Mika from Lalomanu.

'Pacific Tsunami Galu Afi'

Lani Goes Back to the People of the Galu Afi

2011-09-07T22:50:00.000-07:00

From the Samoa Observer - 7th Sept, 2011.

Faletaulupe with her mother Suliane in 2009. Saleaumua..

“This is a blessing for us at a very sad time, thank you so much.” These were the words of Faletaulupe Lui of Saleaumua on Friday 2nd of September, as she gratefully accepted her monetary gift from the sale profits of the book Pacific Tsunami Galu Afi .

Two years ago, author Lani Wendt Young interviewed Faletaulupe and her elderly mother Suliane about their tsunami survivor story. “Both women were so welcoming of me and generously shared their 29/09 experiences. Suliane was over 95yrs old and so I was particularly interested in speaking with her about her recollections of previous historical tsunami events in the area.”

In October 2010, Lani returned to Saleaumua to gift the family with their complimentary copies of the book and once again, was able to visit with Faletaulupe and her mother. “To be able to give survivors a copy of the book that contained their story was the most personally rewarding part of this project. People had entrusted their stories to a complete stranger, not knowing whether a book would really happen. Many people were moved to tears when they were able to see their experiences recorded in a book that has an international audience. I’m grateful to the Australian Govt Aid program that funded the printing of the books, making it possible for us to give away over 200 copies to survivors and rescuers in Samoa and American Samoa.”

As originally envisioned by Mr Joe Keil – the owner and editor of the book – the purpose of the project was “to ensure that a record was made of the disaster and any profits from the books sale were to be given back to those survivors who featured in the book.”

It has been a year since Pacific Tsunami Galu Afi was launched and Lani has spent the last two days, travelling to Aleipata and Falealili districts, giving over sixty different families a monetary gift. Mr Keil explained, “We have not yet sold all the 5,000 books but we wanted to give people a mealofa on the tsunami anniversary month, something that could be helpful for their families as they continue to rebuild their lives. Hopefully next year as book sales continue, we will again be able to do something similar.”

People were pleasantly surprised to receive the money. Tina Niusila of Saleapaga said, “I never expected this money. I was so happy to get my copy of the book last year and I share it with my family. It’s very important that we have a record like this, I never want my children to forget these things that happened.” 9yrold Perota Susuga of Saleapaga was the youngest person interviewed for the book and he was thrilled to also be remembered with his envelope. Lotolua Niumatapele of Lepa said, “I treasure my copy of the book because it’s a valuable record for all of us. I encourage everyone to read it and I even lent my book to the principal of our village school so that she could share it with the students.”

Lani is now based in New Zealand and she appreciated the opportunity to travel to Samoa and meet again with families she had interviewed for the book. It was a bittersweet visit with Faletaulupe’s family though as they were preparing for a funeral – Suliane died on Sunday last week, passing away peacefully in her sleep. Lani said, “I was sorry to have missed seeing Suliane again and I’m glad that the book project is able to help her family in some small way at this sad time.”
Tofilau Afatasi of Poutasi with his book and money.

Lotolua Niumatapele of Lepa with her gift.

Short Fiction up on Amazon

2011-07-12T19:11:00.000-07:00

An announcement of amazonian proportions...I'm very happy to tell you that I (finally) figured out how to publish stuff on Amazon and there are FIVE of my short stories now listed.

*The Beast that came from the Sea.
*Sina the Snake Killer
*High School is a Jungle
*Don't Tell
*A True Samoan Woman

Humbled to see that a few readers have already taken the time to read and review them, thank you very much for the love! Coming soon: A complete collection of short fiction...20 pieces of sometimes funny, sometimes sad, sometimes painful, sometimes nutty writing - all from me. Entitled: A True Samoan Woman.

I always appreciate hearing from fellow readers and writers - whether it's a blog comment or a writing review...so here's hoping more of you...make some noise!

What people are saying about "Pacific Tsunami Galu Afi"

2011-05-25T14:20:00.000-07:00

Thoughts on his reading experience, from someone who was there. Who lived through it, worked through it - and then shared his story in the book.

I wanted to thank you for the great work you had done in putting this book together.

I think it is amazing how the Lord put us all where we needed to be at such a time. How many of any of us in our lifetime of professions and as individuals get to witness and manage a tsunami or a pandemic of global proportions? It is very likely that these things won’t happen for another 150 years, which makes your book ever so valuable.

I read the Pago and Tongan parts of the book last. Interestingly enough the images from these accounts are the most vivid to me even though I am not familiar with these places and people. You did great justice to these countries.

After all the footage that was taken by us and others, and my own experience on the day of the tsunami, this book was able to put many of the peices together. I have new respect for colleagues and people who did the most amazing things.

I don’t like to reflect worthlessly on what happened; it has to be constructive. This is why I really appreciate your book. It ties emotion with advice, lessons learnt and stories of heroism. I can’t wait to read the book once it is translated.

So well done Lani, you’ve done the most brave and honest of tasks! Your book will greatly benefit our future generations, and that is why it brings a more complete sense of closure for me. Our descendents will read about a part of our professional lives that otherwise only a few would have known, and they too will be encouraged to stand up to the challenges of their time.

Community is vital to survival.

2011-03-29T17:42:00.000-07:00

Anna at GetJealous.com talks about her experience visiting Aleipata and reading "Pacific Tsunami Galu Afi". Anna's travelling the world and you can follw her adventures online.

"Today I woke up at 5:45 am to catch the Lalomanu bus back into Apia, the capital of Samoa. I'm on the island of Upolu, the one everyone says is "not the real Samoa" and "doesn't have the good beaches" and "blah, blah, blah". Through SERVAS (Man, I love this organization, it's made my trip), I managed to connect with a woman who runs a wellness retreat in Salea'aumua (which I can finally pronounce).

Salea'aumua (sal-ay-uh-ow-moo-ah) is in Aleipata (come on, it's not that hard, you can do it!), which is the district of Upolu that was most seriously damaged by the 2009 tsunami. Read: Aleipata was basically destroyed. Most people that died in the tsunami in Samoa, died here. One family, the Taufuas, who run a beach fale resort here, lost 13 loved ones, spanning four generations. Driving through town, the road is several meters closer to the sea than it was before (shore washed away), and the foundations of houses that were leveled are still there. People either rebuilt next to them or moved far inland to escape the unpredictability of the sea. One village, Saleapaga (sal-ay-uh-pan-gah), completely moved inland except for one determined business owner, now the only building in the old Saleapaga. These people, if they are anything, they are resilient.

I stayed with Lee Letiu for 4 nights. During that time, I had the opportunity to attend church, be treated to yet ANOTHER Sunday family umu, spend a day visiting a secondary school (at which I managed to score a copy of Samoa's secondary science curriculum goals - OMG!), and read an incredible book that wove together tsunami survivor stories (which Lee was included in). Not only did I get to experience village life where there are no resorts, I got to see a school, talk to teachers and a principal, observe classes, and most of all - learn from people who have honestly looked death in the face and somehow managed to survive.

I highly recommend the book to anyone who is interested in what the tsunami was like here, what the response was, and how people coped economically, emotionally, etc. It's called Pacific Tsunami - Galu Afi by Lani Wendt Young. It's incredibly well-written, and although I'm positive that being in the place while I read it was a big part of it's meaning, I still think everyone should read it.

Now, I come from a solid family. There was love in our house growing up, and there is still love - we are strong and united, and I know my family would support me in a heartbeat if I needed them (hell, they are right now). But I was blown away by the degree of family support outlined in the Aleipata survivors' stories. Remember the Taufua family? They lost 13 family members because they spent so much time saving their GUESTS, because they considered them as important as family. People ran from the first wave, and ran back to save family, friends, strangers - because in Samoa, the village, the district, the island is connected by extended family. Community is vital to survival. In fact, after the tsunami, there were no refugee camps - because EVERYONE had family to take them in somewhere. If they had no family left, someone was kind enough to include them in their family that day. I mean, the society is not without flaws, but the family structure is thought to have saved many people in this particular disaster just because the response was so immediate.

Anyway, it struck me as really beautiful, and sitting by the ocean reading that book on a calm day was so unnerving - when just over a year ago the ocean took a lot from these people, yet they continue to live in harmony with it, fishing, swimming..."

Lee Letiu with her copy of the book at Saleaumua.

Earthquake and Tsunami in Japan, 11 March, 2011

2011-03-11T01:55:00.000-08:00

To watch live footage of the tsunami sweeping through areas in Japan is to really see and understand what 29/09 survivors meant when they spoke of..."A beast that leapt out of the sea and ran towards us. It was the colour of night... It was like a wild animal with huge fins, but it was pitch black and the mist or sea spray that was coming out of it was also black, like the smoke from a umu. We saw the wave coming like fire, so we ran.” We are watching cars trying to escape the broiling onslaught of black water and churning debris. People standing on rooftops, people running, people waving and screaming for help.

It is difficult to really comprehend what we are watching. But one thing is certain. As one of my children exclaimed softly - "Mum, the tsunami that hit us in Samoa was a baby compared to this one."

Congratulations Matt Anderson

2011-01-28T02:18:00.000-08:00

A looooong time ago ( it seems) Mr Joe Keil approached the Australian High Commissioner, His Excellency Matt Anderson, about the Samoa Tsunami book project. Joe thought maybe, just maybe, Australia would be able to 'give us a small donation to assist with the printing, possibly a couple of thousand if they could spare it...' And so i met Mr Matt Anderson for the first time. I gave him a copy of the first ROUGH draft of the book ( filled with shocking errors and rambly sentences that defied all structure) Mr Anderson read it. He took it home and gave it to his wife Lou - and she read it. And they were able to see past the errors and the drivel. They believed in the project. They supported it. And a few weeks later, AUSAID very generously agreed to pay for the printing cost of 5,000 copies. I was fortunate enough to work together with Matt and Lou as the book went to editing and then to print and then to launch - and have been so impressed with their comittment to working on projects that really serve needs in the Samoan community. From Surf Lifesaving on our beaches to new drinking water fountains in our rural schools and sooooo much more - they have brought an unparalled enthusiasm, sincerity and far-reaching vision to their diplomatic mission. I was thrilled to read that Matt's work was recognized with an Australian Public Service Medal. Congratulations Matt and Lou - you will both be greatly missed in Samoa.

Australia’s High Commissioner, Matthew John Anderson has been honoured by that country’s Governor General for his work in Samoa.Yesterday, His Excellency Anderson was awarded a Public Service Medal in the Australia Day Honours list. The medal’s citation reads: “For outstanding public service in leading the Australian Government's consular and humanitarian response to the September 2009 tsunami in Samoa.”

The Honours list provides national and formal recognition for many Australians who have made a significant difference to their communities. Mr Anderson, who is leaving Samoa at the end of the month, was not immediately available for a comment yesterday. But he is immensely proud of Australia’s effort to help Samoa after the devastating tsunami of 2009 during which 143 people were killed.

In the Canberra Times yesterday, Mr Anderson said he was deeply humbled. He praised his staff at the Australian High Commission in Samoa and all Australians who helped.
Mr Anderson said his time in Samoa has “been the most professional and personally rewarding experience of my time in government.

“The four years here have been extraordinary due in large part to the generosity of the Samoan people and the expanding bilateral relationship. I wouldn't have wished to be anywhere else in the world for the past four years,” he told Radio Australia.
He remembers the tsunami as if it was yesterday.

“Well I'm a father of three young kids, so at that stage my youngest was two and as you can imagine at quarter to seven in the morning we were up, well and truly up, and I was actually getting him changed in the bedroom when the tremors started,” he said.“So we felt the tremors and my son told me that he thought that someone was in his cupboard. So once his cupboard doors were shaken off their hinges and we scooped up the other kids and stood out on the road for a little while just listening to things crash inside the house.

“And then when it stopped we came inside and I rang my staff in the other compound to do a head count and make sure everyone was ok, and then we swung into action.
“My emergency team met at post at 7:30 in the morning, and the first Australians were delivered to the hospital by 8 o'clock because the tsunami struck at about ten past seven.

“We were in the hospitals, I had my staff in hospitals by 8 o'clock. Apia was off limits because of the concerns for another tsunami or a follow-up, so we couldn't actually get down to the High Commission on Beach Road.And once they lifted the cordon, I came into work, opened up the building and by 11 o'clock we had negotiated the formal request for assistance from the Samoan government by midday.

“And we wacked that off to Canberra so they had that before they first met for their first disaster meeting in Canberra. And then we just proceeded to support those Australians that we knew or in hospitals or that were in harms way, and certainly by that stage we already knew that Marie had passed away, so we had our first fatality, had 10 or 12 Australians in hospitals at that stage.

“But on our lists we estimate that on any given day there's about 300 Australians that are holidaying in Samoa and so we had to find them. And that was the real challenge, just trying to find out how many of those were on the south coast when we had lost all communication with the south coast, and how many of them might have been to the hospitals, how many of them might have been completely unharmed and just get the post very, very busy to them, support the wonderful Australians who jumped on planes, the doctors, the surgeons, the anaesthetists, the nurses, the paramedics, the police who then came in and within 24 hours that were here providing lifesaving support.

“So there was the immediate consular aspect of just look trying to establish that my own staff were well and their whereabouts, then the consular aspect, then functioning as a mission, because my job there's nothing terribly sophisticated about what I had to do in those days, it was just trying to keep the mission running, keep my staff safe and motivated and provide direction to those who deployed to assist.

“And the one thing I will tell your listeners Geraldine is that the Australians who came out here that day and the days and the weeks that followed were the best. There's no shinier example of what's good about Australia than watching a Hercules arrive and the people that get off and just roll up their sleeves and say let's go. And I've never been more proud to be an Australian than I was in those days and weeks.” (Read the full interview in the Sunday Reading on Sunday).

Mr Anderson has been Australia's High Commissioner to Samoa since January 2007. His four-year term comes to a close at the end of the month when he returns to Canberra.

Before his Samoan appointment, he was Spokesman for the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade. He had served overseas as Counsellor in Port Moresby from 2003 to 2005; Chief Negotiator, Peace Monitoring Group, Bougainville in 2001 and 2002; and Third/Second Secretary in Cape Town from 1997 to 2000.In Canberra, Mr Anderson worked in a range of bilateral and multilateral areas.He joined the Department in 1995 after serving as a commissioned officer in the Australian Defence Force.

Mr Anderson holds a Masters Degree from Monash University, an Arts Degree from Deakin University and is a Graduate of the Royal Military College, Duntroon.

Married to Lou, they have three beautiful children, Meg, Kate and Harry.They were farewelled during a gathering at Sails Restaurant last night.
From the Samoa Observer, 27 January , 2011

'Pacific Tsunami - Galu Afi' Available on TradeMe

2011-01-15T02:33:00.000-08:00

We're on TradeMe, NZ. You can purchase 'Pacific Tsunami- Galu Afi' online at the following link.

http://www.trademe.co.nz/Books/Nonfiction/Other/auction-347515957.

What are they saying about 'Pacific Tsunami - Galu Afi'?

2011-01-13T22:23:00.000-08:00

"a small but important part of the healing process this beautifully crafted book is an interconnected series of tales from the survivors, rescuers, medical teams and aid workers, recording a significant moment in Pacific history. Woven graciously and empathetically by Lani, the book tells stories of villagers and tourists alike." Chris Cocker, Editor, Pacific Connection, Issue 22, Pacific Cooperation Foundation

'The reef was rising up out of the ocean.'

2011-01-11T20:21:00.000-08:00

Months after 29/09, schoolbooks still lie scattered along the Poloa shore.
At the very tip of Tutuila is the village of Poloa. It is a narrow strip of coast at the foot of a steep cliff. There is only room for one car coming or going down into the village. The most distinctive feature about Poloa is the noise. It is difficult to hear yourself think here. The surf crashes angrily, repeatedly on the jagged line of rocks a few feet from the shore. The roaring never stops. It is not an ocean for children to play in.

Poloa is a small village. A cluster of solid homes, a church, a school. Thanks to American dollars though, it is a far from meagre place. The school is new. A stunning steel beamed building with criss cross rafters. It had a reading room, a cluster of classrooms, a bathroom block. Curved steel chairs and desks. Thirty-three year old Simao Masoa worked there as a teacher’s aide. She had been living in Hawaii but decided to return home two years ago to be with her parents, her grandmother, two sisters and their children.

Simao was asleep when the earth shook. “I thought somebody was playing a joke on me shaking my bed. It didn’t even dawn on me that it was an earthquake. But then it kept getting harder so I jumped out of bed.”

Simao’s family ran outside. Her grandmother was distressed as the earth continued to rock. “She was panicking, she was thinking that because the earthquake was going on so long that maybe the earth was going to crack open. I was telling my dad to watch the ocean for any changes, but my grandma was saying, no, don’t look at the sea, look down on the ground!”

As the earth seemed to still finally, lines of children from the elementary school started streaming past the front of their house. The teachers were evacuating them to where the road curved up the mountain. Simao’s father called out to them.

“Hey, where are you kids going?”
“We’re going home. No more school because of the earthquake.”
For reasons he himself cannot explain, Simao’s father urged the children to move faster.
“Don’t walk – you should run. Go on, run up the road fast!”

Encouraged, the children let loose with whoops of glee and started running and shouting as they danced along the sand scattered street. The teachers who were bringing up the rear, called out to contain them and gave Simao’s dad disapproving looks as they chased after their young charges.
“I don’t know what made my Dad tell them to run, but it gave them pretty good time for them to get out of there because we didn’t know it but we were counting seconds at that time…”
Simao and her family had been standing outside for about ten minutes when it happened. Something that never happened in Poloa. Silence. Total and complete silence. The ocean that never stilled – stopped roaring. It was an eerie, unearthly quiet.

“Everything stopped. Everything. There were no waves. No noise. Everything went quiet.”
The ocean dropped. And because of their stones throw nearness to the reef, Simao clearly saw the coral rock shelf as it was revealed. “The water didn’t suck back. It just dropped down. It looked like the reef was rising up out of the ocean.” Simao yelled for her dad. He was quick to respond. “He turned around and said oh my God, get inside the truck right now. Our truck was parked in the garage. I ran and got the car keys and shouted to my grandma, let’s go!”

As they were climbing into the big truck, Simao remembered their neighbour. “Next door to us lives a paralysed man, he had a stroke some years ago and can’t walk. I saw his son outside the house and I called for him to get his dad, get your dad, get him out of the house now!”

The father is a large man. His son dragged him outside in a blanket, Simao and her dad helped to lift him into the vehicle’s back passenger seat beside grandma. Simao was driving with her father beside her. Her mother sat in the back of the truck with Simao’s sister. They reversed frantically and began speeding along the road that ran parallel with the fast returning sea. As they drove, Simao’s mother was screaming out to every house – Galu lolo! Tsunami! Run, run! They stopped beside the Reverend’s house when they saw his car still in the driveway. Reverend, get out, get out, the wave is coming! They stopped at another house that had not evacuated but the woman refused to leave. “My mom kept telling her to get in the car, to come with us because the wave was coming, but she said no, you guys go ahead, there’s nothing happening, don’t worry, I’ll be fine. So finally my dad told me to step on the gas.”

They met two other cars going in the wrong direction and Simao honked her horn, yelling for them to back up and head for safety. They could see the ocean as it began piling up and over the seawall. “The ocean was climbing up as it built – it wasn’t like a wave, it was a rush of water coming in all at one time, it got to the seawall and it just climbed up and rushed over it.” At the end of the road, Simao accelerated to turn up on the mountain and as the car jerked, Simao’s mother fell out onto the road.

“I heard my sister bang on the roof of the truck, yelling to me mom fell out! I looked in the back and the wave was coming so fast. I stopped the truck, got out and ran to get my mom. She stood up and she kept telling us to keep going, don’t wait for her. But I got her back into the truck and accelerated again up the hill. The road was full of the school kids that had passed in front of our house, they weren’t even halfway up. I had to honk at them to run faster, I don’t think they knew how quick the water was coming after us.”

At the top of the hill, Simao pulled over and the family looked back at the ocean. They couldn’t see around the corner into the village but the power poles beside them were being pulled towards the direction of the ocean as further down and out of sight, something was tugging on the wires. Something that was consuming their homes. Standing there, Simao remembers a strange sight. That of the wave rebounding and heading back out – towards Upolu in the far off distance. “I saw three ripples in the ocean going back towards Aleipata. Three ripples that built from here in Poloa. And the ripples were full of debris, all this rubbish that was being taken with it. And I realized that was our village. All that stuff going out in the ocean ripples, was our houses and our stuff and our cars and everything.”

It didn’t take long to wipe out Poloa. It is after all, deceptively easy for nature to erase man when she feels like it. Simao came down the mountain road with her father before even half an hour had elapsed. “There was nothing left, not even a wall…” At the end of the village only the elementary school building was standing. Without sides or innards, an empty hulking shell. Months afterwards, one can still find the tattered remnants of primary school readers, scattered on the shore rocks.

One woman was killed by the tsunami in Poloa Village. Perise Sula, who did not want to leave her house when Simao and her family called her to join them. Thanks to past earthquake drills and swift response to the calls to evacuate, there were not more deaths. But there will be no more Poloa village down here where the crashing surf never sleeps. It has been designated a V-zone, unsafe for rebuilding, the tsunami risk too high. Children in yellow and blue pinafores will no longer skip to school along a sun drenched shore.

How did the Masoa family know to react as quickly as they did that morning? “We lived our whole life growing up in Hawaii where there were a lot of trainings done about tsunami. Also, we would have regular evacuation drills at the elementary school, so I guess that’s why we knew what to look for and what we had to do.”

All that's left of the school where Simao worked with the children of Poloa..

A reviewer in Hawaii: Mike Foley

2011-01-03T19:18:00.000-08:00

A Review published in Kaleo:Koolauloa News, in Hawaii.
Book review: Pacific Tsunami “Galu Afi” By Mike Foley.
The story of the greatest natural disaster Samoa has ever known, September 2009, 397 pages, by Lani Wendt Young; edited by Hans Joachim Keil
* * * * * * * *
At 6:48 a.m. on September 29, 2009, an 8.3-magnitude earthquake in the ocean floor about 120 miles southeast of Samoa started the nearby tropical islands to shake, walls to crack and buildings to collapse.

"It felt far more consuming than its one-and-a-half minutes," one survivor said.

But the earthquake was just the predecessor to a much more destructive galu lolo or tsunami that within about five minutes would strike the three northern-most islands in Tonga, and 10–15 minutes later parts of the islands of Samoa and neighboring American Samoa with deadly force, claiming almost 200 lives.

One grandmother, remembering stories she heard as a little girl about her father's own boyhood tales of earthquakes and galu lolo, told her daughter and grandchildren to immediately run inland when she felt the shaking. They were saved. Others made similar dashes, but some were caught unprepared in the first surge of the resulting tsunami.

The birds knew, one survivor claimed: "[They] started screeching, it was like a ringing in my ears… I saw them all take off from the trees…but we didn't have any idea"; and a surfer out early that morning later said, "The sea was bubbling as if a 10-foot-plus wave had just detonated on the reef…millions of gallons of water were creating violent waterfalls." He wisely paddled farther out to sea and survived.

"We saw the wave coming like fire[or galu afi in Samoan], so we ran," someone said; but a man in Matautu village added,"It doesn't matter if you're a good runner, you'd get caught. The wave was just too fast."

Some said the wave, starting with the second of four surges, was black; but "the sound of the wave is what most people remember most vividly," Young wrote — "a rushing wind, or like a train, smashing houses like matchsticks."

Some drowned quickly while others caught in the surge swam or struggled to safety, but the murky water was filled with "roofing iron that can cut you in pieces, coral boulders torn from the reef, timber beams that will break all your ribs…and you're in the middle of it."

Many of those caught in the water who survived suffered "deep, dirty lacerations…cuts and bruises…[and] nasty lung infections."

Depending on the topography, the waves came across the beach about 10 feet high in relatively level places, but rose to 26 feet in the "tsunami trap" of American Samoa's Pago Pago harbor and even higher in a few other places. Many climbed trees to escape, including two Mormon missionaries who also helped save a number of young children in their precarious perch. Others scrambled up steep hills to escape.

Some remembered the "ferocity of the wave rather than its height," Young wrote. In parts of Malaela, a village on the southeastern shore of Upolu island facing the earthquake's epicenter, "there were no houses left. Only cement foundations with steel inserts gaping through where block walls had been ripped away, as if by a giant hand wiping a slate clean." Several beachside resorts were particularly devastated, with vacationing tourists counted among the injured and dead.

Lani Wendt Young — under commission from Samoan businessman and Associate Minister for Trade and Commerce Hans Joachim Keil, who has family in Laie — compiled these and many more stories into her compelling Pacific Tsunami "Galu Afi", which she patterned after David McCullough's The Johnstown Flood account of that 1889 disaster to "give the reader a sense of ‘really being there.'"

Keil and Young published the book, her first, on the one-year anniversary of the natural disaster "to ensure that a record is kept of people's tsunami experiences for the benefit of both present and future generations." The Australian Government Aid Program provided printing funds.

Young, who is part-Samoan and Maori, was born and raised in Samoa but graduated from high school in Washington D.C. when her father — Dr. Felix Wendt, currently Director of LDS Humanitarian Aid and Welfare Services for Samoa and Tonga — was there on a diplomatic posting. She attended Georgetown University and graduated with a degree in English literature and Women's Studies and a Diploma in Education from Victoria University in Wellington, New Zealand.

A month after starting the book, she wrote: "I have seen children who were saved by parents who held them above the water while they were submerged. I have touched trees that people climbed up to evade the waters… I have listened to mothers weep because they could not save their little ones. I have felt the anger of fathers who could not fight against the tsunami."

In short, she captured much of the human drama of that terrible day without intruding on the sensitive feelings of the surviving victims and their family members.

For example, she told the story of Jared and Netta Schwalger, who also have family in Laie. Then each 29 years old, they had quit their jobs in Apia so they could raise their two-year-old son and one-year-old daughter in a more traditional family-oriented lifestyle with his parents in Malaela, which caught the full-on brunt of the tsunami. Soon after the earthquake, when they realized what the earthquake would bring, they quickly loaded the kids in the family pickup — but it was already too late:

As Netta turned back to the house to warn her mother-in-law, "the last thing I saw was the wave hit the house and everything was broken in pieces." The unyielding surge carried the truck into a swamp about 100 yards inland, coming to a half-submerged rest and pinning Netta's leg. Jared was also hurt but could walk, his father and mother were dead, and "of the children there was no sign."

As Jared first tried to free her, Netta passed out from the pain. "But when I was out, I heard voices. They were laughing and they were playing. It was my children and I wanted to be with them. But then a voice whispered in my ear to wake up, that it wasn't my time yet. But I didn't want to."

