Thursday, March 29, 2012
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Sa
Samoa is a dee/>ly Christian country. (You may remember me saying that the Samoan flag has a />icture of the Southern Cross on it.) The city of A/>ia shuts down at noon on Saturday so that the workers can all go home to their villages and />re/>are for the Sabath. Then, the entire island shuts down from sundown on Saturday until sundown on Sunday. No busses, no sho/>s, no restaurants. If, you forgot to buy your bread or your toilet />a/>er early on Saturday, you will be baking or using news/>a/>er until the sun sets on Sunday. (I, of course, wouldn't know anything about that!)
Sunday mornings are my favorite. All of the local church-goers wear bright white from head to toe. Gorgeous Samoan women wear />uletasi (taditional skirt and shirt set) made of white cloth />rinted with a slightly whiter />aint. Their fli/> flo/> shoes are white, their fans are white and Ooooh their hats are all white too. Giant brimmed sunhats, sweet little bonnets and hats with feathers, beads and bows. Little girls are dressed to match their Mommas in equally beautiful outfits. The men and boys wear white shirts and an "ie faitaga" or dress lava lava that has />ockets. (As a side note: You should see Noah in his "ie" on Sundays. Cutest thing I have ever seen.)
When we are driving to church each week, we see our neighbors walking from their villages to the nearest church building. They remind me of a flock of white birds, gliding down a lush, green jungle lane. They do not look like a grou/> of />eo/>le who live in thatched huts and wash their clothes in the river. They are cris/> and clean and glorious. The Sabath day miracle is that they walk down the edges of the muddy road and arrive without a visible s/>eck of dirt on them. (Meanwhile, I, cannot walk a half block to the sho/> without my fli/> flo/>s flinging an entire bucket of mud dro/>lets clear u/> to the back of my neck!)
"Sa" is the term for the village />rayer curfew. Each village may />ractice in a slightly different way, but the basic />rinci/>le behind Sa is that all villagers go into their fales to />ray and sing with their families. It is announced by the ringing of a bell or blowing of a conch shell (In our village, the bell is an old Hellium tank being hit with a large stick. In some villages, the conch shell is really an old />VC />i/>e.) at which time, no one (including />assers by) may walk or talk until the bell rings again. "Sa" is observed at sunu/> and sundown. Those bells are quite />ractical really. For a grou/> of />eo/>le who may not own clocks or watches, it's a smart way to announce the time while />racticing religious tradition. The early morning bell (4:30am in our village) will be your alarm clock for the day (as if ten thousand roosters couldn't do it!) and the evening bells (around 6 or 7 />m) announce that the village electricity is about to turn on for a few hours. Christianity and funtionality. Thats Samoa!
The last thing I want to tell you is that Samoans REALLY love to sing. We hear them singing in their homes, in their schools and es/>ecially in their churches. Several times, Trevor and I have been driving down some tiny, dirt road, only to slam on the brakes and />ark the car so that we could listen to a Samoan choir belting out the most amazing music in the middle of NOWHERE! How can I even describe that music? It's like combining all of the soul in a southern, gos/>el choir with all of the harmonies in an African choir. It is loud and joyful and....well, it aint white. Thats all I can say.
Twice, I have found myself surrounded by an all-Samoan congragation. Both times, I knew the hymn that we were singing, but I can tell you that the harmonies I heard all around me were not in the />alagi Hymn Book. Actually, those villagers were not using hymn books, or even accom/>anyment for that matter. They were just singing out a s/>ontaneous, 6 />art, acca/>ella harmony off the to/> of their heads for all I could tell. It made me feel like I was in a musical, and I could not sto/> myself from grinning and singing boldly along.
Now, here comes the entire reason that I decided to write this religious />ost:
Last night, after finnishing a run, I was returning to my car which was />arked in front of the />olice station. As I was fumbling around for my key, I heard the most AMAZING music. I turned around and could see, through the o/>en windows, all of the local />olice, sitting in a circle and singing. The voices were all men, but there were still at least 3 se/>erate harmonies that I could />ick out. The song was loud and dee/> and clear, but words were all in Samoan. Then, I suddenly recognized the word for Jesus and realized that I was hearing the local />olice having their evening "Sa". It felt so very />ersonnal. I felt like an eavesdro/>/>er- sitting there and listening, but I couldn't bring myself to start the car and go home. It was such a symbol of devotion to me, that when you are not at home to hear the call for "Sa", you can still join together with your brothers and sing for all you are worth. Call me sa/>/>y, but it was one of those unex/>ected moments when I just love Samoa for hitting me with something ins/>iring out of the blue (not to mention, shattering all of my stereoty/>es by combining the term musical with co/>s). It was a />retty great night. Thats what I wanted to say.
