The Move to Poutasi

September 4, 2007

It turns out that I will be living with a family in Poutasi across the road from the fale by the sea where I was originally supposed to live; the small fale will be available for me to work in, relax and read, and have meetings, etc. That will probably rescue me in the moments that I am discouraged. I have been over there nearly every day. The sea is soothing and calming in the way that it has been for millennia. The family that I am living with is very warm and welcoming.

With all of the anxiety I’ve been feeling about moving to a new village and meeting all the new people there – which is dissipating somewhat already – it’s good to remember how fortunate it is that I’m in such a beautiful place! I could be in a cold, dreary place or one that is hot and dusty and drab. This is exactly where I wanted to be. I am writing this on my laptop and will save it to my flashdrive to take to town to post on my blog. At this moment I’m sitting in the fale by the sea listening to the birds twittering in the nonu bushes, kingfishers, I think, and to the constant chattering of the coconut palm fronds as they rise and fall in the breeze. I hear the steady roar of the surf as it crashes over and over the fringing reef of the island, maybe a half mile away (I’m not good at judging distances, especially over water.). The small waves reaching the shore about 20 feet in front of me lap a continuous beat of their own. The pounding surf sounds like a waterfall upstream, ebbing and flowing slightly, but never stopping, with the small waves like a babbling brook beside me. The sound of the surf is faint enough that one can easily not hear it because you quickly become accustomed to the “white noise.” But it is always there, loud enough to be clearly heard, even from my room in the house when I stop and listen.

The ocean just about 20 feet in front of me is varying shades of blue and aqua. The Samoan word for the color blue is lanumoana, which literally means the color of the deep ocean. It is clean and clear and only about waist deep in most places all the way out to the reef. A couple of mornings I have gone for a short swim after my morning walk.

I’m looking between the palms in front of the fale at Nuu Safee Island. The island is owned by the village. It is a small uninhabited island that one can go to for a day trip by boat (I haven’t yet, but I’m looking forward to it). Sometimes visitors “rent” the island and stay there for a few days. It is the postcard version of a Pacific Island fringed by coconut palms with a wide white coral beach. The sun is slowly setting leaving a shining path on the sea. As it sinks behind the clouds, the forest below on the horizon becomes a silhouette with the tallest palms in stark relief above the tree canopy. Soon the brightness will fade to pinks and oranges as it disappears for the night. Behind me the tops of the mountain ridges are covered with clouds whose edges look like puffs of cotton. I suspect it’s raining at the summit.

There is a cool breeze blowing my troubles away – blowing them out to sea so that I can replace them with loving, calm, serene, and confident thoughts that I am being sent from my family and friends back home. Fa’afetai!