Exposure is good….

June 12, 1967 the U.S. Supreme court made a decision that whites can marry non-whites. Since that ruling, the number of interracial marriages has soared. I myself am in an interracial marriage, and it’s so hard to believe that it has only been 42 years since the decision was made. Although acceptable by law, it still raises controversy amongst some family and friends. Especially those who were raised in the era before 1967.

I have been trying several ways to find a similar couple in my situation. A Black female married to a Samoan male; with kids…. And it has become the most difficult task I have encountered on the internet. I am sure they are out there, very few, but where? I asked an office employee at my kid’s school the other day, “Are there any other Samoan kids here?” “Nope, you guys are the only ones” was her reply.

I had joined other social sites in hopes to accomplish meeting someone who could relate to the things I share, or the things I went through. I tried to find maybe websites who were made specifically for the interracial unity of Samoan men and Black women. Nothing, nada, zilche…… Granted I have met many people in interracial relationships, who have beautiful multicultural children. Yet, there are things from my perspective though, that they will never understand about the Samoan culture. No matter how much I explain it. Some things have to be learned through exposure. I do know a few Samoan women and black men, but those women were disowned for stepping out. And not until the relationships dissolved were they welcomed back into the family. The only thing we related too was the racial prejudices. Me being Black, their husbands being Black. Sad but true. Even in family the pre-judgment of a person because of the color of their skin does still exist. I would say it’s not as bad, but the dislike is definitely known when one is looked down upon for being of a different race.

My reasons in wanting to find a couple in the same cultural situation as myself is so that my children can meet other children with something in common. Not just the mixture but the culture expectations. The learning of the language. The dances, the songs. The understanding on why this is done this way or that. Someone who is not aware of the Fa’a Samoa would not understand. It’s kind of like when I grew up. My grandmother died when my dad was around 11 or 12. She would have been our Mexican- Indian heritage link. During my sophomore year of high school I was a foreign exchange student and studied in Tepic Nayarit, Mexico. Was it my parent’s way of helping me learn my Mexican-Indian culture first hand by allowing me that opportunity, I believe so. There would have been no other way for me to learn the language, read, speak, and write it fluently had I not had on hands learning. I know my kids will not truly learn the Fa’a Samoa living in the US because the traditional ways are not carried out much here. However, many of the elders do attempt to hold on to the old ways. Yet with each generation, the old ways slowly fade away.

I was exposed to many different cultures growing up, and had friends from all walks. I want the same for my kids. I think that exposure truly helped me in accepting everyone and not being a prejudice person. I don’t want my kids confined to just a few ethnic backgrounds. I want them to know the Asian kids, the Pacific Islanders, the Caucasians, African Americans, Arabians, Indians, Latinos, etc. Our world is such a great melting pot of backgrounds and cultures that I am positive I’m not even aware of hundreds of them that exist. I just hope one of these days I can meet some else who is also married to a Samoan because I know I can’t be the only one out here…..

Samoan Fa’alavelave

My daughter’s grandpa, a faife‘au (minister), had passed away in mid-June.  I have two girls with my ex-husband, ages 15 and 10.  A Samoan funeral or wedding are two of the biggest events in one’s family. I write this because at the time my girls were unaware of the huge responsibility and demand it entails. Especially from them being the first born grandchildren, and the only girls of the grandchildren line. They had to be taught the proper way to enter a room, serve the elders and important people, along with learning a traditional Samoan siva (dance) to honor their grandfather.  Although I have never been a major part in any of these events, I will attempt to share the steps of what should be done during this time since it is a huge part of the Fa’a Samoa (The Samoan Way).  This is no way exact.  Every fa’alavelave is different I’m sure. Some more detailed, some more precised, and some more elaborate then others.  But they all have one common thing. Matai’s (chiefs) and delegates who participate in these ceremonies.

Samoan fa’alavelave’s (any event in the Samoan culture that involves the gathering of extended family) preserves the Fa’a Samoa (The Samoan Way). Every Samoan family has someone who carries the chief title or is the eldest member of a family’s line and is able to make decisions on behalf of the family and the fa‘alavelave’s. A family matai can get financial support from several (families) depending on how active he is as a matai or his status in the family. There are many different factors that figure this financial contribution out for fa‘alavelave events. This would typically include the extended family.

Ietoga, which are fine mats are handmade and come in a variety of sizes. They are sometimes decorated with feathers or yarn. The fine mats served as a money in fa‘alavelave events back in the old days. Today, the fine mats are still appreciated and carry the family’s respect. There is not much use for the fine mats other then sometimes decorating the floors. Normally after the event, the ietoga’s are rolled up and covered with plastic. They are stored away until the next fa‘alavelave. Which could be another funeral, or wedding.

