exotic samoa

Nov. 10

The great Samoan adventure has begun! As I roll out of bed and glance out my window, I am greeted by grey skies and a dreary drizzle, almost as if the weather were conspiring to increase my anticipation for the balmy breeze and glorious sunshine of the South Pacific. The morning runs the familiar course of the immediate hours before an international trip in the Grizzard home - perfect chaos. Everyone is engaged in the effort - desperate stuffing of bags, weighing and reweighing to keep them under the 50 lb. limit, running around the house finalizing domestic issues for a 3 week absence, and even a last minute jounce to Wal - Mart for forgotten necessities. All 11 of us, along with our personal luggage, hundreds of copies of messages in Samoan and 1,000’s of tracts in Samoan, finally roll out of our drive way packed into one of the C.O.P.’s 15 passenger vans. 15 minutes down the road I suddenly remember the projector to show the Jesus film is still sitting in the back of the Suburban at home. We make a u turn and a quick call gets Willie hurrying to us with the forlorn projector. After a few wrong turns and detours we finally make it to the Charlotte airport. Upon arrival, Dad employs his legendary diplomacy skills to get 14 bags checked in with no fees, and we make our way for the security line. After a quick pit stop at KFC we pile on our flight to Cleveland, OH and then on to L.A. It’s a great feeling. Samoa, here we come!

Nov. 11

The grey light of early morning slowly envelops night as I gaze out the window of the Air New Zealand Boeing 777. It’s been a long night since we embarked on the last leg of our journey at L.A. As we begin to lose altitude, the clouds begin to thin and I make out vast stretches of dull blue. Suddenly, a green strip appears, rushing towards us - my first glimpse of Samoa. It is the island of Upolu, the smaller but more populated and developed of the two main islands that make up Independent Samoa.

At about 5:30 AM we touch down on the runway in Appia, Samoa’s capital and largest city. As soon as we step through customs we are given a warm welcome. Four men are arranged just inside the baggage claim playing guitars and a percussion instrument played with a long pole in the South Pacific style. Their big grins and catchy “Welcome to Samoa” song make it impossible to keep a smile off your face. After negotiating 11 people and upwards of 20 bags of luggage through the tiny airport we are met by a smiling lady holding a sign with Dad’s name scribbled on it. She shows us our Ford E-350 van we’ll be renting for our stay in Samoa. After a short drive we arrive at the wharf where a ferry takes vehicles and passengers across the 10 miles of ocean that sever the islands of Upolu and Savai’i. As the old Japanese ferry creaks and groans across, I am stunned by the beauty around me. In the distance I can just make out a small, rocky uninhabited island with dense vegetation shrouding it’s conical top, asserting it’s volcanic origins. Deep in the mist ahead of us the volcanic peaks of Savai’i begin to emerge. After unloading our van, we begin to wind across the undulating road cutting through the mountainous Savai’i coast. I am awestruck at the exotic and exquisite beauty of the island. Deep blue ocean fringed by lighter shades of teal is interspersed by black craggy volcanic rocks. White sandy beaches graced with coconut palms and mango trees shoot up to steep volcanoes shrouded in clouds, covered by dense tropical jungles. Pretty Samoan girls wearing colorful lavalavas with white hibiscus flowers adorning their dark hair smile and wave at us as we pass them on the road. Fales, traditional Samoan outdoor meeting huts, rise periodically as we drive through villages. The only road in Savai’i is a large circuit around the island, making its way along the coast, leaving the rugged interior virtually inaccessible.

Two hours later we arrive at our spartan missionary compound. Perched at the end of the biggest bay in Savai’i, a expanse of glassy teal water stretches just outside our windows. Two small palm frond roofed fales along the water’s edge sit next to a small pool, volleyball court and a shaded area with tables and chairs and a pool table. Ok, let’s just say I have to slap myself to remember I’m on a mission trip, not on vacation.

C.C., Jenna, Micah and I go to visit one of Jenna’s uncles, Venna. As we chat in the shade of his fale looking over the bay, feeling the gentle ocean breeze ruffling my hair, I am struck with one aspect of Fa’a Samoa - the Samoan way - the easy going pace of life. No one wears watches, and it seems like everyone slows down to take in life instead of rushing through it. Before we leave Venna’s home, I get the chance to experience one of the most unique cultural delicacies of Samoa - Se’a. Venna explains that to make se’a, you first catch a sea slug and remove his guts. You then bottle it up in a coke bottle and let it ferment for a few days. Then, yum yum, crack open the se’a. It tastes great draped over rice, fish, anything, even slurped up like long noodles all by itself! This is about the rudest thing I’ve heard of eating, but I have to at least try it. The texture is similar to chewy snot, and the taste isn’t too bad at first, just really salty. Then the after taste kicks in - wow. The closest thing I can think of is it tastes the way rotten seaweed smells along a hot beach. Exotic Samoa. Exuding with color, culture and life.

In the evening we are treated to a more savory dinner at Venna’s home. Huge steaks of fresh yellow-finned tuna are grilled over an open fire to make the best fish I ever put in my mouth. All the meat comes from one gigantic tuna, feeding all 11 of us, Venna and his wife, several cooks and maids with more than enough to eat.

