My New Island Home

From my window seat, I saw a double rainbow over Oahu. I was sitting on the right side of the Hawaiian Airlines plane and was able to see several islands and the Honolulu Airport (HNL) before the Boeing 747 turned on final approach.

I saw the Koolau Mountains, Honolulu Airport, Pearl Harbor, Kapolei Airport and Waianae beach before the plane made a hard right headed for HNL. I saw the sparkling blue ocean below, a horizon with white clouds splitting the blue sky and darker blue water, and more sea below before the plane flew over the shore on its way to HNL. I was transfixed with the sight of the land I thought I would occupy for the rest of my life, with its white waves lapping gently on the shore, and two tanker ships off the coast, undoubtedly on their way to Long Beach, California or a foreign land. My father would have been happy that I was moving to an island he had visited many times when he was the Chief Engineer on tanker ships.

I was excited to finally land on Oahu, my new home, where my new husband, Thomas, and his family were waiting to welcome me. Who knew I would end up on an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean after the horrible experience of watching my previous husband die at home in San Jose, California three years before.

It was a horrible experience. One morning as I woke up to perform my morning routine before going to work, I noticed Kevin was not moving. His body was lying inert, and his arm was stretched above where my head had lain. I immediately called 911 and ran to the front door, cracking it open so I wouldn’t have to wait by the door, or run out from the bedroom, when the EMTs arrived. They came quick and had already called the sheriff. Deputies showed up within minutes. To them it was a suspicious death until they called Kaiser Hospital to confirm Kevin’s medications for heart disease. They left after telling me they had done all they could, but Kevin was gone. I immediately called the Neptune Society to come and get his body, which he had told me was his wish when the time came.

I sat on the living room sofa with our 25-year-old son, Jimmy, as he cried on my shoulder, as if I had the strength to hold him up, when I felt like crumpling to the floor like a blob of Jello. I was forty-five at the time and remember thinking that my life was over. I would never love again, and nobody would want me ever again. Not that I could even fathom being with another man for what was to be the rest of my life.

Then it happened. After two years of trying to establish a new life, someone came into it who understood. His wife, Mary, had died a few months before Kevin, and we had some long talks about what to do with our new lives. The conversations were all online for six months until he called me, and they became personal phone calls. At last, I heard him speak. He lived in Hawaii, and I often found myself talking with him at 1 a.m. because he got the time zones mixed up and I didn’t want to hang up. I needed to hear a comforting voice.

Even though it seemed improbable, we finally met each other in California and were married. I made a commitment to sell my house and move to Hawaii. I even sought out a psychologist who could advise me on what to expect and how to handle the stresses we knew I would have once I made such a big change in my life. I was glad that Jimmy approved.

I upended my career to move to an island where there were many cultures, especially Polynesian, to marry a Caucasian man who had lived there for forty years where he had been married to a beautiful Samoan woman who had been the chief of her family in Samoa, even though she had lived in Hawaii most of her life.

So, there I was looking at the beauty of the Hawaiian Islands and wondering if I could adapt to their various cultures. This is my reality now. I hope I’m up to it.

I moved into Toms’ house with his adopted adult children, all of whom were Mary’s. It was quite an adjustment for me, but they graciously integrated me into their family faster than I expected.

My first introduction to a social life with this indigenous family happened soon after I arrived on the island. Tom’s deceased wife’s cousin passed away and, per the Samoan tradition, there was a large gathering at her family home that Tom and I were required to attend. It was an open house with most of the relatives gathered in a large circle in their chairs on the front lawn. A traditional buffet was served in the carport and inside the house. I took my place in the circle across from an older white-haired woman who could barely see me under the amber streetlight, and she noticed that I was white and had long red hair. Bright red hair.

As soon as I sat down, she yelled at the group that I had to leave. I was not welcome there because I was not Samoan. She, herself, was not pure Samoan, and many of the younger family members were not pure Samoan either. However, none of them were white.

The circle of relatives included those Samoans who were related to Tom’s deceased wife, who had been the chief of the Samoan part of the family when she lived in the village of Aua in American Samoa. They had traveled to Hawaii to acknowledge the member of their family who had just passed, the cousin of Mary. Her relatives had accepted Thomas due to his caring for her before her passing, were fine with me being there. After all, she had told her family that when her time came, they were to encourage him to find a new wife. Thus, I was called “Papa’s new wife” for a year before they referred to me by my name.

The old woman from the cousin’s side of the family yelled loudly in Samoan, which I didn’t understand, and after a few minutes several of the younger people who knew Tom well, came over to me and told me leave with him. They bent down and whispered, “For your own safety.”

In the meantime, some of the younger men from the cousin’s family who had traveled to Hawaii from Samoa, walked over to the Samoan woman and told her that I, on my own, had contributed to the celebration of life of her relative, and she needed to shut up, which she did.

Tom and I were escorted downhill by the concerned group of young people of both families to our car and, as we drove away, I asked Tom, “What just happened? I don’t understand Samoan or their customs. Did I insult them?”

“Not your fault. There are two different factions of the same large family who don’t agree on mixing traditional Samoan and haole (anyone who is not Polynesian) customs. She has always been a loud-mouthed person who lets her feelings be known. She has no filter.”

I looked at Tom with appreciation and said, “Thank goodness. I really thought I had done something wrong. Now, get me out of here!”

Tom softly replied, “No, Sylvie, you didn’t do anything wrong. Bubba and the rest were trying to protect you, not get rid of you. They like you and didn’t want you to be subjected to such bad behavior from one of their elders, on either side of the family.”

“So, I won’t get beat up if I go to another gathering?”

“Definitely not. Didn’t you notice that the ones coming to your rescue were young adults from each group? They don’t approve of everything their Samoan elders say or do. Just remember that. If anyone accosts you anywhere, just call a member of our side of the family. They or their friends will be right there to set the others straight. In fact, they look forward to doing that kind of thing, if you know what I mean.” Tom looked at me and grinned.

“Okay, I feel a lot better now. In fact, for some reason, after this harrowing experience, I feel like I’m finally home.”