A SWEEP OF reef, two dashing freshwater rivers and a towering mountain, the bay of Apia, on the north coast of the island of Upolu, Samoa, has seduced many a traveller. As a young New Zealand-born Samoan I used to dream of Apia. I would listen to my grandparents and their stories of Lelata (our family land); they spoke of picnics, the shop on the waterfront, the picture theatre; and I would try to envisage this faraway place.

In the songs and stories shared by my handsome, blue-eyed grandfather, I imagined Apia as a place in-between. A place that had given birth to him and his sense of identity as an ‘afakasi.