In the Track of the Trades / The Account of a Fourteen Thousand Mile Yachting Cruise to the Hawaiis, Marquesas, Societies, Samoas and Fijis

by Lewis R. Freeman

The principal difference between the dance in Samoa and in the other island groups of the South Pacific is that in the former it is an institution and in the latter—in recent times—an incidental. In years gone by the dance was an integral part of the life of every South Sea people, but through missionary and governmental influence it has practically been killed everywhere but in the Samoas. That the missionary alone could never have accomplished this the instance of these islands shows, for while the missionary's influence is no less potent there than in a number of other groups, the dance has survived his active opposition through the fact that the American government has not put its official bans upon it, as have the British in Fiji and the French in the Societies and Marquesas. The siva is as much a part of Samoan life today as it was in the time of La Perouse and the first missionaries, and as one of the few unaltered survivals of ancient times it is sincerely to be hoped that it will remain so.

As I have pointed out in writing of the dance in Tahiti, it is only on the rarest of occasions that one may see anything approaching the "real" hula in that island, and this is also true of the ancient dances of Hawaii, the Marquesas, Tongas, Fijis and all of the other South Sea islands. This is partly due to their having been repressed as immoral, and partly to the fact that, as the years go by, there are fewer and fewer natives who can perform the intricate movements of the old dances. In Samoa, however, there is no evidence of the decadence of this traditional adjunct of native expression, though certain of the grosser features of the siva are no longer seen except in out-of-the-way interior villages. This is just as well, perhaps, for it is these particular features of the dance that have brought it into disrepute in other South Sea groups and ultimately resulted in governmental interference. It is these so-called indecent movements of the siva upon which the Samoan missionaries have based their opposition to their dance, and through their gradual elimination at a time that a gradual broadening of the missionary mind is also apparent, it is not impossible that a still beautiful and uncommercialized siva may yet exist peacefully in the islands by the side of those who have hitherto steadfastly endeavoured to extirpate it as a thing accursed.

The interesting thing about the siva—and this is also true of the Samoan himself—is that it is as it always was. Certain movements may not be danced in certain villages out of deference to the feelings of the missionary or because the native himself has modified his ideas respecting their propriety, but, by and large through the islands, the siva-siva remains as it has ever been, perhaps the most beautiful and perfect interpretative dance given to the world by any race in history. The visitor who is entertained by a chief of Tutuila, Upolou or Savaii with kava drinking and a siva-siva may know that it was not in materially different fashion that, a century and a quarter ago, the Samoans of that time received the officers of the Astrolabe and Boussle in the great round of feasting which preceded the unfortunate events leading up to the tragedy of Massacre Bay. The public offering of the women to the god-like visitors on this occasion was a thing without parallel, perhaps, in modern history, but except in that one particular the Samoan kava and dancing ceremonies for distinguished visitors has probably undergone no change whatever.

It is impossible to write of the siva without mentioning kava, and as the drinking of this almost distinctively Samoan beverage is an invariable prelude to every dance, reception, parley or any native gathering of whatever character, it may be in order here to tell something of what it is and of how it is prepared and partaken.

The kava plant belongs to the pepper family. It is bushy in appearance, and the leaves, dark green and heart-shaped, are about the size of one's two hands. The stems are knotted and crooked, with joints every two or three inches. The plant is useful only between its third and fifth years, the wood being too pulpy before that time, and afterwards, too pithy and tasteless. Both stems and root are used in the preparation of the beverage, these being cut into lengths of three or four inches and split longitudinally to secure even drying in the sun. Properly prepared, it is light and pithy and of a whitish colour.

The kava plant grows in nearly every island of the South Pacific, and two or three generations ago the beverage from it was in universal use throughout those latitudes. Today it is only drunk by the Samoans and here and there in Fiji. Why it should have fallen into disuse elsewhere is not entirely clear, for except in endeavouring to discourage the preparation of the root by the old method of chewing, neither officials nor missionaries have actively opposed kava drinking. The fact that the use of kava has ceased most completely in those groups in which, like the Marquesas, Societies and Hawaiias, the natives have become strongly addicted to the use of alcoholic stimulants, either of their own or foreign manufacture, would point to the growing use of the latter as the probable reason for the loss of taste for the former. Although the Fijian native is far from being a teetotaler, the unusual power of the missionary in that group has undoubtedly prevented him from giving himself up to the toddy habit as completely as have his cousins of the Marquesas and Societies. The Samoan drinks less, and seems to care less for alcoholic stimulants than any other South Sea native, but whether this is due to the universal use of kava, or whether the universal use of kava is due to the fact that the toddy habit has never attained a foothold in his island, would be hard to say. The fact remains that the Samoan is a keen, clean liver, and that his kava, if it has not been an actual factor in developing his splendid physical powers, at least has been responsible for nothing comparable to the mental and moral havoc wrought by the insidious toddy in the other islands.

