The Spirits of Samoa: My Family’s Stories

Image by The Coconet.tv

My family is from a small village on the southern edge of Savai’i, Samoa- an island our ancestors settled thousands of years ago.

Much of our history- our ancient beliefs- was stolen by colonization and religious conversion. But one belief, as old as the islands themselves, has stubbornly remained: belief in the aitu.

The aitu are difficult to explain through a Western lens. They are not demons, nor ghosts, nor all-powerful gods. They are as vengeful as they are wise, as protective as they are cruel. They belong to the islands as much as we do- woven into the black lava rock and tangled jungle- and they are as layered and complex as humans.

Some aitu are known by a single name. Telesa, for example, is a spirit known to protect the women of Samoa fiercely. But, if a woman wears her hair down at night, Telesa will drag her into the sea, never to return.

Terisa Siagatonu on X

Most, aitu, though, are nameless- known only to those who cross their path. I have three stories to share about them.

Lipine And His Passengers

My uncle Lipine was a policeman in the ‘60s and ‘70s. His bureau sat in a remote village on a remote island, so, instead of a cruiser, he drove a battered, two-seater pickup.

The seats in this truck were like a bench- there was no center console nor gap separating the driver and passenger side. This suited my uncle Lipine, very well- he was a very large man. The truck was made for two, but when he was in it, there was really only one-and-a-quarter seats.

One night, Lipine was driving through the rainforest. It was dark outside, and, in accordance with the unspoken rules of the island, most people had retreated to their homes. For miles, the road had been empty.

So, as Lipine rounded a bend, he was startled to see two figures appear in the glare of his headlights.

There, just beyond the abyssal clutches of the forest, were two large, older women, walking side by side. Despite their wild surroundings and the creeping frigidity of night, the two were dressed in their Sunday best: matching skirts with matching blouses- and a matching hat to boot.

This, of course, was very odd. Women did not walk this road at night.

Concerned, Lipine slowed the truck and called out. The women didn’t answer- they were too deep in conversation, laughing and slapping each other’s arms. He called out again, and they finally seemed to notice him.

With a casual wave, they accepted his offer for a ride.

As the women made their way toward the car, Lipine focused on the road ahead, scanning for oncoming traffic, wild hogs, and, perhaps, the rest of the mysterious midnight congregation.

His concentration was unbroken as the door creaked open.

Their laughter grew louder. The truck shifted under their weight.

The door slammed shut, and Lipine drove. The women gossiped, gasped, and exploded in bouts of rolling laughter. He kept his eyes ahead.

After a few exuberant minutes, Lipine reached the outskirts of town. Laughter still echoing in his ears, he eased up on the gas, turned to let the women out-

And found the seat beside him empty.

The women were gone.

For weeks, he told no one. A man of law and order and reason, he tried to rationalize the experience. But three facts remained:

The two women had no reason to walk alone at night.

The two women should never have been that deep in the jungle.

And the two women should not have fit in that truck with Lipine.

Stolen Teeth

My Auntie Tua met her first husband at the Polynesian Cultural Center at BYU Hawai’i. It was a classic love story: She was a dancer, he was the lead performer. Within months, the two fell in love and were married.

But, there was a problem. His mother did not approve.

And so, she cursed Tua.

Tua was immediately inflicted with minor symptoms: headaches, forgetfulness, the occasional bout of mild illness. Young, healthy, and newly married, Tua hardly noticed the curse.

But her mother-in-law did.

As Tua’s mother-in-law monitored her, shivering with sick glee and excitement as she awaited the curse’s effects, she was startled by an odd sensation:

Her teeth were loose.

As she twisted her tongue, furrowing her brow in confusion, a metallic gush of blood filled her mouth. Horrified, she spat onto the ground-

-And a tooth- shiny, white, and dotted with red, glared back up at her from the ground. The curse had been turned, with a vengeance, onto her.

Within days, Tua’s mother-in-law lost nearly half of her teeth.

Her gums bleeding, fear coursing, she sent for a witch doctor from the islands. He arrived, and examined her. Then said only one thing:

“Don’t mess with that girl- her ancestors walk on this earth like people”.

Image from “Teine Sā: The Ancient Ones” by The Coconet.tv

Tua’s mother in law took the doctor’s advice: The curse was lifted. An apology was made.

But her teeth were never returned.

The Night Marchers

I was nine when we visited Falealupo, a village at the easternmost tip of Savai’i. Its beaches and jungles had seen many battles- and the village was said to lie on the boundary between creation and the underworld.

My mother was immediately spooked by the energy in the village. Wary and agitated, she sent me to sleep with my Auntie Loudeen, who was strong and spiritually attuned.

I, of course, was not clued in to the circumstances. I was excited to stay in a fale with my Auntie, just feet away from the ocean. Cuddled next to her in the small, circular room, sleep washed over me with the gentle lapping of waves below.

Fales on a beach in Savai’i. Photo by Günther Bayeri.

I awoke to moonlight. My Auntie was sound asleep, soft snores hardly escaping her Ninja Turtles-patterned sleeping bag.

Waves crashed as I stirred- and an urgent, yet calm energy rose in my chest.

I needed to look at the ocean.

Silent, so as not to wake my Auntie, I climbed out of my sleeping bag and peered over the woven mats constituting the fale’s windowsill.

From my towering view, I watched as the salty ocean breeze caressing my face and hands tousled the fronds of the palm trees. Waves crashed against the black rocks lining the shore. The night was peaceful, routine.

And then I saw them.

Men.

Men were marching in formation over the water, side by side. They were tall- too tall. Strong and wide and heavily tattooed.

Their faces were jarring and exaggerated- like a memory drawn in anger.

They were not human. They were something more.

I stared, frozen- but not in fear. Something kept me still; grabbed my shoulders firmly and planted me to the spot. Made sure I remained still- unseen.

The men were marching as if on level ground, even as they rose and fell with the waves. When the water crested, turned white, and crashed onto the shore, the men stepped onto the sand without faltering. They marched past the fales and into the jungle. Silent and impossibly tall.

As the men disappeared into the depths of the foliage, the hands upon my shoulders gently, but firmly pushed me down. I sunk away from view, disappearing, like the men, into the abyss of the fale.

I slid into my sleeping bag and closed my eyes as the waves crashed- and the warriors marched- outside.

“Night Marchers” by Anna Fuernsteiner Giclée

I don’t know what would have happened if the men had spotted me.

But something made sure I stayed hidden, calm, and quiet. Whether the hands on my shoulders were my ancestors, the spirits of fallen warriors, or a watchful aitu like Telesa, I was protected that night.

The Aitu, In Closing

These are only three stories. There are thousands more. The aitu are complicated, dynamic, and variable.

Some aitu are clouds of smoke that whisper your name. Others are jolly old women who gossip beside the road. Some march over waves and through eternity. Some steal teeth to protect their descendants. Some, like Telesa, will drag you into the ocean if you disobey the unspoken rules of the island.

The aitu are not easily explained. But, if you ever meet one, I hope you live to tell the tale.