Samoans. Everyone will follow the arguments with great relish. You will become celebrities. It could be years before the matter is settled, and in the meantime Gertrude will continue to run the plantation.’
John worried at a scab on his hand. Jeanie stilled the movement gently. Her dark eyes watched him for a moment, then she turned back to me.
‘Gertrude wrote nothing of this. In her letter there was no question about her right.’
‘In her mind there is no question. The plantation is freehold land. Her husband left it to her in his will. End of story.’
‘Good.’ John stood. He walked across the room to where Simone was now opening the screens to let the watery sunlight in. He began to help her; his movements quick and neat. I felt that he didn’t want to hear more– that he wanted to push away any hint of bad news.
Jeanie spoke quietly, keeping half an eye on her father, ‘So what is the other side of it?’
I tried to make it simple. How can you expect newcomers to the islands to grasp the intricacies of Samoan titles and land tenure? Jeanie had a sharp mind, though, understanding much more quickly than her father, I think, whose attention often seemed to drift as he continued to stand, watching the scene outside.
I told them that Gertrude’s husband, PJ Schroder, had two sisters, Maria and Theresa. Both married Samoan men of high rank. Theresa married particularly well, into one of the four ali‘i families whose titles are usually hereditary and highly respected. Her husband, like many of the older men, died in the flu epidemic, but not before she bore him a son, Samuele, who himself became a respected matai.
‘Matai?’ said Jeanie.
‘We would call it chief, a leader. A matai has control over a portion of village land and is the head of the extended family who live on the produce of that land. He (or occasionally she) dictates who in the ‘aiga – the extended family – works in what part of the family plantations, which fale they sleep in, how much they must contribute at feast times and so on. Under our new independence, the matai votes on behalf of his family.’
Jeanie looked at me frowning. ‘That’s hardly democratic.’
‘Well in a way it is. The whole family chooses the matai. Every member has a say. It’s a bit like the American form of democracy where voters choose delegates to vote on their behalf.’
I was about to elaborate on this, but Jeanie clearly had no interest in American voting systems. She cocked an eyebrow and smiled. Not quite making fun of my obsession, but making her point all the same. What an agreeable woman she was! ‘Gertrude’s plantation?’ she prompted.
‘Samuele, Gertrude and PJ Schroder’s nephew, didn’t hold the highest family title, but he ranked well. His title is attached to the village which is adjacent to the Schroder plantation.’
I explained that the matai title is not strictly hereditary. Theoretically, anyone in the family can be chosen. Samuele died while still relatively young, and there was much discussion over who should be take the title. His two children, Elena and Teo, were considered too young, and also their education was still continuing in New Zealand. In the end, the title was offered to old PJ Schroder, who up to that time, had kept to his ‘European’ status.
‘Oh dear,’ said Jeanie. ‘European? Wasn’t he born here?’
‘PJ was ‘afakasi – half caste. His ‘afakasi sisters chose to marry matai and identify as Samoan. PJ chose – as was his right – to retain European status. This entitles him to certain small privileges, buying alcohol for example, and to vote for the non-matai seats in the Fono. But you see, in the last two years of his life he accepted the matai title.’
John had come back to the table and was listening again. ‘But he died and passed the plantation on to my aunt.’ The last two words were spoken with a kind of nervous emphasis.
‘True, he did. But Tiresa, Samuele’s widow, and
John worried at a scab on his hand. Jeanie stilled the movement gently. Her dark eyes watched him for a moment, then she turned back to me.
‘Gertrude wrote nothing of this. In her letter there was no question about her right.’
‘In her mind there is no question. The plantation is freehold land. Her husband left it to her in his will. End of story.’
‘Good.’ John stood. He walked across the room to where Simone was now opening the screens to let the watery sunlight in. He began to help her; his movements quick and neat. I felt that he didn’t want to hear more– that he wanted to push away any hint of bad news.
Jeanie spoke quietly, keeping half an eye on her father, ‘So what is the other side of it?’
I tried to make it simple. How can you expect newcomers to the islands to grasp the intricacies of Samoan titles and land tenure? Jeanie had a sharp mind, though, understanding much more quickly than her father, I think, whose attention often seemed to drift as he continued to stand, watching the scene outside.
I told them that Gertrude’s husband, PJ Schroder, had two sisters, Maria and Theresa. Both married Samoan men of high rank. Theresa married particularly well, into one of the four ali‘i families whose titles are usually hereditary and highly respected. Her husband, like many of the older men, died in the flu epidemic, but not before she bore him a son, Samuele, who himself became a respected matai.
‘Matai?’ said Jeanie.
‘We would call it chief, a leader. A matai has control over a portion of village land and is the head of the extended family who live on the produce of that land. He (or occasionally she) dictates who in the ‘aiga – the extended family – works in what part of the family plantations, which fale they sleep in, how much they must contribute at feast times and so on. Under our new independence, the matai votes on behalf of his family.’
Jeanie looked at me frowning. ‘That’s hardly democratic.’
‘Well in a way it is. The whole family chooses the matai. Every member has a say. It’s a bit like the American form of democracy where voters choose delegates to vote on their behalf.’
I was about to elaborate on this, but Jeanie clearly had no interest in American voting systems. She cocked an eyebrow and smiled. Not quite making fun of my obsession, but making her point all the same. What an agreeable woman she was! ‘Gertrude’s plantation?’ she prompted.
‘Samuele, Gertrude and PJ Schroder’s nephew, didn’t hold the highest family title, but he ranked well. His title is attached to the village which is adjacent to the Schroder plantation.’
I explained that the matai title is not strictly hereditary. Theoretically, anyone in the family can be chosen. Samuele died while still relatively young, and there was much discussion over who should be take the title. His two children, Elena and Teo, were considered too young, and also their education was still continuing in New Zealand. In the end, the title was offered to old PJ Schroder, who up to that time, had kept to his ‘European’ status.
‘Oh dear,’ said Jeanie. ‘European? Wasn’t he born here?’
‘PJ was ‘afakasi – half caste. His ‘afakasi sisters chose to marry matai and identify as Samoan. PJ chose – as was his right – to retain European status. This entitles him to certain small privileges, buying alcohol for example, and to vote for the non-matai seats in the Fono. But you see, in the last two years of his life he accepted the matai title.’
John had come back to the table and was listening again. ‘But he died and passed the plantation on to my aunt.’ The last two words were spoken with a kind of nervous emphasis.
‘True, he did. But Tiresa, Samuele’s widow, and
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