Finding Kili

In preparing a story on teaching English as a Singing Language, I keep thinking of Kili, my star pupil in that field!  I found something I wrote her about 8 years ago:

Finding Kili

Kili was a Tongan child I remembered as having, maybe being, the spirit we all seek—in others and in ourselves.    She stood out among the children, already out-standing, who walked me home after school and lined my hut.  When Vincent, the British hospital administrator I’d met through the Peace Corps doctor,   drove up to my hut to ask me out because there were no phones in the village, Kili was among the children who asked him where he went in that shiny white car of his.  (There were no cars in the village, either.)  Vincent politely said that someday he would drive us all to the beach in that white car, and Kili jumped for joy, applauding in the air.  Then, feet hitting the ground, she asked, “What’s the name of the day?”  I adopted  Kili’s phrase on the spot and still use it to get a commitment out of vague suggestion.  “What’s the name of the day?”  Vincent named the day, and when it came,  Vincent took us all to the beach,  thanks to Kili.

          Kili was the first to learn the  songs I taught the children at school—the songs Welsh governesses and Austrian nuns teach kids—and she even picked up the songs I just sang around the hut.  There was one from Camelot with the words “Only you, only I.  World farewell, world goodbye.”  When Kili asked, “Who is going to the beach besides Salika, Paula and me?” and I said, “Only you, ”  Kili sang out, “Only you, only I.  World farewell, world goodbye!” 

Just what I’d always dreamed of:  Someone who knew that life should be a musical with people dancing down the street and bursting into song when given the proper cues.

                But upon my arrival in Ha’ateiho I heard that Kili wasn’t in Tonga because her brother had died, and she’d gone to his funeral in New Zealand. 

                So I’d settled  for the coronation of Kingi Siaosi Tupou V, an the eco-message I wanted to take back to Tonga (the place I’d learned it), and a stay in Ha’ateiho with the son and daughter-in-law of ‘Ana Taufe’ulungaki, a remarkable Tongan woman who’d begun teaching English the same year I had and in the same village, ‘Atele, adjacent to Ha’ateiho.   Thanks to ‘Ana, my two weeks in Tonga were wonderful and had the kind of reunions I’d dreamed of.  Still something was missing.  Kili.

Then the last day I was in Tonga, the Sunday night before the Monday I was to return to San Francisco, I heard that Kili was back from New Zealand.  Nolini, one of ‘Ana’s daughters, drove me to her house, which was close to where I was staying and just a few yards from the spot where my fale had once stood.

But her son said Kili was at the Catholic Social Hall, so Nolini drove me there.

When Kili saw me, she said “Ouiaoue!  Tina Peace Corps!”  And after we’d hugged, she introduced me to her whole beautiful family.  Later that evening, she walked over to see me at home.  I feared that Tongans never walked anymore; they all seemed to have humongous vans. So I was impressed that she was walking.  I was also impressed by her total recall.  She said she remembered all the songs I taught them—old melodies with new words--and was so mad when the radio got them wrong.  I asked her about “The Twelve Days of Christmas” because I’d forgotten what Tongan items I’d substituted for the English ones, and she remembered every single day! 

                On the twelfth  day of Christmas my true love gave to me

               

Twelve girls who could hiko (juggle)

Eleven  lakalaka

Ten  men drinking Kava

Nine boys drawing water

Eight women beating tapa

Seven ducks a swimming

Six goats a grazing

Five turtle rings!  (Note in 2017:  Not so eco-wise!)

Four  ukeleles

Three ‘umued pigs

Two  matted slippers

And a flying fox in a toa tree.

                Kili could even get the song to scan.  When I commented on her amazing memory, she told me she’d only gone through Form 2 or Form 3 because she had to go back to Niua, her island, where there was “Nothing flour, nothing sugar, nothing eggs, nothing anything!”  and there were no boats to get her to school, but if she’d been able to go on to Form 4 and 5 and 6, she could really have done well.  As it was, she worked hard and had gone to New Zealand to plant tomatoes in the freezing cold so she could earn money…to buy a van. 

We talked and sang and recited special memories, and she apologized because, she said, “I don’t speak English properly.” 

I thought her English was just beautiful, and so was she—still the spirit of Ha’ateiho, found again!