Introduction
Thanks for taking the time to read my story.

This story is my experience as a NZ born Samoan woman - it is not my story as a Palagi woman born here in Aotearoa.

I want to make it clear that it is not my intention to dishonour either of my parents or any member of my family (living or deceased) in telling my story. I believe that life for my parents must have been very difficult at times - times of isolation, making sacrifices and choices, hard decisions, stress and feeling compromised. I do not judge or criticise them. I love them both and thank them for their gifts.

Lesa's story
I am a daughter of the pacific, a daughter of Aotearoa and Samoa.

You'd be forgiven for not picking that when you meet me because even though I have dark hair and eyes, my skin is coffee coloured and I've got a few freckles.

Others have also been confused about my cultural background. Kiwis have asked if Im Maori, Italian, Indian, Greek, or even Spanish and Samoans have asked if Im Maori, German, British, American, or Cook Island.

I've been called a Palagi, cappuchino, afakasi, and a half-caste bitch. I've been referred to as someones dark bit and I've been told that I'm not a Samoan.

Those who actually know me, know that I'm proud to be a daughter of Samoa and Aotearoa.

Mind you it hasnt always been that way.

I was born in Aotearoa. My Mum's a Kiwi. The first of her ancestors to come to New Zealand arrived in the 1870s from Scotland. My Dad's a Samoan Kiwi. He was born in Samoa and moved to New Zealand in the early 1960s where he lived for over 30 years before returning to live in Samoa approximately 6 years ago.

When Mum met Dad he was singing in his band, a Samoan crooner (who was a mechanic by day) singing what was hot at the time - Elvis, Neil Sedaka, Freddy Fender. Even now when I hear an Elvis number I think of my Dad and I play Elvis at times just for that reason. My Mum worked as a nurse and then a hairdresser. Mum and Dad were in Nelson and this was a time when there were very few brown faces in town (much less than there are now which is still not many).

In 1965, Mum got pregnant and Dad wasn't particularly supportive on hearing the news. Neither was my grandfather, my Mum's Dad. Pregnant with me, Mum was sent off to Wellington, and I was born in January 1966. We left Wellington when I was a few days old, to be with my Dad who was in Dunedin and Mum and Dad married in July 1966. Mum had only her Mum and one of her sisters at the wedding. None of Dads family were there.

We moved to Nelson soon after and my brother was born in 1968. Mum and Dad separated when I was 6 and my brother, 4. From then we became a family of 3. Even though our Dad stayed in Nelson and later on remarried, we didn't see him very often maybe a few times a year. Sometimes less because he didnt turn up or was hours late. Eventually we got over the disappointment, or we got used to it and life continued without him.

I didn't really get to know Dad until I was 17 or 18. I started working and I used to regularly catch up with Dad at his local pub. It was a strange thing trying to get to know your father when you're an adult yourself. I guess in some ways it was better because I had no expectations about what would happen. We came to form a relationship trying more to be friends rather than as father and daughter but it has had its cost on us both Im sure. I know for me that the absence of a father-daughter relationship has affected my self-esteem, my relationships with others and in particular my relationships with men.

I didnt think about culture or identity and things like that as a kid growing up in Nelson. Everyone wanted to be the same back then. Whether it was being the same in what you wore, what you ate, what people you had in your family and whether you'd heard the latest Abba song or knew how to do the dances from Saturday Night Fever. It came as a huge shock when it was pointed out to me that I wasn't the same as everyone else.

I was 11, at a private intermediate, part of an all girls college, rubbing shoulders with daughters of doctors and lawyers. A second former yelled across the playing area that I was nothing but a half-caste bitch. This memory has stuck with me, as it was devastating at the time. I was confused - embarrassed among my peers and ashamed because somehow what she accused me of was double devastation - a bitch and a half-caste. It was hard not to own someone elses label for you. The words hurt. The experience hurt. It reminded me that I didn't fit in, I wasn't like everyone else and I was fatherless. In retrospect, my first direct experience of racism, taught me quite a lot about people's perceptions and the importance of being strong in yourself.

I didn't really start wanting to know about being Samoan until I was about 18 or 19. I was working in my first job. It was the mid eighties - a time when the public service first started to come to grips with issues such as bi-culturalism. Cultural awareness was becoming trendy and the environment was slowly changing to allow Maori and Pacific people to come out of the closet culturally. I struggled personally with a lot of this because my Dad was my primary experience of being Samoan and I had a lot of feelings about Dad that I hadn't yet worked out with him - strong feelings of rejection and abandonment. It's hard to move past associating my feelings about being Samoan with feelings about being rejected by my Dad. I felt that Samoans would reject me too, that I wouldn't fit in because I wasn't Samoan enough. I was too fair, my nose was too long (and not broad enough), I challenge too much and ask questions, I didn't know about Fa'asamoa and I couldn't speak Gagana Samoa.

