It was less than a week after the Tsunami removed the south coast of the island. We had been sleeping only fitfully since then - the frequent aftershocks, and even the rumbling by of trucks on the road in front of our house seemed to herald imminent disaster. We were sleeping - we had gone to bed a little early for the night - and we were awakened by shouting. It sounded like a large dispersed group of young men were fighting. We could tell only that:
A. there were innumerable voices
B. we were essentially surrounded
C. there was shouting of encouragement to some unknown person beating the tar out of some other unknown person.
D. it was very late and very dark - barring some spectacle all good people should be asleep by now.
We were in our bed, terrified. We heard some of the voices shout what we thought was 'faletua" - the word for the wife of a minister.
What sort of terrible hooligans beat up minister's wives at night?
The worst sort. The sort that chop palagi up into very small pieces and feed them to pigs.
I tentatively got up, and slipped out of the bedroom to bet the phone. All of the neighbors' lights were on, and all seemed to be quiet in their houses - a comfort. I tip-toed back to the bedroom and locked the door. We slept poorly amid turbulent dreams of battery and what not.
Okay M Night Shama-llama-llama and robot-chicken fans... there's a TWIST!
The next day we read in the newspaper that - and this was huge news all across the front page - David Tua K-O'd his opponent in the second round of their bout the previous night. David TUA (fale-TUA), a native son of Samoa, and the source of much national pride, had spent a few minutes pounding the tar out of some guy - on TV - culminating in a spectacular knockout finish.
If we had been awake, and at the neighbors' house, we would have cheered also.