Prior to the funeral, the matai (chief), and the tulafale (talking chief) perform an important ceremony which gets the family together. There can be other high members of this group to participate in the family ceremony meeting. This meeting with the family is highly important because it is when the chief delegates each of their roles and what they will be doing.  Sometimes the ceremony will include member’s of the surviving spouse’s family.  Any fine mats and money given are all written down in a notebook and kept by a person who was delegated to do the accounting job. Small fine mats are usually 5 to six feet long. Whereas the larger mats can go up to twenty feet or more. The large mats tend to be the ones that have a role to play. They are normally showed off, and then discussed on since they have a higher and special status than the smaller ones. Money that is given along with the fine mat is normally presented to the matai of the family.  The family meeting ceremony ends with the conclusion of who will buy the food, who will prepare it, who will be the official secretary and the accountant for the future anticipated si‘i (anything that the family is offering in support of the fa’alavelave to show their support and respect for the deceased) and sua (preparatory element of any fa’alavelave).

During the week prior to the funeral, visiting friends, co-workers, extended family, and church members visit the immediate family to deliver their si‘i and to show their respect. I am the ex daughter in law in this family. However the si’i from my current husband, myself, and kids was $200 dollars along with cases of water and soda. My parent’s also sent money along with my siblings who took over chips, cookies, and snacks for the kids. Everyone brings over more fine mats and money aside from what was presented at the family meeting. There are strict rules to these giving’s. The talking chief receives the si’i and in return says, thanks on behalf of the family and gives back half of what was given.  A ceremonial sua is given in return where the visiting important people, such as chief’s, ministers, their wives, etc. are offered a meal on a huge tin tray. The traditional meals normally include a taro, fa’i (a unriped banana baked in a umu which is  traditional above ground over hot rocks cooking), palusami (spinach type dish made with coconut milk), pig, chicken, sapasui (chopped noodles), a fine mat, and a case of corned beef. There has been a change of some traditional sua items given. Sometimes a can of soda with a dollar bill tucked underneath the tab is now given with a traditional Ie lavalava (traditional fabric worn around the waist).  There are many other items that can take the place of traditional Samoan foods that are offered. The change is due in most parts because people cannot obtain traditional Samoan food on the mainland. The ceremonial sua being given is never eaten right away because it is being presented as a sign of respect.  After the sua is looked over and taken into account, about half of the money and fine mats are then returned to the delegates. The receiving family is expected to return a good portion of the si‘i.  Before they leave they are given more items to take home.  After receiving their sua from the family that day, the delegates will eventually go back and visit all of the contributing members of their support team who had helped give money and give each one of them an equal portion of the si‘i that was returned to them. This completes the exchange obligation.  And sometimes these financial matches run up in to the thousands of dollars that change hands. 

Now, not all Samoan children learn and participate the Fa‘a Samoa. My daughter’s are a prime example of this.  My girls who have only been taught limited things about their culture and the Samoan language from their dad’s side actually only have a small understanding of their racial makeup. It is now at their older age that they desire to learn the language and traditional dances. With me not being Samoan and having to learn myself, I have made the decision to help them in the best way I can. Attempting to find classes that teach the Samoan language. Which has become quite difficult to find. Also to find dance classes where they can learn and participate in traditional Samoan Sivas (dances.) From this we (my girls and I) realize, it’s never too late to learn something new. Besides, in this era and world, being bilingual or trilingual for that matter has such a huge benefit both financially and mentally. My advice, learn ALL you can and embrace the cultures that affect your family. Even if it’s just a wee bit of learning.

Our teachings.

While at a park in Hesperia California, a group of kids were sitting along the jungle gym.  A basketball of theirs had fallen and began to roll away.  My youngest daughter, age 2, ran for the basketball.  She was going to get it for them.  In this group of kids, who looked in the range of ten to thirteen years old was one Latino boy, one African American boy and Girl, and two Caucasian girls.  I was standing out of their site, but in view of my daughter.  As she was bringing the basketball back, the African American girl says, “You can play with it.”  As soon as she finished her sentence, the African American boy yells at her, “NO CHINESE!”  At which time I step out and say, “She’s not Chinese, she’s black. Are you a racist or something?”   I knew he was shocked. In one aspect because I surprised him coming out of nowhere, and the second aspect, she’s not Chinese but Black like him.  He answers my “are you a racist” question back by saying, “No, I’m black too.”  The girl who initially said my daughter could play with the ball looks at him and says, “Well get your dang ball then.”  My two year old of course will not remember that day I am sure. But it was her first encounter with an issue of race for her.  No matter how much we teach, learn, or want race issues to end, they never really will.

