All Over the Map - Laura Fraser [29]
At the hotel, Sonia is sitting by the pool, under an umbrella, wearing a tight flowered tank top, miniskirt, and heels. She has beautiful dancer’s legs and an erect posture. Only the extra layer of makeup shows her sixtyish age, and nothing reveals her biology.
I greet her, and she kisses me and gestures to the stage. “I used to dance here, from the time I was nine.” She gazes at the stage, the canopy of painted bark cloth, the pots of tropical flowers and ferns. “I was the star of the show. I was the best.”
“I’m sure you still are,” I say, and Sonia waves away those bygone years with her long coral nails. A waiter comes by with drinks. He says, “Excuse me,” to Sonia, and they both snicker. After he leaves, she explains that the way he said “Excuse me” doubles in Samoan for “Suck me.” Fa’afafine are famous for their sexual double entendres and teasing, she says, and waiters know they can get away with it. I make a note never to say “excuse me” in Samoa.
We sip our mai tais as Sonia relates her history. There were always “aunties” in her family. Her father was a high chief in the village—a matai—and from a young age, she liked to play the role of the princess, serving drinks in the kava ceremony. She loved to dance, hopping up on stage as early as three to perform for the village families, twirling around in a little skirt as people laughed when they could see what was underneath. “Deep inside, I’ve always known myself to be a woman.”
Sonia started having sex with other boys when she was nine or ten. Back in those days—contrary to what Margaret Mead wrote—most girls wouldn’t have sex with boys before marriage. Fa’afafine were another story. “We filled in the gaps,” Sonia says. These days, of course, more girls sleep with men before marriage—especially the young tourist palagis from Australia, New Zealand, and the United States—but boys still “practice” with fa’afafine. That doesn’t make them gay or bisexual, Sonia explains, because fa’afafine are considered women. “Gay men are only interested in sleeping with other gay men, they’re fully male.” A fa’afafine would never sleep with another fa’afafine, because it would be considered lesbian and therefore taboo.
I try to keep track of all this and scan the restaurant, considering that many of the men here, as well as the macho, muscular, tattooed men I saw walking around Apia earlier, have had sex with other men, with fa’afafine, and considered it straight sex. The women are still pressured by the church to wait until marriage. All in all, it’s a pretty good deal for the men.
Sonia sips her drink and glances back to the stage. “Marlon Brando!” She lifts up her feet and points her polished toes. “Marlon loved to watch me dance.” She leans toward me. “He didn’t know … well … let’s say he was surprised.” She laughs, throwing her head back and shaking her long, dark hair.
SONIA GIVES ME names of other fa’afafine, and for the next two days, I track them down—dancing at a club, playing netball, watching a thrilling rugby game against Tonga. In just a few days, people begin to wave to me on the street. I go a little native, learning to tie a sarong and wearing it with a T-shirt, as everyone does on the street—though when I show up that way at a club, a young fa’afafine scolds me, telling me to go home and dress up, girl, no one dresses like that to go out.
When I return to the palm-thatched club wearing jeans and high-heeled sandals, I sit with a friendly young woman I met at the hotel and her friends. Soon the lights dim and drumming starts. A troupe of dancers enters the stage—the men in aqua lavalavas and black tattoos that circle