Finally, with the help of others, she was among the first survivors to reach the National Hospital in Apia, where a relief team of doctors from Australia and New Zealand eventually saved her leg from amputation. Asking relatives to watch her, Jared quickly returned to Malaela where he spent the next three days looking for the body of his son. The little boy and girl were buried about a week after the tsunami, a day before their grandparents' funeral. Jared then slept on the hospital floor for the next four weeks while his wife began recovering.

In another seaside village Leua Viiga reported the tsunami wave washed her and her youngest child into their house, which then collapsed on top of them. She escaped when the second surge suddenly carried most of the debris away, but her little boy was found dead later that day. Meanwhile, an older son had "grabbed hold of their china cabinet as it swirled past him in the black waters and clambered on top. It would save his life…[though] it should have been destroyed like everything else." In fact, the dishes inside were also intact.

Young wrote that Leua, who spent several weeks in the hospital recovering from a head wound, and her husband are "thankful for tender mercies…[and] have eyes to see miracles": Unlike many others, her child looked somewhat peaceful in death; the china cabinet is where she and her husband stored their Latter-day Saint temple clothing, and a family freezer that floated away was later recovered and worked when it was plugged in again.

And one of Young's favorite stories came from Robert Toelupe of Leone, American Samoa. Toelupe, a retired Navy submariner who had been trained in escaping from dark, confusing water, "kept going back into the tsunami to save people" while looking for his own missing family members.

For example, he first swam and carried one woman to safety, then rescued a boy and his wheelchair-bound father, resuscitated another woman with CPR, and the next day dove repeatedly into a mangrove swamp flooded with foul water to recover the body of a missing girl.

Young wrote that for six weeks after the tsunami, "This little girl kept popping into [Toelupe's] head," disturbing his sleep. Later, the girl's mother gave him "a bundle of papers she had found in a box while cleaning up her tsunami-wracked house…papers that contained vital genealogical information about Toelupe's family tree and their ancestral rights to a block of land he had been fighting for in court for over 10 years." Toelupe and the woman hadn't realized before that they were related, and he's since made good progress on his land case. He's also never seen the little girl again in his dreams.

Young described Toelupe and others as "another kind of hero…[who] in the face of insurmountable obstacles, they still tried desperately to overcome."

But the Navy retiree, she continued, disputes people who called him brave for going back into the tsunami. "I didn't go in because I was brave. I went in because I was afraid. So afraid. Louder than the sound of the waves was the thumping of my heart beating in my chest, and ringing in my ears — that's how scared I was. I don't know how to explain the fear I felt, knowing that my daughter and my grandchild were in danger." They were later found safe.

"I've seen people drowning and just remembering what goes on with a person when they're drowning, that scared me. I felt so scared for my daughter and I felt so scared for everyone in the village," Toelupe continued. "The fear gets to a point where you're not worried about safety. I wasn't prepared to see my children drown, the whole time I was praying I wouldn't see that happen to my daughter."

"Grief and loss are the most cutting of tsunami trauma," Young wrote. For example, Netta Schwalger told her, "We have moved on slowly. It was hard when I realized I had lost my kids. It was hard listening to children's voices, hard seeing babies, mothers holding their babies and it was really hard to get used to that. I see other people with their kids and it's hard, but I have to accept it."

Young also tells of those who worked to exhaustion to help the victims of that day, and the relief efforts of many overseas Samoans and others. "Ask survivors of the Samoa tsunami about the help they received after their ordeal and they will tell you — there has been so much love that they have been overwhelmed," she wrote.

Young stressed that in writing the book she tried to be "religion neutral," but people "continue to comment on the faith and resilience" of all the Samoans and tourists affected by this disaster. For example, a Catholic Church leader in American Samoa "described the book as being a ‘faith filled account' and I agree."

"For [her fellow Latter-day Saint] Church members and non-LDS alike, a common thread with all the survivors was gratitude to God: For sparing their lives, for saving one child (even though two others were killed), for sending them so much help and assistance via generous donors both local and foreign."

Young added that compiling the book also caused her to do a lot of personal soul searching: "Honestly, I would come home from a day of interviewing people and question myself. Could I have been so faithful? So humble? So grateful of my meager blessings if that had been ME who had lost everything?"

* * * * * * *

Pacific Tsunami, which is filled with similar accounts, can be ordered online at Amazon.com for $39.99 (plus shipping) or in the mainland U.S. at www.keilcreations for $35 (includes shipping); in Laie at Cackle Fresh Egg Store, $30, or call Magi Keil at 808-293-5568; and in New Zealand and Australia at http://www.wheelers.co.nz. It is also available at bookstores and other locations in Samoa and American Samoa.

— By Mike Foley
(photos courtesy of Barry Markowitz and Lani Young)

Read it firsthand and comment at the following address:
http://kaleo.info/2011/01/03/pacific-tsunami-book-review

What Readers are saying about 'Pacific Tsunami Galu Afi'

2010-12-03T16:10:00.001-08:00

I just had to write and let you know that I'm so grateful that the documentation of a sad and tragic time in the history of our people was assigned to you. You're a gifted and brilliant writer. 'Pacific Tsunami' is a remarkable feat given you had only a short time (one year?) to complete it. I absolutely love your writing. 'Galu Afi' should be on everyone's reading list. Congratulations on a great achievement. I look forward to reading more of your work.
Daniel Pouesi, California, USA

"I congratulate you on such a detailed and faith-filled masterpiece of historical documentation. You can be sure that this book will be part of the history of American Samoa."
Most Rev. J. Quinn Weitzel, Bishop of Samoa - Pago Pago.

"Look at the tide - it has gone right out!"

2010-12-02T17:34:00.000-08:00

Tuluiga Utaulu of Lepa village is a weaver of fine mats. She is the mother of six children. Her husband works in Apia so they only see him on the weekends. Tuluiga’s oldest daughter Lele was working at Seabreeze Resort up the road at Aufaga village. Before the tsunami came.

On that morning, Tuluiga was going to the Vaigalu pool with the other women of her village for the ceremony that marked the completion of fine mats. The earth shook, startling them all as several large rocks dislodged from the hillside and rolled to the road in little rushes of dirt. There was a quiet stillness after the earthquake, moments where Tuluiga could feel the panicked pounding of her heart gradually settle again to its regular rhythm. Then the group started an excited hum of conversation as they discussed the shake, still walking to the pool with rolls of soft brown matting in their arms. It wasn’t long before the women noticed the difference in the ocean. One of the women exclaimed, Eh, look at the tide, it’s gone right out!

The women stopped and stared, puzzled but not afraid. Not yet. Then the ocean began to run back towards them, swift and seething. It grew as it ran, as if a creature unfurling from a prone position. The women barely had time to register, to process what they were seeing, to inhale enough air so they could scream, so they could turn and run. They scrambled for the hill, the stronger healthier ones like Tuluiga helping the older women along. Because the road was right there, safety was within close reach. They made it to the church and stood there in a frightened huddle, watching as the sea swept in to their village. But Tuluiga could not stay there. Because down below in their little house she had left her teenage daughter home alone. Quickly she rushed to one of the shortcuts that curved below the church hall and made her way back down to the shore, halting abruptly when her path was blocked by the raging sea. All the houses below were completely covered, only trees jutted from the brown water that was cluttered thick with debris. And clinging to the branches of one of those trees, was Tuluiga’s daughter.

“She was caught in the branches of the breadfruit tree, I saw her there, trying to climb up onto the hill and crawl. I was so shocked and afraid. I slipped and fell down half into the water, it was like I had passed out. I think it was the pain in my knees when I fell that shocked me up again. I stood up and crossed the water, swimming through all the things that were in the water, like corrugated iron and wood. I got my daughter and helped her back to the path.”

Tuluiga took her daughter back up the hill. They waited there for the water to go down. They were watching when the fire service vehicles came and tried to make their way through their broken road. “The first help we saw after the tsunami was the fire truck…they cleared the road to get through and then an EPC truck came following behind it, those were the first ones on the scene.”

The Utaulu family has moved far inland, up in the hills behind the original Lepa village. A road has been roughly cut into the bush so the relocated families can access their new settlement but the houses built with tsunami aid will be slow to reach them. The disadvantage of belonging to the same village as the Prime Minister who is placing the needs of other worst hit areas above those of his own. As Tuluiga explains, “They came and started digging the foundations for our new house but then they stopped work…they explained to us that they were taking the machines to give assistance to Saleapaga village first because the Prime Minister said to give the assistance to our village last.” It’s the same with the power lines. “They are just starting on our power supply because all the rest of Aleipata is completed and now it is our turn.” Those who complain about ‘favouritism’ for the PM’s constituency have obviously not been regular visitors to the disaster zone. For now, Tuluiga cooks over an open fire shielded from the highland winds by pieces of corrugated iron salvaged from the zone. Her daughters are clearing the tangled grass and weaving coconut leaf blinds for their ramshackle hut. Lele hopes that the Seabreeze Resort will reopen soon and that she can get her old job back. Tuluiga’s other daughter, the one she pulled from the tsunami is still not quite right. “We keep taking her for checkups because now her hearing is not good like it used to be. They told us at the hospital to try and keep her out of the sun.”

The afternoon sun blazes defiantly on the Utaulu’s clearing as we drive away.

What readers are saying about 'Pacific Tsunami Galu Afi'.

2010-11-19T14:22:00.000-08:00

Wow. I ordered Galu Afi online and received it last week. I devoured it in 4 days...during which time I shed a lot of tears, had a few laughs, but most of all, felt an overwhelming sense of admiration and love for the brave people of Samoa...some of whom I am supremely proud to call my friends and colleagues. Thank you Lani for an amazing book!
Kate Groves, Australia.

"A wild animal with huge fins, breathing black smoke."

2010-11-17T12:46:00.000-08:00

Sapua Toilolo with her son in Malaela village, Aleipata.

There is a beast that crashes through forty-two year old Sapua Toilolo’s dreams. It clambers up out of the morning ocean, over the seawall, and the coconut trees tremble before it’s towering height. It is the color of night and the sea spray at its head, rises like a cloud of smoke. As it advances, it rips the roofs off houses, uproots trees and tramples cars. Its roar is the churning growl of machinery, crashing louder and louder as it draws near, drowning out the terrified screams of those who run before it. It is a beast that killed Sapua Toilolo’s neighbor - her cousin Fa’apopo Touli and six others in their village. It is a beast that has driven the Toilolo family to settle in the plantation bush. It is a beast that troubles Sapua’s sleep and makes her five children wake up early every morning “because if it had come at a time when we were all asleep, we would all have died, so I say to my children, remember what happened, remember what came that day, don’t ever sleep in late, we need to get up early…”

On the day the beast came to Malaela, it was only Sapua and her two sons at home. Her husband was away overseas and the other children had already left for school. Pe’epe’e her eldest boy was preparing to go to the plantation when they heard a ruckus of sound from their neighbor’s house which was closer to the ocean road. “We were sitting there to have our breakfast when we heard people screaming, I thought they were arguing down at Levao’s house because there were people running around and yelling and there we were just sitting in our house unaware of anything. I looked out and saw an old lady running past with some kids. She was only wearing a towel, like she just came from her shower.”

Pe’epe’e ran down to see what was happening, then ran back even faster/quicker. “He said to me to run there’s a big galu, a wave coming.” Sapua’s little son took off immediately up the road beside their house that led inland but Sapua wanted to see for herself what was happening/coming. “I didn’t run at that time, I looked out to make sure my son was away and then I looked out to the wharf and the galu was coming. It was very high and I knew that our houses might get affected because it was coming over the seawall but I thought maybe that was as far as it would go, so I just started walking back on the inland road.”

Sapua still wasn’t too bothered, still she thought the wave would be nothing more than a vaguely annoying surge. Then she turned her head to the left and saw it. The beast. Another wave that was rolling in over the land, travelling almost parallel to the ocean. “It was different to what was coming from the sea, it was much bigger and moving very fast.” Sapua was torn with indecision. Back in the house was a sizeable amount of money, the children’s school fees that she had been planning to go and pay that day. She ran back and had reached the verandah when her son shouted out to her.

“Run! You’ll die if you go back in the house…run!”

Sapua listened to her son. She left the money and began running with him up the inland road. They met other groups of people clustered a short distance in. “They were just standing there, they couldn’t run anymore and they thought maybe they had gone far enough, but I told them, run, be strong, let’s keep going! I looked back and I could see the wave coming and taking roofing iron off the houses like it was paper. So we all kept running.”
The wave caught some of those in her group as they ran. “The wave hit Lele’s house and it was still coming and it got some of us, that’s where I lost Fa’apopo and some others that were running with us as well. That’s what spurred me on. We crossed the bridge that goes over the mangrove stream and got up to higher ground. We stood there looking back, we saw trees being uprooted right in front of us because of the strength of the water. I saw people in other trees trying to pull up their kids to safety.”

Sapua cannot forget what she saw. “The wave that came across the land was like an animal coming up with high fins on each side, I looked at it and it scared me. I said to all those that I was running with ohmigosh, we’re all going to die from what’s coming…because I saw the coconut trees were lower than the wave. It was like a wild animal with huge fins, but it was pitch black and the mist or sea spray that was coming out of it was also black, like the smoke from a umu, it was brownish-black.”

That night the Toilolo family slept in the bush. “Once the fear had left us I went back down to the shore to see if there was anything to salvage from our house, but it was too late, everything was useful was already taken by the scroungers and they even took all the big fish as well.”

Sapua’s little son is still unwilling to return to the coast. “When the tsunami was over, I tried so hard to get him to come with me to have a look at the aftermath but he said no, no let’s not go down there, we’ll die down there. I kept telling him there was no more tsunami but he said no. Finally, a leader from our church took him for a ride to the beach in a car and he could see that nothing bad was going to happen. I don’t want him to have that fear.”

Months later though, sitting in her plantation house, Sapua herself still has those fears. Of the wild animal with huge fins that breathes smoke. “We go down to the village to get water and just clean up a bit and then come back here. I still get scared…when I hear machinery making noises because I think the galu’s coming back and I have to get up and look and then I want to hurry and get away from there.”

USA Online ordering of Book now available.

2010-11-08T22:55:00.000-08:00

"Pacific Tsunami - Galu Afi" is now available for online ordering anywhere in the USA at the following link.
http://www.keilcreations.com/wordpress/

Thank you for your patience.

It looked like glass with a fierce animal inside it.

2010-11-04T16:36:00.000-07:00

Sally Taiva’asele is seventy-one years old. She is the matriarch of her family in Malaela – her three children, their spouses, and her ten grandchildren all lived together in an assorted cluster of brick houses and open Samoan fales. She is a beautiful woman, long fair hair coiled in a bun, powdery white skin and with an easy gracefulness about her. She has lived in Malaela all her life. There were earthquakes during her childhood that were big enough to leave an impact on her memory. And she can recall other waves coming into her village. But nothing like what happened on September 29th. “Yes, I remember, there were other galu (waves) in the past, but they weren’t big, people just stood and watched them. They didn’t reach the houses, those waves ended at the road.”

Sally is not in the best of health. She has diabetes and tires easily. She is alive today because of her daughter Leata who ran with her and refused to leave her. When the earthquake happened, the two women were the only ones at the Taiva’asele home. The children had already left for school. One son-in-law was away in New Zealand. Another had gone to the plantation. Leata was making breakfast for her mother when they heard the sound of the wave. “The wave made a huge noise. I didn’t see it, but I heard it, it was like machine guns going off in war.”

Leata ran outside to look. “The wave was something so different…it looked like glass with a fierce animal inside it, it was so big, it looked even bigger than the Namua island.”

People were running and screaming. Sally and Leata ran along the front road that lines parallel to the ocean, making their way towards the rough road that led to the plantations.

“I didn’t grab my bag or anything near me, I just crawled outside the fale and then we ran. I had no shoes on, we just ran and I felt I couldn’t run anymore because my feet were sore from running on the sharp rocks, but my daughter kept telling me to keep going, the wave is coming, its coming.”

At the plantation road, the two women turned inland, passing several houses with the roar of the glass animal at their backs. Sally’s strength failed her then. She stopped and told Leata that she could go no further. Leata pulled her to stand beside a knot of trees. The wave would only have been a heartbeat away, but that moment, cowering beside a tree, with the air consumed by the crackling roar of the water as it ripped through Malaela homes – seemed an eternity to Sally.

“I could hear it coming…I said to my daughter, there’s nothing more we can do, this is in God’s hands. If it is His will that we die, then we will die. What can we do? That wave was a killer coming for us. When it reached us it hit me in the back and it was such a powerful force, it was so strong, I couldn’t do anything. I felt my leg hit the trees and it got stuck there and my lavalava got ripped away. Leata was beside me, she was crying and holding onto my top, trying to keep me from going with the wave.”

Sally grabbed onto the nearest tree. Unseen sharp things slashed through her arm and something heavy crushed into her leg, pinning it to the tree. Fallen logs and other large debris began to build up all around the trees, trapping the two women behind a wall of wreckage. They were able to keep their heads above water and once the levels began to drop, Leata renewed her calls for help, someone, anyone, please help them. Sally was in a lot of pain, her arm dangled uselessly now and she couldn’t tell how badly injured her leg was, stuck as it was still, in a mass of house remnants. Finally, men came to pull them free. They had to use bush knives to reach them. “They chopped down the trees and the fue vines next to us – that was the only thing I could see, the fue and boards with nails all around us. Then they took us to dry ground and that’s when I saw how bad my leg was…”

Leata had the usual tsunami cuts and eventual bothersome chest infection – but Sally was in hospital for ten weeks. Her arm will never work properly again and half of her foot was amputated. Neighbours tell us amazedly, you know Sally has only three toes left! There is wonder that anyone could survive such an ordeal. Sally sits in a tsunami relief house, newly built by her church and tries not to remember what happened to her that day. “I don’t think about it, I try to forget about it. There was another woman in the hospital with me who was really affected by the tsunami, she is not right in her mind now. She would scream and swear at all the doctors and they couldn’t do much to help fix her mind. But for me, I try not to think too much about it, the only thing I can’t forget is running from the tsunami…”

Sally knows her family will never forget though. She motions to the cookhouse where her daughter is making the food for the evening meal. The daughter who stayed by her side as the glass beast rushed to devour them. “I know my kids can’t forget this tsunami. They think about the pain I went through and how I survived this tragedy. They worry about another natural disaster like this coming again.”

In Memory of a princely man with a rogueish smile - Sia Solialofa.

2010-11-04T12:16:00.001-07:00

A year ago i went to the village of Vaovai in search of tsunami stories. In a rickety little fale in the inland bush, I met a man called Sia Solialofa. A princely man with a rogueish smile sitting in a wheelchair. He welcomed us warmly and sent his family to prepare us a meal. It was raining that day and Sia's son got wet during his dash to the store for pisupo, tuna and more tea. Sia shared his family's story. He had not been at their coast side home when the tsunami hit but his daughter and granddaughter were killed. As he spoke, there was confusion and sadness. "She was a strong woman, tough like a man. And a very good swimmer. She used to go fishing for the family and did all the work in the plantation, i dont understand how she died in the tsunami."

We listened and when the storytelling was done, we ate. We apologetically explained that we could not drink the tea, "because of our religion." He laughed. Pointed at the roof and told us not to worry - "God cant see you, and we wont tell Him!" Together we laughed. Then Sia sent his son out in the rain again to buy large bottles of Coke for us to drink instead. We visited with Sia for an hour. He kept us entertained with a steady stream of jokes and compliments - about whether or not we were single, why we should consider visiting Vaovai more often, about Mormons who didnt waste money on cigarettes like he did, about Mormons who couldnt enjoy a cup of tea ( or a Vailima) like he could...He told us to tell 'that pretty woman that comes on TV, Filomena Nelson" that people are going to listen to her messages better now, now that 29/09 has happened. It was a humbling reminder to me of the beauty and generousity of Samoan hospitality.Our visit with Sia was an enjoyable and memorable interlude in an often exhausting and draining process.

When we finally left, i wished i had had some money to gift him, a small mealofa to say thank you. I told him I would be back with his book one day.

Yesterday it was raining when I went back to Vaovai to take Sia Solialofa his copy of the Galu Afi book. And some money. A small mealofa to thank him for the pisupo. For the laughter we shared. But I couldn't give it to him because he had passed away. A few weeks after our interview, in December 2009. I stood in the rain at Vaovai and cried. Because I didnt know. Because I never got the chance to give him what i promised i would - his story. I left his book with his family.

Thank you Sia Solialofa for being a princely man with a rogueish smile. For giving so generously of your food. Your time and your story.

And I'm sorry. That I came back to Vaovai too late.

The Clea Salavert-Wykes Lalomanu Library - a place to fire the imagination and nurture dreams.

2010-10-13T17:01:00.000-07:00

Opening of the Clea Salavert Library, Lalomanu Primary School
Matt Anderson, Australian High Commissioner to Samoa
Tuesday, 5 October 2010

I was at a loss, truly, as to what to say this morning. When Cas called to honour me with the opportunity to say I few words, the well was dry. Eventually, I scratched down a few:

Tsunami
Monster
Shock
Tragedy
Loss
Why?

It was as I sat looking at the blinking cursor on my screen, that I received a copy of the Samoan Government’s report into the tsunami. The scale of the loss, the measure of endeavour, the accounting for gifts, and the mountains left to climb.

And you know how the Samoan Government chose to make sense from this tragedy? To find beauty amidst the rubble? They quoted from Jorge’s prose, Lalomanu.

Jorge, the Samoan Government took strength from your insights. Courage from your family’s courage. And found wisdom that can only come from one whose loss is so profound, that neither the English, nor the Spanish language has a word for it. As Trudie knows, it is a loss that most often can’t be said. It can only be felt. That was your first gift to the people of Samoa.

And this library behind me is the second gift, a most important gift. To some, libraries are nothing more than a store room for books. For others, they are a place of reprimand. When I grew up, the Christian brothers would send students to the library as punishment. “Mr Anderson, go to the library for the next period!” Now Jordi and Omar, I’m not saying it was the only reason I was naughty in class, but I did enjoy being sent to the library.

Jorge, Trudie and the staff from Amaroo know that it is in libraries that imaginations take flight. It is in libraries that boundaries are pressed. It is in libraries that dreams are nurtured. I commend you for ensuring that this will be far more than a building, but a monument to Clea’s love of learning, and a home for all her hopes, dreams and potential.

Of course, this library did not build itself. Far from the watchful crowd, Jason and Cas Green have nurtured this garden, with the help of Fuataga and Shan, the School Committee and Lalomanu’s gifted artisans. But it is not only mortar holding this project together. In every course of brick is sewn Jason and Cas’s love for you – and for Clea.

The official bit is that I must thank DHL for overloading diplomatic bags for the past 10 months with the gift of knowledge. The vast majority of books in this library were sent here, airfreight, and free of charge. The High Commission’s fire escapes and exit isles are now free of mountains of books, and I have a slim chance of passing the next occupational health and safety audit!

Today we celebrate more than a library. We celebrate a monument to a family’s love for their daughter, sister, niece, student and friend. And we celebrate a living tribute to a beautiful young girl whose spirit will, forever, reside in those who use this library to fire their imaginations and to follow their dreams.

Jorge and Trudie Salavert-Wykes at the opening of Clea's Library.
Photo from Samoa Observer.

Our stories - a fire of pleading hope.

2010-10-12T16:17:00.000-07:00

(Excerpt from the American Samoa launch of Galu Afi.)

Why is it so important to record and share our stories? In answer, I’d like to share with you an account from the galu afi book.

On the first night after the tsunami struck, a mother who had lost her daughter asked of her family a difficult thing – to make a fire in the midst of drowning wet. It was a fire of pleading hope that called to a little girl taken by the wave and still not found. The mother explained, “All the houses were ruined so everyone had gone to stay with their families in other villages. But we were the only ones that stayed here because I wanted my daughter to come home. I told my husband and my kids to make a really big fire so that she can see her way home, so that she wouldn’t be scared in the dark.” Hope burned as a family waited for a daughter that did not return. Her body was found the next morning in the mangroves by Robert Toelupe and tenderly carried to her mother’s waiting arms. I have interviewed more than 150 tsunami survivors but it is the image of this mother which has never left me. A mother sitting beside a fire in the midst of the wasteland that was once her village, not wanting her child to be lost and alone in the dark. This mother’s story has had a profound impact on me and my family. I have five children. When I am tempted to be short-tempered with them, I remember what this mother told me, “Don’t take your children for granted, be with them as much as you can. Appreciate all the time you have with them. Everybody is saying to me, that I’m blessed because now I have a guardian angel in heaven – but I would much rather have my daughter here with me.” I remember her counsel and so I try a little harder to be patient and positive with my children.

This mother asked of me, one thing in return for her story. She said, “I want everyone out there to know how grateful we are for their love and support. There were so many people – even strangers – sending us messages of comfort on the internet and praying for us. I miss my daughter so much, we have fixed up our house but it still doesn’t feel right because she’s not here to share it with us. It helps me to know that so many people out there are caring and hurting for us. There is no way I can thank all these people. They’ve been so supportive to me and my family. Please tell them in your book – thank you.” I promised her I would. There have been many challenges involved with writing this book and whenever I became discouraged while working on this project, tempted to say forget it, I would remember my promise to this mother, And so, remembering that, I would forge on, more resolved to ensure this book was completed. This mother’s story and the story of her love and mourning for her child – is now contained in this book and countless people and their families from many different nations will now be able to share in her sorrow and be profoundly impacted by her experience . I pay tribute to Taitasi Fitiao’s strength and courage in sharing her story. Taitasi – I never met Vaijoresa, but I will always remember your love for her.

Our stories are like a fire of pleading hope lit in the wastelands of half-forgotten things. They can burn brightly in the darkest nights of hopelessness and sorrow. When we remember, and preserve the stories of our loved ones, we honor their memory and the legacies of love they gave us. When we share our stories– not only do we nurture the flames of remembrance - but we also make it possible for others to learn from our experiences. When we share our stories, we can find solace and comfort in others. The accounts in this book are heavy with sadness, loss and suffering. But they are also filled with many examples of great courage, faith and hope in the midst of much adversity. Yes, some of the stories will make us cry – but when we share and listen together, it can make it better

A "recklessly bold" venture - The Book of the Aiga of the Galu Afi.

