Nothing Lasts Forever Read online

  Reviews

  Pacific Book Review. 4 stars

  From the brisk opening survey of undeveloped Samoa in the late 19th century to booming Australian farm towns, well described landscapes allow the author to mine often concealed emotions. The story is a rollicking good yarn in the best sense of the word.

  Clarion review. 4 star

  Nothing lasts forever is an engaging historical novella that imagines the life of a young Samoan warrior taken from his home by slave traders at the turn of the 20th century. Nothing lasts forever is a quick, satisfying historical adventure.

  Kirkus Reviews.

  A unique story that illuminates the many injustices of an understudied period in colonial history.

  Copyright © 2017 by Althea Foster.

  All Rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  BookVenture Publishing LLC

  1000 Country Lane Ste 300

  Ishpeming MI 49849

  www.bookventure.com

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  1(877) 276-9751

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  1(877) 864-1686

  Ordering Information:

  Quantity sales. Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address above.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Library of Congress Control Number:

  2017938194

  ISBN-13:

  Softcover

  978-1-946955-62-3

  Pdf

  978-1-946955-63-0

  ePub

  978-1-946955-64-7

  Kindle

  978-1-946955-65-4

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents either are the product of author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Synopsis

  Chapter 1

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Acknowledgements

  Many thanks to my lovely daughter and best friend Michelle for encouragement and support. With appreciation for my handsome grandson Lachlan for his research. With gratitude to Sandy my computer wizz who keeps me sane. To the ‘oldies’ now passed who were generous with their memories, and to all who gave motivation, you know who you are. Many thanks.

  Synopsis

  Mel Milo was the son of the King of Samoa. His life of privilege came to a sudden end when he was taken aboard a slave ship bound for the great southern land: Australia. His mother had taught him to read, write and understand English and arithmetic which served him well later in his new life.

  From the back-breaking work in the cane fields as a Kanaka to the rural areas of Australia, Mel Milo forged a life of fulfilment and accumulated an enviable fortune.

  Chapter 1

  1881 Samoa

  King Metafet sat on his throne, strategically positioned in the shade of a huge palm tree, with an unrestricted view of the ocean. If he turned just slightly, he could watch the comings and goings in his village. He lifted his face to the ocean breeze, savoring the tang of salt and seaweed. This was his realm…. his life.

  His ‘throne’, as he liked to refer to it, was a solid construction of cane frame with woven palm fronds. The chiefs sat before him, on the ground, their legs crossed in front of them, the downy grass they sat on ruffling in the sea breeze. They sat in silence for a while; the strained look on the King’s face indicated he was in no mood for idle chatter.

  “They want more land for settlers. We will be forced out of our own homeland before long,” Metafet said with some resentment.

  ‘They’ were the official representatives of the European invaders of their island home. He allowed the usual mutters and grumbles as he concentrated on the view in front of him. The ocean was its usual vibrant blue. The whitecaps rolled in at a leisurely pace, hissing softly as they met the pristine white sand with dancing bubbles of creamy foam. His instincts told him there was no storm brewing offshore…. unlike his life at the moment.

  His eyes were drawn to a trader under sail; close to shore as it made its way towards the bustling port of Apia just around the prominent rocky point to his left. Everything looked so peaceful. Why should he, the King of Apia, be burdened with these debilitating problems upsetting his delicate stomach? He thought with a touch of bitterness.

  Mana, his wife, had not slept well, and Metafet wondered at times how she could sleep at all with her huge belly. After years of hoping, their first child was well on the way. Mana had complained all night of a raging backache, keeping Metafet as sleepless as she was, and her current mood had sent him scrambling out of their hut early this morning without sustenance. That was not good for his disposition. Their culture set the rigid rule that men were the leaders and thinkers, and all decisions were supposedly made by them. The women were there only to serve the men and bear the offspring. But those who made that rule did not know Mana. She made her own decisions, and even influenced some of her husband’s, which King Metafet would never admit to. He had to confess that she was rarely wrong. Her prophecies were amazing in their accuracy. Her name Mana indicated spiritual power, and Metafet was just a bit in awe of it.

  “We don’t need the bossy Europeans setting our rules,” one of his chiefs grumbled. “We should have sent them on their way years ago.”

  “It’s too late for that,” the youngest of the chiefs said. He had had some formal education at the missionary school when he was a boy, and spoke with conviction. He knew Samoa’s history, and understood the difficulty some of his people had with adjusting to European ways. Some fought bitterly to keep the ‘old ways’; many could not compromise. “We must be careful not to antagonize,” he warned. “They are better armed than we are.”