While sitting on the bleachers yesterday at the baseball field on Ft. Eustis in Virginia, a young girl probably in her late 20’s looks at my two year old and says’ “Hola.”  My daughter just looks at her.  While the girl repeats herself, my daughter just stares.  “Hola” she says again.  I look their way.   The young girl looks at me and says, “Does she speak Spanish?”  My reply with a smile, “No…”  The obvious look on her face was of curiosity, but she didn’t ask.  She meagerly said “Oh…” 

I prefer if people want to know or are wondering what my kids are mixed with, they simply ask.  When I see kids where there is an obvious mixture about, I wonder what made that beautiful person I see before me.  What type of DNA connected to make someone with the features they have, the skin tone, the hair type, the dimples, the almond shaped eyes, etc.  I think a mixture of sorts creates such unique individuals.  I see it within my own children.  So it does not offend me if someone asks, “What are they mixed with?”  I used to get it all the time growing up.  My older three children ages 19, 15 and 10 know what their racial and cultural makeup is.  My younger four ages 6, 5, 3 and 2 are not aware of race, culture, or difference.  In fact if you ask my 6 year old what color are you?  He will reply white.   When asked what color am I, he says white. When asked what color is his sister, he says deep pink.  So he sees color as colors in a crayon box.  

It is our teachings to our children that make them able to accept, appreciate and learn from other cultures and races.  My children have friends of all nationalities and backgrounds. It is because of our teachings that it is possible.   If they are taught their race is superior, they will be taught to be racist.  If they are taught that other races are beneath them, then they will be prejudice.  Of course as adults if they change their ways and form their own opinions that is out of our hands as parents.  Yet while young if it’s instilled in them the right way, normally they don’t stray from those teachings.  I am proud of my kids who have open hearts and open minds to know they are different in some ways but the same in others.  They may not speak the same language as others.  They may not do the same traditional dances as others do.  They may not even eat the same types of foods as others eat.  Yet their tears are the same when they cry,  their blood is the same when they bleed and their hearts are the same when they love.

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~

Who they are means the same.

When asked if I would be interested in blogging for The Sweet Rice Chronicles, I wasn’t sure if I even qualified for something I felt was an honor.  How could I possibly write something people would be interested in reading?  As I sat back and thought about the purpose, I accepted the honor of writing quite proudly.  In fact I realize many of our stories are written on the same pages….

As described in why “The Sweet Rice Chronicles” and the notion of trying to help others through our thoughts and experiences it has brought me to write back quite a few years on my own style first.  Then bring people up today with the now. 

I think every single culture has experienced the taste of rice.  Sweet rice, plain rice, buttered rice, fried rice, soy sauced rice, etc… Even those in far off countries and places we only see on the discovery channel; not realizing they even existed until seeing their tribal dance on the screen, have experienced rice.  When the U.S. supplies food for the countries who lack such a necessity, on many of the huge brown sacks has a label that says “RICE.”   It’s an odd connection, but rice kind of connects each individual in this entire world for the simple fact that we have all eaten it at least one time or another.  The sweeter the better…  In this day and age, one would think that so many people have blended families that prejudice and racism could not exist.  Yet even in my own experiences that has not been the case.

I come from a few generations of mixed folks. My mom being Black, Dutch and Jewish.  My dad being Black, Mexican and Hopi.  Now in my era of the 70’s and 80’s were the questions and comments, “what are you”  “is you mixed”  “you don’t look black.”   As a child growing up, I admit that was confusing.  I did not look like the “stereotyped”  black individual.  I did not look like the Black characters that were on television back then. I remember in elementary school, a classmate tell me my mom was not black because she had blue eyes.  Wow, could he have been right?  I never did see a “black” person with blue eyes.   Which took me to ask my mom once again, “what are we?”  Her common reply, “We’re black.” 

In Jr. High I had kids tell me I was Creole.  I had no idea what Creole was or meant.  So once again, “mom, what are we?”  Sounding like a scratched record, “We’re black…”  My question, “We’re not Creole?”  Her reply, “No, Creole’s have French in them.  We are black.”   Explaining that we are black, but don’t look black was hard for some to comprehend.  I can say the benefit of being mixed for me was being able to get along with every race I came in contact with; Black, White, Asian, Latinos, Pacific Islanders, and more.  So growing up I considered myself  Black, mixed; but Black.

I was aware that a certain percent of black blood made you black.  But what if the percentage is so low, near extinction.  Does that old slavery day law/rule still exist?  I bring that  question up concerning a conversation I had with an old co-worker.   My children are half Samoan. During our discussion, I said my kids are Black.  of course going on how I was taught, any amount of Black blood makes you Black.  My co-workers argument was how could my kids be Black when I have a little bit of Black blood, and their dad is of Samoan blood?  His reasoning was that my children have more Samoan blood in them then Black.  And as much as we went back and forth about the race of my children, he actually made sense.  I don’t even know how to break down the percentage as I see other people do when it comes to the bloodline.  But my kids would be half Samoan, and a very small amount of Black.  So that is when I came to the realization that my kids are mixed Black, Samoan, Mexican and Hopi.

On sight you don’t even see the “Black” blood that runs through their veins.  Their last name would have people suspect that they are Samoan.  Their almond shaped eyes would have people assume a touch of Asian.  Their light skin and straight hair would have others believe they are White or Hispanic. 

I have seven children, so can you imagine the stories I have to share.  My children will grow up to be awesome Black, Samoan individuals.  Or Samoan, Black individuals.  No matter which way I say it, it still means the same.