As a kid I did wish I was a palagi, so I didn’t have to do so many feaus. (Side note: An older cousin hated how us younger Samoans added an “s” to Samoan words to pluralise it, or “ing” for tense purposes. But that’s another story!) The life of a palagi kid, to my mind back then, was the good life, the easy life. No chores, no hidings, no Sunday School, no faalavelaves. Everything seemed nicer when I went over to my palagi friends’ houses. Nicer house, nicer furniture, heaps of food, heaps of toys and ’spare’ rooms even.
But as I grew up I noticed that various palagi friends never knew how to cook, or had never washed dishes (they had a dishwasher), or had no idea on how to iron a shirt. I realised we had been taught valuable skills when we were younger. Feeding the multitudes with whatever’s in the cupboards is no easy feat.