the start

I do not really remember the exact moment I began my conscious journey of identity and feeling that I was different from the rest, but I do remember the time.  I had moved schools shy of intermediate where the school roll was more than double my previous school, I knew nobody and the kids were mostly white.  An incredible contrast to the mostly brown faces I was used to schooling with.  There was no Polynesian group and singing practice consisted of songs only in English.  Importance was placed on how trendy your clothes were and the latest duraseal your books were covered in.  Meeting and connecting with a brown face was something very novel and exciting.  The Rents had not thought enough of the cultural changes I would face and as a consequence I struggled with my lack of preparation.  It felt like I had moved to a new country, not a school in a new suburb which made for hell at times, but I did manage to make a few friends along the way who I am still friends with today.  These school years also prepared me somewhat for high school, thankfully, even if it was the hard way.

This is me - Teine 'Afakasi.

dusty demon slayer

Some months ago a friend told me he has had a dandruff problem since who knows when and had tried just about everything in an attempt at ridding himself of this dusty demon.  I suggested coconut oil to him to combat the dandruff which he had not tried and I promised I would bring him the real deal all the way from Samoa.

A month or so later I arrived back from Samoa with the fagu'u thinking I would give a bit to said friend and keep the rest for my own personal use.  I was also telling myself the fagu'u I had was enough for the two of us because he was probably going to come back to me saying it was not working, even though I knew it would.  Judgemental on my part because the other palagis I have suggested coconut oil to in the past for ailments such as eczema frowned upon the idea of a natural remedy over something the doctor prescribed.

Oh how I was wrong this guy!  As it turns out, I have managed to help change the life of a mala from Notting Hill and you can now call me the Dusty Demon Slayer.  Gone are the days of an itchy scalp and constantly dusting off shoulders for my friend.  He would probably bathe in the stuff given the chance!

With the fagu'u almost out I now need to find a supply because my friend from work is getting through more coconut oil in a week than I do in a several months!

This is me - Teine 'Afakasi.

war of the worlds

I had never seen anyone terminally ill until my mother's brother became sick during my teenage years.  As an extended family we banded together as best we could to offer my uncle and his immediate family our support in what became his last months of life.  In sickness and in death the doors were always open for those who wanted to spend time with my uncle and the family.  As other family members passed away, I took the Samoan way of facing sickness and death to be the norm.

Some years later, my father's mother became sick and in her tender age, she began residing at a rest home - something I did not like, although had no say in.  After a short time at the rest home, my grandmother became unconscious, and surrounded by her children and grandchildren, she slipped from us slowly, day by day till finally she passed away.  In sickness and in death the doors tended to be more closed than open to anyone but family, and even then, there were seemingly unsaid limitations.

From my grandmother's decline in health till we laid her to rest with her husband, I felt like a foreigner living in some surreal reality.  The way everything was handled was not what I was used to.  I regularly thought to myself, who are these people I am meant to be related to?  My mother must have had an affair!  Is my father really the milkman?

So where does that leave me all these years on?  Thankfully I am still very much my father's daughter!  I still get a little sad thinking there were things I could have done or said differently, however I have to remember it was about my grandmother, not me.

This is me - Teine 'Afakasi.

castle conversations

A few months ago I moved into a new place we sometimes like to call The Castle - an apartment that looks like a castle and feels like a castle, but really, it is an apartment.  The girls and I hit it off straight away when I met them, much to my relief.  One palagi, the other Maori.

After a few weeks I move in - someone who has been on a rather winding journey with my identity.  A journey I am still on and will be for quite some time.  Not too soon after that, the three of us are in the lounge talking over a few bottles of wine and the conversation moves to the harmless topic of what colour to dye our hair.  All of a sudden the Maori looks in my direction and blurts out "With you, no matter how dark your hair gets, it doesn't make you look any more native than what you already are BUT ME, dark hair makes me look really native, really Mau-ree and I just don't want that look for myself".

In that moment my jaw mentally dropped as my mind raced with a myriad of questions, thoughts and realisations.  Most prevalent in my mind was why I ended up in this place of all places, living with this person of all people who is intensely out of touch with who she is, out of touch with her roots and seems to be doing all she can to disassociate herself with being Maori, which from my observation is exactly what she needs most in her life.  She is running away from everything I am running to.

I have no idea how my journey living in The Castle is going to pan out with a Maori in denial about being Maori and I frequently feel restless when I think about it because I know something has to give with this girl.  I do not know how it is going to happen, I do not know when it is going to happen, I just know it is going to happen.

This is me - Teine 'Afakasi.

a new day has begun

Photo .. My favourite moment of the Rugby World Cup.
A beautiful and warming moment for all the world to see.

As they say, all good things must come to an end and here is the end of what has been a whirlwind six weeks that has well and truly reignited my love for rugby.  I went as far as purchasing a game ticket, a Manu jersey and three large Samoan flags - big deal kind of stuff for me!

The last time the All Blacks were in a Rugby World Cup final, I was a little girl in primary school.  I still remember the game as if it were yesterday.  Last night the anticipation was the same, the excitement greater.

One cannot talk about that Rugby World Cup in 1995 without saying the name Jonah Lomu.  As that little girl, I watched Jonah, amazed by the sheer strength an determination he possessed.  Fast forward to a few weeks ago, I exited an Auckland Hospital elevator only to be amazed yet again, by the strength and determination of Jonah as he sat in a hospital foyer waiting to go home.  Jonah's induction to the IRB Hall of Fame is well deserved.

