Samoa.
In the 1990’s, can’t remember exactly which
years now, I visited Samoa or Western Samoa as it was called then, three times.
The first time I’d walked into a travel agent and said I wanted to go somewhere
in the South Pacific where I wouldn’t find too many tourists. The travel agent
pulled out of a drawer in her desk an old yellowed brochure that for some
reason wasn’t on display with the new looking Fiji, Hawaii and Tahiti
brochures. I looked at the brochure
and said, “That’s where I want go”.
A few weeks later I landed at the airport in Samoa. After
I found my hotel transfer in the crowd of taxi drivers and other hotel drivers
who all claimed to be my lift to the hotel, we drove the 20 kilometers or so,
into the capital, Apia. On the way, little kids were walking to school
holdings hands; pigs, chooks, dogs, and the occasional horse were all roaming
around. I felt I’d made the right choice.
Two days later a hurricane named Val hit
the Islands. Who comes up with these names? It lasted 5 days with a brief
respite when the whole town of Apia was in the eye of the storm. Stupidly, I
thought it was over and had left the hotel to go have a look around. I’d got
about 200 yards from the hotel when a sheet of corrugated iron, which had
probably come off a roof from miles away and was lying silently in front of me,
leapt off the ground with a bang like a cymbal, and continued on it’s journey
with the wind named Val. I ran back to the hotel, got scolded by the bellboy
Leti for leaving the hotel in the first place, then waited out another 2 ½ days
for Val to leave for good.
....
I was a comfortable, stupid white boy.
Holidays previous to this consisted of chucking my guitar and sleeping bag in the back of my ancient Holden Panel Van and driving down The Great Ocean Road or into the
bush to camp. I had never experienced anything like this holiday in Samoa. I’d
never seen how people cope in such trying times. I could hear the locals
laughing and singing over the whine of the hurricane that sounded like a V8
engine-revving full bore. I heard other stupid white people walking around the
hotel moaning and groaning about their wasted holiday. I watched the Samoan
staff who couldn’t leave the hotel either, looking out the windows of the
hotel, wondering what had become of their villages and families. I sat in the
bar and chatted with the then President of Vanuatu who was visiting Samoa. He
bought me a Vodka on the rocks and wouldn’t let me shout him one back. I talked
to an Australian soldier at the airport while waiting for my plane home. He was
very pissed off that he’d been sent with other Australian soldiers to help out,
but all they’d done was fly Samoan Government officials around in Australian
Army helicopters to check on their properties. This soldier told me not to tell
anyone. But a long time has passed, so I’m telling you.
....
I made some good friends in those 5 days.
Leai, Seangi, Leti, So’ and
Pauline and your beautiful kids. I hope you’re all ok!!!!!!!!!!!!!