Four years old, the phone rings…
This is a collect call from Samoa, is your mum there?
Um, yes – I’ll go get her...
Mum…I call,
I watch her as she speaks, grief in her eyes
Tupe – money to be sent, someone has died.
Ten years old, the phone rings
This is a collect call from Samoa…?
Um, faatali, wait – I’ll get my mum.
Another call to send money I assume, we hardly have money to buy food…
Why is my mum always sending money?
Fa’alavelave this and fa’alavelave that!
Mum telefone – the phones for you.
Twenty years old, the phone rings
This is a collect call from Samoa, do you accept the charges?
Not again, mum’s gonna ask me for money now and I’ve got my own bills to pay.
Mum – telefone, the phones for you.
Covering the receiver, I whisper to her (I don’t have money to spare so please don’t ask me).
Fa’alavelave, I hear in the phone
I watch her as she speaks, grief in her eyes
Tupe – money to be sent, uncle has died.
Thirty years old, the phone rings
My son answers and calls out, mum people are coming over.
Sitting in the lounge with my father’s body, my mother by my side
We talk of his many stories and whisper to him our love
I worry about funeral costs and how we will feed our visitors
Hurrying to the kitchen my aunt and I prepare
The flood of visitors at our door
I watch my mother as she speaks, grief in her eyes
Tupe has arrived, more than enough and food to last us months
Fa’alavelave – coming to understand and this is my change of heart.