At different times I have felt rejected by Samoans and felt that I was being judged and I failed the test. One of those times was when I went to join the Samoan students association at Victoria University. I was 26. A young confident Samoan man (Samoan or NZ-born I don't know) asked me why I was there at the meeting for Samoan students. When I explained that my Dad was Samoan and I was joining to learn more about being Samoan, he asked if my Dad was really my father. Straight away I was 11 again. It was probably his idea of a joke but it had taken a lot of courage to get to the meeting in the first place and I wasn't ready for his comments. I cried my way home on the bus asking my Dad why he hadn't been around, why he hadn't tried to teach us something about being Samoan and the language. I considered him responsible for my dislocation from my culture.

I never went back to the Samoan students association. Instead I got on with my studies and joined a Maori study group. I felt welcome there. Often through out my life I have felt more comfortable with Maori as we have an affinity as people of the Pacific living here in Aotearoa. We have some experiences and struggles in common and obvious points of difference as Pacific people aren't the tangata whenua. With Maori I haven't felt like I will be judged for the way I look or for my limited language skills. There are no expectations.

I've tried to learn Samoan about 5 times. The first time I was under 5 and my Mum tried to teach me from a book. The last time was 3 years ago at varsity. Its probably a strange thing to learn about being Samoan at a university. But it suited me at that stage of my life because it was more impersonal than trying to learn from your family. Safer somehow. I know that having your language is to many people the key to the culture and at the core of being Samoan language and the church. It's hard to learn your language when you haven't grown up with it. The only time I heard Dad speak Samoan when we were growing up was when he was hatching a plan with his mates and they didn't want us kids to find out about it. I went to Samoa in 1999 and it was great to hear my Dad speaking his first language again but this time it was a normal thing for him and not at all secretive. This trip to Samoa with my partner was very special. It was full of happiness and pride. I stood in front of the lounge for the Samoans MPs, just behind the Samoan House of Representatives, and looked at my grandfather's name, my Dad's Dad who the building had been dedicated to. My grandfather was the chief translator and the first Speaker of the House in Samoa. It was a very proud moment for me.

This was all completely different than my first trip to Samoa in 1994. My Dad had moved back to Samoa to live just a few weeks before I arrived. Dad's best friend had passed away suddenly in 1993. He was only 50 years old and he didnt get the chance to return to Samoa to enjoy his old age. I'm sure it gave Dad a reminder that if he wanted to return home maybe he should go soon. Before I went, a friend told me about her first trip to Samoa. For her, she felt comfortable, at home, and like she had found a part of her that was missing. I knew that I had a part missing and hoped that I would find it there. I didn't. When I went I had too many expectations. I had expected Dad to take me to heaps of places that were important to him and to our family and to generally show me around. He didn't. I spent lots of time waiting for him. It brought lots of childhood memories back for me. That's when I decided to write a letter about how it had been for me. I gave it to him when I boarded the plane in Apia bound for Wellington. Doing this helped me make some peace with Dad, to move on with my life, and to disconnect my feelings about being Samoan with my feelings about my Dad. Dad and I have never spoken about this letter. I dont feel that we need to. I've said what I needed to say and after my trip to Samoa in 1999 I know that Dad loves me and is proud of me (he didn't say so but I met some of his friends and they told me!). If Dad wants to talk to me about it, that's fine but it seems to me that that wouldn't be the way of a Samoan Dad.

I love my Mum and Dad very much. My Mum is an amazing parent and I respect and thank her. I thank Mum for showing me and teaching me strength, determination and unconditional caring and I thank Dad for my love of music and learning independence. I have a partner that enriches my life. I love him for his understanding and caring, never judging and encouraging me to be me.

I have met some incredible Pacific people (in particular Pacific women including some of my Aunties) at different stages in my life in Nelson, Wellington and Christchurch and I thank them for their support and wisdom.

When I completed my law degree I wanted to be able to make the law more accessible for Pacific people. I'm lucky that I am able to do that.

I've a long way to go on my journey but I've come a long way. The journey will continue all my life.

The statistics show that the face of NZ is changing. There will be more people like me in the future, more NZ-born and more from one parent families. We are all looking for our place in the sun too. We are entitled to love and understanding. We have a right to our cultural heritage and likewise we have a responsibility to learn and nurture it. We can't do this if we're not acknowledged and encouraged on our journeys. We are not fia Palagi - like a European. We are not afakasi - half caste. We are totolua - two blooded.

I am a daughter of the pacific, a daughter of Samoa and Aotearoa.


NB: Some will have noticed that I have not talked about religion or the church. While I was christened as a baby and attended Sunday School as a child, I was not brought up in the church. I did not say this upfront because I know how significant Christianity is to the Samoan psyche (and the psyche of other Pacific people) and I feared that some would not bother to read my story because I do not attend church. To me, spirituality and religion are not the same thing. I am a spiritual person.