2010-10-12T15:53:00.000-07:00

Oute fa’atulou atu I le Mamalu ma le Paia ua fa’atasi mai i lenei Po:
I Atua Mamana o lenei Maota
I Rangatira ma Ariki o Tagata Whenua o Tamaki –Makaurau ma Iwi Eseese o Aotearoa
I Tupu ma Tamaali’i o Atu Motu Eseese o le Pasefika, ae maise Samoa, Amerika Samoa ma Toga lea na mafatia I le Galu Afi
I Ta’ita’i ma tagata o le laumua nei o Aukilani
I e o lo’o Pulea lenei Univesite, fa’apea faiaoga ma tama’ita’i ma ali’i aoga
I le autusitala ma le aufaitau tusi ua fa’atasi mai
I paolo ma gafa eseese o le Susuga ia Joe Keil ma le Susuga ia Lani Wendt Young
MALO LE SOIFUA! TENA KOUTOU TENA KOUTOU TENA TATOU KATOA!
Le Vasa Loloa or the Pacific Ocean is the world’s largest geographical feature.
It influences our planet’s climate and therefore our whole environment. We who live in le Vasa Loloa are of that ocean, and that ocean is us.
The Samoan name for it is: Va = Space Between/Connecting, sa = forbidden or sacred, Loloa = long and vast and ancient. So it becomes The-connecting- forbidden-and-sacred-Space-that-is-long-and-vast-and-ancient. That very name tries to convey the Ocean’s vast and profoundly ancient physical, emotional, and spiritual mana.

One of Samoa’s creation/tupuaga chants about Tagaloaalagi, our Supreme Atua and Creator, creating the world and our islands starts with a description of the most important element in our lives, the Vasa Loloa and the various types of galu and peau, waves, of that sea.

Even though Tagaloaalagi created the sea, the vasa loloa, he had huge respect for its awesome power and, when the galu or peau of the vasa loloa became galu lolo or galu afi, he was even mortally afraid of them.

To traverse the vasa loloa safely, Tagaloaalagi threw down stones from the heavens, and used them as his stepping stones across it. Those stepping stones became the islands we now live on. Like Tagaloaalagi, our ancestors, over the hundreds of years they took to explore the vasa loloa and inhabit our islands, came to have a huge respect for that ocean and its power and learned to live with it and enjoy its magnificent bounty, and be afraid of its ferocious might.
On 29 September 2009, we in Samoa, American Samoa and Tonga were again reminded of that terrible might. What a frightening unforgiving reminder!

The beautiful Galu Afi, the Tsunami of Fire, swept in and swept out, killing almost 200 of our loved ones, wrecking our homes, settlements, businesses and plantations, leaving us with our sorrow and pain, and the unrelenting reminder that we must never again forget that Le Vasa Loloa can kill us and destroy every thing that we have built and love.

Telling the story of a major event especially a catastrophic event is a very difficult task. Telling the story of it in ways that will capture the hearts and imaginations and attention of readers is even more difficult. We all tell stories, our lives are made up of stories, but that doesn’t mean we all have the ability and experience to tell stories that will hold a reader or listener spellbound for the duration of our tale.

Our lives are burdened with people who believe they are great storytellers but who bore us with their tales! Libraries are full of memoirs, autobiographies, accounts of events, histories etc which, because they are badly told, are not able to live up to and encapsulate the full grandeur and dimensions of the person or event or history being storied. A story is really the teller and the teller’s telling.
The Tsunami of 29 September, which hit parts of Samoa, American Samoa and Tonga, was a devastating natural disaster.

It affected the lives and environments of the people in the affected areas, it affected the lives of their countries, and the world at large. Its effects have continued to this day. Needless to say, Honorable Joe Keil’s decision that the story of that tsunami should be recorded fully was a recklessly bold one. And perhaps even more reckless when he decided to ask Lani Young, a writer who’d never written a book before, to write that story and do so within the period of a year! I’ve been writing for almost fifty years, but I would never have accepted such an assignment! Like I was in my youthful and foolishly brave 30s, Lani accepted the challenge and I bow to her for doing so and for succeeding so magnificently.

This large book is testimony to Lani’s drive, focus, perseverance, skills as an exceptional and sensitive researcher and interviewer, and ultimately to her ability to select from, write up, and weave together into a beautifully woven ie toga all the hundreds of stories and information from the survivors, witnesses, rescuers, helpers, aid and government organizations, and so forth.

This book, this ie toga, is now the story of the Galu Afi of Sept 29,2009. Lani lets the survivors speak for themselves in their own individual voices, and together their voices, their stories become an orchestrated choir that comes to vibrant life every time we read this gripping, splendid and moving book.
This book is a tribute to those who died, to their lives and courage, and to their loved ones – their relatives and friends – who now have to live with their profound absences and sorrow.

It is also a tribute to all the fortunate survivors and the people who helped: the rescuers, the health workers, the donors from all round the world, and so forth, a tribute to their courage and selfless dedication and hard work. It is a tribute to the unbreakable bonds/ties of aiga/family/village which took hundreds of years to cultivate and weave and which came into wonderful action during and after this crisis.

It is also a tribute to that drive in each of us to help others in times of trouble, need, and helplessness. In such times strangers come to our rescue, and we help strangers. They risk their lives for us and we do the same for them. This book is testament to that: story after story testify to that. And has resulted in new ties/new bonds, to strangers becoming members of our aiga and we of theirs.

This book therefore is about a new and larger aiga/family which the unforgiving ferocity of the Galu Afi brought into being, an aiga which, according to Lani’s book, is already recovering with newfound courage, strength, determination and hope. And when that aiga reads this book, their book, they will be inspired even further to rebuild and ensure that their children will live proudly beyond the Galu Afi’s destructive power, knowing that mana or power can be both destructive and absolutely creative.

It is a great honour for me to have been asked to launch this memorable book which I have subtitled, for myself, The Book of the Aiga of the Galu Afi. I congratulate Joe Keil and Lani Young on producing and writing it, and wish it every success in its journey into and across the Vasa Loloa and the world.
All of your should buy enough copies for your families and friends.
Ia alolofa Atua o le Pasefika ma fa’amanuia mai I lenei fa’atasiga!
Soifua!

Life is for living. Treasure it.

2010-10-07T05:17:00.000-07:00

(An extract from words spoken at the Auckland launch hosted by the Center for Pacific Studies, Auckland University. Oct 7th, 2010)
There were many visitors and tourists from overseas that had been caught in the tsunami. It is a privilege to see some of you here with us tonight. I was at the hospital in Samoa the days after the tsunami – and saw firsthand something of your experience – as you were caught in a strange land by a fierce ocean and left with nothing – for many of you – not even the clothes on your backs. Thank you for sharing your stories of strength and survival with us in this book. I had assumed that visitors caught in the tsunami would never want to return there. Not after their horrifying experience. I was wrong. Survivor stories from visitors are filled with gratitude for the care and compassion they were shown during that difficult time. UK visitor Becky Glew escaped from the wave at Lalomanu and took refuge at the Taufua house on top of the hill. She wrote, “Many Samoans were there bringing us food, climbing palm trees to get us coconuts, looking after the wounded and even building us a toilet outside. And every single one of them was either still waiting for news of family members or already knew they had lost someone. For instance, the young man who led us to safety had found his dead mother moments before – and he spent the whole day lifting the sick, running back and forth to the hospital, cooking for us and helping anyone who needed it. Everyone was amazing.” Last week, flights back to Samoa were fully booked as many tsunami survivors and their families returned for the memorial anniversary. Before sunrise on the morning of the 29th processions of people bearing coconut candles and lanterns, walked along beaches through shattered villages. Survivors from Samoa, NZ, Australia and the UK were there to grieve as one. People who had worked to help with the recovery and rebuilding were there. Ministers led everyone in prayer and hymns filled the morning air, enfolding the empty spaces with love. Crowds gathered outside a hilltop church stood in remembrance of that day when the earth rumbled and the waters raged. Together they watched as the sun burned the sky and a new day dawned.

As families from different nations have mourned as one, new bonds have been forged. Some examples, There is now an escape path cut into the mountainside of Lalomanu – funded by a trust set up in honor of the memory of Mary Ann White – of Raglan, NZ. New gardens are being planted by women in the village thanks to the Hodgins family of Australia as they work with Women in Business to buy tools to sow the seeds of hope. Two families at Saleapaga have new homes – gifted by the Martin family of Matamata who lost their daughters, Petria and Rebecca. At Lalomanu Primary school, there is a new library stocked with more than 4000 books built by family and friends of the 6 yr old from Australia who was killed by the wave. Imaginations will soar and dreams will take flight because of the Clea salavert-Wykes library. I continue to be humbled by these examples of how grief can inspire service and compassion.

There were many people who dedicated huge amounts of time and effort to see Samoa through this disaster and some of their stories are also included in the book. I am in awe of those who worked under very difficult conditions to help others. The Samoan DMO and Disaster Response teams who headed down the hill and towards the sea while most of us were evacuating, running away from the ocean. The nurse on duty at Lalomanu hospital who worked tirelessly to care for the wounded – even after receiving the news that her own 3 yr old son had been killed in the wave at Satitoa. She said – “I kept working. What else could I do? There were so many injured people who needed help.” The international response in the tsunami aftermath was swift as many hearts and hands were moved to help us in our time of need. It is an honor to have some of you here with us tonight. The leader of the first local medical response team, Dr Ben Matalavea said, “There were so many people who came to Samoa to volunteer. We found that the help was quite overwhelming and that really for me it lifted the spirit. How could we be tired when all these people had come so far to try and help us? It was really something. For me, that’s the thing that most touched me.” One doctor explained his reasons for coming to Samoa to assist. I went to school at Avondale College and played in the rugby first fifteen team. I was the only palagi in the forward pack, all the rest were Samoans. They were all my friends and when this tsunami happened, all I could think of were my old mates and their families. So I came.” Tsunami survivors Jared and Netta Schwalger – lost both their children and Jared’s parents in the wave. Netta’s injuries were so bad that there was doubt that doctors would be able to save her leg. She wept as she expressed her gratitude for the plastic surgeons from NZ who skillfully operated four times and ensured she wouldn’t need amputation. “They were so kind, so careful, so nice to me.”

If there is one message I bring to you all from the people of the galu afi it is this – faafetai, faafetai tele lava. The samoan word for gift is meaalofa. Things of love/things from love. Ask survivors about the help they received after their ordeal and they will tell you – there has been so much love that they have been overwhelmed. Rita Romeo of Lalomanu recalls the night after the tsunami hit. “We slept in the forest, we had no blankets. Our clothes were wet. It was very cold and I felt so bad for my children. I sat there with tears looking at my kids asleep on the ground and I thought maybe it would have been better if we had died in the tsunami. I can handle it – but my children…I cried for them. The very next day we got help from the government and from many generous people…clothing and blankets and food. And then in the month after, we continued receiving many gifts from containers overseas. So many things, oka! ” I have visited with survivors in tents from the NZ army. In houses newly built in the inland bush by volunteers from churches, local companies and organizations like Habitat for Humanity. I have driven on roads cut through wild forest, lined with power poles – paid for by tsunami relief funds. I have seen elderly wrapped in quilts – made by schoolchildren in faraway lands. Little children playing with a rugby ball given to them by visiting rugby legends from Australia. Survivor families have shared with me their food – a can of peaches and a container of chocolate pudding – gifts from a partnership of the Islamic Relief and LDS church, flown in on a massive D.C plane from the USA carrying enough food to feed 2,000 people for a month. They have given me water from tanks gifted them by the Red Cross. I have listened to survivors speak of their gratitude for – counselors who came to help heal broken hearts and spirits. For tourists who continue to visit our shores, supporting people as they rebuild businesses and livelihoods. The book speaks of those who fundraised, donated of their time and means, gave of their thoughts and prayers - in other words - the book speaks of you all here tonight.

The stories here are filled with sadness, and immense suffering. Yet they also bear witness of great courage, sacrifice, faith and hope. There is much insight to be gained from the experiences of those who have endured many trials, who have survived the wave of fire. As we honor the anniversary of 29/09, we look to the future with the lessons we have gained from the past. In the words of 16 yr old Aucklander Matt Ansell “The tsunami showed me that if there’s something you want to do in life – something bad like a disaster could happen at any time and take it away, so you might as well live. If you want to do something, you make sure you do it; do it well and do it when you can, as soon as you can. Don’t wait. Don’t put it off.” Wise counsel echoed by another survivor, Becky Glew, who became pregnant shortly after 29/09. She wrote – “this baby is a direct result of the tsunami. Having a baby is something we had talked about but I would put it off as ‘the time wasn’t right’. However, the tsunami made me realize that life is for living, treasure it, there is not a minute to spare…The baby has also made me look to the future instead of dwelling on the horrors of that day and it has truly helped me to move on. I still have fears and nightmares but my recovery from the trauma has been much swifter – it will truly be a magical baby when it’s born.” On the 4th of August, baby Martha Nell Smith was born. That magical baby is here with us tonight, another reminder of the tender mercies and miracles that can be found even in the midst of adversity.

WHERE TO BUY 'GALU AFI'.

2010-10-05T18:59:00.000-07:00

In Samoa:
*Samoa Money Exchange ( beside McDonalds Restaurant)
*Samoa Stationery Bookstore ( in the Lotemau Center)
*Plantation House, Alafua.

In American Samoa:
*Island Image Store
*Tereza Steffeny Store at the Tafuna Airport
*Christian Bookstore ( Opposite Cost U Less and owned by Pastor Tavai.)

In New Zealand: To be advised.

From Tagata Pasifika

2010-10-02T02:35:00.001-07:00

Galu Afi Samoa Launch

2010-09-28T15:20:00.000-07:00

Tsunami survivor Amy Purcell from Malaela and Lani at the Samoa launching of 'Galu Afi'.

Many voices, many hearts and many hands were a part of this book. These are YOUR stories. This is YOUR book. Thank you.

NZ Launch Info

2010-09-28T03:20:00.000-07:00

In commemoration of the first anniversary of the devastating tsunami of 29 September, 2009, The Centre for Pacific Studies at The University of Auckland is proud to host the New Zealand Launch of Pacific Tsunami 'Galu Afi', a book by Lani Wendt Young.

Date - Thursday 7 October, 2010
Venue - Fale Pasifika, The University of Auckland
Keynote Speaker - Samoan Author Albert Wendt

By Invitation

Australia Supports Samoan Tsunami Book

2010-09-21T15:19:00.001-07:00

Australia’s support for publishing Pacific Tsunami Galu Afi (Wave of Fire) written by Lani Wendt Young about last year’s devastating tsunami, will give all Samoans further insight into the tragedy and the need to heed the call to be prepared for natural disasters.

Pacific Tsunami Galu Afi, which will be launched next week on the eve of the first anniversary of the tsunami, captures stories of the tragic loss of lives and livelihoods in Samoa, American Samoa and Tonga, as well as the incredible bravery of survivors and those who responded to the disaster.

Australian High Commissioner to Samoa, Matt Anderson said Australia’s support to publishing 5000 copies of Pacific Tsunami Galu Afi is a reflection of Australia’s enduring friendship with Samoa.

“In her book, Lani has captured poignant memories of the devastating tsunami and the journey since. The stories are heavy with loss and sadness but they are also stories filled with courage, hope and strength,” Mr Anderson said.

“And from these powerful stories, there are some key messages we must all heed in the Pacific - we can never be too prepared for a natural disaster and we should head inland and to higher ground following an earthquake.”

“I would like to congratulate Lani on her sensitive, thoughtful and well written account of the disaster and also on her success in winning a Commonwealth writers commendation for her tsunami short story announced last week.”

“Australia is very proud to support the publication of Pacific Tsunami Galu Afi with funds from the Australian Aid Program. We hope this support reminds all Samoans that Australia stands ready to help our Pacific neighbours whenever and wherever there is a need.”

Mr Anderson said in the wake of the tsunami, Australia provided A$12 million to help Samoa, reflecting Australia’s friendship with Samoans and our joint determination to help Samoa rebuild.

Pacific Tsunami Galu Afi will be launched on 27 September 2010. The book will be sold for $50 from Plantation House, Aggie Grey’s Hotel, Aggie Grey’s Resort, and Samoa Money Exchange. All profits from book sales will go to tsunami rebuilding efforts.

'The Beast that Came from the Sea.'

2010-09-16T14:11:00.000-07:00

Lani Wendt Young is one of 25 'Highly Commended'writers in the 2010 Commonwealth Short Story Competition. Her story ‘The Beast that came from the Sea.’ is one of twenty-five stories selected from more than 2,000 entries to receive a cash prize and will feature on the Commonwealth Foundation website. The 25 stories have been professionally recorded for radio broadcast and will be distributed to radio stations in over 54 countries worldwide with a combined audience of more than 2 billion people. The competition is an annual scheme to promote new creative writing for radio, funded and administered by the Commonwealth Foundation and the Commonwealth Broadcasting Association. Entry is open to all Commonwealth citizens aged 19 and over to send in original, unpublished short stories. The overall winner for 2010 is Shachi Kaul from India.

Lani’s story is about the 29/09 tsunami that devastated villages in Samoa, American Samoa and the Tongan island of Niuatoputapu. It poignantly captures the terror experienced by many on that day, as well as the long-term impact such trauma has had on those who lost loved ones in this disaster.

Of her achievement, Lani commented, “It’s really exciting to have my writing recognized in such a prestigious international competition. But what really moves me, is to know that thanks to the Commonwealth Foundation, people all over the world will know and understand a little bit more about what Samoa endured on 29/09. My story was inspired by the experiences of several mothers who lost children in the tsunami. As a mother of five, I have great admiration for these women who fought so hard for their little ones and now are trying to rebuild their lives. Everyday they make that decision to keep moving forward, continuing to care for their families in spite of all they have suffered. I pay tribute to them with this story.”

Lani Wendt Young is also the author of the upcoming book ‘Galu Afi’ about the Pacific Tsunami of 29/09 which will be launched here in Apia on the 27th of September. The book will be available for general sale on the 28th of Sept at various local outlets including – Samoa Money Exchange, Plantation House, TV3 Office. The book will retail for $50 and all profits go to tsunami relief and education in the affected areas.

To read Lani's story for yourself, click the link below:http://www.commonwealthfoundation.com/LinkClick.aspx?fileticket=uVvE4JjLU_I%3D&tabid=533

Essential Book Info

2010-09-14T14:43:00.000-07:00

Samoa Book Launch:
Date - Monday 27th September, 2010
Venue - Tiafau Fale, Hotel Millenia, Sogi
Keynote Speaker - His Highness the Head of State.
Books will be available for sale at the launch. All those interviewed for the book will receive a free signed copy of the book.
Books will be on sale for the general public on Tuesday 28th September, 2010 at the following outlets:
*Samoa Money Exchange ( Beside Mcdonalds Family Restaurant)
*Plantation House
*TV3 Office
Further local outlets are yet to be confirmed.
Cost: $50.00

An Evening in honor of Robert Louis Stevenson, Tusitala - Teller of Tales.

2010-09-03T14:15:00.000-07:00

I was invited to speak about the upcoming book at the annual Robert Louis Stevenon Memorial Gala held at the RLS Museum at Vailima. It was a great opportunity to promote the book and its stories. Thank you Tilafaiga Rex Maughn and the RLS Museum Foundation.
Galu Afi - Wave of Fire
It is no surprise that Robert Louis Stevenson chose to make Samoa his home as the Samoan people are a poetic and lyrical people and great storytellers themselves. Speak with the survivors of the 2009 tsunami and they will tell you...

What a tsunami looks like. “It was a beast that leapt up out of the sea and ran towards us. It was a demon, a hungry animal. It was the color of night and its foam crest was black smoke. It moved like fire across the land. I looked and all I saw was death coming.” What a tsunami sounds like. “It roared like a hundred bulldozers with gears stuck and grinding in first gear. It was a swarm of jet planes taking off. It was the sound of war and guns. It growled as it smashed houses and threw cars.” Why a tsunami is called ‘galu afi, wave of fire?’ "The water was hot. It brought many dead fish. The water burned inside my chest. It made me sick. My skin was scraped off from being dragged in the wave, like I was burned. It killed all the trees and the grass. The path of the wave in our village is all dry and dead. Now I know what the elders meant when they warned me about galu afi. No wave brings a fire except for this one.”
A week after the tsunami, Mr Joe Keil approached me. He said someone needs to gather the stories of the tsunami, to record them – while they were still very raw, fresh. Before they were purposely forgotten as people tried to move on, to rebuild their lives. Joe had a vision of a book,that would speak with the voices of those who had lived through the 2009 Pacific Tsunami and tell of those who had died,those who had worked to rescue, heal and rebuild. I was asked to take that vision and give it substance. And so it was decided. The book would be a narrative story weaving together many different people’s experiences. It would include survivor stories from American Samoa and Tonga. It would be a non-profit project - Joe would personally fund the research/writing costs and all proceeds from the books sale would be put into a tsunami aid fund. We set a date for the release of the book – one year after the tsunami. (and then i started freaking out...because I'd never actually written a book before AND because that didnt really give me very much time to get it done!)
In October 2009, I started gathering people’s stories. Lying in hospitals, camped in tents, gathered in rough shelters in the mountain bush or sitting beside the new graves of their loved ones – survivors everywhere paused in their recovery and rebuilding to share their stories. I travelled to American Samoa several times to interview survivors there as well. All the interviews were audio recorded and then transcribed and translated to English. Initially, I had worried how people would react when asked to share their stories. In particular, those who had lost loved ones and homes. What if they got angry at my visit? What if they found my questions offensive and intrusive? What if they didn’t want to talk about the tsunami because it was too painful? Yet, time and again, I found that people were more than willing to talk. Many were grateful for the opportunity to share their experiences. For some, the interviews were therapeutic. People would talk for an hour or more. I was humbled by the reception I received. Everywhere, survivors welcomed us into their homes and shelters with gracious hospitality and offered us the finest of whatever they had. (I have had biscuits in saleaumua, niu in satitoa, hot baked umu kalo in lalomanu, pineapple in saleapaga, pisupo in vaovai, tuna and rice in poutasi – to name a few) People relived the nightmares of that day in September with strength and courage and in this book, they have entrusted us with their sorrows.
There were many visitors and tourists from overseas that had been caught in the tsunami. It was a challenge to track them down but I was able to do so with the assistance of the Aust and NZ High Commission offices here. A common theme in their stories was gratitude for the way Samoans had taken care of them after the tsunami, when many were left with nothing, not even the clothes on their backs. Its impossible to listen to their accounts and NOT be impressed by the many examples of caring and compassion shown during that difficult time. Nynette Sasse of the Samoa Hotel Association went out to the disaster zone right after the tsunami. She saw tourists wearing colourful mu’umu’us and Sunday best puletasi and Shirts.“These people had climbed up out of the tsunami completely naked. As soon as the villagers saw them, they ran up with their best clothes to dress them. I was so humbled to see how our people took care of the visitors. I was so proud at that moment to be a Samoan!” I know how Nynette feels. As I have listened to the survivor stories of our friends from overseas – I have gained a greater appreciation for the generousity and hospitality of our culture. I was surprised to find that most visitors who lived through 29/09 – actually wanted to return to Samoa. I thought they would have been put off forever. In the words of a 12 yr old boy from Auckland, NZ, Max Wilson –
“Samoans were the kindest people I have ever met. On that day they looked after us before they looked after their own families. They lost everything and most had lost family and friends. We are collecting money to help them rebuild their lives. We are returning back to Litia Sini once it’s rebuilt. We want to go back for opening night.”
There were so many people who dedicated incredible amounts of time and effort to see Samoa through this disaster – both local and those from other nations – and some of their stories are also included in the book. I am in awe of those who worked under very difficult conditions putting their own lives at risk, to help others. The FESA worker, part of the first team out to Aleipata, who worked through debris and muddy water to search for the living and the dead – all the while not knowing if her own six children on the island of Manono were alive or dead. The DMO and Disaster Response people who headed down the hill and towards the sea while most of us were evacuating, running away from the ocean. The book pays tribute to them all. One survivor wrote - “We want to say how fantastic the Samoan fire service was, and the medical teams. They were there so quickly. Anyone who ever says that there was not enough fast action after the tsunami – they’re wrong. It was unbelievably good, especially for a country like Samoa where you wouldn’t think they would be that well organized. If we had that sort of reaction time in New Zealand, you’d be thrilled. It was sensational. I take my hat off to whoever helps organize Civil Defence in Samoa.”Graham Ansell, New Zealand. The book also tells of the amazing relief work carried out by many nations and international organizations.
It is now a year later. It has been a long, challenging journey – but thanks to the help and support of many - the project is now complete. The printing of the book was made possible by the generous support of the Australian government AID Program who have paid for the first print run of 5000 books. The book will be launched here on the 27th of Sept. Further launches will take place in AmSamoa, NZ, Australia and the US. I want to emphasize that this book is NOT a comprehensive, all-knowing account of the tsunami as the stories are only a fragment of people’s experiences. There is so much we can learn from this disaster and I call on families and communities here, and in AmSamoa and Tonga to continue to seek out the stories of the tsunami.
The stories in the ‘Galu Afi’ book are heavy with loss, sadness and suffering. But they are also stories filled with courage, hope, compassion and strength. It was a privilege to record them, to write them, and to share them in the upcoming book. I hope others will find them as inspiring and uplifting as I have

Book Launch

2010-08-26T13:43:00.000-07:00

I am thrilled ( and immeasurably relieved)to announce that the book -
Pacific Tsunami - 'Galu Afi'
will be launched in Samoa on the 27th of September, 2010. It will be followed by similar launches in American Samoa,Australia and New Zealand. Further details will be posted.

How ready were we?

2010-08-20T23:46:00.000-07:00

Saleapaga, one hour after the wave.Photo by Bharat Chovan
Early in 2009, there was an opportunity to practice the evacuating – for real. On the 19th of March, a 7.6 magnitude earthquake hit 130 miles southeast of the Tongan capital Nukualofa and a tsunami warning was issued by the PTWC for surrounding islands. Including Samoa. US Peace Corp volunteer Sara Reeves was teaching when they got the phonecall from the Peace Corp office at 8:50am. “Cale came into my classroom making the finger across the throat gesture that initially led me to believe that the power must be out at his school, but instead meant that I should stop teaching, drop everything and evacuate.” They warned the vice-principal. “He told me that he already knew. I told him schools were supposed to be evacuating, but he didn’t seem to be too concerned.” The other staff showed little interest either. The two were the only ones from their coastside school to head inland on their bikes. They met other vehicles and some schoolchildren on the road headed in the same direction. Calmly and slowly. One family drove to the lowland grocery store first – “to buy snacks for the children and a newspaper so the morning wouldn’t be wasted”. Another only went to the evacuation point because their six year old daughter was frightened and wouldn’t stop harassing them about the “terrible tsunamis’ her teacher had taught them about.

