“Get off of me!” shouted Carolyn as she pushed her little sister off her lap. The children were crammed into the Datsun, the backs of their legs sticking to the plastic seats. In those pre-seatbelt days, Karen usually rode in the front on her mother’s lap but today she had insisted on riding with her sisters. There was enough room for three pre-pubescent Broquet butts in the back, but all four would not fit. Karen smirked as she climbed over the tangle of legs trying to find the lap to snuggle in that would most annoy the owner. She eventually ended up lying across all three of her older sisters with her feet sticking out of the window, giggling the entire time, while her mother in the front ignored the chaos behind her and just appreciated not having a sweaty child on her.
Post 43 — The Turtle and the Shark
Post 42 — Surf’s Up! (Part 2)
Karen threw herself down in the sand and immediately started sobbing and stammering something about titties. The older girls were confused because Kathy was the only one close to puberty, but then it occurred to them that she was talking about their cat. Nefertiti was a majestic Siamese given the name of an Egyptian empress; unfortunately, the children had shortened her name to Titi. The empress had just had a litter of six and the fact that they could be underwater soon made the girls momentarily forget their fears for themselves. They ran to check on the kittens to make sure everyone was warm and dry.
A car came roaring up to the house and they realized that their neighbor had not abandoned them to face the rising tides alone. She had run back to her house to get her car and two children. It was a tight fit to get five more kids in the back of a Datsun, so tight that the cats had to be left behind to fend for themselves. As the car took off, the girls were not only scared but also pretty sure they had condemned the six kits and their mom to a watery grave.
Post 41 — Surf’s up! (Part 1)
The packing crate is at the end of the house on the right side.
The arrival of the household goods was the last step in the family’s assimilation. Although life before had fallen into a comfortable rhythm, now it felt like home. And while the girls were happy to have new additions to their wardrobes after wearing the same three outfits for the last few months, the most exciting thing was the actual crate itself. It was like an apology from the shipping company: “Hey, we’re sorry it took ninety-eight days to get your stuff to you, so here’s a tiny extra house for all your trouble!”
Once everything had been unpacked, a set of hinges and a cheap padlock turned the box into a useable storage compartment. The crate was built out of two by fours and plywood and looked fairly substantial. When it was new, it also had the advantage of actually keeping things dry since it was completely contained when the side was shut, whereas the house was eighty percent screens and frequently damp. People stored bikes and lawn chairs and any other overflow that might not have fit in the house.
The crates were fine for about a year until the humidity and mildew got a good foothold in the pressed plywood, and then they began to disintegrate quickly. You could tell how long people had been on the island by the condition of their packing crate. If it was standing strong with all the sides intact and kids climbing on top of it, the wood a bright yellow with a whiff of sawdust scent, the family had been there less than six months. A pile of rotting black splinters that meant a sure battle with gangrene should a puncture wound ever occur, next to a couple of rusted lawn chairs, indicated a veteran.
Chapter 6: Post 40 — 1965!
The piano was old and out of tune but much played. Covered in tapa cloth, it became a focal point of the living room. Somewhere along the way, we also got a cat.
1965 started out exactly the way 1964 ended – with high humidity and torrential rain. The dry spell was a thing of the past as the reservoirs overflowed and the barrage came down with a force that was off-putting for the first ten minutes; then people just shrugged and went about their business.
It was through this onslaught of horizontal showers that the household goods were finally delivered, exactly one week after the ship carrying the load had cruised into the harbor. The two large crates were unloaded in front of the Broquet house, and the children swarmed wetly as they tried to peek inside. The wooden upright piano was the first piece out and it was temporarily parked in the sand as the movers tried to figure out how to get it into the house. The doorway was wide enough once the door had been removed, but there was a sharp turn that seemed impossible to navigate in order to get past the kitchen and into the living room. The movers stood in the monsoon discussing the best course of action while the piano keys swelled and glued themselves to each other, the wooden top starting to warp as it absorbed gallons and gallons of welcoming tears from its new homeland. A screen was eventually removed so it could slide directly into the living room, although at that point it was probably more useful as a boat than a musical instrument. Fortunately no one in the family played very well, so it wasn’t that much of a tragedy.
Post 39 – . . . ma le Tausaga Fou!
Christmas Eve day temps were in the low nineties, the air damp and the sun beating down with a ferocity that can only be found in the islands around the equator. The previous week had been full of preparation and celebrations of the holiday, topped off with a cocktail party at the Governor’s mansion. Halfway up the mountain in a large wooden house, the teachers mingled and drank in a crowd that was practically unrecognizable to themselves because everyone was wearing long pants and shoes. Larry had pulled out the one suit he had brought and cringed when he realized it was wool, but put it on knowing that the support of the governor kept the TV program going.
