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!
