What I am learning and accepting as being fakahela

While drinking cold, sweet otai during Tongan Language Week (Uike Kātoanga’i ‘o e lea faka-Tonga), I took time to reflect on my own Tongan journey so far — the struggles but also the wins. I know other friends in the disability community can relate to some of the challenges, but we also find ways to celebrate our culture together.

Being born and raised in a Tongan household is a crazy but humbling experience. I grew up with my cousins, who are basically my siblings, learning Tongan songs together and fighting over the last of nana’s famous keke 'isite (sweet doughnuts) which would always end in tears. 

My cousins are my biggest support system, but they also roast me the most until we’re all laughing out loud. They would playfully make fun of me for going too slow, mock my fear of dolls, or I would get blamed for getting us caught trying to run away because I was always straggling behind.

They’d also find ways of putting me in line and keeping me grounded if I got too fiapoto (too confident) for acting too cool or when my own ego got the best of me. 

While our family connected through our mutual love of roasting and mocking each other, our love of faiva and dance was another way in our culture to express ourselves. Faiva is in my family identity. My papa was a Tongan tutor and until recently, my entire family did it except for me. I felt left out, but it was hard because of the fast hand movements and feeling fakahela (too much) slowing everyone down.

In 2019, I did my first faiva dance at my 21st birthday party. My cousins helped with adapting the dance moves, switching up fast moves to slow ones, reducing the leg movements to help me with the rhythm, and not including dance moves sitting on the ground. It took a lot of extra practice and feedback from my cousins. They were brutally honest, too.

Since then I have contributed to and joined in on so many dances, and each time I get better and faster. Then just a few years ago, I joined the youth dance to celebrate the 40 year anniversary of my church. That dance was 20 minutes long and was a marathon of months of preparation. I felt the most connected to my culture doing that dance, but especially to my late papa that day.

Dance is another form of storytelling; you get goosebumps once you dive into the moves and learn the meaning behind them. Growing up, I had always wanted to join those dances rather than sitting them out. I now feel a sense of belonging and connection to my family, and to Tongan language and culture whenever I perform.

Being around other Pasifika disabled people also makes me feel like I belong. I'm reminded that others too have challenges, while sharing many fun moments with family. 

Voices in our community 

I’ve recently been connecting with other Pasifika friends in the disability community; we’ve laughed together over shared family dynamics but also connected over our love for our Pacific cultures and future aspirations.

While shooting my series, Poly Will and Grace, I spoke with Lavinia Lovo who is Samoan Tongan. She said she has high hopes for our Pacific disabled community: “The one thing I wish for in the future is that people don't have to create doors no more. They can just go in the doors that I have put up for people. They don't need to carry on the fight. They can just easily go in.”

Naomi Vailima, who is Samoan, said she didn’t talk about disability much in her family: "The environment that I had growing up in my household, we didn't really have conversations. So, it was harder to kind of like go through all of that without facing it together. But it's gotten better now."

Naomi said Pacific spaces were the safest for her. “I've been in spaces that aren't Pasifika, but I've always felt comfortable mainly in Pasifika because I've never felt judged, I've never felt any less. Yeah, it's more comfortable being around people that, you know, can relate to you.”

John Nuuausala, also Samoan, said he felt more comfortable around people who actually understand you and Pasifika values. “I feel like the man, I feel connected to the culture and in a way, you get to understand and you get to learn both English and being bilingual.”

Naomi and John both laughed and bonded over the way their families mocked them too, over things like getting discounts from faking their age and comparing their wheelchairs to baby car seats.

Upon reflection on my culture and this special week of Uike Kātoanga’i ‘o e lea faka-Tonga, I hope our community can feel more connected. Listening to others share their stories makes me feel less alone. I’ve never felt more thankful for my cousins, despite their mocking. And I’ve never been more proud to dance and to celebrate the Tongan language and culture.

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