Plans were in motion for the family to attend Christmas Eve Midnight Mass that evening when word came of their very own Christmas miracle. This one did not involve a delivery of gold, frankincense and myrrh, but clothes, a washing machine and trolls! Christmas was nearly forgotten in the joy that greeted the announcement that the SS Sonoma had docked with the long-awaited household goods tucked in the cargo hold.
Post 38 — Manuia le Kerisimasi . . .
We don’t know what the natives intend to do about Christmas but we are already thinking about it. When we went swimming last week, we found a lovely driftwood branch that looks like a denuded Xmas tree. So we hauled it home and at the present have it draped with ulas (leis made from shells). We intend to use it for our Christmas tree. We have found some little round seed pods to paint and are saving the wrappers from Winston & Salem cigarette cartons. They wrap them in red & green foil paper here; we have great plans for our decorations! Haven’t given the present idea too much thought as yet —the first thing that popped into our heads was a case of toilet paper. They want 60 cents for a four roll package here. We’ll discuss it a bit and let you know.
Jean
Chrissie waited until all three of her sisters cleared the bedroom before reaching between the mattress and box spring of her rumpled, sand-filled bed. There was a strict Mom-rule that stated All Feet Must Be Rinsed and Dried before going to bed to avoid this exact type of filler, but Chrissie may have missed that step a few times this week. Her fingers closed around the slick, shiny tome and she pulled it out, pen clenched in her fist. To have a few stolen moments with this miraculous book filled her with joy and wonder, and she planned on taking full advantage of it.
Post 37 — Two Hundred Inches
The caption Jean added reads, “We were doing better than we looked.”
Larry pulled his shirt away from his sticky back as he headed into the house for dinner. After spending the day in the air-conditioned studio, he sometimes forgot just how humid it was until he stepped outside. He was reminded as soon as he saw his wife. Jean’s dress wrapped around her like a moist towelette and her dripping demeanor would put a damper on anyone’s mood. December was just a cruel word on the calendar here because the temperature didn’t get any lower – the dew point just got higher. Her pot banging seemed to be louder than usual, and Larry discovered why as he entered the dark house.
Post 36 — Toga! Toga! Toga!
The centaur of the universe.
Kathy and Carolyn set out through Tafuna as dusk started to close in, each headed for a different house. Both had babysitting clients waiting for them and the girls were deep in conversation about who had the best stuff to eat in the refrigerator. A boat had come in a few days earlier, and that meant there was probably a three gallon container of ice cream waiting for them in the deep freezers.
As the night grew darker, a figure emerged from the shadows and staggered toward them with a sinister lope. It appeared to be half man, half goat, with a bronzed, bare chest on the top and endless legs covered in long strings that ended in dark hooves. A wreath of laurel leaves balanced precariously on his curly head, held in place by small horns that emerged from his forehead. The creature gasped and gave a small scream when he suddenly came upon the girls.
“Oh my God, you two scared me!” he shrieked, clutching a dish of homemade stuffed grape leaves to his chest. “What are doing out here?”
Post 35—Not Humerus At All
The hospital shortly after it was built by the navy in 1948. Photo by Dr. Jim Harris.
A thrilling game had broken out at a neighbor’s house, a family who was lucky enough to have already received their coveted household goods. The lid of the packing crate their furniture had been shipped in was leaning up against the side of the house and children lined up to take turns running up the slanted board and leaping off the top just before slamming into the wall. Lack of organized sports had fostered a certain creativity when it came to entertaining themselves.
Carolyn was in her element, running faster, jumping higher and leading the pack in scoring when her flip-flop got caught on the edge of the board and her trajectory suddenly changed from up to straight down. She hit the ground hard and lay there stunned, pretty sure she had just forfeited her gold medal.
Chapter 5: Post 34—Gus is Not Glad All Over
Carolyn demonstrates the distance between the beds.
Chrissie ran across the hot sand, barely aware of the tiny shells that crunched beneath her bare heels. Her feet had toughened up to the point that shoes had started to feel like a real nuisance. She hated that they had to wear them in school and wondered how anyone could be expected to concentrate with all these rules.
She had managed to get out of the house without Karen seeing her and the freedom from siblings felt glorious as she ran past the former skeletons of Tafuna houses that were now complete. The house she stopped at had a palm tree in front that was taller than she was and Liz was waiting for her on the front porch. Their family had two very old dachshunds that they had brought to the island with them, and Gus and Gretchen seemed annoyed at her visit.
