AMERICAN SAMOA

Te Awamutu Courier, Volume 55, Issue 3938, 11 August 1937, Page 4

AMERICAN SAMOA

A DAY IN PAGO PAGO. One of the most beautiful sights in the tropics must be the entry into the Bay of Pago Pago, in the Island of Tutuila, American Samoa, early on a fine morning. Except for the dense tropical vegetation, with its unmistakably brilliant greenness, one could imagine oneself somewhere amidst the Norwegian fjords, for the mountains arise abrupt and towering on either hand, whilst the white roofed settlement spread out at their feet basks in a languorous quiet. The long, crooked harbour, half a mile wide is, in reality, the crater of an extinct volcano, and if ever a harbour- looked fathomless this one does. To-day the trade wind ruffles its surface only gently, and the reflections of deep green are changed to liquid blue as the sun rises higher. Soon we have all passed medical inspection, and “pratique” is obtained, which means that we can go ashore as soon as we wish. In Pago Pago there is no wharf to accommodate a 20,00 Oton liner, so the anchor is lowered, and passengers are ferried across in launches.

Once away from the sheltered decks and with the tropical sun pouring down on us, we begin to wish we had put on even flimsier clothing than the minimum considered necessary on such a decorous boat. (For, surprisingly enough, in this smallish democratic community fierce resentment is expressed if a lady appears in her shorts in the dining saloon, or a gentleman in his shirt sleeves, though nobody objects to bare backs at night.)

It is not till we have been hauled out of the launch by a very stout native person, whose garb makes it impossible to determine whether he is a soldier or a policeman, or perhaps a sailor—since this is a United States naval station —or merely a local stalwart selling his services for the day, that the pageant of native life provides its introduction. A few curious natives enjoy the spectacle of our being hoisted ashore; they are a fine looking lot—generally regarded as the most perfect type of Polynesian, of a light-brown colour, splendid physique and handsome, regular- features. We are urged to take the “bus” which will drive us to the other side of the island, where the natives have a settlement. I shall never forget that drive. The "bus” is an antiquated vehicle, the body consisting of a wooden frame with a bench to seat about ten people running the length of each side, with a canvas top. That in itself could have been endured but the road along which we travelled, following the coast line—an unfolding panorama of existing beauty—was so narrow that whenever we met another vehicle coming from the opposite direction one of us had to retreat, backing up grades and round corners till there was a spot of sufficient width for the other to pass. This happened a few times without much difficulty, but once our “bus” got jammed against the side of the other trying to pass us, and we all thought we should end up over the side of the cliff, for cur near-side wheels were barely a couple of inches from it. The drivers, however, apparently accustomed to such situations, managed after a great deal of manoeuvring, assisted by several passengers who got out to push, to continue in their respective directions. But it was a truly tortuous path, and- decidedly bumpy.

None of us were sorry when the native village appeared in view, although, apart from a few anxious moments, the drive had really been a splendid adventure. Now, on all sides were the distinctive houses of the Samoans. Unlike the homes of the Fijians, which are completely thatched, with definite doorways to permit entering or leaving, these houses were little more than thatched roofs supported on poles, the openings between them being closed with mats that can be raised or lowered. As a background to the settlement stood the Samoan forests, remarkable for the size and variety of their trees and the luxuriance and beauty of tree ferns and creepers. The cocoanut palm, breadfruit and banana tree grew in clumps round and about the settlement. Right in the centre the white building of the mission school house, a strange contrast to the rest of the dwellings. With so many "subjects,” I quickly began to focus my camera, but a burly native sidled up to me and said:

"Don’t take photographs before you have paid!”

This seemed a little unfriendly, but I acted on his words and waited for a more opportune moment. Hearing the sound of native chanting, I followed it, and came to what was evidently a native council house. Most of my bus companions were already seated on benches along the four wall-less sides, so I found room and joined in the fun. In rows along the floor of the house squatted the native women, all dressed up in their festive array, which included an amazing variety of skirts and "tops,” with leis round their necks, flowers in their hair and such-like. The leader of the company was a man, who recited the little piece about how we were now going to see all the cld native dances and hear the old songs. First of all, however, there was a little ceremony of adorning us all with leis. My lei was made of frangipani, and I never before had so much of that exotic flower at one time. After this the dances began, but there is not much to say of them

tions of the Hula. The "music” was supplied by the leader beating on an empty kerosene tin with a couple of sticks. After that, to show our appreciation, we each put a dollar in the plate. And then, to show their appreciation, we were each given a young cocoanut filled with milk to drink. That ended the show.

Well, having paid something, we were now at liberty to begin using our cameras. But the minute the native youths and young girls saw these in our hands they rushed up in overpowering numbers. "Please, sir, don’t you want my picture?” "Lady, will you take my picture?” Such a lavish display of friendliness was refreshing after our first encounter, but we soon found out there was a catch in it. Every time a native poked his head in the range of our focussing he demanded to be paid 25 cents for it. We laid out several dollars in this way, my husband being very extravagant, and paying youngsters to run up and down palm trees while he shot them with a movie camera. Of course whenever we moved natives would follow us selling everything from a grass skirt to a wooden spear. They were inclined to be persistent at first, but after saying no for several times they took the refusal good naturedly. When at length we had taken enough snapshots and movie reels, we inspected the little "market,” where the natives had their wares spread out on the ground. They bad their own way of taking the interest out of bargaining by saying: "Such and such really costs ten dollar, but I give it you for six.” Each one of them began with the same ritual, even the old chief from whom we bought kava bowls, tapa cloths, woven mats for dishes, and a Samoan “bell” (of wood). Everything should really be very much more than he was asking for it, but he would let us have it at half the price, etc. But it was great fun, and much of the work was well worth seeing, especially the articles carved from solid lumps of native hardwood trees. Finally, loaded with half a dozen different heavy bowls, and innumerable parcels of oddments, we scrambled into the last seats in the last bus, and made the exciting return trip. When we got back to Pago, lo and behold there was another native market all spread out "on the lawns. So of course we could not resist the temptation of going the rounds once more, adding to our purchases as we went. Several times young native lads followed us, begging us to let them carry our goods. By this time we had grown canny, and asked, “How much you want?” "Twenty-five cents,” said one, an extremely intelligent looking child. So we let him relieve us of our heavy burden, which apparently was no weight to him, and he followed us unwearied up and down the road. He told us his name was Jack, that he was ten and a half, that he liked schrooi, and altogether proved an agreeable little companion. He spoke English naturally, with an American accent, but he could understand all we said, and at times acted as interpreter between us and some "stallholder” from whom we wanted to buy something. Jack carried our belongings down to where the launch was moored, and when we gave him half a dollar he showed all his fine white teeth. Personally I should have liked to smuggle him aboard and taken him to Europe with me, but that might have led to misunderstandings. Once again aboard ship, and feeling that the day had been spent entirely satisfactorily. I waited till we had turned into midstream, and then cast my lei of glorious frangipani into the bay—for that meant I should not say “good-bye” to Tutuila, only "au revoir.”—M.C.K. in Melbourne Age.