As we bask in the myths of Samoa

It smells like a barnyard. It’s over 35 degrees. I whack the flies that pester my sticky brown skin. There is nothing to use to clean the blood up, but a few dirty rags. “Are you sure that he will be able to carry on? He looks like he is going to pass out. dad it’s going to get messy, and he’s only thirteen? Will he be able to handle all the pain?” I asked my dad, as he sat next to me, entranced by the hypnotic tapping of the Au “If he can’t finish it, do you know what shame it’ll bring to the family?” he replied, annoyed by my constant questioning. Wow. I thought, this is getting intense. I don’t think this is something any thirteen year old boy should go through.
“It’s nearly done son, it is nearly done” said Tino’s father, as he began strumming his guitar, singing the song of the Tatau…The song tells of two beautiful sisters, Tilafaiga and Taema who lived over 3000 years ago, who fled Samoa and swam to Fiji, where they had learnt the ‘Tatau’- the art of skin. An art only to be drawn on a woman. But as the legend goes that as the two maidens made their journey back to Samoa with the ‘Au’- tattooing tools. Reciting the chant that only woman were to receive the tatau, they noticed a large clam beneath the ocean. Enchanted by its beauty, the sisters delved deep into the ocean to view it. Resurfacing, dazed and confused the sisters began to forget the chant. By the time they had reached the shores of Samoa, their song had changed to that only men could receive the tatau, which is the reason why only men are now tattooed with the tatau, because of the confusion of the maidens' chant.
I watched on as everyone in the hut began to sing with Tino’s father. I gazed at Tino, as he began to relax; warmed by the strumming of the guitar and the soft humming of his dad’s voice, leading his mind astray from the pain of the Au penetrating his skin. It was like going back in time. A ritual practiced by our ancestors over thousands of years, being practiced right here, right now. That is the beauty of Samoan culture, as everything seems as if it were never touched. The history of a family told by song, by tatau, which has been passed down from generation to generation.
His thighs and back now marked with the story of our ancestors and their travels. It was nothing like I had ever seen.Patterns clothing his chocolate brown skin. He staggered up from the ground like a calf taking its first steps. Tino now stood a man, ready to fulfil the duties which comes with the tatau.