Although the Samoan drinks kava on any and all occasions that he can get some one to make it for him, yet the special function of that beverage is ceremonial. It figures in all formal gatherings, but is, perhaps, most indispensable to the reception of guests, on which occasions the prescribed ceremonial procedure varies no whit in the houses of the highest and the lowest. The moment the visitors to a native house are seated, the guest of highest rank, or the one whom it is desired especially to honour, is presented with three or four pieces of dried kava. These he perfunctorily inspects, pronounces prime, and tosses to the taupo—the official virgin of the village whose duty it is to look after the entertainment of strangers—who forthwith commences the preparation of the drink. It is at this point in the original kava ceremony that the taupo proceeded to masticate the bits of root and stem to a proper consistency to be dissolved in water, but this part of the "recipe" is no longer followed amongst the enlightened natives of the coastal villages, to whom the risks of spreading infection by such a practice have been thoroughly brought home. It is customary now to grind the root to a powder between two flat stones, although on two or three occasions I have seen ordinary perforated graters used. When thoroughly reduced, the pulverized root is thrown into the kava bowl and covered with cold water from a calabash which is held ready by one of the handmaidens.

The kava bowl is an important factor in the ceremony. It is hewn from a single piece of wood, and is usually between eighteen inches and three feet in diameter and from three to five inches deep. It preserves its equilibrium with the aid of a periphery of legs running around the outside, these varying in number from four on a small bowl belonging to a person of no especial consequence to ten on the bowl of a chief. They are made on the island of Savaii, there being no trees of a suitable nature on any of the other islands of the group. Just as a pipe gathers "colour" from smoking, so does a kava bowl accumulate a rich layer of golden enamel through frequent use. A deeply enameled bowl, on account of the traditions associated with it, is almost priceless. The true kava bowl is severely plain and unornamented; a carved or "beaded" border is a sure sign of manufacture for the tourist trade.

When there is sufficient water in the bowl to make enough drink for all present, the taupo dips in with both hands and begins squeezing the ground kava through her fingers in order that all of the strength will pass into solution. This operation continues until the floating particles are tasteless when dabbed on the tip of the tongue of the taupo, who then proceeds with the straining. This is accomplished with the aid of a sheaf of fibre from the inner bark of the hibiscus tree, called a fau. This contrivance, which is very similar in form to that invaluable aid-to-beauty called a "switch," though somewhat complicated to manipulate, seems to accomplish its purpose very thoroughly. The fibres are swept around the surface of the liquid in the bowl and brought down from all sides at once to a bunch at the deepest point, where it is folded over onto itself in such a manner as to gather and hold all of the root particles with which it comes in contact. After the liquid is squeezed back into the bowl, the fau is passed by the taupo to an attendant who shakes out the fibre with a single quick flirt under a raised coco-leaf curtain. Three or four repetitions of this operation clear the liquid in the bowl, and after giving the fau a final shake—a sinuous spiral swish above her head—the taupo casts it aside and informs the host that the kava is ready.

Upon this announcement the host passes the news on to the guests by striking the palms of his hands together with a long stiff-armed swing. This is at once taken up by every one in the house, and for a few moments there is a round of dignified and somewhat perfunctory clapping. Then the Tulafele or "Talking Chief," who acts as a sort of toast-master, launches into a flowery speech extolling the virtues of the guests, which he concludes by calling for an epu of kava for the visitor first in rank. The epu, a cup made of the half of a coconut shell, is then held over the bowl by the head handmaiden, whose duty it is to act as cup-bearer. The taupo takes up the fau with another flourish, sops it into the kava and squeezes out the saturated fibres over the waiting epu. Holding this head high, the bearer advances across the mats to the personage designated by the tulafele and puts it, with a scooping gesture, into his hand. As the proffered cup is accepted, she steps backward to her original station beside the taupo.