Chapter 1: A Gift to the Village

"Faafetai, mo le sao o le atunuu. O le a tuuina atu nei ia te oe le suafa Matai o Leaufa'amulia. O lou fale lenei, ma o i matou o ou tagata. O lenei faalupega e fusia ai oe ia i matou, ma matou ia te oe. Faamanuia ma tausia oe e le Atua." The Chief's voice rang out through the open hut, a stately structure supported only by towering posts, its roof swaying gently in the Pacific breeze.

I sat cross-legged on the cool ground, clad in a formal Samoan 'ie lava lava', black and emblazoned with stark white tropical floral designs. A blue shirt with white star-shaped patterns adorned my chest, the fabric cool against my skin. My heart pounded in my chest. I had worked tirelessly to earn this title, the title of Leaufa'amulia.

In Samoan, Leaufa'amulia translates to 'the warrior left behind.' A title that bore a heavy weight and responsibility. The Leaufa'amulia were those who stayed behind to protect the village during times of war, ensuring the safety and wellbeing of its inhabitants. It was a title of honor, bravery, and unyielding dedication.

Around me, the villagers had gathered, joy etched onto their faces. Boxes of food, tools, money, and other necessities I'd brought for them were being stacked high, offerings to the people I now had a responsibility to protect and lead. The sounds of livestock, a part of my offering, echoed from nearby, intertwining with the hum of excited chatter. The last box was placed, and I rose to speak.

"Ou te talia ma le lotomaualalo lenei Matai. Ou te faafetai mo le mamalu o loo tauaveina e lenei tiutetauave. Ou te le mimita, ae ou te le faatagaina le igoa Leaufa'amulia e palapala ma soli. Tau ina ia taʻitaʻia e le Atua oʻu ala ma loʻu loto, ina ia ou le aumaia le maasiasi ma le taufaaleaga i lenei atunuu, po o lona igoa mamalu, ma o i latou uma o e taumafai e lafo le maasiasi ma le taufaaleaga ona o aʻu, ia faia lea lava mea e tasi ma le mautinoa lava e tasi. ua ia te au. i lo'u loto e na o le mamalu ma le faamaualuga e aumaia ai."

As the words rolled off my tongue, I could see the pride on my father's face, the trust he had lost in me slowly being rebuilt. I was his son again. I was the village's Leaufa'amulia.

The celebrations were intense, filled with laughter, stories, and lots of food. I took part in the tattau ceremony, where a Samoan tribal tattoo was etched onto my skin. It was a symbolic gesture of responsibility towards the village, a responsibility I was ready to bear.

The ceremony was painful, each tap of the turtle shell piece into my skin an imprint of commitment, but I remained resilient. I closed my eyes, letting the rhythmic tapping guide my mind through the journey that had led me to this moment. The memories washed over me, each one a piece of the puzzle that made up who I was now.

I was ready to tell my story.