Act II: Learning Fa’a Samoa (The Samoan Way)

The meals here were interesting. Fa’a Samoa, the Samoan way—every time you clear your plate, that is a clue that you are still hungry. More food keeps coming until you leave something behind. We learned that this is the practice in every Samoan meal. Leave something on the plate!

A few weeks after we arrived in Samoa, we decided to take a sightseeing drive around the island. We had purchased a van, but it hadn’t arrived yet. So, we drove a Church-owned van. As we circled the island, we ended up on a beach somewhere on the opposite side from home, having no idea where we were or how to get back home. This is tough to do when the entire island is only 25 miles across. We drove along the beach, hoping to find someone who could speak English and give us directions.

Kathy looked for a musical outlet where she could perform with her flute. She found a music group that included a Samoan matai, two Europeans, an Australian, and a woman who had achieved some hits in New Zealand. A musical problem surfaced that Kathy hadn’t even been aware of: different musical terms are used in different parts of the world. When the band leader talked about someone missing their quavers, she had no idea he was talking about eighth notes that she had missed. The group became close. After practice, the rest of the group would break out beers each Wednesday, and Kathy would go home with our newborn son. One time, they asked Kathy to stay and showed her they had gotten some orange Nehis just for her. How could she refuse?

It turned out they had many questions about the Church and the new temple being constructed in Apia. They told her they trusted the answers she would give. After that, she hung around after each practice, drinking her orange and grape sodas. The group went on to perform in local bars, where the Samoan Prime Minister started watching them. He approached them and asked if they would provide background music while he entertained dignitaries at his mansion. So, they became the official band of Samoa. Looks pretty good on her musical resume.

Then came the deeper trials. Kathy was seven months pregnant when we arrived in Samoa. Before coming, she had been told that the hospital had a new maternity wing. They overlooked mentioning that the new wing was equipped with 40-year-old equipment shipped from the U.S. A Samoan government strike had been a central news story since our arrival. The week before Ben’s arrival, the strike advanced to include the hospital employees, including government-paid doctors and nurses.Kathy went into labor during the strike. Two nuns oversaw the maternity wing. We hired a private doctor to make the delivery. He didn’t believe Kathy when she told him to be ready to deliver after 30 minutes of labor. As promised, Kathy delivered quickly. The doctor and his wife (also a doctor) quickly pushed her into the delivery room where Ben was born. We had upgraded Kathy to a private hospital room, which cost us $1.50 daily. Our private doctor cost us $35 for the delivery. We did not even meet the deductible required for our American health insurance.

Kathy was still new to Samoa and wasn’t accustomed to the Samoan food served at the hospital. They prepared her a special treat: a sandwich made with hard Samoan bread and Spaghetti-Os. I brought Melissa and Aaron to the hospital to see their new brother. We looked from outside through a window in Kathy’s room. The nun saw us, opened the door, and told us all to come in. They climbed onto Kathy’s bed to surround Ben. Things are different in Samoa. Ben had difficulty at first with jaundice. He was given a blessing and recovered soon. (Plans had been made to fly him and Kathy to Hawaii for treatment, but that proved unnecessary.)

Later, we were hit by a tropical storm that brought 30 inches of rain in a week. I was in Apia when the torrent started. I headed for home, but the water had risen well above the bridge when I got to the stream outside our housing compound. I was driving a Toyota FJ Cruiser, which sat high off the ground like a Jeep, but I ended up with water on the floor when I crossed the bridge. A friend, Charles Schwenke, had his home severely damaged when the stream changed its course, running directly into his house.

Kathy was driving our little Suzuki van and turned a corner. She saw a puddle as she turned. Unknown to her, the road had washed away under the puddle, and the van started rolling over and sinking into the hole. Some Samoan men and women were standing at the corner. The women opened the van doors, lifted the children, and escorted Kathy out. The men picked up the entire van from the water before it sank and set it down on dry ground. We love the kind Samoan people.

The water supply was cut off during the tropical storm, and we had no running water. The kids took showers in the rain, wearing bathing suits and soap. We would catch the rain runoff from the roof and store it in the bathtub for laundry and toilets, keeping the bathroom door closed.

However, a year-old Ben got into the bathroom somehow and fell into the bathtub. Kathy saw the open door and went inside to investigate. She found Ben underwater at the bottom of the tub, looking up at her, not breathing. She quickly pulled Ben out of the water and cleared his airways, helping him breathe again. She then handed me a wet, crying baby, sat down, and started crying hysterically. I understood when I heard the story.

