#fhwsa

It’s when things like this exist that you know you are ble-ee-ee-ee-essed.

Thou Shalt Not Talk Smack

The moral of this story is made clear upfront. This story resonates so well with Samoans even beyond South Auckland because the voices of Lei and Madonna in this show are relatable personas for many Samoans in Aotearoa: the gossiping busy-body Lei who works so hard and complains even harder, who has an opinion on everyone though she chimes in on autopilot at all the right moments in church (present in body, even if not in spirit) --

“You’re usually the one reading people’s clothes instead of the pages in your bible, aye?”

-- and Madonna, who greets Lei with a casual allusion to her past-time for stirring drama and talking smack in the South. In contrast to Lei, Madonna embodies a well-intended friend who is still running on island time no matter how many apologies she makes (late is late), and is too kind to be anything but a concerned bystander in the slow-motion disaster of Lei’s self-incrimination.

These two are a significant departure from the kinder (distilled, less nuanced) figures of Fonuea and Sina (all the Sinas, every other woman in traditional fagogo was named Sina). Lei works hard for the church, and her comments clarify the struggle is not selfless, but neither is her desire for a simple thanks unreasonable.

Lei and Madonna aren’t role models, but they’re neither a one-dimensional cautionary tale: they are modern people blending both, whose voices we enjoy in detail with ego, humility and fallibility; who are no longer kept in check by explicit intervention of spiritual forces, but the lightest backhand of shame in Samoan social pressure and custom.

In contemporary Aotearoa, removed from our native fanua, the connection to the breadth of Samoa's spiritual existence is explicitly preached through the faife’au (church minister) who is more of a trophy and a teleprompter rather than a force for change or reflection in their congregation.

The use of popular hip-hop is laid down hard on top of the soft pipe organ whenever one of the Housewives starts to show the grit of her character. Our contemporary Polynesians have taken their musical cues of strength, swag and challenge from our African American role models across the ocean, suggesting our Polynesian contemporary sound isn’t pervasive enough in the popular consciousness to strike the same chord. 

The statement is subtle, but clear: if these womens’ strength be God-given, it may not be God-driven. The church is less of a place of worship and more of a battlefield for social standing, a contemporary village waterhole for people to catch-up rather than be spiritually fed. By the end of the episode, the organ has been muscled out by hip-hop. In just a few words, the Faletua shows her mettle as both a woman of God by association, and earth by backing track.