In Tonga that morning, people didn’t seem to be too bothered either. A police spokesman said residents weren't taking the warning seriously. He was quoted by a UK newspaper, “People are out on the roads, laughing at the warning. They are not moving from the coast even though there has been a strong warning of a tsunami.”

Back in Samoa, the Reeves biked four miles back to school when they got the message that the warning had been cancelled. “Absolutely nothing had changed at school while I was gone and there was no reaction whatsoever to my sudden disappearance and bike ride to Faleata.”

At Fagaloa Bay on the far eastern tip of Upolu, unusually high wave heights were recorded. The sea ran in to swish through several beach fales, but no houses were damaged. And nobody was hurt. Hardly anyone anywhere else even registered that the sea had risen. People shrugged. ‘See, what’s all the fuss about? Those palagi say tsunami when it’s just a little galu lolo. A few big waves. It’s nothing.’

**********************************************************
On the morning of September 29th were people remembering that day earlier in March? As DMO staff scrambled to contact the two telecommunication companies to send the SMS and as Chief DMO Filomena Nelson and FESA Commissioner Tony Hill were flying through traffic at Vaimoso?

As Tony hit the sirens at approximately 7:10am and radioed his staff to begin the evacuation of all low lying areas? As the alarms went on at the fire stations in town, Faleata and at the airport?

In those next minutes, Filomena was merely a passenger as Tony drove down every side road with the siren blaring and the PA system shouting, telling everyone to get out and get up.

Tsunami. Evacuate.

"It really killed me seeing him go."

2010-08-14T20:41:00.000-07:00

There were those who had to rush not away from the ocean – but towards it – as they moved to ensure the wheels for a disaster response were in motion. Palantina Toelupe is the CEO for Health in Samoa. She lives in the coastal village Vailoa, on the outskirts of Apia with her two sons. The younger son Vaitoa is Filomena Nelson’s right hand at the DMO office. As the earthquake built in intensity and then shuddered to a still, Vaitoa yelled for his mum and brother to run. “Mum, there’s going to be a tsunami. You’ve got about five minutes, you’ve got to run, you’ve got to go NOW!” Palantina ran but was bewildered to see Vaitoa accelerating in his car for the opposite direction. “Where are YOU going?” His reply clamped her with a cold fist of fear. “I have to go to Mulinu’u, to the Met office! I have to report, to get the computers up.” She clearly remembers that awful moment. “It was one of the most horrible decisions any mother could make, knowing that you were supposed to run for your life and yet your son is going towards this supposed problem…It really killed me seeing him go. I ran and took his older brother with me and we were the first ones to get up to Faleata, that’s how quickly we evacuated…but when we got up there, I stopped and said to myself, what am I running for? What about my job? I’ve forgotten everything! And so we turned around and came back home and when I got back, people were just starting to run – that’s how early we ran. We got to the house, quickly changed and we went straight to the hospital. I got there and people were asking, what’s going to happen next?And I said, prepare – get ready for the emergency.”

"Helter skelter in the summer storm." Gillian Brown's Survivor Story.

2010-08-10T14:25:00.000-07:00

Gillian Brown receives care from Aust medics.

On 29/9 oblivious to what would happen, folk went about their morning holiday business. The Tafua family prepared for another one of their delectable community breakfast feasts. I was showering in the ablution block when suddenly everything started to shake. I thought the roof would come off. The past two nights had been stormy. As I live in tropical Queensland I assumed it was similar to a cyclonic wind. I was wrong. It was a tremor. An earthquake. I gave no thought to the imminent Tsunami. A Swedish lady, a German guy and I spoke. We were relieved we were standing on solid ground and it had not separated. How do you know about something if it is out of your realm of experience or concept? Everyone was in a different location and from what I now believe everyone responded differently.

I went back to the Fale and continued to pack for our road trip north to La Vasa. I was carrying my back pack to our hire car when I heard the desperate screams to run for high grounds. I wasn’t sure why but I knew we had to do so. Rob wasn’t in sight. I ran back to the Fale to warn him. I will never forget the mental snapshot I have from the Fale balcony of a young Samoan lad running along the beach screaming at people to go to higher ground. Also the distant view of the two sets of women who unwittingly lolled in the water. I believe two of those four are now sadly dead. I am presently haunted by thoughts of time, space, speed, what if...The words ‘helter skelter in the summer storm’ come to mind.

Rob would not come immediately. He continued to pack his day pack. I expressed the urgency of the situation. Finally we tried to leave the Fale through the front door. This was not to be the case. The clouds of whitewash consumed us from the front and underneath the floor boards. Oh f--- expletives expressed. Rob pushed me to the bed away from the open door. Within the Fale I felt trapped as though I was in a scene from the Wizard of Oz whereby Dorothy floated away in the house. I recall trying to kick the walls away with the hope we would climb through the louvres and escape. I was aware that we needed to prevent the walls from crashing in on us. Odd what you do. The wave was upon us. We were fighting for air space within the confines of the Fale. That first wave took us under and seemed to spit us out quickly.

The battle was still not over. The sea presented another challenge. I was still inside the walls of the Fale. I remember being dragged up with two huge poles firmly squeezed around my neck. It felt as though my neck would snap and fall limp. I apparently contorted my body and kicked the poles apart. Rob and I were in the same space calling for each other. Suddenly large sheets of metal appeared above us. They slid towards us. I thought I was going to be decapitated.

The second wave followed. I can’t speak for Rob but it took me under. I lost him. Initially I fought. Day pack was pulled from my arm. I struggled. Finally I couldn’t take in any more water and I made a conscious decision that if I was about to die I wanted to do it so peacefully. The see-through pool green colour surrounded me and was cleansing. I completely let go, allowing the water to do what it needed to with me. My body was outstretched. I was calm. It was an incredibly beautiful and serene experience. I died.

I have baulked at writing the next section. So many feelings and emotions are attached to survival, trauma and tragedy. I remember so much. I replay the events on my internal movie screen. I was told the wave was travelling at 964km per hour and lasted for approximately 7 to 8 minutes. I had no idea of length of time. There was a third wave. I have absolutely no recollection of it or anything else until I was simply present amongst the debris. No explanation. Just there.

The scenario was and still is incredulous. Finding Rob was foremost on my mind. I screamed for help. I scanned the destruction. It was surreal. Scared, weak. Dragged myself onto a platform. Perched. People started appearing in the water. They were calling for each other. Stranded! A seemingly insurmountable, impassable amount of debris. Urgent need to find others and help them to safety. In shock! Horrible! Survivor mode was necessary. Life was moving in front of us.

A small Samoan child scrambled out of the water to the muddy bank. I will never forget the look on his face. A waif of a child who showed the way. To my right a Samoan woman stood with her baby amongst the chaos. There were so few of us. 50 metres back to my left Rob screaming that he had a bone poking through his leg. Behind me Martina was calling help. Joseph her partner scrambled toward her. Charlie emerged injured and immediately went to the aid of the woman and child. In front of me there was a yellow canoe which became a water stretcher. I carried Martina to the bank first. Hearing our screams for help a young Samoan man ran into the carnage to help me place Rob onto the canoe. Together we balanced it and dragged him to shore.

Our next hurdle was to climb a cliff which was a zigzag path seeming to be about 300metres.
There was an urgent murmur that another wave was coming and we had to run for high ground. We were all injured. Some more so than others and some suffering excruciating pain which was at times debilitating. It was a tale of extraordinary human endurance and support. Together Samoans and foreigners coaxed, motivated, carried and coerced each other to the top of that cliff. It was amazing and unforgettable..

There is a saying that “pigs fly”. Martina, Joseph and I discovered this not to be true. We remembered they rolled like bowling balls ready to skittle human ten pins. What else was nature going to bring? I don’t know what happened to the pigs but thankfully they didn’t hit us.

Sadly the saga did not end at that point. Life emerged at the top of that cliff. A Fale and local farm were steps away. Water. People. Road. Urgency to find higher ground. The ambulant were without shoes. Bits of bandage wrapped around their feet. Utilities carried the injured. Wailing. Screams of pain and distress. Disbelief yet reality creeping in. Folk in shock not sure what to do. Instinct crept in. Surrounded by death and loss. Breathe.

Next was the Lalomanu Medical centre. Survival to be embraced. Finding those who were alive. Relief and tragedy intertwined. Stories told. Blood. Bandages. Injuries recognised. Suffering. Missing children, relatives and mates. Not knowing. Emotional torment. Wailing. Breathe. Medical staff and volunteers compassionately, tirelessly, willingly gave of themselves. Grateful. Thankful.

The Samoan Government sent out a warning that another wave was about to hit. We needed to evacuate the Medical Centre and again relocate to higher ground. Those who could walk did. Injured were transported in utes and trucks. The Tafua family’s house which was at the skeletal stage of construction was generously opened to us. A place of shelter.

It was at this point I became aware that in times of crisis we all bring our different personalities to the fore. Folk took on different roles. Preparing the space for injured. Human chain moving timber. Clearing water from the concrete. Putting down mats. Making sure the injured were as comfortable as possible. Blankets, tarpaulins, water, carrots, Sao biscuits, government register of names. Organising, managing, motivating, nursing. Leaders and doers. Cava man contacting government agencies. Feeling of importance. NZ doctor at the site. People in shock. Sitting wailing. Grief magnifying. Trying to make sense of what had happened.

At this point I was still ambulant. My ribs were broken with deep cuts to the right foot and arm. I could feel the lumps on my head growing. Drying blood. Wound swabs on the ground. Infection growing. Carer mode in place. My first priority was Rob however there were many in need. Horrific stories started to unfold. Children had been ripped out of their parents grasp and taken. Gone forever. Bodies not found. Grief. Too horrible to write. I remember -

*As soon as water arrived, I grabbed it. Knew we’d need it later. Girl photographing
*Water – ambulance – Richard – make sure Robs medical needs are attended to – stay strong -
*Medical centre – swapping patients – some people angry we had to wait - that pregnant woman is now dead.
*Transported to Apia via Lalomanu – destruction – debris – cars not making way for ambulance – now I know some were looters but many were trying to locate the dead– village’s gone, people trying to sweep up an insurmountable amount of debris. Futile Destruction. Despair.
* Ambulance had a flat tyre – transported by ute to hospital – me with Heather Dixon – consulate advisor - mayhem.
*Outpatients – Rob bed opposite – wounds stitched – scared frightened – urgent – separated from Rob – x-ray. Met 50ish Kiwi women who survived swim – Had been in a tidal wave in Hawaii 2 years prior –was in same place as 20 year old girls who died.Pediatric ward turned into surgical ward
*Sam - beautiful Samoan lad whose mother and sister had died and his dad lying in bed with terrible wounds, Sam bought me a cup of coffee, such a generous gesture and it tasted so sweet - people in shock, our bottle the drinking only water for everyone. Ward filling up, toilet floors covered with bloody water, washing people, Rob turning white with blue lips, oxygen mask. *Media crews constantly looming and wanting stories.
*Survivor TV show Drs volunteering time and wound dressings, Samoan nurses doing 24 hour shifts, Setting up a functional ward within 24 hours, an amazing achievement considering many of those nurses didn't know where their loved ones were
*Australian guy who was a volunteer - we had met in supermarket two days prior - now re-meeting under horrible circumstances. He gave us 10ST and NZ Dr gave us 20ST, egg sandwich, coke and water. I was finally getting some treatment to my wounds which just seemed to grow with infection.
*Fa'afafine nurse ‘a woman’s work is never done’.
*Advised that Australian Gov’t would get us home in the next 24 hours. Bill Griggs team arrived with medical supplies. Ambulant were flow back to Oz first. Makeshift ward fully functioning with ward rounds within 24 hours. No sleep. Painful ribs, wounds growing, exhaustion, shock. Samoans give us biscuits and apples. Samoa Survivor reality TV show doctors help and give medical supplies. Overseas news teams everywhere. All wanting to grab a story.
*Gillian and Gary. Distraught over death of their son Alfie. So sad. Claire identifying her friend Vivien in the makeshift morgue. Sorrow. Charlie on her own. Washing the injured. Given clothes from volunteer agencies. Sarong toothpaste and soap. So generous. Shower.Given contact details for relief agency. Long day. Ask Nz Dr to look at my wounds. Less ambulant and very painful. Wounds growing.
*Advised we would be transported home that day. Relief as we were worried that Rob would be operated on in Samoa. Fear of infection and the unknown.
*Comforting each other. Samoan lament which resonated throughout the ward. 6 Aussies transported to the airport to catch C170 Hercules flight. Rob and I separated. Scared and relieved to be going home. Flight late by a couple of hours. Rob on morphine. All of us carried by stretcher onto flight. Fantastic Drs and nurses. Finding veins.

Story still continues and still trying to keep my head above water.
Gillian Brown

I just cried because I had lost hope.

2010-08-05T23:05:00.000-07:00

Tafi Sang Yum at the new Saleapaga inland.

In Samoa, the elderly rarely live alone. The family will ensure that someone stays with them to make their food, help with chores, and listen to their stories. To be their child. Someone young. Usually single. Someone strong. A grandchild, a cousin, a nephew. Someone like Tafi Sang Yum. Twenty-three years old. With tattooed bronze arms that paddle in their spare time for the National Outrigger Canoeing team. When they weren’t digging taro or making fa’alifu for his grandparents, Mata and Su’e Esera.

The Esera’s were in their seventies and enjoying the simple rewards of a lifetime devoted to hard work and raising their family. Their eight children were all grown, educated and working – contributing to their parents retirement. They all worked in Apia - one son was a police officer assigned to the Nafanua Patrol Boat. That September he was overseas on marine police training. Tafi was the chosen grandson who lived with Mata and Su’e in their seaside home. They had three beach fales they would rent to visitors. And a taro plantation. A car. When Tafi’s paddling team would come for a Saturday swim, the Esera’s would make them a proverbial feast. Tender-baked fish that melted in your mouth, steaming hot taro that only the day before had been in the black earth, thick sweet koko from beans that Su’e herself had roasted and ground. Tafi was their child. In that house there was much love and affection.

When the first wave came, Tafi was sweeping leaves in the back yard. His grandparents were in the house. They tried to get to the car but the water was already upon them, swishing around their legs. Again, the size of the initial wave was deceptive. Su’e called out to her husband to come back in the house to shelter from the wave there. Tafi and Mata ran back inside – just before the next wave hit the house.

“The wave took the car. We were bracing ourselves inside the house…I thought the house would stand. I tried to hold on but I felt like my hands were getting electrocuted. I let go and the water washed me out. That’s when we were separated”

Tafi is strong – but the wave was stronger. The house was destroyed. “My body felt like I was being beaten by someone because I was battered by trees and rubbish in the water. My body felt numb and I couldn’t do anything. The wave took me out with it and I hung on to a coconut tree trunk that was floating. Then when the wave went down, I swam back to the shore.”

Tafi stood alone.“ I stood there and looked to where my house used to be and I couldn’t see my grandparents anywhere. I just cried at that time because I had lost hope.”

Mata Esera was found several hours later but when nightfall came, Su’e was still missing. “On Wednesday morning we came back early to look for my grandma. We found her just after 8am behind another family’s property because most of the stuff from our house was found there and that’s where we found my grandma buried under corrugated iron and her skin had turned black. Like she was burned.”

Tafi’s uncle Ofisa came home in time for his parent’s funeral. Crisp, white dress uniforms filled the church as the marine police paid their respects.

Two months on, Tafi helps his cousins build their home in the Saleapaga bush. And clear land for the new taro plantation. Grief is edged with guilt. He is the chosen grandson of Mata and Su’e Esera. Chosen to be their child. Chosen to take care of them.

We just want to go home.

2010-08-04T13:13:00.000-07:00

Injured are airlifted out by the RNZAF.
When people are hurt and afraid, all they want is to get home. As fast as possible. Foreign nationals critically injured in the Samoa tsunami were airlifted out of Samoa. One woman remembers talking to the injured tourists in the hospital the morning after the tsunami. “They were so polite and appreciative of everything we were doing for them. We asked them if they needed anything else and they said, no, no we’re fine… But then, the first medical team arrived from Australia. They walked into the ward and as soon as they spoke to these tourists, those girls just burst into tears, they said, please, please can you help us, please get us out of here,we just want to go home. My heart just went out to them, I cried inside for them.”

The first airlift went out on Wednesday afternoon, the last on Friday. Aussie paramedic Steve Williams helped get the patients ready and moved out to the helicopters that would ferry them to the international airport some distance out of Apia. “The evacuation team were fantastic. Their attitude with the patients was really good – like if it was someone who was a bit large, they’d lift them on the stretcher and they’d all scream and grunt and carry on joking, overemphasise it, get the patient laughing. They actually played around with the patients and tried to make it more enjoyable for them, showing humor in what was a really scary situation for some of them.”

The helicopters landed in a small grassy patch between the emergency morgue and the wards. “The last lift was 8:30 at night, pitch black and so the pilot flew in blind and watching them come in was just magnificent. They had to land in this small space and it’s not even flat, there’s a dip in the ground and they landed in the dip, and I’m going geeze! Even in daylight it was pretty impressive and you think back and you’re just so impressed with what these pilots did. I watched all the patients go and it was a really nice feeling when the last chopper took off that night, knowing everyone was on their way home to their families.”

The most painful thing.

2010-08-03T16:51:00.000-07:00

Sina Ale kisses baby Jai Trafford on holiday at Taufua Beach Fales.

Taufua Beach Fales was started back in 1970 by the patriarch of the family, Taufua Leifi. His daughter Faafetai (better known as ‘Tai’) explained, “It started out as fales that our family used for resting on Sundays after lunch, we’d go to the beach and sleep there. Then we started having tourists come in asking if they could rent the fales for a day or two and we’d allow them.” And so it began, modestly, with a few huts on the white sand and over the years it grew. In 1999, Taufua Snr handed over the business to Tai and her husband Sili Apelu. Initially there was a temptation to completely change the look of the place, to do away with the beach fales and build a more Western style resort. “But we thought it would be very un-Samoan to do that. We decided to maintain the beach fales but to at least make them more comfortable for the tourists. Over ten years, we have built on slowly, adding new fales with the availability of funds…that has been a blessing in disguise because it has been a time for us to learn and to nurture our workers and that is where our strength is. I think what makes this place special is the atmosphere that we created. Guests always feel at home as if this is their home as well. We make them feel very welcome and we see that in the repeat guests. Many of them return, its like friends and family coming back. Of course, Lalomanu has its own beauty, like the sand and the clear blue lagoon and all those things, but service – quality service and the attitude towards the tourists is what makes it special.”

New Zealander Sara Trafford delighted in that family atmosphere. “What really stood out for me was how great everyone was with my son – from the ladies in the office, to the young men waiting tables – everyone helped to look after him and gave him loads of cuddles and hugs. They would often come and whisk him away from me for a walk so I could eat my dinner, go snorkeling or just have an hour by myself, it was wonderful! Even the night watchman would go and sit outside my fale in the evenings after I put Jai to sleep and then run to the restaurant to get me when he woke up for a feed. When I would get up in the night to soothe Jai, the night watchman would shine his torch in to make sure we were both okay.” Tai’s sister-in-law Sina helped in the business. She, had three little ones of her own, the youngest - Etimani Jnr, was the same age as Jai and the two babies would bathe in a plastic tub – one rosy-cheeked peaches and cream, the other sugary cinnamon and raisin cheerfulness.

On 29/09 fourteen members of the Taufua family were killed in the tsunami, including all three of Sina Ale's children.

Sili says of 29/09, “The loss of the children is the most painful thing. The elderly had lived their lives, but the young kids were so helpless, nobody could help them. Our nephews and nieces, even though they had their own parents they call us mum and dad because we look after some of them. They would get up early in the morning and come to our room, mum, mum, hungry, fia ai. The physical association with the kids, every morning, every evening, they would always be asking us for something…they would come looking for us. We’re missing them, because even though we believe in God and we are sure they are in a better place, sometimes there’s a feeling of emptiness, not being able to see them anymore.”

"I knew they were past helping."

2010-08-03T16:48:00.000-07:00

A doctor sent to Lalomanu Hospital was thirty-one year old Teriki Puni. “It was shocking to see how severe the disaster was – you really felt helpless with the amount of people coming and bringing the dead and asking if you could do something…many of them just broke down and cried, they knew that there was nothing to be done but I think they just wanted to be told, they wanted that reassurance that nothing could be done. Can you help my baby? And you saw this baby was just completely purple and you open up their mouth and there’s just debris and everything, it was just covered in rubbish. I knew they were past helping. It was quite heartbreaking just to feel like you’re not able to do anything. But for those who were severely injured but still alive, you could do something and just try and stabilize them before you rushed them off to National.”

"They were relentless." After. Thoughts. Vaughan Simpson.

2010-07-29T00:36:00.000-07:00

Photo courtesy of Pele Wendt.
There are those, who at the first hint of tragedy, will rush with cameras and recorders – to get the story. It’s their job to take the photos. Of headless houses. Crumpled trucks. Dead people floating in a sobered ocean. The photos that will move us. Inspire us. Horrify us. It’s their job to get the story. They film the mother weeping as she clutches a baby covered in bruises. They ask her what happened? They zero in on a man who grips the fence posts for support as he tries to process seeing his wife crushed underneath an angry barrage of debris. They ask him what happened? Tell us, tell the world… They watch the man who finds the body of his mother in a cluster of fallen trees, watch as he weeps, hugs her, takes off his lavalava and covers her from the sun, shooing away the flies. They watch and through their lens – we watch. Curious, concerned and captivated. On 29/09, the world wanted to know what was happening on this cluster of islands in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. And local media were rushing to respond. TVOne and TV3 Samoa both had teams out in the disaster zone on the first day. International media were mobilizing and Australia had the first overseas news team arrive in Apia on the eve of 29/09, quickly followed by many from other countries.

Some of the media proved to be a challenge for the search and rescue teams It is difficult to report on tragedy when it is so raw. One treads a fine line between compassionate concern and invasive scrutiny. To reconcile the ‘public’s need to know’ with an individual’s need for sensitivity and privacy. There are those who felt that line was crossed. Vaughan Simpson had his limits tested as journalists flocked to Lalomanu, eager for stories, for pictures of the body recovery. “Some of the media were a litte frustrating. Every time we found a body, we would radio them in to Tony. The media would come charging into the bush and they’re trying to take photos or they’re trying to film the dead people and I would tell them to f… off! I would chase them out. The dead, they’re people, like your brother or your sister, they could be your kids and these pricks want to come in and film it. People aren’t supposed to do that. Some of the film crews were shocking, they were relentless. I chased them all out one day cursing at them and they reluctantly left. They probably went to the next village. I know they have to report on the world news, I suppose, but when you’re out there, working with the dead – it’s not nice. The media have got a job to do I guess – they’ve got to make money somehow, don’t they? I found it disrespectful, but I suppose it records history.”

The wave took her.

2010-07-26T03:41:00.000-07:00

Ian and his daughter.

Sesa To'omalatai had been at the big house with her son Ian when the wave came. He was making breakfast for his parents and did not see the wave until it was too late. “I could see people panicking and running but I didn’t know why. I saw people pointing out to the sea, they were saying that a wave is coming. But I wasn’t paying attention and then it was like the wave was boiling over and I got such a fright. It wasn’t even thirty seconds and the wave hit us where we were standing at the back of the house by the kitchen. My wife was carrying our daughter and I caught hold of my mother. The wave hit and destroyed everything. We all went together out to the sea, I grabbed a tree branch and hung on to it with my mother while my wife and daughter were taken far away. We were floating in the sea and I was trying to pull us in because I could see we were drifting further and further out, so I tried to pull us more towards the land. Another wave came and that’s when my mother slipped from my grip, the wave took her. I ended up stuck on the seawall but my mother had gone. My wife and daughter made it to the roadside near the church. People from the village came to help. We looked for my mother and we found her at the back of our house. I wasn’t badly injured, but my mother was dead.”

Sesa was the only person killed at Vailoa village. She was seventy years old and the mother of ten children. Ian’s little girl is named after her grandmother. He holds her gently with huge hands and cries in the afternoon sun as carpenters hammer and saw, rebuilding the petrol station

I felt like an intruder.

2010-07-26T03:22:00.000-07:00

Gradually throughout those few days after 29/09, others came to volunteer. To walk the line. To dig, forage and hack their way through Lalomanu. Matthew Leal came as a Red Cross volunteer. “We were assigned to go to Lalomanu and help with ‘clean up efforts’. We later found this was a euphemism for picking through rubble searching for the deceased.” He quickly realized this was not work for the faint of heart –or of body. “Searching for the dead is difficult in many different ways. Most rubble is heavy and haphazard and jagged. Sifting through, lifting and dropping and finding footholds is strenuous and Samoan humidity doesn’t help. The scene is surreal. Dead fish, left behind by the ocean litter the affected area. And then there’s the emotional leap required to look for dead bodies.”

Matthew had been one of a relay team that had run through Aleipata only a few weeks earlier on a 103 km race from Siumu to Apia. The difference between then and now, was mind-numbing. And digging through the personal leftovers of people’s lives, felt intrusive. Almost criminal.

“More than anything, I felt like an intruder. I’d driven by the area we searched many times before the earthquake, but never did I stop to search a family’s possessions or prod through their kitchen. And yet there I was today, finding family photos and Quiksilver baseball caps,condoms and notebooks and novels and gin. Two days ago, it would have been completely unacceptable for me to trudge into these people’s lives. It’s as though with the loss brought on by the tsunami comes the loss of one’s dignity. I felt like I was snooping.”

Two sets of people.Like night and day.

2010-07-21T21:44:00.000-07:00

Ray and Etta Wyberski, Owners of 'Treasure Island' Jewellery store, American Samoa.

“We didn’t even think about the house and the damage or anything. We just thought about our son – everybody here was safe but we had one more that we needed to find…” Ray and Eta went into town. The Plaza building was standing but the lower levels had been blasted through by the wave. It was difficult to make sense of the wreckage though, because of the hordes of people who were scrambling through the ruined stores. Looters. Grabbing anything and everything they could get their hands on. Mainly passersby from other areas unaffected by the waves. Spectators who did not have to worry about searching for missing family members. “It’s amazing how you have two sets of people. One care about life and the other have no thought about anybody else, all they were thinking about was what they could steal. That was it, it was like night and day, two sets of people.”

One couple had come to check their offices at the Plaza and watched the thievery with horror. “One of the hardest parts of the day was the looting. Watching people at their worst was not something I will soon forget. People were looting stores, vehicles, offices, really anything they could get their hands on. Cars that were overturned were soon missing their tires as thieves came by. Some people were literally scavenging before a woman’s body was even removed from a car…”

Into this madness, came Eta and Ray looking for their son. Recognizing them, several people came up to them, “Do you know they’re looting your store? They’re stealing all your stuff.” Eta just waved them away, shoving through the crowd, screaming for her son, Anthony! Has anybody seen my son?!

