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The lone coconut tree that dared

to lean towards the sea,

gave shade to her friends while

playing on the beach.

Running half-naked so natural

to those blossoming teens,

mother's lagoon fishing straddling

the sea so blue and pristine.

Water glistening on her bare breasts

with ti-leaves as a skirt,

father hunting in the bush,

tanned and muscular without a shirt.

Other than a t-string,

he was completely nude

culturally, he was fully dressed

in a traditional tattoo.



Then the missionaries came!

Pagan worshippers too many

idols, so they said 

And their One true God 

Did not condone her ways.

Erotic  moonlight dancing,

 the young's cultural right but

like nakedness, was labeled 

the devil's own delight.

They cut her hair and

she woke up wearier,

found everything foreign

was then superior.



The young's wild spirits,

broken like tamed fillies

brown skin covered

from head to their Achilles.

Mother's long tresses

made to hide in a bun

head to toe dressed in cotton,

in the heat of the sun.

Father's tattoo was a mark 

of the devil's blood rites.

Respect meant wearing suits

with matching ties.



Many years later traditional dress

covered all except the face.

Confused why bare flesh in a hot place

could be such a disgrace.

Then came the tourists,

lovers and sun-seekers to paradise.

Beaches were the destination;

brown,tanned skin the ultimate prize.

New trendsetters, a see-thru blouse,

a bikini top and mini skirts.

Worst of all were the logos

"God is Dead" on their t-shirts.

They swam in near nudity

and lovers embraced on the shore.

Oblivious to bold writings in brochures,

of things banned in Samoa:



"Please respect our Culture;

Sunday only for God to be adored,

No Flesh Exposures and do your Kissing Indoors."

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