Nov. 12 - 15

Life is beginning to assume a pattern here is Samoa. In the morning we head out to the numerous villages along the coast handing out tracts and cds and making contacts to show the Jesus film. We find one of Jenna’s cousins named Wallace, the son of a Ma’tai, or chief, who is fluent in English to guide us to villages and interpret for us as we make appointments and witness. In the afternoons we have some free time. The beaches here are teeming with tropical fish and vibrant coral, so snorkeling is naturally a favorite past time for me. One afternoon Sarah and I climbed into our two person inflatable kayak and made out for a tiny uninhabited island about 2 miles out in the bay. We chose the worst time to embark on such a voyage as a considerable breeze picked up, and it took a great deal of effort to maneuver through the waves. Along the way a sea turtle surfaced, almost close enough to touch, and floated for a few moments until he suddenly became aware of our presence and dove back into the depths. About an hour later, we reached our little island. It was completely lifeless except for an abundance of hermit crabs and some low growing shrubs. As we turned around, the view of Sa’vai was stunning. The entire landscape of the island stretches out on both sides, with huge volcanic cones jutting up covered in thick forests. Massive clouds seen only at sea glide around the peaks. I was struck by just how remote a place we’re at - sequestered on a huge volcano rising from the sea floor with thousands of miles of ocean on every side. It feels awful and wonderful all at once to know you're in one of the most remote places in the South Pacific - in the world.

We have a very warm reception to the literature we distribute, and most are supportive of our work. In one village, a leading elder called C.C., Dad and I to his porch to give us a traditional Samoan blessing. As we took our seats on a long bench, I noticed a large bowl filled with a thin brown liquid on the table before the man. He asked for each of our names and then took a small coconut shell, stired the liquid for a moment and then scooped it up to the capacity of the shell. He then crieed out Dad’s name and a long formal blessing and gave the shell to Dad to drink. He then proceeded with the same ritual for C.C. and I. When I tasted it, it had a strong earthy, organic taste with a tingle that hinted it was partially fermented. When the ceremony was finished, I discovered the unusual drink is made from the bark of a native tree.

As we proceed from village to village I, try to take in the all the sights of daily life in a traditional Samoan village. Most of the homes, although crude in construction, are clean and well taken care of and are surrounded by neatly manicured flower bushes and shrubs. The lush environment accommodates a wide diversity of flora in brilliant hues all around. The center of daily life is the fale. Similar in structure to a pole barn, it is a great room open on all sides and covered by a palm frond or sheet metal roof. Around this structure are various other small buildings for daily life - a kitchen, an outhouse, sleeping quarters, a workshop, and so on. Most people appear quite poor by western standards, owning no vehicles and living in simple cinder block homes, but have the basic commodities for an acceptable standard of living. Nearly everyone is engaged in some activity relating to food; fishing or working on a small pineapple plantation or running a tiny shop or restaurant. The pace of life is easy going but disciplined.

There is a strong moral framework integral to the society, largely due to the influence of British missionaries of the nineteenth century. First pioneered by John Williams, the missionary efforts of the London Missionary Society, or LMS as they are known here, are still evident in both the worldview and practice of many Samoans. Church is the foundation of social life, the niche that defines one’s place in Samoan life. All along the road numerous churches can be seen. Most are Catholic or LMS, and Mormons are beginning to gain a formidable presence throughout the island. Sunday morning we attended a large LMS church in a nearby village. As it turned out, this particular Sunday was a type of fundraiser in which all the LMS churches on the island gathered together. As I stepped in the huge, poorly ventilated sanctuary, my breath was taken away by the sea of people before me. Around 500 people were seated, arranged in groups by the district they are from, each church represented wearing matching colored lavalavas. All were clad in white shirts and all the women wore large white lace hats. Before each group was a small organ or electric keyboard and a song director. As the first group began to sing, I was amazed. Breaking out into four parts, they sang choruses from the turn of the century in tight, even harmonies, the Samoan translations in perfect step to the rhythm. As each group took their turn, all sang in the same style. It is intriguing to me to hear western singing so thoroughly embraced by an island culture with bigger and bolder voices than Americans or Europeans. After a lengthy sermon in Samoan, the service was dismissed and the crowd almost magically disappeared into a few dozen trucks and rumbled away.

Later that afternoon, I asked Wallace, who attends church there, about the service and the Samoan’s attitude to church. I am surprised by how ritualistic a place the church serves here. It seems to many to be a place to give your tithes and put in your time for God and be the “anchor” to your social life with little emphasis on a personal relationship with Christ. Not unlike very legalistic churches such as the Amish, many do not really understand the new birth. They are very moral, devout and religious, even setting aside a daily curfew in the evening for prayer and singing. Especially in the Catholic churches, many members also integrate the pagan Samoan deities into their religious life. There is a great need for a clear understanding of a vibrant, personal connection with God.

P.S. The internet is really slow, but pictures are coming soon!