...Anthony had made it safely out of reach of the water. But when the first wave had barely pulled back, he was one of the rare few who ventured outside to try and help those crying out for aid. Beside the Plaza there is a deep ditch where a murky stream runs. Many vehicles were lodged there. Including a bus. Anthony clambered into that ditch to help bring people out. The bus driver was pinned against the seat and could not be freed. The driver told him to go, go. The next wave was coming. “He didn’t want to leave him. But that wave came again and he was still in the water trying to pull the man out, the water came higher and the man told him to go, get out of here, go. So he got out of the bus and when the wave left, he went back there and the driver was dead.”

When Ray and Eta finally see their son, he is at sweaty, muddy work, dragging a body out of a car in the stream. “He was climbing out of the stream after getting some people out and as he was climbing out, he looked at us and he started crying. I hugged him, I was crying too, I told him, you’re okay, you’re alive, you’re okay.”

Anthony’s first words to his dad were asking for forgiveness. “Dad, I’m sorry about my truck, it’s all messed up…and the store, I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything about the store, I couldn’t stop those people from taking stuff.”

Ray and Eta held their son close, filthy and wet from the foul waters of the Pago harbor. They looked at the remains of their beautiful jewelry store, at people darting ecstatically down the main road with pockets crammed full of Wyberski gold and silver. Ray shook his head, “To hell with it son, we can always rebuild, we can get another car, another store. You’re alive and that’s all that matters. Let’s go home, never mind, just leave it alone.”

After. Thoughts. Chris and Wendy Booth, Survivors.

2010-07-19T20:05:00.000-07:00

“We’ve always had one saying Fortune favors the brave. Never before in our lifetimes has this phrase been more important to both of us. We are proud to be a part of a community that has shown such resilience in the face of adversity. In the months since the tsunami, the generousity of our tourism industry partners and suppliers has been amazing! Now, almost a year on, time has flown, the repair and restoration work is going well and our spirit and determination has never been stronger. Each day we start with reminding ourselves how unique Seabreeze was and with that reaffirmation, we now look forward to our re-opening.”
Chris and Wendy are owners of Seabreeze Resort, Aufaga that was destroyed on 29/09 and is currently being rebuilt.

Death is like a knife going through your heart.

2010-07-14T02:56:00.000-07:00

Lesa Foti Tuvale is seventy-five years old. He is not a man who lives a sedentary life or who overindulges on heavy fare. Two weeks after the tsunami, Lesa sits under a canvas awning with a bush knife beside him. His hands are worn with black earth. He is the father of six children – one boy and five girls. Lesa’a daughter Leueta was killed in the tsunami. Often when a child dies, we are plagued with questions. Were we good parents? What could I have done differently? Our grief is serrated with guilt and self-doubt. Lesa is no different. On the morning of the tsunami, Lesa had angrily punished his daughter Leueta before she went to work at Taufua Beach Resort.

“This is the only daughter of mine that is naughty. I’m always looking for a stick to smack her with because she was very difficult and wouldn’t listen to her mother. This is the duty of the parent to discipline the children…but it’s so hard. I don’t know. I just pray to God and hope that I was doing the right thing. Who knows if I’m wrong or if my children are wrong – only God can judge.
It was dark when I got word that she had died. And her body had been found. I felt my heart breaking and tears sprang to my eyes. I left everything at that time and just went and sat at the hospital where they were bringing people. I just wanted to see her body. They brought in a group of bodies and I saw my daughter amongst them and I just went and wept on her. Its hard to explain. Its right about the saying that death is like a knife going through your heart, you don’t know how to move on.”

Who can heal the broken hearts and spirits?

2010-07-12T14:36:00.000-07:00

Junior Laki with his mum at Saleaumua. She is blind and when the tsunami came, he pushed her to safety in a wheelbarrow.

"In the villages,despite the circumstances, families welcomed us into their tents or makeshift fales, offered us water and food and still managed to give us a warm, dignified smile. It was a humbling experience...We met a puppy called Sunami, talked to children, mothers, fathers, a blind woman, a disabled person, a fisherman, a planter, a teacher, carpenter, a shop-keeper, taxi driver, a beach fale operator, ministers and their wives, chiefs, ninety year old great-grandmothers, a pre-school teacher and many more. Each had their own remarkable story to tell – stories of survival and loss, of incredible acts of kindness, of bravery. Some emotionally, physically exhausted, dazed and lost, some philosophical and strong, grateful to be alive and a gentle acceptance that it is God’s will and that life must go on.”
Malia Manuleleua, Volunteer counsellor, Psycho-social Response team, Samoa.

After. Thoughts. Rob Bebrouth. Survivor, Australia.

2010-07-10T12:16:00.000-07:00

The Aust team prep to fly out Rob Bebrouth.

My sincere hope is that the Samoans have learnt from this terrible tragedy and have put in place a Response Plan in the event of a repeat Tsunami because it is not “if” but “when”. This is especially important in the tourist areas and every Fale location should have a Response Plan in place and it must be communicated to all who come to stay.

After. Thoughts. Francis Keil - Survivor, American Samoa

2010-07-10T12:02:00.000-07:00

“It’s hard to explain how I felt when our home was destroyed. You want to get mad, but who are you going to get mad at? You work so hard, for so long to build something then it’s all taken away in five minutes. You feel like you’ve lost everything, lost hope, that’s how I felt. It was good that nobody in my family got hurt, that would have been worse. But it’s just like watching everything collapse in front of you.”

Conor's Tsunami Poem ( Age 8)

2010-07-08T01:34:00.000-07:00

Conor and his family at Lepa school where they spent the night after the tsunami.

T errifying
S amoa
U ltimate
N ature
A ttacking
M onster
I nsane.

(Conor and his family were holidaying at Faofao Beach Fales, Saleapaga on 29/09)

After. Thoughts. Becky Glew, Survivor.

2010-07-04T03:17:00.000-07:00

UK survivors, Helen Wright and Becky Glew, photo courtesy of ITN News.

"My boyfriend and I are expecting our first child on the 30th of July, 2010. Having a baby is something we had always talked about but I would put it off as ‘the time wasn’t right’. However, the tsunami made me realize that life is for living and there is not a minute to spare. The pregnancy has also made me look to the future instead of dwelling on the horrors of that day and it has truly helped me to move on. I still have fears and nightmares but my recovery from the trauma has been much swifter – it will truly be a magical baby when it’s born.”
Becky Glew, UK. Holidaying at Lalomanu on 29/09.

After. Thoughts. Sally Adye, Survivor

2010-07-04T03:07:00.000-07:00

"We will never ever forget the Samoan people that day and how they had lost so much. And yet they made sure we were alright. They gave us shelter, food and drink. They organized everyone and got us safely to Apia. We heard that it was after we all left that they started their own grieving. We will always be hugely thankful for all they did for us at such a traumatic and sad time. These wonderful people had not only lost loved ones and friends but they had also lost their homes and their livelihood.”
Sally Adye, New Zealand. Holidaying at Lalomanu on 29/09.

After. Thoughts. Fitiao Taitasi, American Samoa.

2010-07-04T02:56:00.000-07:00

“I want everyone out there to know how grateful we are for their love and support. There were so many people – even strangers – sending us messages of comfort on the internet and praying for us. I miss my daughter Vaijoresa so much, we have fixed up our house and everything, but it still doesn’t feel right because she’s not here to share it with us. It helps me to know that so many people out there are caring and hurting for us. There is no way I can thank all these people. They’ve been so supportive to me and my family. Please tell them in your book – thank you.”
Taitasi Fitiao, American Samoa.

An Initial Book Review

2010-07-03T04:52:00.000-07:00

The Tsunami Book recounts a few moments of terror that few in this life ever experience. Lani's ability to distill the actual experiences of individuals, families and villages is remarkable. Personally, my mental state can only absorb a few of them at a sitting. It has taken me much longer to read the book than I originally thought it would. I soon found that the reality of the disaster soon became very personal. Lani's descriptions created mental images of persons and places I know in a very general sense. But they soon became even more familiar as she takes us through the devastation, the anxiety and apprehension and the multiple routes of escape - and even through the agony of the tragic losses suffered.

I find little to critique in the vivid details of an experience of a lifetime. The value of the book is that it reconstructs those terrible events in a meaningful way for those who actually lived it. For those of us who were not there - it creates for us a realistic recap that stays in our minds as if we had been there.

- James Winegar, RLS Foundation

Running Wild

2010-07-03T02:52:00.000-07:00

Some tsunami stories are running wild.

Did you know that there’s a monster at Aleipata?. Or so they tell me. With hushed voices and huge gestures to emphasize how big it is, how fast it runs, how frightening it looks. Apparently, it’s a creature that used to live in a cave on the beach. ( don’t ask me which beach as they can’t really say…) It was happily living in this cave, only venturing out at night to get food from the ocean. Big fish, definitely. Dolphins and sharks, probably. Whales, when it got really hungry. It didn’t used to bother anybody. But then the tsunami came and ruined it’s cave. And the fishing was disrupted. And all the machinery and the mess on the shore drove the monster up into the hills. Into the forests and bushes. The same forests and bushes where survivors are living in shacks and tents. And now the monster is hungry. It’s eating stray pigs and chickens now, definitely. And lost cows, probably. And people need to be careful, very careful. The monster is hungry and it doesn’t like living in the forest. It misses the ocean. What does it look like? Like a bear, they tell me. A huge, wild, hairy bear. Or a yeti/Abominable Snowman sounding creature. Only much bigger. They tell me I shouldn’t be going to the forest in Aleipata to do interviews. No way. Too dangerous. They ask me if I saw all the helicopters that would fly over there all the time after 29/09? They shake their heads knowledgeably – the helicopters were looking for the monster. Only the army didn’t want to tell people the truth, in case they got scared. Of the monster.

Did you know that there’s a crocodile at Aleipata? A woman calls the newspaper to report a strange creature in her village of Satitoa. She thinks it’s a crocodile. A week later, the Samoa Observer has a picture of a little, furry, weasel-like animal. Not a crocodile. A mongoose. Sighted at Satitoa. They think it came from Fiji on a shipping container. Villagers are warned to keep their children away from the mongoose. Special traps are brought from New Zealand. Hunting parties are organized. Success! The mongoose is caught. Everyone hopes it hitched a ride to Samoa as a lonely bachelorette, exiled from all friends and family. And not as a mongoose mum with lots of baby mongooses.

But the monster? Apparently it’s still out there. Somewhere.

Running wild like a wild tsunami story.

All I saw was death coming.

2010-06-24T14:04:00.000-07:00

Ask Fineaso what happened. A young man with a welcoming grin, Fineaso has much to smile about. He’s a newly wed and the father of a miracle child. His son Narineaso was born two days before the tsunami and the New Zealand media called him – “the youngest person to survive Samoa’s devastating Pacific Tsunami.” Yes, Fineaso may be living in a tent with no running water and wearing clothes donated by compassionate givers in faraway lands – but his cheerfulness is catching. Especially when he talks about his son. Who was renamed Tsunami after September 29th. “My uncle saved him. We were so happy and relieved that he was alright. It was a miracle.”

That day Fineaso was sleeping in one of the beach fales that the family hired out to tourists. When the wave came he ran to the back house where his sister told him to grab their eighty-five year old grandmother.

“As I reached our old lady, the wave hit us and I was trying to keep her safe. It carried us and I was trying to swim until we reached a branch and so we tried holding on to it. I told her that we’ll wait here and if the wave comes again and carries us or kills us then so be it. I was just worried that a piece of metal would pierce myself or the old lady, but it was God’s will that we were saved.”

The next wave was far more cruel. “When it came it was all black and all I saw was death coming. I grabbed the old lady and we went but there was nothing more we could do because it caught us. But I didn’t let her go…I took her with me, I held her sleeve tightly in my left hand and started swimming with my right and when we got close to the mountain, I carried her on my back.”

Fineaso’s grandmother Fuailuma Sagale, is a wizened little old lady who’s eyes cloud over when she remembers their bewildering journey in the water.“When we got to the mountain he left me there and he went to help the others. I was very worried about everyone. Oh my goodness, this was something so different from anything that has ever happened to our village. My other son helped me up to the top of the mountain and there were so many people up there, small children, elderly people and everyone was congregated there.”

My wife said, 'You just want to be God.'

2010-06-24T13:59:00.000-07:00

Molesie and Silaumea Pritchard with their family.

Molesi Pritchard is a man of many talents. An electrician who has been busy since the tsunami, bringing light for his neighbors in their flimsy huts and tents. He’s a baker who would support his four children with sweet baked treats and hot bread. A musician and composer. Molesi cannot read but his wife Silaumea writes down all his songs. Including the new song he has written about the waves in their villages. Which is playing on the radio the day we come to visit.

After the earthquake ended, Molesi told Silaumea that they should go up the hill because there was going to be a tsunami. “My wife said I just want to be God and know everything all the time. But I replied that God doesn’t put anything bad in peoples hearts, he only sends good things and we should listen.”

Molesi scooped up his youngest daughter and started walking to the mountainside. He was midway up the steep cliff on one of many rough tracks when the waves came. He saw his wife and children washed away. He called the emergency number for help and they told him to get to higher ground, that help was on its way.“ I said, please my wife has died. I couldn’t see her, I couldn’t hear her so I thought she had died. Then I called the Red Cross number and asked them please we need help. My wife is dead and a lot of people in our village are dead. All our houses are gone.”

Molesi left his daughter at the top and came down to look for his wife and children. Thankfully she and the children were alive. Injured, but alive. He took them up to the hill where the rest of the village had gathered. On the fifth day after the tsunami, Molesi wrote the first song – about his wife. When he thought she was dead and when she was found. About his village of Saleapaga and how the sea washed it away.

Tsunami never happened in those days.

2010-06-24T13:48:00.000-07:00

At Lalomanu, the earthquake felt to Tufaiga Fatuesiafioga “like the ground was going to open up.” She told her mother they should get away from their house on the beach. “My mother said to me that nothing [like tsunami] ever happened in those days. I said to her that those days were different from these days.” When the wave came, Tufaiga was separated from her mother and washed out to sea. A drifting log saved her. Her mother and grandbaby both drowned. Raw grief is a gaping wound in our conversation.

I shut my eyes.

2010-06-24T13:39:00.000-07:00

Tina Niusila and her children.

Often it was the elders who resisted the messages of the media tsunami awareness campaign, shrugging the dangers off as “things that only happen in other countries.” Tina Niusila of Saleapaga told her parents they should go to higher ground. “Like what they said on the tv. Nobody was listening to me so I just got my kids together and we walked to the high road with our bag.” Sitting on the hill, Tina couldn’t bear to even look at the wave that engulfed her village. “I shut my eyes, I was too scared to look at it. I could only hear its noise.”

An excuse to make us get some exercise!

2010-06-24T13:24:00.000-07:00

James Belford with staff at Poutasi Hospital.

At Poutasi Hospital, the Nursing Manager James Belford remembered previous drills carried out by the Health Department. After the earthquake, with a wary eye on the sea several hundred meters away, he had his staff evacuate the handful of patients a short way up the hill and over the main road. Everyone thought it was a joke and there was much laughter. “Eh – did you ever see a tsunami here?! Of course not…we know you are just finding excuses to make us get some exercise a ea?!” They scoffed at James as they strolled to wait under the shade of the mango tree by the roadside store, but a precise, efficient man, he refused to be budged from adhering to department protocol. There was no laughter when the water came rushing in to the village below them.

Papa, fa'amalosi.

2010-06-24T00:33:00.000-07:00

The maximum runup of the Samoa tsunami was 14.5 meters - at Lepa village and 11.4 meters at Lalomanu. A standard two-storey house is eight meters high. Set it in the Samoa tsunami at its worst hit points and you wouldn’t even know it was there. But what does that mean for a regular person like you and me? I am five feet nine. It would take at least seven of me, standing on each others shoulders before I would be able to get my head above water at Lalomanu. What does that mean for a parent with a small child? Like thirty-five year old Maua Toa?

When the wave slammed into their village, Maua grabbed his seven year old son Aukuso and ran. They were smashed into a huge, majestic-sized breadfruit tree. Maua held his son crushed between him and the tree trunk. They were underwater while the sea tried to rip them away. Maua pushed Aukuso up into the branches of the tree, helping him climb higher and higher as the second wave engulfed them again. Higher than the roof of their samoan fale. Sweeping over the edges of their neighbors two storey roof. Maua was exhausted. Debris continued to plough into him, weakening his hold on the trunk. But Aukuso was foremost in his mind.

“When I looked up the wave was on top of us. I couldn’t breathe. The only thing I wanted was some air so my son could breathe…”

Maua shoved Aukuso further up the tree until he was safe. Crying above him in the final, smallest branches. Gulping mouthfuls of the sweet morning air. As Maua battled to keep his head out of the water, he thought about letting go. Giving in. But then Aukuso called to him,“Papa, be strong. If you die, I’m going to jump down so we will die together. Fa’amalosi!”

Maua hung on. A child’s plea gave him the strength he needed. “I did what my son was saying. I ended up being saved because of what my son said, to be strong.”

What i want my grandchildren to remember.

2010-06-24T00:26:00.000-07:00

Toetu Tauiliili of Leone, American Samoa, is the man who tried to carry Faatamalii So'oto to safety. Ask the fifty-three year old what he hopes his grandchildren will remember about the tsunami of 29/09 and he answers, “I just want them to remember that their grandfather was trying to save someone’s life and he got hurt from it. And that if I ever see somebody in the same situation as that person, I would do it again.”

Toetu is a not a man that you forget easily. He is tall and well-built, dark-eyed and handsome like the proverbial novels always say of their heroes. He speaks with baritone confidence and assurance. Toetu and his wife had a business in Leone village before the tsunami came. It was a sewing shop and convenience store. They lived at the back of the store and their home dropped down onto the rocky beach. The main road ran directly in front of the store and across the street was a little gas station, two red steel posts skirting the sole gas pump. On one side of their property was Francis Keil’s house. He worked at the Post Office. On the other side was the guest house where the old women came to do their weaving every day, sitting cross-legged in a sea of green coconut leaves. The elderly women were well known to Toetu. They would call out companionably to his children as they left for school and most days, Toetu and his wife would take over lunch for them.

Toetu was home alone that morning. After the earthquake, Toetu tried to warn the women of a possible tsunami. “Me and my friends were outside, looking at the ocean and when we saw it go dry. We went over to the old ladies and were trying to tell them they should go and leave but some of them didn’t take us seriously because nothing like this had ever happened before. So it was hard to try and convince them, not until they saw the water forming up into a wave – that’s when they started running.”

Toetu went to run himself, but as he turned, the plight of the elderly women caught him. “I saw two old ladies, they were having a hard time trying to run, so I went back and tried to help them. At that time, the wave was almost to the shoreline. The other lady, Fa’atamali’i had some physical problems and couldn’t walk good so I picked her up. I kind of put her on my back and told her to hang on tightly to me. Then I was trying to run with her and that’s when the first wave struck me.”

The water smashed Toetu and Fa’atamali’i into the gas station, pinning them against the metal poles. The same wave took Toetu’s van and lodged it on the roof of the gas station. “I got stuck between the rail and debris and it was all cutting me. I got cut on my stomach from the roofing iron and my leg was broken. I was still hanging on to Fa’atamali’i at that time…” The force of the wave dislodged the gas pump, that began spurting black liquid. “The gas pump was leaking, I was covered with blood, the ocean and the gasoline. We were under the water and I was really numb, my body was feeling so weak. I tried to hold on to the old lady…I tried, but her hand slipped out of mine. It’s like she let go…she slipped from my hands.”

Toetu was trapped there until the first wave receded and several men of his village helped to free him, carrying him up the road where a car took him to the hospital. Fa’atamali’i was found after the last waves had returned to the ocean. She was still breathing and attempts were made to revive her but it was too late and she slipped away. Toetu’s wounds are healing, but there are still other scars you cannot see. You hear their rawness though when he speaks of the elderly woman he tried to save.

“She was like a mother to us. I’m from Leone village, I was born and raised here. I knew this old lady, her husband, her children – we all grew up together. She’s like a mother figure to us. Even though we leave and we come back and we’re all grown, she still treated us like we were her kids. That was the sad part about it…”

There is comfort though, for Toetu, knowing that he risked all to help another. “I had an option, I could have just run – but I would have run knowing that she needed help. If I had done that, I think it would have hounded me for the rest of my life, at least I know that I made an effort, I tried.”

Maia's Tsunami Story ( Age 5)

2010-06-20T15:06:00.000-07:00

During the earthquake I went and got my jandals which were outside of our fale. A coconut fell on our fale during the earthquake.

When we saw a big wave coming, I ran up the hill. I was running with Auntie Diane first and then Auntie Marama.

I wasn’t scared. I saw the wave. It looked like a koru. It didn’t look big but then it got bigger and bigger.

I sat on the hill and looked at the land when the wave had gone, it looked like a flood. I saw helpers who were finding people.

I climbed back down the hill on my bottom and I dropped one of my jandals, but picked it up again.

The taxi was heavy with all of us in there, then we got out and walked up to the school. It was good the school didn’t get flooded and it had some food. We had dinner at the school and we slept in our clothes.

It was good that Suzanne, Ngatau and Nanny survived.
(Maia and her family were on holiday from Auckland, New Zealand. They were staying at Faofao Beach Fales, Saleapaga)

Teone's Tsunami Story ( Age 8)

2010-06-20T14:40:00.000-07:00

When the earthquake happened, we were by the girls fale. It was my cousin Matt who told us to run. I looked at the water, it was going fast. It looked like a normal wave when it was on the ocean, but it didn’t look normal when it came on the shore. I decided to sprint. I held my shoes and ran in bare feet. I was running by myself, my sister and my cousins were all in front of me. I saw Auntie Marama telling Nanny to throw her teacup away.

There were people going up a hill and so I leapt and jumped off a rock and climbed up the hill. I got a cut from the rock.

I saw Mum from the corner of my eye getting caught. I saw Ngatau climbing out of the water. I felt a little bit sad because I had lost some of my best toys. We sat on the hill and then moved into the shade. Someone gave us mosquito fly spray that we put on.
It was scary to climb back down the hill. We drove and walked up a hill to a school. We ate at the school. I had rice and chicken for dinner. I felt a lot safer – the biggest tsunami could only reach up to the bottom of the field so we would be safe there.
We slept there that night. It was a bit noisy. My Uncle Graham knows someone who lives in Samoa, his name is Steve and he got his ANZ cars to drive us to his house. Steve lived in Uncle Graham’s old house when he used to live in Samoa.
They took us to the airport. We came back on first-class. The best things about first-class were we could watch movies, listen to music, and your chair turned into a bed.
My scariest memory was when the tsunami nearly got me.
My best memory was getting the flight back home on the second day and being in first class.
(Teone and family were staying at Faofao Beach Fales at Saleapaga.)

After Thoughts. Thomas Gogola, Survivor.

2010-04-23T22:57:00.000-07:00

“After the tsunami we stayed in Apia for a few days, trying to pick up the pieces...as we talked to others who had lost family and friends and watched the death toll rise on television, my only question was – if God existed, then why would he have done this to such a religious country?”

Thomas Gogola,United Kingdom. Guest at Maninoa Surf Camp.

After Thoughts. Andrew Peteru, Public Health.

2010-04-23T22:48:00.000-07:00

NZ/AUST army help install water tanks at Saleapaga. Photo courtesy of the NZ Defence Force.

“We couldn’t have done it without international assistance – those people that came in and worked on the ground. Never mind about the ‘big wigs’ who say ‘we helped, we did this and that.’ Im talking about those who worked with us. Their careers are moving from one country to another in response to disasters. The people who helped us here – they’re now in Haiti helping with the earthquake response, that’s all they do. From here some had to leave quickly to go to the Indonesia earthquake disaster. That gave me strength that there is this international support. So when the Haiti thing happened, I felt for the Public Health director of the country, you’re thinking about all your counterparts and all these kinds of people when you watch TV and you see what’s happening over there. You know exactly who those people are and what they’re doing. For me, it was really amazing, I’m very grateful for their strength.”
Andrew Peteru, Asst. CEO Health, Samoa.

After Thoughts. Filomena Nelson, Disaster Management.

2010-04-23T22:46:00.000-07:00

“Sometimes people are ungrateful, very ungrateful…Whatever donations we get, we give out. If we get boxes of eleni ( mackerel) then we give out boxes of eleni. And some families say, we don’t eat eleni, our family don’t want this. And I just get disgusted by their ungratefulness, some of them don’t value the donations from people. I advise my staff, if the people don’t want it, just bring it back. But you know what? They don’t want to return it, the people complain but they still keep the eleni, they’ll eat it!”
Filomena Nelson, Chief Disaster Management Officer, Samoa.

After Thoughts. Robert Toelupe, Rescuer.

2010-04-23T22:43:00.000-07:00

“We need to get our kids to be more able in water. We live on an island surrounded by water and yet most people can’t swim. When I first moved back here, there were at least six drownings in the first three years and that’s way too high for a place that’s surrounded by water. During the tsunami, I saw people that were too scared to go and help others – because they couldn’t swim. If more of our people had been confident in the water, then maybe there wouldn’t have been so many deaths.”
Robert Toelupe, US Navy Veteran, Leone, American Samoa.

After Thoughts. Graham Ansell, Survivor.

2010-04-23T22:35:00.000-07:00

Teams search Lalomanu wreckage for the missing. Photo courtesy of the NZ Defence Force.
“We want to say how fantastic the fire service was, and the medical teams. They were there so quickly. Anyone who ever says that there was not enough fast action after the tsunami – they’re wrong. It was unbelievably good, especially for a country like Samoa where you wouldn’t think they would be that well organized. If we had that sort of reaction time in New Zealand, you’d be thrilled. It was sensational. I take my hat off to whoever helps organize Civil Defence in Samoa.”
Graham Ansell, New Zealand. Guest at FaoFao Beach Fales, Saleapaga.

After. Thoughts. Jared Schwalger, Father.Son.

2010-04-22T21:32:00.000-07:00

“Honestly I have to say that I have lost my faith in our people. I have lost my faith that some Samoans deserve a better chance in life, a better opportunity. After everything that’s happened, I try to make sense of it – why would people do such things? Why would people steal from people who have lost loved ones? They even stole the earrings from my daughter’s dead body. I think it’s because they never had those things, like mag wheels, pots and pans, spoons… We’re suffering because we lost our loved ones, we lost every single thing – homes, kids, parents – everything but for those people, the tsunami was a blessing. Now they have the chance to take all the stuff they never had before..”
Jared Schwalger, Malaela. Father of Teancum and Abish, taken by the 29/09 tsunami. Son of Jerry and Metita Schwalger, taken by 29/09 tsunami.

