Life Goes On

By Dan Stoneking
Pago Pago, American Samoa
October, 2009

In the quiet bay of Pago Pago, surrounded by Pacific hills that reach to the clouds, nestled between Sadie’s by the Sea restaurant and the Pago Pago Yacht Club, just next to Samoana High School, rests the unassuming Rex H. Lee Auditorium. The students saunter by wearing their light blue traditional lava lava school uniforms. Lunch goers stroll out from a satisfying midday meal at Sadie’s and island buses pick-up and drop-off customers at the Yacht Club bus stand, exchanging pleasantries. The yacht club is unique in its charm as it has no yachts but rather lines the shore with island outrigger canoes.

In the middle of the gentle bustle of the day, on any other day, the auditorium would boast local dances and concerts, where the songs would echo out the bay.

But it’s not any other day. Today, the auditorium has been converted to a Disaster Recovery Center. They come together out of necessity. They come together to recover. They havebecome one community and everyone has a story. They are strong and resilient people. It is kindness and compassion that reign.

Ben Raju works for the Small Business Administration. He tells me about the Teen Challenge Program and the cable television program he participated in to discuss the disaster and recovery programs with local teens. Ben is accustomed to speaking to national media and reaching thousands of viewers in short sound bytes. On this evening, Ben and some of his federal partners invested several hours to reach a few hundred. It’s a different community and a worthwhile investment. The children made food and delivered a stirring Samoan Teen Gospel show on the same program. They sang songs of thankfulness and love. I asked Ben why he did this job. The normally eloquent and effusive spokesperson tilted his head, thought for a moment, shrugged and said “It feels good.”

Bob Howard works for the American Red Cross. He was eager to share his story about attending a memorial service at a grammar school where students and families gathered to recognize the passing of one of their classmates who lost her life in the tsunami. Bob took off his glasses and wiped his brow as he shared with me what the teacher told the gathered mourners. He said “She was talking about celebrating the life of the young girl. She talked about how she was now free. And then she explained to her students that their classmate had returned to the earth.” At that precise moment in the ceremony, in the background of the service, a whale leapt from the sea. Everyone saw. No one said a word.

Typically, reporters tell other peoples stories. Today, I met Mike O’Sullivan. He’s a reporter for Voice of America. Like me, he is living with a local family while on the island. He told me his story. He complimented the cute kittens in the home where he is staying. The response startled the seasoned reporter. “They weren’t our kittens before the tsunami,” his host told him. “But they washed up to our home and they are part of our family now.”

Everyone has a story. When you ask enough questions people start asking you – did you hear the one…? I was told I need to meet Glen Gorud. Glen works for FEMA and came to American Samoa from Washington to help. His sister-in-law, Vai Pusi Mulipola, lives in the village of Tula. He called when he arrived on the island and was relieved to find that she was okay. But Glen had work to do and he got right to it, establishing communications and doing his part to help communities wake up each day to a better world. So it was not until this day, today, when Vai Pusi Mulipola arrived with her village at the Disaster Recover Center that they finally got to see each other and embrace. As I type this I am looking across the auditorium and I can see them catching up. He has his arm around her shoulder and they are smiling. I asked him earlier what it was like – doing this kind of job for a living and having it cross over into your personal life. “I volunteered in 1970,” he reflected. “To come back,” he paused. “Forty years later and be able to help,” another pause as he searched for the right word, and began to choke up, struggling a bit with his emotions. “It makes you feel…lucky.”

A story of stories would not be complete without adding that of Moana Aumavae. She shared with me a tragic version of “it was the best of times; it was the worst of times.” Moana spoke slowly, as if her selfless manners made her concerned for me and whether I could keep up in my note-taking. She said, with a mother-like compassion in her soft brown eyes, that there were several casualties in Leone Village, where she is from. She described how after the tsunami passed one-half of the village was fine and spared, but the other half was shattered and most of the homes were either damaged or destroyed. “But it’s only one village,” she said carefully, this time looking into my eyes to make sure I understood. We sat for a while as she relayed stories among the village. She talked about how the families without homes stayed at the families with homes who shared their clothes and food. Moana spoke with pride when she told me how the people of American Samoa responded to another tsunami warning just yesterday afternoon. “I’ve never seen my people so alert. I’m so proud of them. It’s a wake-up call.” I didn’t have any more questions, but as I thanked her and began to excuse myself, ever the polite and kind American Samoan, Moana reached out and touched my arm, “We appreciate all the help we are getting.” I smiled, not knowing what to say. She was the stronger one. “Life goes on,” she reassured me.

Everyone has a story in this community of communities. They are all different. They are not stories of consistency. They are stories of self-reliance. They are the stories of Ben Raju, Bob Howard, Mike O’Sullivan, Glen Gorud, Vai Pusi Mulipola, Moana Aumavae and some very lucky kittens.