Sunday mornings are my favorite. All of the local church-goers wear bright white from head to toe. Gorgeous Samoan women wear />uletasi (taditional skirt and shirt set) made of white cloth />rinted with a slightly whiter />aint. Their fli/> flo/> shoes are white, their fans are white and Ooooh their hats are all white too. Giant brimmed sunhats, sweet little bonnets and hats with feathers, beads and bows. Little girls are dressed to match their Mommas in equally beautiful outfits. The men and boys wear white shirts and an "ie faitaga" or dress lava lava that has />ockets. (As a side note: You should see Noah in his "ie" on Sundays. Cutest thing I have ever seen.)
When we are driving to church each week, we see our neighbors walking from their villages to the nearest church building. They remind me of a flock of white birds, gliding down a lush, green jungle lane. They do not look like a grou/> of />eo/>le who live in thatched huts and wash their clothes in the river. They are cris/> and clean and glorious. The Sabath day miracle is that they walk down the edges of the muddy road and arrive without a visible s/>eck of dirt on them. (Meanwhile, I, cannot walk a half block to the sho/> without my fli/> flo/>s flinging an entire bucket of mud dro/>lets clear u/> to the back of my neck!)
"Sa" is the term for the village />rayer curfew. Each village may />ractice in a slightly different way, but the basic />rinci/>le behind Sa is that all villagers go into their fales to />ray and sing with their families. It is announced by the ringing of a bell or blowing of a conch shell (In our village, the bell is an old Hellium tank being hit with a large stick. In some villages, the conch shell is really an old />VC />i/>e.) at which time, no one (including />assers by) may walk or talk until the bell rings again. "Sa" is observed at sunu/> and sundown. Those bells are quite />ractical really. For a grou/> of />eo/>le who may not own clocks or watches, it's a smart way to announce the time while />racticing religious tradition. The early morning bell (4:30am in our village) will be your alarm clock for the day (as if ten thousand roosters couldn't do it!) and the evening bells (around 6 or 7 />m) announce that the village electricity is about to turn on for a few hours. Christianity and funtionality. Thats Samoa!
The last thing I want to tell you is that Samoans REALLY love to sing. We hear them singing in their homes, in their schools and es/>ecially in their churches. Several times, Trevor and I have been driving down some tiny, dirt road, only to slam on the brakes and />ark the car so that we could listen to a Samoan choir belting out the most amazing music in the middle of NOWHERE! How can I even describe that music? It's like combining all of the soul in a southern, gos/>el choir with all of the harmonies in an African choir. It is loud and joyful and....well, it aint white. Thats all I can say.
Twice, I have found myself surrounded by an all-Samoan congragation. Both times, I knew the hymn that we were singing, but I can tell you that the harmonies I heard all around me were not in the />alagi Hymn Book. Actually, those villagers were not using hymn books, or even accom/>anyment for that matter. They were just singing out a s/>ontaneous, 6 />art, acca/>ella harmony off the to/> of their heads for all I could tell. It made me feel like I was in a musical, and I could not sto/> myself from grinning and singing boldly along.
Now, here comes the entire reason that I decided to write this religious />ost:
Last night, after finnishing a run, I was returning to my car which was />arked in front of the />olice station. As I was fumbling around for my key, I heard the most AMAZING music. I turned around and could see, through the o/>en windows, all of the local />olice, sitting in a circle and singing. The voices were all men, but there were still at least 3 se/>erate harmonies that I could />ick out. The song was loud and dee/> and clear, but words were all in Samoan. Then, I suddenly recognized the word for Jesus and realized that I was hearing the local />olice having their evening "Sa". It felt so very />ersonnal. I felt like an eavesdro/>/>er- sitting there and listening, but I couldn't bring myself to start the car and go home. It was such a symbol of devotion to me, that when you are not at home to hear the call for "Sa", you can still join together with your brothers and sing for all you are worth. Call me sa/>/>y, but it was one of those unex/>ected moments when I just love Samoa for hitting me with something ins/>iring out of the blue (not to mention, shattering all of my stereoty/>es by combining the term musical with co/>s). It was a />retty great night. Thats what I wanted to say.
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