After. Thoughts. From Commissioner Tony Hill, FESA

2010-04-22T21:26:00.000-07:00

Commissioner Hill with overseas disaster response team members. Photo courtesy of the NZ Defence Force.

“I didn’t know that Mother Nature could be like this. I had trained for it but to have it happen in our own back yard, I just couldn’t believe it. Cyclones Ofa and Val were nothing like this. Out of the blue like this. The amount of lives that were lost …If it had hit Apia, we would have lost so much more. We were lucky it was early hours of the morning. People were awake. People were evacuating. We were very lucky that it was only a very small percentage of Samoa that got hit. It’s a wake up call. Its telling us – hey, you’ve got to be prepared. Out of all this, we’ve been very fortunate, we’ve got a lot of equipment given to us by the Australians and New Zealanders when they were here helping us out… What it’s saying to me now, is that you’ve got the equipment and you’ve got to put it into place and be ready.” Commissioner Tony Hill, Fire and Emergency Services Authority, Samoa.

After. Thoughts. From Henrietta Aviga, Volunteer Nurse.

2010-04-22T21:19:00.000-07:00

Henrietta Aviga helps transport a survivor to the main hospital. Photo courtesy of the New Zealand Defence Force.

“I have seen, I have felt and I now know the concept of a natural disaster. The biggest challenge for me was seeing my own people suffer and the disbelief that this would happen in Samoa. This has given me greater perspective about what is important in my life. I have learnt that family are precious and we need to treasure time spent with them. I am thankful to have been able to serve at home during a time of great need and will always remember the strength of our Samoan people. Their resilience and courage has been an example to me. The opportunity to actually be there and work with other health professionals was priceless. To witness the spirit of the local and global Samoan family in moving so quickly to assist and provide for tsunami victims was uplifting. It was a privilege to be there.”
Henrietta Aviga, Volunteer Nurse, Thursday Island, Australia.

After. Thoughts.

2010-04-22T01:08:00.000-07:00

“Building a house for rich people back home in New Zealand – they’re only showing off to their friends, they don’t need it. You build homes here in Samoa for the people of the tsunami – you’re not only building homes, but lives as well.” Jared Suisted, ‘Habitat for Humanity’ volunteer, Cambridge, New Zealand. ‘Waikato Times’ New Zealand.
“It’s been really good. It’s very different; hot, sweaty. Man, I’ve never sweated so much in my life! The work is slow. We’re working with wet timber, limited gear. We’ve got two hammers for four guys, one bench saw. We’re doing our best with what we’ve got.” Glen Cane, Habitat for Humanity Volunteer builder, Matamata, New Zealand. ‘Waikato Times’ New Zealand.

“I seriously believe there was a reason for this tsunami, it was a warning. These are signs of Biblical times. The flood occurred in the Bible and fires and major things occurred. This has to be a sign. We can talk scientific and say the plates shifted here and there and the heat has to come up through some volcano, well whatever, so be it, but it’s a miraculous thing. It’s a miraculous thing that we are all alive and we’re born in this world and we live in paradise, maybe we’ve abused it a little too much and taken it for granted. We need to go back and look at how and where we live and how not to abuse it.” Letiu Lee Palupe, Saleaumua, Samoa. Beside the tree that saved her life.

“The most important lesson for me from this tsunami – is that I never took such things seriously. When they were going through the tsunami drills and educating us about what to do, it wasn’t a big thing to me. It was only now that its happened, that we’ve learnt our lesson. We must learn, listen well to the warnings and the education that is provided by those groups who teach us about galu afi and other natural disasters…but for now, we just have to thank God for being alive.”
Vaelupe Olosepu, Malaela, Samoa.

, “I used to keep things for years, unwilling to let my kids use them. Nice sheets, towels, even clothes. I told my family we needed to save them for a special day. A special visitor. But then the tsunami came and took it all! Now I will teach my children and grandchildren not to keep things for years. They don’t matter. They wont last. Worry instead about being kind and share with everyone because things of this world wont last.”
Amy Purcell, Malaela, Samoa. Grt-grandmother of 3 yr old tsunami victim, Joseph Purcell.

“This is my only child left. I just thank God that one of my children survived...There has been so much kindness. Everything our family needed has been provided. After the [tsunami] we had nothing but we have been given so many things – a fridge, pots, plates and so much clothing and other things all the kindness and love of people. I just thank the goodness of people from our own country and all those from outside too.”
Tofilau Afatasi, Poutasi, Samoa. Father of two children killed in the tsunami.

They came to help. What was it like?

2010-03-28T01:49:00.000-07:00

Many people came to help after the tsunami. Vaughan Simpson from Cabella Construction was one of those who came on Wednesday and every day afterward until the searching was called off. Relying on only fragmented reports of the damage at Aleipata, he had mobilized his team on tsunami afternoon and they were on the road before daybreak that Wednesday morning. Thirty men loaded on four heavy duty trucks with ropes, bushknives, generators and other supplies. “We wanted to see what we could do to help. We didn’t really know the full scale of the disaster, we thought we would just drive until we saw someone who seriously needed our help. We were looking for the end of the line basically and we found it with Tony at Lalomanu. We arrived at half past eight and the fire brigade had just got there. We looked at Lalomanu and we just knew – this was the place to stop.”

It was a devastation that film cannot truly capture. You had to be there. Not on the road driving past, but really there. “From the road you couldn’t really see the thick of it. The houses had been pushed through the trees, leaving a shield of debris, like a shelter or blanket along the tree line. The natural lay of the land also meant the ground fell away from behind the trees…we called this area, Ground Zero. It was so thick. There was roofing iron, toilet outhouses, wire fences, furniture, fabric, dead animals, locals and tourists belongings, vehicles, kids toys – all pushed through the trees back and forth with each wave like clothes in a washing machine. Most of what was left in piles wasn’t much bigger than a meter long and so densely compacted that in some areas it would take three men, several hours to clear even one square meter.”

And of course, no media reports could capture the smell. “Anyone that’s been to Samoa will understand the heat. You can nearly chew the air as you come out of an airplane, and when you add water like rain or in this case, the saturated ground due to the waves – as the water evaporated up from the ground it was intense. In that heat, things go off really fast. Pigs, fish that had washed in with the waves and all the food that was in the many fridges and freezers, many which were full…frankly, the smell of some of these things made you want to vomit. But you kept searching. Some of the guys wanted to burn the bigger animals to stop the decay but we wouldn’t let them because the smoke would sit in the search area and hamper our efforts. Then, as the days went by, smell was the best way to locate the problem areas that needed searching. ”

The searching began with a prayer before the group spanned out. “We would walk in line to a grid pattern , left to right, back and forth, power pole to power pole, coconut tree to coconut tree. We would paint marks on trees to give us reference points or stand temporary markers so we could know exactly what areas had already been searched and continuously radio in where we were and which areas needed to be marked off.”

It was never as simple as just ‘walking in a line looking for a body’ though. Not with so much debris to get through. “Apart from the search line we also had five or six gangs with about six people in each that would work with chainsaws, bush knives and a small one ton excavator. These gangs were used to pull apart the very dense concentrated areas that were as big as half an acre. It would take them all day to get through.”

The searching was tinged slightly with apprehension. Major earthquakes are always followed in resultant days and weeks by aftershocks, some of them quite substantial ones. For a people already staggering from the previous day’s disaster, the earth shaking was a cause for alarm. For those on the tsunami sites as well as for those loved ones worrying and waiting for you at home. Throughout the day there were several aftershocks. Immediately cellphones would go off all down the search line, twenty or thirty of them, shrill and piercing as wives and family would hit speed dial. Where are you? Are you anywhere near the water? Did you feel that? Are you alright? You need to get to a safe place…Be careful… Heads would whip back for an assessment of the ocean, is that a wave? Is it pulling back? Were those rocks showing before? Then everyone would turn to look at the hill, gauging the distance that would need covering, scrutinizing for the best ways/paths up. Then huge breaths would be taken to steady tensely strung nerves. And the work would continue.

Life is Beautiful

2010-03-28T01:44:00.000-07:00

For Terisa, the tsunami of 29/09 was many things. It was a merciless thief. It took their businesses – “all of a sudden, everything’s gone, taken. Your sweat, what you worked all these years for. Nine years of hard work taken away.”

It robbed her of her peace. “I’ve always felt that the ocean was a calm, peaceful thing…it used to be a place where we could go sit and relax and to soothe your mind. Maybe in time, it will be a soothing place for me again, but now, if I go to the beach, all I can think about is that the tsunami’s coming back.”

It took her mother, robbing the So’otoa family of many more years with a woman who was their strength. Terisa's daughter Tiare and her cousins will not have a grandmother’s gentle wisdom to turn to as they become young adults and one day begin families of their own.

The tsunami was also a harsh teacher. “It made me stronger and more humble. It made me realize that God created us and God can take you anytime He wants. We’re only here temporarily, but life is beautiful and we just have to live it to the fullest every day. This tsunami has changed my life completely. Before, I would only go to church when I have time…I was like the black sheep of the family! But this disaster had made me stronger in my faith. I believe there must be a reason why I was supposed to live. When I think back to what happened to me – there’s no way that I should have survived. I should have died in that house. I am very fortunate. I don’t know how I survived but it was for a reason. And that’s what I’m trying to discover right now. What is my calling? To take better care of my family, my village and my people? In the past months now, I have gotten involved in different church and community groups…now I do things out of my true life, out of my heart. Not because I want anybody to like me, but because I truly believe that I could die and yet I haven’t done any good deeds for anybody else. This has strengthened my faith and also my relationship with my husband and daughter.”

Face your fears - it will make you Stronger.

2010-03-28T01:31:00.000-07:00

Some people seem to have more than their fair share of challenges. They are survivors. They weather life’s storms and in the face of adversity, they bend and then come back stronger. Rose Talalotu is a survivor. Even before a tsunami threw a hardware store on top of her as she ran across a crowded street beside the Pago harbor. Yes, even before that, Rose was a survivor. “I’ve been through a lot of perfect storms. I’ve been through two bad marriages. My first marriage I was stabbed and then after the divorce I was in a head-on-collision, a mean car accident. My second husband pulled a gun on me…my kids say I’ve got nine lives and I guess I’ve used up a couple of them already. Hopefully I have a few more left!”

Rose was born and raised in Honolulu but she came to American Samoa fifteen years ago to help care for her parents. After they passed away, she stayed on. Rose works at the Bay Hardware Tool Shop and was at their Pago branch on the morning of 29/09. The store is on the ocean side of the main road. Stand at the counter and you can look out over the grimy harbor, the docks piled high with shipping containers. When the quake ended, Rose looked out to the harbor “because I know if there’s a big earthquake, then there could be a tsunami. I looked out the window and the tide was still high so I thought, oh the water’s still high so that’s alright.”

Rose made herself a coffee and sat to work on her computer. She had her back to the sea and so did not see the drastic changes taking place behind her. Until Ma’a, her co-worker called out to her, “Hey Rose, come take a look at the harbor!” Two steps and one glance was all she needed to get her moving.

“I walked to the window and looked out. The harbor was empty, all the yachts looked like little toys on the bottom of the ocean. You could see the bottom of the harbor, the dirt and rubbish all scattered there.”

Rose yelled at Ma’a to grab the cashbox and run. Instead of taking off straight out the door, she herself went back around the counter to get her purse. She still wonders if maybe those few seconds would have made the difference to what happened next. Rose ran out the door and tried to cross the busy street. It was school hour and buses battled with cars coming in to town to work. Drivers had no eyes to see the water that was fast approaching them. The surge hit the buildings on the harbor line first, many of them crumbling. Then the tsunami swept into the traffic, pushing buses and trucks into a mad jumble of automotive fury. Rose had just made it to the far sidewalk when she saw it…” out of the corner of my eye I could see the water coming and not long after that, all the buildings and the tool shop, they were right behind me. That’s when I got caught in the tsunami. I was just rolling and rolling, for a long time I was under water.”

As she tumbled in the water, Rose was being bashed by wood and metal debris. “I could feel everything hitting my head. The water was deep because I couldn’t feel the bottom and I couldn’t see anything because the water was so dirty and filthy, filthy, filthy…” Rose was taken to the far end of the street. A virtual dam of debris that used to be the hardware store, landed on top of her. She came up gasping for air only to find herself trapped underneath a sloping roof. There was a narrow pocket of space between her head and the black water. She hung on and hoped desperately the water level would not rise any further. In those next few minutes, Rose heard something she will remember for the rest of her life. Someone, trapped in the water beneath her, scrabbling and scraping wildly against the wreckage for escape.

“I could feel that there was somebody under there. I didn’t know what to do, the water was so dirty I couldn’t see anything…I could feel them creeping and making this scratching noise and then I heard a last breath being released, like a gurgle. I was so scared…I thought oh my God…”

Rose knew when the wave changed its mind and began its retreat to the ocean. It tugged and pulled at her as she struggled against its command to go with it. “When the water started going back to the harbor I could feel my hair going back, getting pulled and I was afraid because I didn’t know whether all the debris was going to shift and the whole thing would just come down and smash me..”

As quickly as it had come, the water left. Rose fought her way out of the wreckage, crawling towards the sunlight. “I kind of pulled away the lumber and wires and fixtures and electrical wire I was tangled in. I stuck my hand out of the mess and yelled for help. A kid came, Michael, he heard me and he called these other three guys to move all the stuff and pull me out. First they were carrying me up the hill but I wanted to try and walk so I could see if I had any broken bones.I stood up and looked back and there was no store left. I started crying because I just thanked God for my blessings because if I had been in the store I don’t think I would have made it. That’s when I started feeling the pain…”

Rose had full body bruises, numerous cuts that needed stitching, a severe head injury, broken fingers. Her face swelled up so badly that she was unrecognizable. “I didn’t want anyone to touch me because I was in so much pain. And I really wanted to wash because I was so filthy. For days afterwards, I could still smell that stink water on me.”

Two days after the tsunami, friends found Rose’s handbag that she had grabbed from underneath the counter. The eight dollars cash was gone, but her passport and money cards were still there. She was able to fly out to Hawaii that weekend to get medical care closer to her children and grandchildren. She laughs as she recalls the look on the Immigration officer’s face when she handed him her tsunami-trashed passport. “Oh that thing stank so bad! Everyone could smell my passport…I hated to even put it in my bag it was so awful…”

Rose couldn’t sleep beside the sea in those first days after the tsunami “I was staying at my cousin’s place and she lives right beside the ocean and I had to go stay at my house inland because I could hear the waves outside and I was so scared just hearing the water.” But now, she has taken steps to overcome that apprehension. She is back at work at the newly rebuilt Tool Shop, looking out over the placid harbor. And she is deliberately staying with a friend who lives beside the ocean. “I have to get over my fear. I remind myself that you need an earthquake before a tsunami comes so we have to just watch out for the signs. I like to go fishing and swimming. So I’m working on it. I look out every day at the ocean to make myself get used to it again.”

Rose Talalotu is a survivor. What keeps her going? “My kids and grandkids. Nobody wants to lose a parent…I want to see my children and grandchildren grow up. Its mostly for them that I survived, strong mind, strong will…the best way to overcome your fears and your struggles? Just face them. It will make you stronger.”

The Little Things.

2010-03-18T02:33:00.000-07:00

The Samoan word for gift is ‘meaalofa’. Things of love. Things from love. Ask any survivor of the Samoa tsunami about the help they received after their ordeal and they will tell you – there has been so much love that they have been overwhelmed. Everywhere, people reached out to give what and where they could. In the wave of goodwill that flowed through the disaster zone, there are those ‘little things’ that people remember.

A handful of nails. That someone left on a brick. Where a white flag was raised in amidst the broken remains of a home in Saleapaga. On the flag an appeal was inscribed, Need Help: Need H2O tank, food, hammer, nails, axe…Thank you! Someone passing by responded and quietly gave a handful of nails.

A hot meal. Australian volunteer paramedic Steve Williams was caring for the injured at the National Hospital on that endless Tuesday. He got a call from another pair of volunteers, Have you eaten today? Later that afternoon they came to the hospital. With a homemade meal big enough to feed a Samoan-sized family. Steve remembers, “I’ll never forget that you know? They wanted to do something to help and it was just so thoughtful…”

A ride to the hospital. One woman remembers the total stranger on the ferry ride from Savaii to Upolu island. Who noticed her distress upon hearing of the tsunami. Her tears of worry for her family in Aleipata who had been taken to the hospital. When the boat docked at Mulifanua, the man offered to take her to the hospital. A forty minute drive. Once there, he then accompanied her inside and was there to catch her when she finally collapsed with the stress of her morning. Francis Craig shrugs, “She was so upset, what else could I do? She needed some help.”

Lip balm. Wendy Pearce from Christchurch, NZ lost everything in the waves. “The only thing I had left was the lavalava I was wearing.” A woman offered to take them to the NZ High Commission. “When I asked her to stop at a shop so we could buy Vaseline for my sunburnt lips, she kindly went in and bought us shampoo, deodorant, moisturizer and a bottle of wine as well – that made us start crying again.”

A gas bottle. A veteran Red cross volunteer was moved to tears when she tried to buy two gas stoves for families hit by the tsunami. “The company wouldn’t take any money from the Red Cross. Even better, it donated ten stoves and bottles…[me] and the gas man cried together.”

A coconut. The Cedermans from Raglan, NZ fled Lalomanu beach and sought refuge in the mountain hills with many others. “No sooner had we run for our lives – then a Samoan man climbed a tree and chopped off about twenty coconuts with a machete so everybody could have a drink…and soon after someone from a nearby village on higher ground produced lots of little dumpling-like eats and suddenly it was almost like a church picnic.”

A beloved Spiderman toy. A young tsunami survivor was taken from his hospital room for an xray. When he returned it was to find that strangers had visited during his absence. A family. A six year old boy with a cheeky glint in his eyes. Who came with cookies and candy. And his favourite toy. To give to the boy “who is hurt and sad from the tsunami…maybe he can play with it and feel better.”

A lavalava. Given to a young survivor from New Zealand. Who lay in agony from her injuries after the tsunami, uncaring that all her clothing had been ripped away in the waves. “This guy came and took care of her leg first – it was pretty bad. She ended up later needing several operations. He got her leg free and then he took off his own lavalava and covered her. She said she hadn’t even realized that she was naked until that moment, and she was emotional remembering his thoughtfulness.”

A roll of toilet paper. When people go to stay at the National Hospital they take many of their own supplies. A pillow. A fan. And toilet paper. Stunned tsunami survivors, some of them brought in naked with cuts covering their entire body, were then faced with a lack of the essentials. A woman came to the tsunami ward on Wednesday morning bearing hastily assembled hygiene kits. Frangipani soap and lotion, washcloths, toothbrushes – and toilet paper.

A hot shower. A young couple escaped from Coconut’s Resort at Siumu with little more than their lives. That night, friends Rob and Katie Wetzell invited them to stay with them. “That night we had a hot shower. I washed the sand out of J's cuts and bathed him in hydrogen peroxide. Everywhere I looked he had a scratch, scrape or abrasion. We petted cats and dogs then laid down to dream of tsunamis and the events of the day.”

Poppy Wilson's Story

2010-03-18T02:25:00.000-07:00

Poppy and Max Wilson outside Lalomanu Hospital.

Time - 7am
Day - 29th September
Samoa
In my sleep I felt a strange rumbling and I thought it was a massaging machine but as I woke my Dad was yelling “Get out of the Fale” He grabbed me by my foot and dragged me outside.I realised we were in a big low rumbling earthquake that went on and on. When it stopped I went back into the Fale and got dressed. At that point dad joined me and talked to me about staying close as he suspected that something else could come after the earthquake.
I said “Dad I need to go to the toilet”.
Dad replied “Yes but if you here me calling come no matter what”.
I went to the toilet block and locked the door behind me.Then I heard screams and my Dad yelling
“POPPY, POPPY, POPPY”
I bolted out of the toilet I was very frightened because the tone of my Dad’s voice
was very desperate and I could also hear other people screaming and yelling…
“RUN, TSUNAMI”
I saw Dad by the Fale and ran to him.I dropped the Fale keys in the hidey-hole.
Dad said“RUN IN FRONT OF ME”
He pointed to the cliff behind the toilet block that I was just in. Dad was right behind me yelling“GO, GO, GO”Every time he said GO I ran even faster.Maxwell was already well ahead of us.We ran over a rubbish pile.I dropped my beautiful fan that I had just bought the day before for 5 Tala.We started to climb the cliff using the roots and branches of the trees.

Maxwell was climbing in front of me, my dad was behind us both yelling
“GO GO, don’t look back”
We got about 15 meters up. I couldn’t reach the next tree root
“Dad I can’t go any further” I screamed.Dad yelled to Maxwell to grab my hand.
Dad pushed my feet from underneath.Maxwell cried“If I’m going to die, at least I’m going to die with you guys”.
Dad replied“Don’t be so stupid just GO”
Then the first wave hit the cliff.A yellow car was tossed up against the cliff. At that point I became very frightened .I climbed the cliff so fast that I can’t remember climbing it.At the top of the hill we were all alone.I was so frighten I was balling my eyes out.Then I saw movement in the bushes and I said
“Hey other people”but a stupid pig appeared instead.2 other Children turned up.
They were really frightened and crying for Their Mother and fathers.
Then 2 Samoan boys came running towards us.One of them was yelling for his Mum.
Dad stopped them from going down the cliff and told them to stay with us.
Dad turned his attention me and the other little girl to calm us down.
While dad wasn’t watching one of the Samoan boys went down the cliff.
We never saw him again.Eventually the other children’s parents appeared
over the rim of cliff.Dad told me to hold onto another little girl who was also crying and very frightened as he went to look for our friends Jenny and Sophie.
Dad reappeared with Jenny and Sophie Jenny had a sore foot.
After a while there was lots of people with us. Most of them wanted to go back down,
but dad said
“Don’t, We don’t know what’s coming next
Then as a group we started to walk away from the cliff,through the bush. Going inland We came across a Samoan man who told us to go to the hospital which wasn’t far from where we were.We arrived at the hospital and we cleaned all our scrapes and burses with wet cloths.
I saw a woman crying over her dead baby.The hospital got really busy and frightening so we walked further up the hill on a sharp gravel road in bear feet.
We found a house that was half built.Other people had already started to gather there.
We sat down and dad found some water to drink. After I drank the water I vomited.
Strangely I felt much better after that.We cleared an area for us to lie down
as we believed that we would be staying the night.Then some Samoans turned up with woven matts and pillows to make us more comfortable.In the house with us were a lot of badly wounded people and 2 families that had lost children.
Then a van came with cooking rings and food.They set up a cooking area and prepared us food to eat.After a while the wounded were taken down to the hospital.
Then cars turned up and before we knew it we were on the back of a ute and driving down the road.We drove past the hospital and it was over crowded with lots of injured people.Then we drove past what was our resort, which was totally destroyed.
I saw a leg and a head poking out of the sand on the beach.It took us 1 hour, 50 minutes to drive thought the destruction zone to Apia.
We arrived in Apia on sunset and went to a motel to stay the night.At 4:30 the next morning the church bell rang.We all leapt out of bed and ran out side,
Up the stairs to the top story of the motel thinking it was a warning for another Tsunami.But they were just calling people to early church.
The next day dad got us on the late flight back to New Zealand.We left Samoa with just our shorts and tee shirts.We had lost everything else
to the Tsunami.The Samoan’s of Litia Sini at Lalomanu lost everything
including family and friendsBut they still made us their first priority.
They are truly kind and loving people.We are collecting money to help them rebuild their lives, so please give generously.

Poppy Wilson
Age 10
Speech date - Friday 16th October 2009
Coatesville School

My son who was lost - and then was found.

2010-03-09T21:24:00.000-08:00

You know that feeling you get when you’ve forgotten something but you don’t quite know what it is? You’ve left the house, you’re on your way to work – and you have that niggling feeling that you’re not quite complete?

Rita Romeo, 36 - of Lalomanu had that feeling on September 29th. As she chased her children up the steep embankment at the back of their beach fale operation. As she tried to tell her guests to follow them to the mountain. As she went back to scream at tourists who were holding tightly to the posts of her dining fale, telling them – “Don’t be stupid, those posts won’t save you! You have to run up the mountain. Run!”

As she watched the girl who owns the ice cream shop on the beach, turn back and run to her house as if she had forgotten something, ignoring Rita’s shouts.“Come back! Cant you see the wave is here? Come back. We have to run.”

As she saw the girls house collapse in the wave with a loud banging sound.

As she scrambled up through rocks and bushes. Pulling on roots and branches to get up the steep mountainside. Turning to grab an older palagi woman by the arms, scraping her bare legs raw as she dragged her up and over rocks.

Even as she gasped for breath at the top of the hillside, watching the ocean consume their village, their home, the twenty open beach fales they rented out to visitors for a day, a night, a weekend. Yes, even then, Rita had that terrible feeling that she had forgotten something. Or someone.

Rita has eight children. The youngest still toddles over to nurse. At the close of day, as sunset burned the evening sky, Rita would usually take a few moments to sit in the main fale with her child at her breast – a few moments of contentment as she surveyed the tourist operation that she and her husband had worked so many years to build/develop. They were extending their business – a restaurant and a roadside store. A White Sunday opening was planned.

But on that desperate Tuesday, as she stood with her family and guests on the mountainside, Rita realized with horror what she had forgotten. Her six year old son Livi. Asleep in the bedroom when the wave came.

Who can know what she endured as she waited for the water to recede? “After the wave finished I felt sadness. As I looked out over the villages there were no houses. All I said was ‘oh Lord what have we done to deserve this?’ I felt so much grief when I heard people crying, wanting to live. I thought Livi was dead too. I couldn’t do anything.”

It didn’t seem possible that anyone could survive the ocean beast. But Livi did. An hour after the tsunami, he was found underneath a pile of rubble. “He was found by a woman named Salome. She said she saw him crouched down under all the wood and roofing. He must have been trying to get up for breath but he couldn’t because of the debris. Many people were under all that rubbish. Salome saw a body down there close to where she was standing and then she reached down to bring it out and he came up and it was my child and he was alive.”

Livi’s chest was cut and badly bruised. He had ingested a lot of seawater and would need some serious antibiotics for the infection. But two weeks later, he would be his usual mischievous self. Pestering the team of Australian army volunteers who came to clean their beach with amazing machines that could drive into the ocean, growling over coral on the sea floor.