  As the muttering between the chiefs rose to a critical level, King Metafet lifted a hand for silence. “Fifty years ago our ancestors made the decision to allow Great Britain, our ally from far across the sea, to establish a consular office in Apia. Then the United States and Germany made an offer too good to refuse, and their consular representatives moved in. Then came the naval bases. Together they have built our harbor complex to better accommodate the refueling of coal-fired ships and whalers, and the traders are happy to come and buy our produce to sell overseas.” Metafet shook his head sadly. “We may think now that the wrong decision was made all those years ago, bu
t it had to happen sooner or later. Our neighbors in other Melanesian Islands have accepted the ways of the white man and claim their lives are much improved. Are we wrong in trying to hold on to the past?”

  More muttering from the chiefs. “Many find their warships in the harbor very intimidating. We have no defense against something of such power.”

  The attention of every man there was suddenly switched to an adolescent girl running towards them, her bare breasts bouncing, her hips swaying in her haste. She ran directly to King Metafet and whispered in his ear, before turning and jogging back.

  The expression on the Kings face changed immediately to joy and wonder. With a wide smile he said “it’s a boy! I have a son!”

  To have an important meeting interrupted in such a way was quite unacceptable, but had to be overlooked on this very important occasion. The chiefs rose to hurry off and put the word around, and to urge the women of the village to plan a celebration feast.

  Metafet stayed in his shady spot overlooking the beach. There was no point heading back to the village. There would be too much ‘women’s stuff’ going on, and no one would care that he was starving. He’d just have to suffer it out. And now he had some quiet time to ponder their predicament.

  The consular representatives of the three powers vied constantly for the exporting rights of copra, cocoa, coconut oil plus the main export, taro. German firms monopolized copra and cocoa bean processing. Samoa was an essential refueling station, which resulted in Apia’s impressive harbor complex of warehouses and wharves to accommodate many trading vessels. It was always the hub of activity. Modern government buildings and European dwellings stamped Apia an important port, nestled among native villages, palm trees and golden beaches. King Metafet’s village sat snugly in the next bay, away from the ‘busyness’.

  But there was always the underlying feud between the three powers to obtain supreme control of Samoa, and arguments simmered on and off the boil. This three-way tug- of- war caused King Metafet much anxiety. Samoa was progressing nicely, in spite of the altercations, and he took his leadership, ‘fa’a matai’, very seriously. He constantly tried to balance the ancient customs of his people with the pressure to give way to progress. He would try to compromise and promote peace till the end, he vowed. This was proving difficult with more and more European settlers arriving and demanding huge tracts of land.

  The Samoans were bombarded by these demands from three directions, and seemed to be in an unwinnable situation in their own homeland. How could they take on the three powers when these had their gun boats and unlimited military forces to back them? Settler factions were overtaking the decrees set by matai. Until now, King Metafet had stood his ground. Samoa belonged to the Samoans, and he released little in his small holding. He must hold fast to the old ways for his new born son.

  As tradition dictated, a ‘fiafia’, a musical show enacted by the villagers would be performed that night, on this important occasion. The feast would be cooked in an umu, an above-ground oven, different from other Island cultures in as much as the hot coals were underground with the food wrapped in banana leaves on top at ground level. All would drink the local ava (or kava), made from the pepper plant, using mainly the crushed roots. This spicy drink was made by experienced aumagas from the traditional recipe as it had been brewed for hundreds of years, and it bought about a wonderful feeling of tranquil well- being. Just what King Metafet needed to ease his matai’ problems. And his churning stomach.

  King Metafet’s first son was named Mel Milo. Where Mana had dug that name from was a mystery to Metafet, but as usual, he put up little argument. He’d never win, anyway.

  The years passed in an unsettled truce. There had been a few civil uprisings within the Samoan community which had been quelled by a joint effort of the three powers. At least they were in harmony sometimes, for which Metafet was grateful. To avoid a civil war was paramount. They’d had enough of those in their troubled past.

  Metafet knew that his first born was a son to be proud of, quick of mind and sturdy of body, but with a touch of his Mother’s stubbornness. Metafet sighed at the thought, never admitting to his own obstinacy. But on the whole, Mel was the light in his father’s eyes. There were two other sons and a daughter to follow Mel, but the first-born had stolen his father’s heart.

  In 1884, a petition was signed by King Metafet, with 48 chiefs endorsing, asking Her Majesty Queen Victoria, the ruling monarch of England, to make Samoa an English colony and put an end to the tug-of-war of the three powers. Metafet put great hopes in that petition. He wanted Samoa to continue in peace, under the protective wing of mighty Great Britain; mainly for the sake of his continued kingship, he thought selfishly. There was no response to the petition.