Just before the game last night, I was confident the Webb Ellis Cup was in New Zealand to stay and ever conscious the French were not going to go down without giving it everything they had.  From what I have seen in media, the French have been gracious in defeat and the All Blacks have been, in one word, celebrating!

This is me - Teine 'Afakasi.

kiss me, i'm irish.

Even though the Rugby World Cup pool matches are over, I want to take you back to the night of September 17, when Ireland rose victorious against the Wallabies.

It had not occurred to me to make the concerted effort to watch the game, and it was only the enthusiasm of a friend's fiancée that turned my attention to the television.  I was thinking to myself, why would I want to watch a game where it is not my beloved Manu Samoa playing?

In the early stages of the game it was quite obvious the household would have been happy with any winner on the night, as long as it was not Australia, which suited me just fine being loyal to the land of my birth.

At half-time, the game was locked 6-6 and I could feel some part of my being unfurling.  Then when the final whistle blew, I sat back in my chair with a sense of elation, not because Australia had been defeated.  No, I was elated because Ireland had won.

Amidst all the screaming and cheering and frightening my two-year-old niece (who did not know whether to laugh or cry staring at all the crazed adults in the room) an apple came crashing from the sky, smacking me nicely in the head.  I remembered, during of all things, a rugby game, that I have Irish blood running though my veins too.  Truly I do.

This is me - Teine 'Afakasi.

today is the day

It has been quite some time since I last posted on my blog and while I should be sleeping, I have decided what better time to resurface in the blog world than today - the day the Rugby World Cup 2011 begins!  There is without a doubt something in the air.  I sense something very big is going to come to fruition which is nothing short of exciting!

One of the reminders the Rugby World Cup is happening in my own backyard is the multitude of flags everywhere.  If there was a prize for the most flags waving around from one country, Tonga would take it out!  Last week I saw a van with at least 10 Tongan flags attached!  And the only reason I know my neighbours are Tongan is because of the flags on their porch and roof top.  Sadly my own Samoan flag is nowhere near big enough to give them a run for their money!

This Rugby World Cup I am probably the most excited I have ever been about Manu Samoa participating.  In particular, I am excited to be going to the Manu vs Fiji game - my first time at a real live test match.  I will be wearing my Manu jersey proudly!  And Te Karere had a segment on the amazing welcome the Manu team received from Te Arawa in Rotorua in the lead up to their game against Namibia on Wednesday.  The Manu team has much promise and I wish them nothing but the best in this competition. 

Also in news headlines is the 42nd Pacific Islands Forum taking place in Auckland.  I heard John Key's intention was to have the forum coincide with the Rugby World Cup to give it more of a Pacific flavour.  Since learning about the effects of climate change on the Pacific, it has been a topic I place great importance on.  Hopefully discussions around the the reality of how vulnerable the Pacific is right now when it comes to climate change brings about more awareness on an international level.

The only thing left to say for now is GO MANU!

This is me - Teine 'Afakasi.

get it right

This morning I woke up around 3 having slept all day yesterday recovering from food poisoning.  Feeling rather refreshed, the last thing I felt like doing was going back to sleep, opting instead for turning on the telly and navigating the blog world.  At around 5am I was vaguely aware of episode 23 of The Erin Simpson Show blaring in the background - a show I have watched before out of curiosity rather than interest.  The first time I watched the show, Tomasi Cama was a guest and my lasting memory of the show was not the irritating theme song or Erin's bleached hair or the food being cooked by the guest chef.  It was Erin saying Tomasi's surname wrong.

One of my pet peeves is people on New Zealand television who continually mispronounce Polynesian names and words (why I am bothered, I will save for another post).  I was that bothered by hearing Erin's mispronunciation of Tomasi's name being said to his face, that I tweeted "Someone needs to school @erinsimpson on a bit of gagana Fiki .. it's pronounced THama NOT Kama.Get it right." to which she replied "thanks - its impossible to everything right, ill get it next time xx".

As dubious as I was about Erin getting it next time, especially since she couldn't even tweet me properly, she did, much to my surprise, take my advice and got it right.  This morning, while the rest of my household slept, I wanted to laugh and do a celebratory dance as the sound of Erin Simpson's voice filled my ears with the name Tomasi Cama the way it is meant to be said!

This is me - Teine 'Afakasi.

here fishy fishy fishy ..

I can now reluctantly say I am in my late 20's and recently I found myself at a 21st birthday feeling really REALLY old.  I was more interested in the food (only because I was broke and it was Filipino food I eat an average of once a year), I was not going to town on the party bus with all the 21 year olds and I got asked by a 21 year old (in a committed relationship with a child) why someone of my age and pretty was not at home with my husband and children.  And by the way, this is the second time in 2 months I have been asked why I am old young-ish, free and single.  Now I am starting to wonder, if there are plenty of fish in the sea, then where is my .. fish?

Did I have him and now he is gone?
Have I met him and just don't know it?
Is he yet to walk in to my life?
Or am I destined to become a nun?

I don't think I am a high maintenance kind of girl with a list a mile long on what I must have in my ideal man.  My list only consists of 4 points thus far!  Someone who thinks he is God's gift to me and me alone, is as tall as me or taller and is a Samoan who speaks at least Samoan AND English!  Is that really too much to ask?

This is me - Teine 'Afakasi.