American Samoa: Indentured Servitude and Food Aplenty
By Alma Pasic

I returned after a brisk walk. A few days in Pago Pago, American Samoa is enough to make me feel heavy, my shoulders tense from the uncomfortable amounts of sugar in each meal, my once beach-ready body barely fitting in the bathing suit I bought before the trip. “I need exercise, need to feel the burn!” I repeat my mantra as I speed-walk through the front yard. The air is moist; my clothes already soaked in the South Pacific heat; sky blue, clear, not a chance of rain. I walk faster and faster, making it even more obvious that I am absolutely not capable of relaxing.

As I approach the front of the house, coconuts fall down, missing my head by half an inch. I slow down to look up; the trees are heavy with fruits, breadfruit for miles. The Filipino-style baby-bananas I so adore, weigh the branches. I touch them gently, marking my arrival to the islands. “I am the first Bosnian to ever step on this fertile soil; just remember that,” I whisper to the branches, and they respond with a slight shiver, lulled by the gentle wind.

You can never starve here. I think solemnly of my childhood in war-torn Bosnia, where sometimes for days I had nothing but a moldy piece of bread to eat. “You can never go hungry in American Samoa,” is not a statement, it’s a fact, and food is life. People here spend most of their time and energy on prayer and food.

Just as I approach the front door, the homeless poi dogs surround me, growling, ready to rumble. The children of the house run to my rescue by cussing at the dogs and throwing rocks in their direction. The dogs run away in fear and embarrassment, and the children smile, their mission accomplished.

“Breakfast is ready!” the girls scream in unison. The noise coming from inside the house echoes. The echo is filled with laughter; children lead me into the noise. Joshua, John, Fa’ana, Tori and Sam are already sitting at the table. The food is served and still warm. Eggs, tea, coffee, toast, apricot jam, hot chocolate made from homegrown cocoa beans, and pankeke (the Samoan version of pancakes) laid out in front of us all. Immediately the girls of the house busy themselves with serving and fanning us while the boys stand around entertaining us by flexing their muscles. This is surreal to me.

I sat there throwing smiles at the children, hoping they would stop fanning me. Good Lord, I am so uncomfortable by this! I pinch Joshua under the table, and as a joke he takes the fan from one of the girls and fans her. The punishment for her laughter is severe. Sam hits her on the back of the head, and as a result she grabs another fan and continues fanning me. I am sitting amidst child abuse and letting it go on because I am a foreigner, a palagi (a white person), I am a guest. Most of all, I am a guest. And not just any guest. I am Joshua’s unwed partner and as such have no influence on the way these children are treated in my presence. I am aware of all this, and yet I am making it obvious that this child abuse makes me uncomfortable. I am therefore not a good guest, but I cannot help it.

Sam, as if to spite me, smiles back when I look at him disapprovingly.  I am told that children take care of their elders, and they do as they are told. This is the way it is. Anything I could say would only make him laugh; he is like a stone that cannot be moved.

A little known fact to the general public is there are actually two Samoa’s. One is considered to be a part of American territory, and the other, called Western Samoa, is governed by its own government. Although, genetically, racially and culturally, more or less the same, the Samoans in American Samoa have adopted a general view of distrust and dislike towards their neighbors.

Western Samoans live in poverty beyond words. Their desire for independence has in many ways earned them nothing; and often when attempting to leave, the Western Samoans must do so through an American Samoan ‘sponsor’. A ‘sponsor’ is someone who eventually has full control of your life. They decide what church you attend, what God you believe in, how you spend each minute of your day, how you dress, talk, walk, what books you read, and whom you befriend. One disagreement with your “sponsor” can easily result in your deportation back to Western Samoa. These beautiful children, my little protectors from the violent homeless dogs, are adopted refugees from Western Samoa.    

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