Why We Dance ʻAiuli
ʻO le Tala o le Taumafataga o le Saʻa ʻAiuli
This is a little tale from Manono, a tiny island with an enormous place in Samoan history. Just three contextual notes before we start:
Although the widest point of Manono island is less than 1.5 square miles across and its peak population was less than 1,500 people, Manono was the naval hub of Sāmoaʻs most illustrious war fleet, the crownland of the Leiʻataua chiefdom, and the center of a powerful political confederacy still known today as the ʻĀiga-i-le-Tai (“The Family in the Sea”).
This story features "moemānatunatu," or communicating with the dead through dreams or meditation. Such as people laying down on their parents’ graves for a nap-conversation. Moemānatunatu is a beautiful facet of our Samoan spiritual beliefs and worldview.
The word ʻaiuli refers to the exuberant (often exaggerated and theatrical) dancing, gesticulating, and vocalizations that are performed by “accessory” participants around a solo dancer. This is universally seen during the closing number of a performance when a selected female dances the finale taualuga flanked by impromptu dancers whose animated movements tend to offset and contrast the more refined, graceful motions of the principal dancer. These movements and those who perform them are called ʻaiuli, and continue to be a quintessential element of Samoan performance today.
Why We Dance ʻAiuli
Many generations ago, on the tiny island of Manono, a young warrior was struggling to adjust to his new life as a brand new chief. He was still mourning the recent death of his father – the beloved, wise chief Lei’ataua Lesā had died gloriously in battle – and he felt overwhelmed with the duties and pressure of his new role as a paramount chief.
As the newest in a long line of distinguished chiefs, he was also the new commander of the massive Fuatāvaʻa (“Canoe Destroying Fleet”), which had been undefeated in over one hundred battles.
The inexperienced chieftain also had another serious issue to deal with.
Within a span of just two months, his people had hosted the wedding of their taupou, suffered the loss of their beloved chief, installed a new high chief, and celebrated the births of several noble heirs.
All of these milestone events obligated the islanders to house, feed, and entertain dozens of malaga groups that traveled from all over Sāmoa to commemorate. By the time the last guest had sailed home, the tiny island was absolutely bare! Their generous hospitality had uprooted their plantations, emptied their pigpens and henhouses, stripped their orchards, and completely depleted the reefs around the island.
Everyone looked to their new chief for guidance, and while young Lei’ataua didn’t have an immediate solution, he knew where to go for help.
“Roll out my sleeping mats and bring my ‘ali (bamboo headrest) too. I’ll have a dream tonight that will show us what to do.”
Reclining on the ‘ali, he meditated until he fell into a deep sleep, where he talked with the spirits of his ancestors, including his dead father. He asked his forefathers for advice on how to save their people and he discussed ideas with the spirits long into the night.
When the chief awoke in the morning, he called for the eldest son of every family.
Mobilizing his great fleet, he sent the young men on swift canoes to different villages throughout Sāmoa to beg for taro tops, yam cuttings, coconut seedlings, and banana stems.
Lei’ataua decreed that once all of their island’s plantations and orchards were re-planted, it was time for all of his people to go on an extended malaga voyage themselves.
They would go from one village to the next, enjoying the hospitality of other families until the fish returned to the reefs and the crops on their little island were ready to be harvested. The people cheered and thanked their young chief, congratulating him on such a good plan.
Within a few days, the men of the ‘aumaga were almost done re-planting the gardens, and the whole island was alive with preparations for their well-deserved holiday.
Just as the chief and his people were ready to leave, a large canoe sailed through the reef carrying a messenger who announced that King Mālietoa and his entire family and royal court would be arriving to visit the island the next day.
Without mentioning their true, dire situation, Leʻiataua assured the messenger that everything would be in order and watched the canoe paddle back to relay the message. The people could not believe their bad luck!
There wasn’t anything to eat on the whole island, but the villagers knew they couldn’t deny hospitality to anyone, much less a king. They frantically dug up anything edible, but the handful of tiny yams and rotten bananas they found wouldn’t feed 10 people, let alone 100 royal guests.
Everyone looked to their young chief for help, and while Lei’ataua didn’t have an immediate solution, he knew where to go for help.
“Roll out my sleeping mats and bring my ‘ali too. I’ll have a dream tonight that will show us what to do.” He asked his ancestors for advice on how to save their people yet again and spoke with the spirits late into the night.
The chief woke up before sunrise and called for the eldest son of every family. He instructed them to light torches, go into their plantations, and pull up all the tiny taro spouts (uli) they had just planted days before.
He asked the women to light their candlenut lamps and gather their best fine-mats ('Ie Tōga & ‘Ie Samoa) and siapo cloths.
He told the children to search under the moonlight for all the colorful flowers, fragrant leaves, and bushy ferns they could find.
With growing confidence in their chief, the people confidently played along, making hasty preparations and rehearsing their parts. They only had another hour left before the sun rose and the whole island waited nervously for the kingʻs arrival.
