I just cried because I had lost hope.

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.

Conor's Tsunami Poem ( Age 8)

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)

All I saw was death coming.

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.'

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.

I shut my eyes.

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.”

Teone's Tsunami Story ( Age 8)

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.)

Eyes to see miracles.

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?