March 6, 2015
The chickens are dyed pastel colors for Easter.
A year and a half into the two-year contract, nothing much phased the family anymore. Pigs in the road were to be expected. Parades with marching men in
lava lavas followed by floats full of tie-dyed chickens happened on a regular basis. Five inches of rain in an hour simply meant the laundry would take a little longer to dry. Gradually, the extraordinary had become mundane.
Larry felt that they had become too acclimated. Although they had moved to a new culture, they had brought comfort items and bad habits from home. Jean and Larry had sampled some of the native-flavored foods on the island, but the children were picky eaters and remained stubbornly loyal to more traditional fare. Carolyn still refused to eat many meals, preferring to wait until there was something she really liked and then stocking up by having several helpings. Larry decided that some tough love was going to be needed to force the children out of their comfort zone.
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February 27, 2015
The church in the village of Leone.
October 1965
“We go to church in the village of Leone, which is about 8 miles in the other direction from Tafuna. The road is paved and winds through mountains, with palm trees, banana trees and all sorts of interesting green stuff. They have the brightest blue hydrangeas here, assorted colored leaves, hibiscus all over and somebody must have smuggled in some marigolds. The church itself is white cement block, very airy and with horrible wooden kneelers. The women don’t wear hats, or shoes, and the men and women sit on separate sides. We were ushered in one Sunday, Larry trailed by all the females and directed to the men’s side. The man sitting next to me got up and moved . . . I guess he wasn’t going to sit next to some damn women during church. I am hoping Chris can be confirmed here instead of waiting until we get home.”
Jean
Chrissie danced impatiently around the large package as her mother went to find a pair of scissors. Excessive amounts of tape were a Broquet family tradition, and the lengths that had been adhered to a box that had traveled overseas were roughly the equivalent of the distance from Tafuna to Leone. Sometimes special tools were needed to saw through it, but at least it made it off the boat in one piece.
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November 18, 2012
Although the family hadn’t slept in the last twenty-four hours and the whole experience was taking on a vaguely hallucinogenic quality, the neighbors told them that there was a fiafia being held in their honor at the village of a Samoan teacher. Fiafia is a term used throughout Polynesia and is loosely translated as “the happy time.”
Jean could think of few things that would make her less happy than having to drag her four jet lagged daughters out into the pouring rain again, but clearly a lot of effort had gone into the party and it seemed rude to refuse. Twelve years of schooling by nuns had taught her manners, as well as the ability to spell. So they piled back into the assorted cars and jeeps that had brought them to their new home and set out for the village of Vaitogi.
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September 3, 2012
As the Pan Am jet banked and began its descent, the girl pushed her slightly crooked bangs out of her eyes and stared out the smeared window, straining for a glimpse of her new home. The visibility was zero and since she couldn’t see anything below, she wondered how the pilot could. There was supposed to be land down there somewhere, but the shrouds of clouds that enveloped the plane seemed to have swallowed up the island as well. She rubbed the nubby fabric on her armrest nervously and touched the metal pair of wings that was pinned to her thin shift. The stewardess had told her that it made her an honorary pilot. She hoped that wouldn’t be necessary.
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The Samoan Letters 