The blaring of conch shell trumpets and the thunder of wooden drums announced the arrival of King Mālietoa and his royal entourage.
Manono’s talking chiefs led the special guests to the gathering malae called Faleū, where they announced that the islanders had prepared a dish for Mālietoa that was such a rare, exquisite delicacy that no Samoan had ever eaten it before. What they were about to eat, their chief exclaimed, was a divine dish fit for the gods and spirits themselves!
As Mālietoa and his entourage waited in anticipation, villagers sang a lively song at the top of their lungs while the ‘aumaga – dressed in the finest mats and siapo and adorned with lush flower garlands and leafy headbands – danced across the malae carrying platters filled with … uli … the tiny taro sprouts that no one even considered edible.
Just as they had rehearsed, they twirled, jumped, and shouted as they paraded the platters before their guests. Combined with the heavenly singing and the fragrance of flowers, the whole spectacle was so extravagant that everyone truly believed they were being served a divine delicacy.
Mālietoa and his entourage felt so honored by the extraordinary presentation that they feasted like it was the tastiest meal they had ever had.
As they returned to board their ʻalia, Mālietoa asked Leiʻataua what exactly they have been served at their lunchtime feast, and was astonished to hear that he had just eaten (‘ai) plain, cooked taro sprouts (uli) because there was no real food on the island.
Impressed and humbled by the honor bestowed upon him by Manono, King Mālietoa uttered a statement that is now a common expression of gratitude to one’s hosts:
Ua ‘e fuli le mauga ma gagau le a‘au i le alofa – “you have uprooted the mountain and destroyed the reef because of your love.”
Before he left, Mālietoa sent a messenger to ʻUpolu and by nightfall an entire fleet of ‘alia arrived laden with cooked food, fresh produce, pigs, chickens, coconuts, and seedlings to replenish their plantations.
Since that day, the term ‘aiuli refers to bestowing honor on someone (such as a dancing taupou) by dancing and shouting just as the people of Manono did when they succeeded in transforming a lowly dish of unappetizing taro sprouts into a divine delicacy fit for a king.
MORAL OF THE STORY
Donʻt be afraid to step up to the plate- even if its scary.
Look to the past for advice on dealing with the present and the future.
It’s okay to say you don’t know the answer-just make sure you search it out.
Always reciprocate respect and hospitality— a malaga guest sooner or later becomes a malaga host.
CHARACTERS
‘Aumaga- Untitled men
Fuatāvaʻa- “Canoe Destroying Fleet”
King Mālietoa- King of Sāmoa
Lei’ataua- Chief of the island of Manono
PLACES
ʻĀiga-i-le-Tai- Political District of Manono.
Faleū- One of four historic villages on Manono Island. (The other villages on the island are Leuia’i, Apai, and Salua).
Manono- Situated in the Apolima Strait between Savai’i and Upolu.
ʻUpolu- The second largest Samoan island. Apia, the capital of Samoa is located on Upolu.
VOCABULARY
‘Ai- Plain
ʻAiuli- To bestow honor on someone by dancing or shouting
‘Ali-Bamboo headrest for sleeping
ʻAlia- Double hulled canoe
ʻIe Tōga: Fine mats
’Ie Sāmoa: Finer mat that is smaller in size with smaller weaves than that of the ‘Ie Tōga
Lama- Candlenut Tree
Malae- Central meeting ground or area
Malaga- Travel or movement
Moemānatunatu- Communicating with the dead through dreams or meditation
Siapo- Decorative cloth
Taualuga- A dance frequently performed at the conclusion of wedding receptions, social functions, and other activities.
Taupou- son (sa’o’aumaga) or daughter (sa’o’aualuma) of a high chief in a village that performs the taualuga.
Uli- Taro sprouts
MEDIA
REFERENCES
Lilomaiava-Doktor, Sa'iliemanu. “Beyond ‘Migration’: Samoan Population Movement (Malaga) and the Geography of Social Space (Vā).” The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 21, no. 1, 2009, pp. 1–32. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/23724742. Accessed 19 July 2020.
Schoeffel, Penelope, and Gavan Daws. “Rank, Gender and Politics in Ancient Samoa: The Genealogy of Salamāsina O Le Tafaifā.” The Journal of Pacific History, vol. 22, no. 4, 1987, pp. 178, 185-186. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/25168934.
Tamasese, Tui Atua Tupua. “Tamafaigā: Shaman, King or Maniac? The Emergence of Manono.” The Journal of Pacific History, vol. 30, no. 1, 1995, pp. 3–21. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/25169247.
Ward, R. Gerard, and Paul Ashcroft. Samoa: Mapping the Diversity. Institute of Pacific Studies, University of the South Pacific, 1998.
More on ‘Alia (The Museum of Samoa): https://www.facebook.com/460537094030463/posts/a-traditional-samoan-alia-some-new-insightsmuseumweek-2018-museumweek-highlights/1708877965863030/.
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