Post 33 — Crate Expectations
Random palm tree that has nothing to do with post.
Back in Detroit, a lifetime and a few time zones ago, the family had packed up their belongings and waved goodbye to the big wooden crate with a childlike belief that the government would deliver it to their new home in a few months. Maybe it would even be waiting for them when they got to the island! That was a bit unrealistic, but as the days, weeks and then months went by, they realized grimly that they were winning a contest that no one wanted to even participate in: Most Time Elapsed While Waiting for Your Stuff.
Some people had gotten lucky and had their household goods delivered within 60 days; the longest wait recorded so far had been just under six months, which was actually one-fourth of the contract to live on the island. It was a long time to depend upon the kindness of strangers, especially if you were washing your kid’s ant-filled underwear in their washing machine.
Post 32 — Life is a Beach (Not)
Although the family was delighted with their new house and their friendly neighbors, they were slightly disappointed that they wouldn’t be living near the ocean. If you are going to commit to two years on a tropical island, you might assume that you’d get a beach with that. There was a lagoon across the road with an active mosquito population that tested the strength of those preventative shots they had received, but no real swimming. The bushes along the water were full of frangipani blossoms, a pale yellow trumpet flower that grew wild around the island and had a sweet smell that floated across the street. The pavement itself was frequently spotted with the remains of large toads whose eyes and tongues had exploded out of their heads after being paralyzed by headlights and run over —the wildlife on the island was still getting used to the paved roads. But no ocean.
Post 31— Encroachment
Big cockroach picture courtesy of Dave Gillmore. Thanks, Dave – this is an awesome photo!
Mornings became more complicated now that everyone had to be out of the house by 7am. Karen was picking the raisins out of her toast as Jean tried to subdue her humidity-induced riot of curls, while Kathy and Carolyn could be heard fighting in the bedroom over a pair of flip-flops that both were claiming as their own. Chrissie looked over her fractions homework and considered substituting hearts instead of dots over the “i”s in her name. Subtlety hadn’t been working very well and she hoped Mr. Regula would show some signs of interest if she made the first move.
“I don’t like raisin toast,” whined Karen. “I told you that yesterday.”
“And I told you it doesn’t have raisins in it, it’s just plain toast. Finish your breakfast.” Jean gave up on Karen’s hair and pushed the half-eaten slice back at her. She stirred a lumpy glass of powdered milk and Nestles Quick (which was the only way to make the drink tolerable) and turned around just in time to catch the horrified look on Chrissie’s face as one of the raisins Karen had picked out of the toast ambled across her homework. Karen chugged the chocolate milk and missed the moment when her mother decided she had consumed enough protein and swept the toast, crumbs and bugs off the counter into the garbage. She handed her youngest a banana and went to break up the fight in the other room.
Post 30 — A Working Girl
“Larry, I need to talk to you,” said Jean after dinner one night. The evening air was beautifully cool and a tropical breeze kept the air moving as they sat out in lawn chairs with their toes in the sand. It was hard to believe that the day had been steamy and still. “Do you know what I did today?”
“Wrote some letters?” Larry guessed, sensing he was inching into dangerous territory.
“I ironed. For three hours I ironed every damn article of clothing this family has. And I cooked a pot roast so we could have a lovely dinner together.”
“Well, you did a great job. Dinner was really good; did you see how many helpings Carolyn had? She said it was just like a meal we would have had at home.”
“But that’s the problem!” wailed Jean. “It was just like a day at home! I traveled 7000 miles and I ended up in exactly the same place I was before, only now there’s sand everywhere and I sweat a whole lot more. Do you any idea how hot it was in the house with both the iron and the oven on?”
Post 29 — The Girl and the Goat
This one grew up to be doctor, and it all started at the Goat Island Club.
The Samoan Board of Education had decided that there weren’t enough children under the age of six to support a full-time kindergarten, nor was there any available classroom space to hold one. But the stay-at-home moms of the few five-year-olds around disagreed, and a do-it-yourself kindergarten was launched with the moms acting as the teachers. They started slowly by holding class in the living rooms at Tafuna, but realized quickly that more space would be needed.
Fortunately, there was another souvenir building left over from the military that went by the spiffy name of the Goat Island Club. Legend said that a Naval commander stationed in Samoa had a goat kidnapped from another island and brought over so that his wife could have fresh goat’s milk in her pantry, and that the club was named in the animal’s honor. That wasn’t really much of a reason to call it that, but then it really wasn’t much of a club.
The Samoan Letters 