my tang guh,” I repeat after Tiresa, who explodes in a fit of silent giggles. We are in the library. I’m supposed to be helping her write a persuasive essay for English Comp, but she’s having too much fun teaching me Samoan insults. Insults I never learned while growing up with a white father of Scottish descent while Tiresa grew up with our maternal Samoan grandmother and extended island family.
“What did I just say?” I whisper, trying hard not to giggle because Tiresa is giggling.
“You said, ‘dumb bi-’,” she wheezes but can’t finish the sentence. Tears squeeze out her eyes.
I gasp. “And you said that to your teacher’s face?” Tiresa grew up with much more boldness than I did. The worst thing I ever did in class was chew gum. Once.
Tiresa nods. “It’s not like she knew what I was saying - until she called Mama Rose and repeated it to her. Mama Rose was on her side until Mrs Hammond blamed my ‘island upbringing’ for my attitude.” She spoke so loudly, you could hear her through the phone. You should have seen Mama Rose turn red. Aunt Flo ran out of the room, she was so scared.”
“What happened after that?” Her Samoan heritage was Mama Rose’s pride. You did not joke about it, let alone insult it.
Tiresa’s eyes sparkle. “Mama Rose called her a muli lapo’a and hung up on her.”
“Moo-lee lah-poh-uh,” I repeat. “Which means?”
“Fat ass!” Tiresa whispers and we collapse in another fit of giggles.
When I recover, I gasp, “And I thought Dad was bad!”
Tiresa looks at me, puzzled. “I don’t remember Frank ever saying anything bad or swearing. He was always so sweet.”
“He has quite the temper when provoked.” I nod. “Once, he got so mad at someone that he threatened to shove bagpipes up the man’s backside so that you’d hear Scotland the Brave play whenever he had flatulence.”
Tiresa politely chuckles but I can tell she isn’t amused. I feel sheepish for mentioning Dad. Dad was the only father Tiresa had ever known. After our separation, Tiresa only saw him on the few visits I made to Mama Rose during summers and on holidays. She usually seems angry when I mention Dad, like he abandoned her, not that she was taken from him against his will.
“Tiresa.” I place my hand over hers. “Dad would have adopted you, but after Mum died, he didn’t have any parental rights to you. The family wanted to take me away, too, but Dad wouldn’t let them.”
“So he fought for you but not for me. I understand. I’m not really his daughter, so it doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s a cultural thing. Samoans appreciate family more than the Scottish do.” She brushes the subject aside.
We were brought up in two different cultures. Dad tried his best to instill the traditions and values of my dual ancestral cultures, both Polynesian and Scottish. However, he knew more about the Scottish heritage than he did about our mother’s side. I was brought up practically white and a proud Scot to boot - much to Mama Rose’s dismay.
When we both showed up at orientation at The University of Canterbury, we decided to become roommates and reconnect. All the fun and affection we shared as girls came back in a flood. We might as well have been Siamese twins, going everywhere and doing everything together.
“What do the Scottish do?” a voice asks. We look up to see Mika Fomai, one of the most gorgeous guys on campus - gorgeous and popular and rich and drives a nice sports car. And he’s standing there talking to us.
Tiresa flashes him her biggest smile and bats her eyes. “They wear kilts commando, for starters.” She winks as she says it. How she manages to be a sultry siren on cue is beyond my comprehension. The frumpy artist is my forte.
“And you came by this knowledge how?” he asks, just as teasing as she is.
Tiresa tosses her long hair and laughs. “I know a thing or two.”
Mika nods. “Great, because I need the opinion of someone who knows a thing or two