Rita would watch him run over golden sand beside crystal water and shake her head in quiet awe. “We are thankful to the Lord for sparing us and our eight children. Especially my son Livi who was lost and then was found.”

Stories of the 'Galu Afi'. (Published in the Samoa Observer)

2010-02-14T19:17:00.000-08:00

Soil sample done at Aleipata showing previous tsunami deposits.

Rudyard Kipling said – “If history were taught in the form of stories, it would never be forgotten.” Throughout the course of my work gathering survivor stories from tsunami areas, I continue to be amazed at our lack of historical knowledge of previous tsunami in Samoa. Even the very old are shaking their heads, “No, my grandparents never told me anything about such things…No, this has never happened before in Samoa…No I have never seen or heard of any such thing before – this is the first time this has happened to our country.”

The science history tells us this is simply not true. In 1980, the International Tsunami Information center released a report compiled by George Carayannis – The Catalog of Tsunamis in the Samoan Islands. For this report, they researched old newspapers and other publications stored in the Hawaii, New Zealand and American Samoa archives, as well as reports from the Apia Observatory. Beginning in 1837, a total of sixty tsunami events were located. Here’s a sampling –

*November 7, 1837: An earthquake in Chile started a ‘sea wave that was felt in the Hawaiian Islands and in the Samoan group.’

*August 14, 1868: The great Peru earthquake and tsunami destroyed settlements in Apia.

*March 24, 1883: After experiencing shocks of earthquakes…the east end of Savaii was visited by a tidal wave which swept away all houses within a quarter of a mile of the beach for a distance of fifteen miles along the shore.

*1905 – 1911: The ongoing Matavanu volcano eruption which began on August 4 of 1905 generated a series of small tsunami caused by avalanching material into the sea. The largest of these was on October 6, 1907. A twelve foot high wave came from the Northeast round the lava point and at the DHPG “a boat house was wrecked, a buggy smashed, several boats damaged. A house was lifted off its foundations and carried across the road along with a 400 gallon water tank…”

*February 11, 1895: The New York Times reported the devastating effects of a severe hurricane that wracked the Manua Islands in conjunction with a severe earthquake. While technically not a tsunami, people reported a massive storm surge of water that ripped through villages “the very soil was torn from the coral rocks and the coffins in new-made graves were left exposed.” Three people were killed, one beheaded by flying wreckage.

*June 25,1917:Another tsunami. Reports from the Apia Observatory list “Earthquake about 150 miles from Apia. Magnitude 8.4. Destructive tsunami on south coast.” The Samoa Times of June 30th, 1917 relying solely on hearsay, wrote -

“On the Aleipata coast the tidal wave is described as sweeping in a white wall of foam more than ten feet in height. Although dead low water at the time, the advancing wall of water swept over high water mark and across the beach into adjacent native houses. They were washed away. In Lotofaga the wave swept over the beach and reached into the plantations at the rear. About two chains of solid cement wall, a foot thick and three feet high were lifted up and carried away, pieces weighing over half a ton being shifted for fully 30 feet. Half the village was submerged and houses destroyed. At Palauli a bridge was washed away and houses destroyed. At Satupaitea a copra house was taken down the coast for a quarter of a mile, all native houses were demolished. In Tutuila, a wave swept through Pago Pago destroying many houses. Most of those living in Pago Pago took to the hills. No lives were lost.”

There are eighteen other tsunami listed in the catalogue which hit the Samoa group in the period from 1917 to 1960. IN May 1960, archives recorded, four foot waves in Apia. Six feet in Lalomanu. Fifteen feet in Fagaloa Bay with complete submersion of houses. Villages of Neiafu, Sasina, Tuasivi and Tufutafoe all extensively damaged. But the greatest wave was seen in Pago Pago with a peak range of over fifteen feet, destroying houses, churches and schools. No lives were lost. The Carayannis catalogue continues to list various other smaller tsunami events. (anyone interested in reading it can find it online)
I am not a scientist. But it doesn’t take much more than common sense to make several observations. First - tsunami/galu lolo/galu afi are NOT rare or uncommon events for Samoa. And they usually hit the same areas of our islands every time – Aleipata is a recurring favourite. Because of our location, because of the wild unpredictability of Mafui’e, because of that deep chasm called the Tongan Trench – tsunamis have happened to Samoa with enough regularity that we should not be completely taken off guard when they do. Most tsunamis in the past 150 years have been small, barely noticeable. Some were mildly unsettling. And once in a rare while, they were immense and cataclysmic. But what a Samoa tsunami should never be, is a complete shock.

Second; previous tsunami, even the big ones, didn’t have a deadly impact on us. Again and again we read No lives were lost. Yes houses were wiped out. And vegetation was left brown and the land scarred. But there are no reports of deaths on the same scale as Sept 29/09. Why? I echo many others when I state the obvious…because back then we didn’t live on the shore like we do now. And it was because back then, we knew enough about the natural warning signs to move. Run. Climb. As soon as the earth shook. Long and hard. A hundred years ago, we didn’t need the Pacific Tsunami Warning Center to tell us a tsunami was coming. We didn’t wait for a cellphone text to make us evacuate to higher ground. A hundred years ago, grandparents told their children stories about ‘galu afi’. About what they should do when there was a mafui’e. They told them about what they themselves had experienced. What they had seen. They told them what the ocean sounded like… “a hungry beast that roars…an animal that jumps out of the sea and runs like fire across the land…” And children would listen. Wide eyed. And remember.

What of now? The last major tsunami to hit Samoa was only fifty years ago. Some of us were not born then, but many others were. They walk among us. Where are their voices? What of their stories? I have interviewed over one hundred survivors living in the tsunami affected areas. Only four people spoke of previous tsunami events. Ninety-two year old Suliane from Saleaumua remembers her father warning her about ‘lolo afi’. “He said he hopes I will never experience one because he has and it is something so terrible.” A fifty-seven year old woman from Satitoa remembered what her father had told her about strong earthquakes and the memory probably saved her family’s life. “He told me that if there is a strong mafui’e then I should run fast to the hill because the sea will come very quick”. He said don’t wait.” Another woman was ten years old during the 1960 event. She remembers the sound the wave made when it came sweeping through Saleaumua. A man from Vaovai recalled his elders talking about ‘galu afi’ but being unsure what they meant. Now, after 29/09, he has no doubts. “They called it galu afi because of the way it moves – its so fast, it runs like how a fire burns over the grass. And because of how powerful it is. Nothing can stand against it. It destroys everything. “

Many more survivors spoke of the media awareness campaign carried out by the DMO. Because of the ads on tv, they knew about the signs of tsunami and what they should do in case of an earthquake. However, knowing and acting are two harshly different things. Too many times, survivors said – we remembered what the tv told us but we ‘never thought such things could happen in Samoa. Tsunami only happen in other countries. Not here.’Some even ran towards the beach to see what the wave looked like “because I never knew what this thing tsunami was..”

People tell me they won’t need a book to remember the tsunami of 29/09. They say their children will never forget what happened that day either. And as I look into their eyes where the ocean still haunts, I believe them. Indeed, now that we have seen one, it is difficult to understand how Samoans ever ‘forgot’ what galu afi were in the first place. For those in particular who were there, who fought with the waves for survival, who saw children taken from them, the memory will always remain.

But what of our grandchildren? And their children? Who will make sure they remember? And why would you want them to? There is safety in the remembering and valuable life-saving messages in the stories of survivors. There can also be healing in the sharing of such stories. While there are those who do not wish to speak of their trauma, there are so many more who want to be heard.

The book commissioned by Mr Keil can only scratch the surface of preserving community cultural memory. What is needed is a concerted effort to share, record and preserve the stories of the 29/09 tsunami survivors. Teachers can encourage children to write stories and draw pictures of what they saw and felt that day. Local media can seek out survivors and offer them a forum to have their stories video taped or transcribed. Individual village councils could organize to gather the stories of their area. Thanks to modern technology, recording stories is not difficult or expensive. Many cellphones can record, as do MP3 and iPod players. Utilize the techno-wisdom of teenagers and their gadgets. Then take the time to sit, ask, listen and record.
What can we do with the stories? In Hawaii there is a Pacific Tsunami Museum that has an extensive archive of video interviews of tsunami survivors. Shortly after 29/09, a team visited Samoa and did twenty plus video interviews with survivors to include in their archive. We too can certainly put our tsunami stories in the National Museum. And the library. But we can also put them into daily living. Curriculum planners can incorporate such stories into school resources. What better way to teach a unit on seismic geology or oceanography than to discuss the subducting fault lines that lie so close to us? How better to illustrate the need to preserve our coastal environment than by using the UNESCO 29/09 report that clearly shows how reefs and mangrove forests offered protection against the tsunami’s wrath? And future disaster awareness campaigns could surely be made even more effective if they included the stories, the living words of survivors. Wouldn’t you be more likely to listen, believe and act - if a disaster awareness advertisement included a clip of a survivor telling what happened to them? The same could be applied to cyclone safety messages. Where are the stories of those who experienced the hurricanes of Ofa and Val?

There are many clamoring for a national warning system to be put into place with sirens everywhere. Faster seismic measuring, quicker wave detection, better satellite hookup, fancier lightning-like communication devices. And certainly there is merit in all those ideas. But any disaster management expert will tell you – the best way to be safe in any disaster, is to be individually prepared. To be aware, to be educated about the hazards, the risks and the strategies to deal with them. Have that escape route marked out for your family. Know what the signs of oncoming disasters are and what to do. Be ready to act on that knowledge. As we turn to modern technology to get ourselves better prepared for any and all disasters, let us not overlook the power that can be found in the sharing of our stories, the passing on of experiences through the generations. Because as our ancestors well knew – sometimes, the best way to teach someone something – is by telling them a story.

For more help on how to gather survivors stories see: ‘Capturing the Next Generation of Cultural Memories – The Process of Video Interviewing Tsunami Survivors.’ By Dudley, Goff, Johnston. Science of Tsunami Hazards, Vol.28 (2009) Avail. Online.

Two Tins of Pisupo

2010-02-09T21:03:00.000-08:00

Today we went back to Vaovai and Poutasi village. We drove inland on a rocky dirt track to meet with several families who have relocated and are slowly rebuilding. We met a man along the road, heading for the plantation with a basket of popo on his shoulder. He was happy to speak with us but the rain sent us scooting for shelter into the nearest house. Another tsunami survivor family. They graciously welcomed us in. The head of the home is an older gentleman in a wheelchair. His daughter and grandbaby died in Vaovai. He was not there on tsunami day because he had spent the night at their plantation house. He is still somewhat bemused as to how and why his daughter died.
"She was a very strong woman. Her husband is a carpenter and he's always away in Apia doing jobs so she looked after the family by herself. She would do the plantation and go fishing. She was a very good swimmer. She wasnt big and fat and slow like lots of other women...I dont know how she couldnt survive the tsunami..."

During the conversation, he sends his grandson to the store to buy two cans of pisupo. We are served a sumptuous lunch - rice, pisupo, tuna, sweet hot tea. The family sits there and watches us eat. I feel terrible. We have come to gather stories from people who lost everything and they are feeding us the very best. We apologetically explain that we cant drink the tea. "We are Mormons..." The man laughs. He jokes "Dont worry, I wont tell on you...see, look at our roof? You are sitting under it and God cant tell if you have some tea today!" Then he sends his grandson back to the store. To buy large bottles of coke for us instead. I feel more terrible. We eat. I havent had pisupo for about three years now...all that trying to be low-fat and healthy you know. But it would be even more terrible if I didnt eat. They bring bowls of water for us to wash our hands. We depart well-fed. With many good wishes and blessings, hopes for our work to go well this day.

Another dirt road. Another interview. This time with several men resting in the shade beside cut trees. Yes they were in the tsunami. Yes their houses were ruined. But life is good. Nobody in their family died. The main speaker - an elderly man in his sixties - has 40 head of cattle which he points out proudly. A wriggly house in the bush.They get us fresh niu to drink. And give us another basket of niu to take with us. "Better than spring water! You take these to keep you refreshed during your work. "

We drive back to town. Humbled. Grateful. For Samoan hospitality. Generousity amidst devastation. For the kindness and courtesy of strangers. We ask a lot of people as we visit. Please welcome us into your home. Please share your tsunami story. Please allow us to see your loss. Please let us witness your attempts to rebuild. Time and again, they do. With grace. With warmth. With patience. And sometimes, with pisupo.

Thank you.

The Tales of Your Ancestors

2010-02-03T12:36:00.000-08:00

How many of us listen to the tales of our grandparents? Stories from their childhood. Times when they were growing up and life was (of course) harder, and slower, and they had so much less than we take for granted now. Do we listen – and remember? Do we listen – and learn? Or do we roll our eyes and sigh, politely hiding our yawns, but with our thoughts miles away?

Falimu Mautu’s family at Satitoa owe their lives to their mother, Aniva. Who long ago as a child, listened to her father tell stories. Among them a story of when he was a child. And there was an earthquake, mafui’e. And afterwards, the sea came. Not a mildly irritated sea, but a roaring demented one that ripped through their village, wiping out houses and leaving the land scarred brown. He told a wide-eyed Aniva, ‘whenever there is a big mafui’e, then you can be sure, the sea will come. You must not wait. You must run. Quickly.”

Aniva’s daughter Falimu is twenty four years old. She was on the roadside waiting for the bus to town when the earthquake came. She went back into the house to check on her family, in time to hear her mother.

“My mother was saying the earthquake was too strong and we had to start running because the sea would come soon. She called out to my father who was cutting grass at the back of the house and my dad said, no there wouldn’t be anything like that.”

But Aniva was insistent. She screamed at the children who were preparing to leave for school.

“No! No-one’s going to school. We all have to run.Now!”

Frightened, the children followed their grandmother’s directive and began running with her back towards where the distant hill began its slope upward. Falimu picked up her baby and followed them. Her father put down his bushknife and started after his wife, still shaking his head at the strangeness of women. Still unconvinced but unwilling to risk the inevitable tirade that comes when one ignores a wife. As she ran, holding her grandchildrens hands, Aniva continued to shout – calling out to the neighbors they passed,

“Run! Run! We all have to run because the sea will come soon…”

They were midway up the hill when the sea came and overpowered their village. Hearing the hungry wave, Aniva’s husband turned back to try and get his mother, 109 year old Fa’aliu. His son went with him. The two men could not fight their way through the water in time. Both were injured. Falimu’s brother was crushed under a broken cement wall and would later be taken to New Zealand for surgery to help him walk again. The family matriarch Fa’aliu was buried in Satitoa by the remains of the Mautu home. With her are the others in the extended family who died – forty-five year old Sefulu, seven year old Satelite, and a seven month old baby, David.

After the tsunami, Falimu is emphatic, “No, no one in our family is going to live near the sea again. We’re all going inland because this isn’t the last natural disaster. There will be more mafui’e one day.” And for now – Falimu will tell her grandchildren stories. And hope they will listen. And never forget.

The Leone Tsunami Club

2010-02-01T12:51:00.000-08:00

In the village of Leone in American Samoa, there is a black pool laced with twisted mangrove trees. The still waters drain lifelessly into the rocky sea. Clinging to its muddy banks is a helter skelter lean to. There is a table – scuffed and dented, salvaged from debris. An assortment of battered chairs. Here, at the back of a slowly rebuilding village, here is where the Tsunami Club meets.

A full moon hangs heavily in a placid night sky. The evening hums with mosquitoes. A cool wind blows in from the ocean. Light spills from half-finished homes where families prepare for sleep. Hopefully, a sleep unfilled with tsunami dreams.

But here in this swamp-side shack, eight men are gathered around the unsteady table. Playing cards. They tell me that for five dollars, anyone can join in. Cold beer costs a dollar. But they graciously offer me one for free.

“We started meeting here after the tsunami. Our houses were broken. Our days were busy with clean up and building new homes. We’re all victims here. All of us made it through the tsunami. So we started meeting here every night. Playing cards. Having a few beers….we’re the tsunami club!”

The mood is light. The laughter is low. The game is serious. The men are many things. They are shopkeepers. Insurance salesmen. Retired public servants. Customs officers who keep the airport safe with K9 dogs. All are fathers. For their village of Leone, all have history. All have love.

The men speak of many things. Like when will their paperwork be complete so work can start on their new house from FEMA? The beautiful cement parking for the new church hall that a few of them hand troweled smooth that day. The mythically perfect shot that one of them hit on the golf course that afternoon. The writer who has come from Apia looking for people to interview… “I told her to come back later and then I took off in my car and hid in town so she wouldn’t find me!” Loud laughter from all.

But there are things these men do not speak of. At least not during the companionship of a card game. Heavy and unspoken, is the memory of those they could not save.

I speak with the one they call ‘the General’. Retired from government service, he is a leader. A man of many talents. He paints, he builds, he repairs. People come to him when they need help. A large, broad man with a gleeful grin. Sweaty and shirtless. Paint spattered. He laughs and shakes his head resignedly at my arrival to the black pool. “Aue you found me!”He had tried skipping away in the shadows when we drove up but the others called him back. On tsunami day, the General was caught by the first wave. He found himself swept alongside two of the old women of his village. He grabbed the first and then the second as they cried feebly for his help. He is a strong man and had hoped he could save them both. But it was not to be. The women were not light. The wave was not merciful. Churned in the debris, he was unable to hold them. The wave broke three ribs and cut him maliciously before spitting him out. He was taken to the hospital but he discharged himself a few hours later. So he could return to Leone to help with the body search. “The village call me the General because Im the one they look to. Im the one that gets things done. I couldn’t stay in the hospital when I knew so many people needed help.” There is sadness as he remembers the two women he could not save.

There are others. The man who clung to a breadfruit tree not far from the card shack. He saw schoolchildren still on the road and after the first wave he yelled for them to run for where the road rises. But they were caught by the second wave and washed past him. He reached out with one hand and grabbed one young girl by her hair. That one at least, was saved. But it is the others he remembers. The ones he could not reach.

I speak with Iuliano. He of the warrior physique. Tall and athletic, he had woken early that day for his usual morning run. By seven he was driving two of his children to school with his wife when they looked back in time to see the first wave hit the village. Where his other two children were still at home. With his mother-in-law. Two nieces. An aunt. He ran back, strong and sure to fight his way to his house. Thankfully his aunt had already run with the children to the safety of the back hills. The others were huddled on the second floor of their solid brick home.

“I wasn’t scared for myself, all I worried about was my kids and my family.”

Iuliano took the others to the hill before the second wave rushed in. He could have stayed there. All his family were secure. But he went back. Through debris and hungry water. An old woman cried for help from the remains of the petrol station by the roadside. She was pinned against a pole by an upturned truck. Iuliano and his cousin Cameron tried to move it. Tried to free her. But the vehicle was too heavy and the force of the water too strong. The third wave was approaching.

“I looked in her eyes and I told her, I’ll come back for you. I’ll come back.”

Iuliano and Cameron were taken with the third wave, washed to the mangrove swamp. Again, he could have stayed there. But again, he went back. Through debris and hungry water. Back to the petrol station where an old woman was still pinned against a pole. Still. And silent.

“I cant get her out of my mind. I’ve known her all my life, I grew up here and she was like a grandmother to all us kids in the village…I keep seeing her face, you know? I looked in her eyes and I promised her that I was going to get her out, I told her I would save her…and I couldn’t.”

It is four months since the tsunami of September 29th. The waters have gone. The mud is long dried. New homes are built. But still there is other debris left behind. Unseen. Like guilt. And loss. And grief.

What do you say to Iuliano? To the General? You search for words but they all seem so inadequate.You tell them that there is nothing more that they could have done – what is the strength of one man against a wave that runs at five hundred miles an hour? And slams shipping containers into warehouses?

You tell them that there is honor in the trying. That I have interviewed many who did not go back. Who could not and did not try. You tell them that those women died knowing someone cared enough to try.

The interviews end. The game resumes. Another can is opened with a snap swish. They tell me I can come again to gather more stories. Or to play cards...Beside a black pool laced with twisted mangroves.

On the plane ride home, I think of many things. I think of dolphins at Fagasa. And the unbearably loud surf at Poloa. I think of 18 foot hammerhead sharks caught in Pago Harbour. But most of all, i think of Leone. And the Tsunami Club. I think of heroism - defined as exceptional courage in the face of danger. We usually think of heroes as being those who 'save someones life'. But there is still another kind of courage. Another kind of hero. Those who didn’t save the life – the elderly woman, the little girl. But in the face of insurmountable obstacles they still tried desperately to overcome. Returning again and again as the hungry sea fought against them.

Yes, there are heroes in Leone village. I pay tribute to them with my meager words and hope that with time – they will find peace.

Eyes to see miracles.

2010-01-28T12:28:00.000-08:00

On Saturday, the Vi'iga family of Saleapaga had some visitors. Van loads of men from their church branch in Apia came with hands willing to help. They left town at 4am and by sunrise they were mixng the first load of cement for the foundation of the Vi'igas new home. By the time the last van left after sunset, the roof was up, the floor was hardening and the Vi'iga family was preparing to move their belongings into their new home.

Among these belongings are a chipped wooden cabinet with glass panelled doors. One of the panels has a crack in it. Leua Viiga uses the cabinet to store her glass dishes.They also own a deep chest freezer. Slightly rusting at the edges.It hums quietly in the background of every conversation.

When I visited the Viiga family two months ago, they told me their tsunami story. Leua was at home with her two grandchildren. A seven year old and a three year old. When the wave came, Leua picked up her youngest and ran. But the water was too swift and too strong. Her child was taken from her arms. Their house was swept into a careless pile, burying her underneath it.Her 7 yr old caught hold of the wooden cabinet that was floating by and clung to it. They would find their freezer upside down in a pool of mud- several neighbors down the road.

Leua was badly injured and hospitalized for a month. The little one was found face down in mud. They have a photo of him in their makeshift shelter, draped with shell necklaces. It was a photo taken in the morgue because they have no other pictures of him when he once smiled and laughed. His little grave is out in the yard decorated with colorful streamers and a teddy bear keeps him company.

All these things, the Viiga family told me. But they also told me about their wooden cabinet - "see, this cabinet saved our grandson's life...and none of the dishes in it were broken! you should take a photo of it...it was a miracle"
They told me about their freezer - "see we plugged it in after the tsunami and it still works! Look at it there, theres nothing wrong with it...its a miracle."

In spite of all they have lost. And all they still have yet to endure. The Viiga's have eyes to see "the Lord's hand at work." They can still see miracles. In a chipped wooden cabinet and a rusty freezer.

And now as the wet season rains pour. And gale force winds blow through the mountain hills of the new Saleapaga village, the Viiga family are in their new home. Another miracle?

Drop Everything and Run

2010-01-27T02:31:00.000-08:00

Mamea Mikaele and his family.

92 yr old Suliane with her daughter and granddaughter.

Five year old Iulai had just bathed and dressed when the earthquake hit. Mamea took his son outside “in case the house couldn’t stand”. He still hadn’t showered himself so once the shaking subsided he went back to get ready for work. About ten minutes had elapsed when he heard a rumbling, like the sound of a coming storm. Then voices shouted from the road.

“Galu lolo...It’s a wave, a wave!”

The church bell started ringing, a harsh clanging without rhythm. He ran to the road to have a look, just in time to see a wave coming from behind Namua island. It divided so that one wave came straight towards them head first while the other came at an angle, sweeping over the little wharf where a motorboat anchored that took people to Namua. The wave flounced the motorboat along with it like a piece of fluff.

Mamea stood and studied the oncoming progress of the water “because Im the sort of person that has to study things carefully so that I can explain them to others, that’s what a tour guide does”. The wave “ was like when you roll a flax mat. I stood back and studied the water if it was going to affect anything and when I saw the way it was coming, I realized, oh no this is the real thing.”

Mamea grabbed Iulai and ran – over logs, bushes, pig fences and rocks. So did everyone else who could. The people of Saleaumua ran. Young and old alike – everyone was running to escape the water that wouldn’t stop. People who hadn’t run in years headed towards the inland. Many men had already gone to work in the plantations and the majority of school children were either on the road or already doing their early classroom duties. Left at home were the women, the babies, the elderly, the infirm. Mothers grabbed their little ones, their parents – and rushed to the inland bush.

Taupeau half dragged her ninety-two year old mother Suliane to the car, roaring away in a spin of sand just in time. Junior Laki used a wheelbarrow to take his blind mother Aoina to safety. Teachers at the Saleaumua Primary school led the children several miles into the bush. At the secondary school,Maths teacher Pelesala Togafau was about to ring the bell for morning assembly when he heard the screams. “You could hear the rumbling of the tsunami and the trees and the houses falling but when I looked out to sea, I couldn’t see a big wave coming, it looked only about three of four feet. But then the wave that came from the right, over the houses – it was the big one. We were so shocked. The kids were terrified. We all ran towards the back of the school and the race was on to get away. We told the students to drop everything and run.”

Oselani's Story

2010-01-25T21:04:00.000-08:00

It was a day that began like any other for twenty-eight year old Oselani. He was a fisherman. As was his father before him. As it does for most fisherman, the sea spoke to Oselani. When the winds were rough and the tides were high, the waves would crash ominously on the reef and others would nervously stay close to the shore. But the rough swell would call to Oselani with the promise of a big catch and the white surf would only send an extra thrill of exhilaration as he paddled his frail wooden paopao out to the breakers. The sea was his friend.

He lived with his wife’s family, he being the only breadwinner for his two children and the in-laws. The sea was a benevolent employer, feisty at times but generous with her bounty. When income from his taxi driving job was sparse, Oselani always knew he could count on the sea to provide. A meal. A few extra tala. A fresh ‘malauli’, scales gleaming with newness would guarantee a smile from his stern mother in law.

On the morning of the 29th, Oselani was up at dawn with five other fisherman. They paddled their single hulled canoes away from Saleaumua, past Ulutogia and Mutiatele, past Satitoa, past the Aleipata wharf, and paused just beyond Namu’a island. The tide was low and they could see the ocean floor through the still waters. The fishing was slow and there was an easy, companionable chatter back and forth as the men called out to each other, while back on land the village began to bustle about with the days preparations.

Just before seven, Oselani’s boat started shaking, the oar placed lengthwise in the center of the canoe clattering/jumping so abruptly that he hurried to reach and grab it before it fell into the sea. The others called out in consternation as they too noticed the movement of the ocean. But then the shaking stopped and they floated on a placid cloth once more. But Oselani was uneasy. He had never felt such strong tremors before, especially not ones that could make themselves known while he was on the water. Without knowing why, he felt for the first time, a sliver of fear about being out on the ocean. He asked the others if they should go back to land – in case there was something wrong? He thought about the television ads with the man in the funny hat. What if there is a tsunami, he called out? Don’t worry, the others laughed back. There wasn’t such things here in Samoa. Oselani looked down into the water and couldn’t make sense of what he saw. Fish – countless numbers of fish, swimming back and forth agitatedly. Like they wanted to escape but were held in place. His unease grew, but before he could act on it, the others screamed.

