Ode to chicken in a bag

Last Thursday my teachers informed me that there was an all-principal meeting in Siumu on Friday (as in the next day). That’s nice, I’m glad it doesn’t concern me…oh how little I (still) know. Apparently because of this big to-do we (as in all of the teachers) were required to spend Thursday night at the school in order to prepare the umu (remember- the ground ovens Samoans make with lava rocks that are heated on a fire) with lots of pig, taro, palesami, etc. OK…I knew I would at least get a good story out of this or just very little sleep.
They told me to come to school at 4pm that night, but I am now very good at this game. If a Samoan tells you to be somewhere at 4 do not even think about being there any earlier that 6. Feeling very proud of myself for at least understanding this part of the culture (it only took 18 months) I wandered up to the school a little past 6pm. The teachers were all sitting outside, not really doing anything, which wasn’t really that much of a surprise. I have also learned to always bring a book to any Samoan function because there will probably be 6 hours of nothing to the 1 hour of whatever the event is, you may think I exaggerate, but you are wildly mistaken…
So, I settled down on the steps and got out my book when little Sina trudges up to me with a rice sack slung over her shoulder. She plops down on the step next to me with great effort and swings the sack around so it falls between us. By the way, Sina is maybe 5-years-old. I give her a nod of acknowledgement, which she returns. After a few seconds silence she points to the bag and says matter-o-factly, “O le moa”. That pretty much means “It’s a chicken.” Half way through translating “No, no, silly that is a rice sack,” I realize the rice sack is actually quivering a bit…
Instead, I say in Samoan, “There’s a chicken…inside the bag?”
“Yup,” as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Uhh…well is it…dead?”
“Nope,” and with that she lost interested and trotted off to play with the other kids leaving me with the chicken…in a bag. Wellllll, okkkaaaaay. Better play this one cool and just keep reading and pretend that what is sitting inside the rice sack next to me isn’t sitting in the rice sack next to me. Maybe 5 minutes go by….

Malaki and Sina with her beloved chicken in a bag

Then I think the chicken in the bag all of the sudden realized “OH SH#*! I’m in a bag! This is definitely not going to bode well for my future!” And with that realization, the rice sack made a blood curdling “SQUAAAAACK!!” and flew about 3 feet in the air and proceeded to bounce off toward the toilets. At this point, half of the teachers began berating little Sina for being so careless as to leave chicken in a bag for the dumb white girl to look after while the other half of the teachers began chasing after chicken in a bag. I did the most understandable thing in such a situation which was to pee my pants laughing.

Its a chicken in a bag

Later that night when I realized there was going to be no food making (at least not by us, but the 6 or 7 year eight boys that were there were pretty busy…) I decided to go to my house where there was…you know…a bed. As much fun as it would have been to sleep on the cement floor with all the teachers and the pre-pubescent year eight boys (calm down Kyla) I opted for my quiet house instead. After I had just fallen asleep (Samoans in my village have a knack for sensing the moment that I fall asleep and then knocking on my door to ask for something) one of the year eight boys knocks on the door.
“Lola, we need to use your refrigerator.” The good news was that the chicken in a bag had found a friend…the bad news was that they were spending the night in my refrigerator…and thus was the end of chicken in a bag.
Tune in next week for elephants stampeding through the village!

The sad end to chicken in a bag