We decided to go for a drive. Our sunset waterfront fale is quickly losing light, the sun slipping behind a large headland. To watch it meet the sea is easy enough in this northwestern corner of Savai’i, Samoa’s big island.

Here the North Coast Road becomes the South Coast Road, unmarked on an endless loop of villages, churches, beaches and reefs that encircle this volcano. We pass sun-bleached buildings with rust-coloured roofs, placed freely among open garden beds and short-cut lawns; there are very few fences here.

“Welcome to Vaisala Beach Hotel,” the sign reads. We take a hard right down a narrow single-lane road eventually finding a car park, vacant except for a single van. A man walks toward us up the road. We ask if the hotel is open. He nods and gestures toward a path winding down a steep bank, the water just beyond. Following the concrete stairs we find a white sandy beach. It’s busy by Samoan standards, children play in the water, younger ones sit with older ones on the shore. They turn and wave.

Above the beach, the hotel looms large, wrapped in scaffolding that has long outlasted its original purpose. The hotel seems mostly empty, the majority of rooms in a long building beside a sandy road barely separated from the beach.

On the road an old but well-kept red ute is parked with flames painted on the side. ‘O Iesu Le Tali’ is written across the windscreen in precise hand lettering… Later, I translate it to mean ‘Jesus is the answer’.

I meet Francis carrying an old air conditioning unit out of a ground floor room. He loads it into the tray and two boys climb in after it. I love your ute I say, nothing better coming to mind in that moment. He smiles and we stand back and look at it.

I saw you on the ferry, he says. I don’t remember and my face tells him as much… Two days ago he adds - Wednesday? We both nod and smile.

Where are you from? How long are you here? We rehearse a kind of meeting ritual in Samoa, followed by hearing about the time they lived in or visited Aotearoa, and their family that still reside there.

Francis tells me he is from the next village, an electrician working on the hotel. He made the ferry crossing in his ute, loaded with supplies from the city, Apia. He makes the journey often.

He ties down his cargo and climbs into the driver’s seat. Approaching his window I hold up my camera, Okay if I take a photo? He nods in agreement.

I fiddle with the focus on my rangefinder camera, it’s hard to get right in the low light. I take one photograph and thank him, promising to send it to him. We find each other on Facebook.

We make our way up a small staircase to an enclosed balcony. The restaurant and bar are open with tables sets; we are the only customers. We order two Taula “sit anywhere” the waitress says. The bright artificial light and shade cloth are in uneasy harmony with the view. Unable to sit still, I stand and lean on the railing. From below a small voice says “Hello…what’s your name?”

Micah Sargisson

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Micah Sargisson

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