Act IV: Professional Crucibles and Legacy

While our personal and spiritual lives were being enriched by the Samoan people, my professional life inside the regional office was becoming a crucible.

I had been tasked with being replaced by a local Samoan when it was time to go home. Previously, they had always filled my position with an expatriate. True to the charge I was given, I went looking for a qualified local when an opening came up in my department. I met Molisa Tavete, interviewed him, and selected him to fill the opening. Molisa had a non-accounting degree from BYU-Hawaii. He knew nothing about accounting, but I sensed a man of integrity who would do all he could to fill the position.

When I hired him, he agreed to receive accounting lessons from me. I took some heat for choosing someone without accounting training, but I stood my ground. I spent the next few months teaching him accounting, and he took it from there and ran with the assignment. He proved fearless in ensuring that all spending adhered to established Church policies. Later, when I returned home, he replaced me. In later years, he even replaced my boss there.

In that hour of deep uncertainty, we had to find our footing. It was during our time in Samoa that Edwin Dharmaraju became a close friend of mine. He was our elders’ quorum president. We were often in his home and he in ours, and he used to kill me off with his curry rice. Edwin was quiet about his past, but there was an incredible story about his conversion that happened a few years before I arrived in Samoa.

Richard Ashby was a young doctor in northern California. Richard and his wife, Lillian, were called to a service mission in a hospital in Samoa. Lillian was recovering from cancer at the time of their call, and the call shocked family members. They left with their four children, aged 4 to 12. They were concerned about her health, but the calling felt right. At the Los Angeles Temple, they crossed paths with Spencer W. Kimball, who was the President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints at the time. He gave her a blessing simply stating that her mission would succeed.

While in Samoa, the Ashbys met the Dharmarajus, who were from India, and felt they would be great members of the Church. Edwin and Elsie were from a strong Anglican family of many generations in India and were initially unwilling to consider a change in religion. But they did become good friends with the Ashbys.

The cancer aggressively returned to Lillian about nine months into her mission. Just before she died in Samoa, she felt prompted to write her testimony in a white triple combination scripture set. She asked Richard to present the book to Edwin and Elsie after her death, which he did. She passed away and was buried in Samoa. Afterwards, Richard Ashby had a serious car accident that put him in the hospital for weeks. Despite many complications, he completed his mission and returned home with his children. Many wondered why they had served in Samoa at such a high personal cost and what was accomplished.

A few months later, Edwin opened the gifted scriptures and began reading the Book of Mormon. He instantly knew it was the word of God. Elsie also read and was converted. They were baptized in 1977, along with their four children. A few months later, they visited their hometown of Hyderabad, India, for a family wedding. They shared their newfound faith around the village, and many wanted to know more. The problem, though, was that it was illegal in India at the time for someone to proselyte unless he was a native of India. As a result, the Church had no presence there.

Edwin wrote a letter to the Church leadership in Salt Lake City explaining the urgent need to send missionaries into his village. Shortly after, Edwin and Elsie received their own call to a 3-month mission to India to teach, baptize, and organize a Church branch in their home village. (Be careful what you ask for.) They baptized 22 villagers in December 1978 and formed India’s first branch. Fourteen years later, the first Indian stake was organized in their village. Plans for building a temple in India emerged 40 years later.

Looking back at Edwin’s journey, you can see the big picture of the Lord. He needed a temple in India, and He sent a dying missionary to a couple living in Samoa to make it happen.

Reflecting on the grand, sweeping scale of the Lord’s timing helped us put our own trials into perspective. We realized that the Church is about our relationship with our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, not with its imperfect members. Regardless of the professional outcome, we decided to remain devoted members. The gospel of Jesus Christ is perfect; its believers are not.

Mercifully, those in Salt Lake City who knew me before my leaving for Samoa appealed to the Presiding Bishopric’s Office on my behalf. They pointed out the stark inconsistency between my stellar work reviews before I left and those I received while I was there. Justice prevailed: I was offered the position of Payroll Manager for the Church in Salt Lake City, and all my moving expenses were reimbursed once I got home. One of the managers in Salt Lake City handed me a stack of the reports he had received from my boss criticizing me. This was the first time I knew what they were being told.

On our last Sunday in Samoa, the ward congregation sang “Tofa Mai Felene” (“Goodbye My Friend”) to us. While singing, many congregation members came up to us one at a time and hung leis around our necks. What a lovely final memory of Samoa. We missed these friends dearly when it was time for us to return home, but with our hearts full, we headed back across the Pacific.