Protection for a mixed child, Unbelievable!

On April 5, 2007 we boarded a Hawaiian Airline bound for another country (a U.S. Territory).  All of our household goods and vehicles were shipped approximately a week prior.  Here we were, heading to our new home on the Island of American Samoa. 

My husband was born in San Francisco, but raised in American Samoa.  That is where his family is.  Dad, mom, siblings, aunts, uncles, and cousins.  So he was actually returning to a place that had always been home for him.  As for me, all of my family were in the states.  Plus being that I am not Samoan, this whole culture experience that I was now being emerged into was somewhat overwhelming.  Respect, respect, respect…. The bases of the Fa’a Samoa (the Samoan way).  Yet there always seemed to be exceptions.  Respect the elders, but they don’t have to respect you (the child, the young one).   Having an opinion was a sign of disrespect.  You are to sit, listen, and accept what is being said.  If you agree or not.  Something I definitely did not get.

We left the busy chaotic freeways, major stores, and state of rush, rush, rush to a place that had only two lanes, one for coming and one for going.  No street lights, only occasional stop signs, no street names, or addresses (everyone has to have a PO Box), and not one major store in sight. Meaning, no mall, Target, Mervyns, Walmart, Kmart, Kohls, nada…. There are many small mom and pop stores, mostly ran by Asians.  I must admit, there is a surreal amount of peace in the atmosphere there.  A very relaxing calm around the Island.  That is what I miss.

August 12, 2007 was the first day of school.  It was also our son’s 5th birthday.  He was starting kindergarten at Manulele Elementary.  His teacher actually taught my husband’s sister, and she is from the same village; Nuuuli.  I guess I need to explain that.  There are many villages on the Island of Am. Samoa.  I kind of describe them as gangs (although my husband doesn’t like that) but in a way it’s like “what village are you from?”  Yet for the sake of understanding I will say the villages are like cities.  Much smaller of course and normally you know everyone in your village.  There is a high chief of the village.  Then the chiefs have the men under them, and so forth. Kind of like the chain of commands with the chief being the President of the village.  Each village has its chief.  My husband has two uncles who are the chiefs of two separate villages.  Having a chief title gives you a title name.  So one uncle is the Levu which is over Nuuuli, and his other uncle is the Fagaima over the Tafuna village.  One thing I did see is your last names tells what village you are from, what family, and your status.  Well, my son’s teacher was from the same village, and also attended the same church.  So she took a little more liking to our son.

The first day of school he cried.  The second day of school, he cried.  Yet by the third day he was ready to accept his role as a kindergartner.  Before entering the classroom, students are to remove their shoes.  Something my son never did.  And he was the only one in class that wore his shoes the entire school year.  Education at school consisted of an hour of learning the Samoan language.  I miss that my kids are not currently learning the language now, because my son was actually understanding it.  One thing I will say that I DO NOT like about the Department of Education out there is corporal punishment was banned in 1998, yet some teachers have been known to still hit the children with switches wrapped with tape.  I was a witness to such a thing happening to a kindergartner (5 years old). I reported it to the principal, police, news, social services, and around ten other people/agencies and NOTHING was done. 

Now, to move on to the topic of my story…  Through out the school year we had several routine teacher parent meetings to keep us updated on the progress of our son.  Yet one particular meeting has stuck in my head to this day.  Giving me the reason to write about it.  It was in  mid-May 2008.  The last month of school.  Both my husband and I attend our son’s teacher/parent conference.  His teacher began to say how well he has done, and how hard he has tried learning the Samoan language.  He won an essay award for students in his age group.  She began to say how sweet of a child he is, all the while showing us his folder.  We thanked her for all her work with him.  She continued to express how pleased she was, and how much she cared for him.  After all was said and done, we stood up to leave.  She stood up with us.  Then she began to tell us something that made me say WOW….  She said how she loved him so, and that is why whenever he had to use the bathroom, she would leave her class to go with him so no one would beat him up for being Samoan and Palagi (white).  All the while tears have now welled up in her eyes as she told us stories of her leaving her class unattended to be watched by the neighboring teacher.  She continued to say she didn’t want anything bad to happen to him if he went by himself.  She didn’t want the other kids to do anything to him because he was Afatasi (mixed).  I wanted to cry too.   Watching her, her passion, and the fear that something would happen to my son because he was mixed was heartfelt.  I didn’t even bother at the time to say he’s not mixed with White.  At that moment getting in the car, I thought how UNBELIEVABLE!   A teacher, for the entire school year had willingly protected my son for her fear of him being hurt by others because he was mixed.  Once again I say, UNBELIEVABLE~