“Look at the wave! Theres a big wave coming.”

Rushing towards them was a rise in the ocean. A hill of blue. On the tiny island, Namu’a Beach fales was hosting a group of school children from St. Peter’s in Palmerston North. They watched in horror as “a beast jumped up out of the sea and ran towards them”. The wave hit the island and divided in two, wrapping itself around the shore like a sinuous blanket of cobalt steel before meeting again in the front and continuing its onslaught towards the mainland. The fishing boats were paltry sticks in its path.

The men began paddling frantically back towards the land, towards where the wharf juts out at Satitoa. Oselani knew they would never make it to in time. His thoughts went to his wife and children and he hoped they could see the water coming. He stopped paddling and faced the hull of his canoe towards the wave with the hope that the craft would skim over the top of the water. As it drew nearer however, he realized that thought was a foolish one. The hill was immense. It was now a monstrous mountain of blue. He decided to change his tactics. He took a deep breath and dived into the sea, hoping that with his fishermans increased lung capacity – he could wait it out and evade the wave as it powered over him. Another vain hope.

Oselani was swept along with the wave. He was but a wretched thing tossed in a vast washing machine on spin cycle. He couldn’t swim, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t see anything. He was trapped in black water, buffeted on all sides. He knew he would die.

Loss

2010-01-07T01:49:00.001-08:00

Who can measure loss? It is not a number. How many children did you lose…how many people in your family were killed by the wave that day? Is the death of one beloved child less quantifiable a loss than that of a mother who has lost three? Its surely not a comfort to the parent of the one to know that ‘you didn’t lose three’. Or to hear that at least both your parents didn’t die, just one. That certainly gives no solace to 'T' who was separated from her mother and swept out to sea. And then clung to a floating log and was saved. And then woke to see her dead mother being carried past in a sheet.

No. Loss is not a number. Its an ache. A physical pain. A longing. That cannot be appeased. Its why 'M' carries the clothes of his dead children in a bag around his waist. Everywhere he goes. The clothes Maryanne was wearing when her little body was found. The outfit baby Aliki was wearing the day before the tsunami. Carefully washed and folded.

Its why 'L' spent Christmas crying. Remembering last year when she gave her dad a ham. His favourite. And chocolates to her mother. And they chuckled about having to share their treats.

Loss is not just about the dead. Its about mourning the peace we will never feel again. Will Junior L ever again be able to fall asleep to the sound of the ocean breaking against the reef? Yes Oselani will go fishing again. But will he ever rid himself of the dread? The slight edge of panic if the wind whips up a few stormy waves? Will fathers ever stop punishing themselves, wondering – if only I had held him a little tighter, if only I had run a little faster – would my child be with me today?

Loss can do funny things to us. Will we now hug our children closer before they leave for school. Because we are mindful of other children. Whos mothers sent them to school and they didn’t come back? Will we pause before chastising an unruly student? Because we remember that one little boy, the incredibly naughty one, who wore us weary with his antics – who could not outrun the wave on his way to school? Will we practice a little more patience. With an aged parent. A demanding elder. A bossy mother in law. Because so many others wish they could have those days those moments back. When they had something to complain about with their elders.

Loss bites. It’s a hard thing. Loss gives. But its oh so painful to receive.

From the Samoa Observer Newspaper

2010-01-07T01:49:00.000-08:00

A book to remember…
Wednesday, 06 January 2010 09:46
Lani Wendt-Young ... privileged to write the book.
A book about different experiences during and after the tsunami is being written.
Scheduled to be released on the first anniversary of the tragedy in September, Associate Minister of Commerce, Hans Joachim Keil has commissioned award-winning writer, Lani Wendt to put it together.
“It is not a documentary type book with straight retelling of facts but rather the weaving together of different people’s experiences,” said Ms Wendt.

The niece of iconic Samoan poet, Albert Wendt said Mr Keil, who was deeply touched by the tragedy of 143 people killed, wants the book to remember the stories of the tsunami not just from the victims' perspective but also from people who helped.

The book, with a name yet to be decided, will contain interviews from victims, medical officials, fire and rescue workers, relief team workers, Disaster Management Office staff members and more.

It will also include statements from American Samoa, Tonga, Niuatoputapu and other islands affected.
“We go out three times a week to do interviews and we record as we go,” Ms Wendt said.

“There are a lot of great stories out there and I’m working to put them in the book.”
Ms Wendt, who has been working on the project for two months, said she is interested in how the tsunami has affected people not only as individuals but as a community.
The 36-year-old is married to Darren Young. They have five children.

“Writing has always been my passion,” she said.
Her education started in Samoa. She finished high school in Washington DC, before studying English Literature and Women’s Studies at Victoria University, Wellington.
Later, she studied for a diploma in Teaching at Wellington’s College of Education.

She returned to Samoa where she became an English teacher at Samoa College, Pesega Church College and Robert Louis Stevenson School.
Her writing career was launched when the National University of Samoa initiated a short story competition. She won.
“That’s when I thought; I am good at this and should carry on,” she laughed.

Since then, her work has been published in collections out of New Zealand, Australia and Samoa. Her fiction for children has been published in the School Journal Series in New Zealand.
“I also write articles for the newspaper occasionally,” she said. “And of course I have a blog/website like most other writers!”

Ms Wendt is hoping her uncle, Albert Wendt, can help out.
“Hopefully he is able to pre-read some of the chapters and give me some advice.” she said. “(Writing) runs in the family.”
“It is a privilege to be involved in this project,” Ms Wendt said.

“Mr Keil is to be commended for his vision, and commitment to ensuring that people’s stories are preserved. I am grateful for all those who have been willing to share their stories with me and I hope that this book will adequately honour their strength and resilience.”
The book is a non-profit project, Mr Keil said. All proceeds will go to the tsunami relief funds.

“The book will be affordable to everyone, as many were affected by it. We want everyone to read it,” said Mr Keil.
“This incident is a once in a life time experience.”

A Bit of Burnout

2009-11-27T02:24:00.000-08:00

So today we were interviewing survivors in Poutasi village. We had to navigate this narrow strip of hastily thrown together 'road' ( a very pretentious term for a load of gravel and sand dumped into the sea) to make it through to the actual village. Or whats left of it.
The whole village was built on/near mangroves. Which means its actually right at sealevel. Which means when its high tide - as it was today - then the sea is very best friends with the land. And today it was raining. And the sea was high. And lapping at my tires as we carefully drove over the road. And the broken shells of homes looked vaguely threatening. And frightfully depressing. And as i looked out over the ocean, I could totally envision a wave. Coming to engulf us. And i didnt want to be there.

Then we met with a lovely family at the end of the 'road'. The mother was washing laundry at a broken pipe outside. Two daughters and a son welcomed us cheerily, running to bring a mat for us to sit on while we interviewed their father. They had to sit beside him and shout our questions because his hearing was damaged in the tsunami. He ran to warn people at the end of his 'road'. He helped a 75 yr old man climb up a poumuli tree to safety by having him climb up on his back. Then he was hit by the wave and the debris and almost had his arm ripped off. And he was sad that he couldnt reach the woman screaming for help with her children. Because his arm wasnt working properly. And there was blood everywhere.

And while Im listening to his story, my eyes are drawn to the ceiling. Where the cement beams are cracked. And crumbling. And half the roof is caving in above us. And the reinforcing is gaping through the fragmenting cement. And the ocean is right outside the door. And it looks like just maybe...it could rear up and smash us to smithereens at any moment...And i could totally envision the roof deciding to give up its final gasp. And collapsing in a heap of dust. Right on top of all of us. And i didnt want to be there.

I was desperate to leave Poutasi today. I felt panic claw its way up through my chest as i drove back over the narrow road. Thinking about waves. Strong enough to roll cars. Like tumbleweed. We only did three interviews today. But it was enough.

Its been three weeks now since i started working fulltime on this project. I have met with survivors from Saleaumua. Satitoa. Lalomanu. Saleapaga. Malaela. Lepa. Vaigalu. Vavau. And Poutasi. I have seen children who were saved by parents who held them above the water while they were submerged. I have touched trees that people climbed up to evade the waters. I have taken photos of the wooden cabinet a 5 year old boy sat on and floated to safety. I have met frail old ladies in their 80's who were carried on the backs of their grandsons to safety. I have listened to mothers weep because they could not save their little ones. I have felt the anger of fathers who could not fight against a tsunami.

And I want to listen. And record their stories. And honor their experiences.

But not today. Because today I was afraid. Of the sea. And imaginary killer waves out to get me. And imaginary roofs falling down. And I am sorry that i wasnt up to it today.

And I am ashamed too. Because I didnt have to live through a tsunami. And i dont have to still live in a broken house with a fragmenting roof. So what the heck is my problem!?

I shall take a breath. And go back next week.

Your Blood, Sweat and Tears.

2009-11-11T04:08:00.000-08:00

Theres been a lot of grief in the news lately about tsunami relief NOT getting to where it should. About people NOT getting help. While Im sure that there are many instances of wonky, misdirected aid efforts and while I know of other instances where some people are receiving - and then lying about it so they can get more....I also see and hear everyday, tsunami relief that IS getting where it should. To everyone out there who's fundraising, collecting food and clothing, buying building materials, sending money and generally giving blood, sweat and tears to help tsunami Samoa survive and rebuild - this notes for you.

I have seen - * a young mother in a wheelchair, her still-healing bandaged leg. So grateful to the plastic surgeon and the medical team from NZ and Aust. that did the skin graft, that ensured she WOULDNT need an amputation. 'They were so kind. So careful. So nice to me.' she said, voice thick with emotion.
* families living in tents in the rainforest bush. Tents donated by the Red Cross, the NZ Army and countless others. A child regards me with solemn eyes through the netted doorway of his familys tent as mozzies buzz and hum. And rain trickles down my back. And the fresh cut bush is thick and heavy around us. A 74 yr old gentleman says to me with tears. 'We dont want to become people of the bush. We mustnt become people of the bush. There - at Satitoa by the sea - that is where our homes are. That is where our grandparents are buried. That is where we should be.'
*Truckloads of wood and other building materials chugging their way over Le Mafa Pass. The first houses being built by Habitat for Humanity and Caritas and so many others.
*Huge containers being opened and distributed at various village points along the route. There are crowds of people. Patient and calm. Sitting in the sun waiting while the pulenuu unpack and give out. Boxes of clothes. Canned food. Mosquito nets. Outside one container a team of helpers are building careful stacks of kitchenware....one for you, one for you. More than 30 stacks. A shiny new pot. A kettle. A gleaming frying pan. A handful of plates. Rows and rows of new cookware anticipating their new owners. (Dont underestimate the power of a new pot. I have one miserable broken frying pan and it drives me insane everytime i need to make pancakes.)
* A mother of 8 children say thank you for the blankets and clothes they were given on Wednesday the day after the galu lolo. At her breast is a chubby one year old with mischief in her eyes who keeps trying to grab the MP3 recorder off her mum and put it in her mouth. 'We spent the night in the bush. We were wet and cold. We had nothing. I didnt care about me but I only wanted to find a way for my children to be warm. Thank God for the clothes and blankets we received.' This is the same mother who's 4 yr old son was asleep in a galu lolo submerged-smashed-to-bits house. And then found still breathing under a pile of debris several hours later. And today, I cant grab him to take a photo because hes too busy pestering the AUST army team who are busy cleaning up cement rubble by the beachside. He skips on golden sand. And laughs by blue water.

If you had any doubts about whether or not your donation was needed. Utilized. Appreciated. If you were wondering whether or not the people of the galu lolo still need your help. Whether its a pot. Some planks of wood. A can of fruit. Your prayers and thoughts.
This notes for you.

Frangipani Trees Line a Tsunami Shore

2009-10-31T22:42:00.000-07:00

I am in quiet awe. There are frangipani trees in bloom along the shore of the tsunami zone. Gnarled grey barked trees reach heavenward with delicate white blossoms. New green grass at their feet. Lining a shoreline scattered with heaps of twisted corrugated iron, jagged wood planks and the fast rusting carcasses of once-beloved new cars.

In spite of the salt. And the ravage of eight foot waves that sounded like "the crashing roar of a hundred heavy duty machines". The panicked desperation of those who clung to tree branches to escape the leeching swirl of the receding water.

In spite of the desolation. Spindly shelters where families guard their meagre belongings against the ongoing thievery as both young and old pick through the remains of everyone else's lives. Even the hub caps on your truck are not safe.

In spite of the grief. A woman sits by the road crying on a freshly poured cement block. Her mother's grave. I miss my mother she sobs to us, complete strangers driving by on a sun filled afternoon.

There are frangipani trees in bloom along the shore of the tsunami zone. I am in quiet awe. Of the father who surveys the nothingness that once was his store and no less than 'five fale palagi'. From the shade of his tarpaulin hut. And tells me. 'It is like I am at the beginning all over again. When i was just starting out and we had nothing. All our hard work is gone. But none of it matters. My wife and children are alive. We are still here together. Possessions come and go. They mean nothing. I thank God for our lives.' He smiles to tell us about the turtles, the fish, the sharks that came in with the wave. 'We shared the water. Together we all searched for safety. For escape. We had no fear of each other.'

The smiling laughing teenagers out from school,making their way back to the makeshift camps. In a week they will take their School C and PSSC final exams.

The houses still standing are newly painted. Glorious loud colors. Pumpkin orange walls with a hot pink trim. Sunny yellow and fuschia. Electric green and purple. Curlicues and twirls. Lacy curtains blowing in the breeze. Family photos with cracked glass carefully hang on the wall.

Children scuffle by the roadside. Smiling.

There are frangipani trees in bloom along the shore. They are beautiful.

An Announcement.

2009-10-28T11:46:00.000-07:00

Ive been commissioned to write a book. On the tsunami. And Samoa. The before, during and after. And the long term future. What does this mean?
* That there will be significantly fewer blogs on this page from here on out!

Who's an Addict?

2009-10-20T01:20:00.000-07:00

Today is Day 18 of sobriety. For Darren. Who WAS a Diet Coke Addict. Two weeks ago he announced he was quitting diet coke. I laughed. Disparagingly. Mockingly. Doubtfully. The man downs at least 8 cans a day. Haha I said, whatever! He didnt appreciate my reaction. I mean it, he said. Im quitting. Totally. Right now. But why i said? To save money, he said. We're buying a house in NZ and we should stop spending money on Diet Coke.

Diet Coke is 2.60 a can. 8 cans a day is 20.80. 7 days a week is 145.60. Thats a lot of money to be sure. But while that did cause me to pause, still i was unconvinced. You'll get headaches, you'll be a nightmare to live with. Please dont quit diet coke i begged. But like the staunch man that he is, he was unmoved. No. Im not drinking anyore.

He had headaches. His kidneys killed him for 9 days straight. He popped Panadeine every 4 hours. He slept upright because his back hurt so much. And yes, he was a tad bit bad tempered and short with us. And when we arrived home after running away from a possible tsunami - he showed me his trembling hands. I patted him comfortingly - "Yes darling, I know...I was scared too. Its okay to be afraid. We're alright now." He looked affronted. No wife ( in parentheses...numbskulled dodobrain ridiculous wife) - my hands are shaking because of the diet coke withdrawal. Oh. Okay.

But now its official. Hes off the drugs. Hes a pollyanna bubble of positivity to live with again. He can sleep straight. And the headaches have stopped. The impossible has been realized. Darren the diet coke addict - has quit diet coke. I am very proud of him. And our bank balance will continue to thank him. But it means...

I have to drink my one can a day secretly. When hes not home. TO hear the click of the can opening. The hiss and fizz of the bubbles as they rush out. The chink of ice in the glass. The swirling splash as the refreshing black liquid foams over the lid and into your cup. Or to see the adorable way the bubbles embrace a sliver of lime. Or how i close my eyes as i savor the first sip. Then take a deep breath and exhale...all my tension and stress. Awash with a glass of diet coke on the rocks and a twist of lime. Yes, i have to drink in secret now. To help maintain and protect his self control. Just in case he cant handle it. Because HE'S an addict. And we all know that once an addict - always an addict.

How to Make Cold Process Soap

2009-10-12T22:39:00.000-07:00

Step 1: Weigh all your ingredients super carefully. Especially the caustic soda.

2. Mix carefully according to your recipe. Always remember to add caustic TO the water. Never the other way around or else a volcano eruption could blow your face off.

3. Assemble your soapmold BEFORE going any further. We use box molds lined with thick plastic.

4. Plastic mold insert ready for the soap mix.

5. Adding caustic mix to the coconut oil.

6. Mixing up the soap, waiting for 'trace' stage

7. Pouring soap into the mold. Work fast because saponification works quickly.

8. Adding the insert dividers.
9. Soap sits for several hours. Covered for insulation.

10. Soap ready to pop out. Firm but not too hard.

11. Soap bars will now sit for several weeks to 'cure'.

12. Boxes of soap ready to sell.

How to Make Handmade Soap that Doesnt Burn Your Skin off.

2009-10-12T21:57:00.000-07:00

Boxes of Frangipani Coconut Oil Soap.

I used to make soap the lazy,impatient way. I followed a recipe. But with lots of creative license. I threw in things as the fancy took me. A scatter here. A pinch of this and a pinch of that. I'd eat something and be struck with inspiration...oatmeal cinnamon cookies yummy - that would make yummy soap! Which was how glorious soaps like the 'Oatmeal Cookie Bar' was born. And quite by accident my friends would rave that soap inspired by a batch of cookies was healing their eczema. Which would send me scurrying to the internet ( the fountain of all knowledge and wisdom.) where i would read about how oatmeal soothes irritated skin. And cinnamon was anti fungal. And a muscle soother. And coconut oil was wonderful for eczema. And I would be amazed with my creative genius. And create some more.

Most times I would end up with beautiful, luxurious soap. All-natural, all-good for you. And such a delight to bathe with. But i would also end up with lots of creative 'failures'. Lumpy soap. Exploding soap. Bubbly soap. Soap that never got hard. Soap that sludged. And fudged. Soap only good for scrubbing my floors. And some nucelar meltdowns that went straight into the rubbish bin. Double sealed in plastic. To protect the rats from mutation.

So yes, in the beginning, i made soap MY way. It was thrilling living on the edge, never sure what you would make next. Or what part of my body i would burn skin off that day. But then my wonderful husband stepped in. He revolutionized the soapmaking operation. He built a workroom. With two tubs for scrubbing equipment. And miles of benchtop space. And shelving for storing soap while it 'cured'. And best of all, he replaced my little blender which made 12 soap at a time - with a power drill set up that made 40+ soap at a time. Where once i had slaved for hours making lots of maybe good and almost perfect soaps - he used engineering precision and science to make buckets of brilliant soap in minutes. I was in awe. I was worshipful. I appointed him Director of Soapmaking for Coconut Queen Products. (and gave him lots of kisses for his end of yr bonus.) What was his first act as Director of Soapmaking? He fired me. Condemned my creative fluffheadness to outer darkness.

I was bereft. And a little miffed. How could i make 'Chocolate Rum Fantasy' soap confections now? (the idea came to me while watching a movie set in Jamaica...rum cocktails, sweet treats on a moonlit beach) Darren refused to allow me to indulge in anymore wild fanciful soap ideas. No. From now on we make soap that sells. Soap that people actually want to buy. Soap that works. (So if you were one of the two people on the planet who was dreaming of bathing with choc rum fantasies...Im sorry)

But because Im not a total idiot I have slowly but surely been won over by efficiency and precision. And i must admit its soooooo nice to sit and watch HIM make soap. And only have to worry about what labels to make. And what words to use on the brochures. And breathe deeply of boxes of perfect handmade soap. No more sludge soap. Fudge soap. Exploding soap. Coconut Queen Products makes guaranteed WONDERFUL soap everytime now. Only problem is - now theres no dud soap to scrub my floors with.

When I Die.

2009-10-12T02:19:00.000-07:00

I was thinking about dying the other day. Because it was on my list of 101 things to think about and plan. And because i was procrastinating the other 100 things that came before it ( tawdry meaningless stuff like...prepping the overdue GST report for Inland Revenue, helping Zach and Zion learn their parts for the Childrens Primary Sacrament program, finish the application letter to the bank begging for a loan, and maybe make my bed. ) So I made a list. Of stuff i want done and NOT done when i die.
1. If i die in a country with real medical facilities ( ones with toilet paper in the bathrooms. And pillows on the beds.) Then i want to be an organ donor. I like the thought of people running around energetically thanks to my heart. Lungs. A couple of kidneys. Maybe a liver uncorrupted by alcohol. (i confess a scan done 5 years ago revealed the aforementioned liver was a tad on the 'fatty' side. Can you even fathom how small and worthless one feels when a scan stranger tells you your liver is fatty?!) I dont want to give up my eyes though. Im quite fond of them. Owl eyes. Mata omo. The eyes that caused so much angst and suffering as a child because kids had nothing better to do than make me cry about my deepset Wendt-woman eyes. The same eyes that became 'deep pools of midnight' and 'eyes stars could lose themselves in' when a semi-drunk and infatuated male was staring in them. Aaah...beauty ( and stars) are all in the eye of the beholder!
So organs. Donate them.
2. I absoloutely refuse to go into any freezers. Even the very best very arctic coldest of the cold freezers. Even freezers that Walt Disney is cryogenically frozen in. No. And i refuse to be embalmed. Save that for King Tut. And Cher. Bury me immediately.
3. I dont want a coffin. Horrible things. Who wants to rot in a box that lasts forever? With windows to look out from...at what? The worms diggin through eager for a snack? No. Wrap me in siapo. An ie toga.
4. There is to be NO heavy food served at my funeral. NONE. ZIP. NADA. Nobody gets a free feed at my farewell. Give everyone a drink of water. And maybe a cookie. Better still - a banana and a piece of coconut. Much healthier. And cheaper.
5. I'd love lots of singing at the funeral. Stuff like Ave Maria. And U2. And some primary songs by the children. And maybe derek would play the piano. And Elijah would sing. (Pleeeease u rock Elijah!)
6. I dont want a free for all speak fest at any time where anybody can get up and say stuff. Far too risky. Goodness only knows what state secrets and trash talk grief stricken random acquaintances will spill - especially if theyre bitter about only eating a piece of coconut at the funeral. No. Only censored and pre approved people can say things. I'll have to check my list of who Im on speaking terms with to see who fits the bill for 'Appropriate Speaker for Lanis Funeral'.
7. Dont dress me in white please. Its such an unflattering color. I like red. Purple. And of course black is timeless. And so slimming...

Pickles for Lazy, Impatient People

2009-10-12T01:36:00.000-07:00

So heres the second installment of cooking for lazy, impatient people who still want to get that deliciously self-gratifying feeling of making ( and eating) complicated food made totally from scratch WITHOUT risking a stress prompted aneurysm. And WITHOUT sacrificing catching that oh-so-important episode of Desperate Housewives. (Not that i watch such trash. Ever. Really. I totally dont care to clutter my life with details of Bree's obsession with cleanliness and control and how her husband is resorting to kleptomania just to punish her. OR wondering how life will go on without Idi and her endless stream of men, men,men. )

Back to pickles. I have memories of my mothers breadnbutter pickles. Sweet. Tart. Satisfying. Perfect on a hunk of bread. With a scoop of melting margarine. ( we couldnt afford butter) But I always thought that making your own pickles was something Martha Stewart did on her day off. Or seriously super Utah Mormon mothers did before baking bread and milking cows on the prairie. (Im not sure why because my mother is none of those things.) I of course never envisioned i would one day have the techno-know-how to make pickles. Let alone the desire to join the ranks of the Pickle Perfect Homemaker. But then I got a calling in the womens organization that required me to not only plan cooking and craft activities for lots of women - but to actually attend them and pretend like i was learning something. (As opposed to only going to talk/gossip and eat the refreshments like i usually did.)

There I was doing my organizer thing when the demonstrater whipped out a bowl full of breadnbutter pickles. They smelt divine. They smelt like childhood. They tasted divine. Like I was 8 years old and only had to worry about how i could torment my kid sister ( who was spoilt rotten and it was soooo unfair) without her trying to stab me with the bread knife. ( i exagerate you not. Come on Pele - verify it! Embrace your past! Acknowledge your violent childhood!) After sampling the pickles, i was flabbergasted when the teacher then proceeded to make another batch. In 5 minutes. With nothing but a pot, some ice cubes, a gas burner. Various spices. A smile. A few effortless stirs. And voila! Pickles. I was hooked. That could be me. Chopping, stirring, spicing, smiling and then eating pickles...every darn day if i pleased. I got the recipe. I came home abuzz with excitement. I made pickles. And it was easy. And quick. And i rejoiced on behalf of lazy and impatient cooks everywhere. We have a winner folks!

Ingredients:(give or take whatever's in your cupboard)

- cucumbers. As many as you like. Maybe 8. Or 15. Or 25. The sauce in this recipe will pickle any number of cucumbers. And come on, how can one really say a defn number? Because everyone knows cucumbers are all different sizes. And shapes. So however many you have - then thats how many you need.

- 2 onions

- 3 tspns of minced garlic from a bottle. If youre obsessed with purity and suffering then go ahead and cut your own fresh garlic. 3 cloves of it. And try to catch up with the rest of us who are smart enough to buy a jar from the store for a couple of bucks.

- 1/3 cup salt

- 5 cups sugar

- 3 cups vinegar. I use white vinegar because its the cheapest. Pickle perfectionists use cider vinegar.

- 1 1/2 tsp turmeric

- 1 1/2 tsp celery seed ( dont be fia poto like me and try to chop up fresh celery instead. Trust me, it aint the same thing!)

- 2 tbsp mustard seed

Slice the cucumbers. Thin. Slice the onions. Thin. Throw in a bowl. Add the garlic. Sprinkle the salt over it all. Mix it with your hands gently. Crack a tray of ice cubes on top. Cover the bowl with a teatowel. Put in fridge for a few hours. I forgot about it the other time and left it for 2 days. Still turned out okay but i wouldnt recommend you push it too far.

Take out of fridge and rinse the salt off in running water. Put aside. In a pot, combine the sugar, vinegar, and spices on the stove. Medium heat and stir it to dissolve the sugar. Let it boil a little. Add the cucumber stuff. Stir it. Simmer it a bit. Turn it off. Wait for it to cool then eat it quick before the kids find out and all your pickles disappear before you have a chance to gloat over them

Cucumbers all cut up and covered with salt and ice.

Pickles in a pot. Simmering. Prepare to gloat.