  In 1888 Mana met the first missionaries of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, known as the Mormons. Previous missionaries had not drawn her as these smooth-talking people did. She was spellbound by the stories of these men of God. Metafet was undecided whether that was a good or bad thing. The missionaries, like others before them, had tried to force the native women to wear European-style clothing and cover bare breasts. Metafet argued that the Samoan’s had worn native dress for many hundreds of years and would, under his rule, continue to do so.

  The missionaries roamed the Islands, communicating freely with the people, told amazing tales, and displayed intriguing pictures of cities in other lands. Mana loved the story they told promising a better world, if the people would only pray to an unseen God. Metafet thought that was hogwash. After all, Samoa was perfect as it was, he thought with pride, aside from the three way arguments. But to ban Mana from talking to the missionaries would bring about such a backlash, he dared not attempt it.

  Anyhow, he had to accede sooner or later to the ancient prophesy which told of one of their Gods, Nafanua, predicting the coming of a new religion, stronger and more powerful than the old gods. Whether he liked it or not, Samoa was turning to Christianity, and was often referred to as ‘the bible belt of the Pacific’. Ancient Samoan beliefs were not unlike Genesis.

  In 1889 the ‘three powers’ were in terrible conflict, each vying recklessly for ultimate control. Unrest raged for months, and then to the Islander’s dismay, seven warships anchored in Apia harbor representing the ‘three powers’, threatening a takeover. They stared each other down, fired the occasional cannon, but stayed just out of range. King Metafet watched the standoff with troubled eyes. He could also feel the change in the air…knew a big storm was on the way, and summoned his fellow villagers to batten down. Their traditional dwellings, fale, were simple thatched roofs on tall log supports with no walls. Woven coconut palm fronds were dropped down at night or in inclement weather, but added no strength to the structures.

  The cyclone hit with ferocious force. Severe damage was caused to every standing structure in and around Apia, but the most damage was in the harbor. Six war ships were sunk or damaged; forcing an end to what could have been an ugly confrontation.

  1890

  Mel was nine years old when an interesting European man arrived in Apia and filled his mother’s mind with more wonderful stories. This man was called Robert Louis Stevenson, who had written novels of world acclaim. Mel was never sure how his mother had met this intriguing well- travelled Scotsman, but their friendship was respectful and strong. In return for stories and lessons in English, writing and reading, Mana did small jobs of housekeeping for the writer and his wife, much to the King’s dismay. She should place herself above performing menial work for the Europeans; she was, after all, the King’s wife. But Mana was fascinated by the ornaments, paintings and furnishings of this European household, and she felt so privileged to be able to touch such beautiful things. Her quick mind absorbed all that the writer shared with her.

  Stevenson developed a unique relationship with the Samoan people and was warmly accepted by all and named ‘Tusitala’ by the natives, meaning ‘teller of
tales’. He had found his Island Paradise, he told them, and this was where he wanted to live out his life until death claimed him. He’d roamed most of the world, seeking a climate to sooth a weak chest, a condition he’d endured since childhood. And Samoa’s tropical clime suited him far more than the cold and dampness of Europe.

  King Metafet was against this alliance…his wife was learning things not conducive to their traditional and rather primitive way of life on the island. But Mana would not be bullied. She loved this time in her life, broadened her mind, and taught her children all she learned while in the huge white plantation-style house on the Stevenson’s three hundred acre property called Vailima in the hills outside Apia. Mel was the most receptive of her teachings; he showed a great interest in the ways of the Europeans.

  Tusitala communicated openly and freely with the people, who consulted him with varying problems, from personal to political. When he first began clearing his estate, there was no shortage of labour to help.

  Tusitala found himself personally involved in local politics. He felt he had to make a stand for the people, who were extremely unhappy with the German treaty recently handed down. His conviction that the European officials appointed to rule the Samoans were incompetent, prompted him to publish ‘A Footnote to History’. His open criticism resulted in the recall of two officials, and for a time he was fearful of being deported himself. These changes for the betterment of the people were eventually adopted at a public meeting, at which Tusitala was chairman. His devoted followers were elated.

  1894

  Mana was heart-broken when Tusitala, the teller of tales, died suddenly at the age of forty-four from a cerebral hemorrhage. She stood, tears flowing freely, in the group of women singing at his funeral in the Samoan tradition. His coffin was carried by the Samoans to the summit of Vaea Mountain where he was buried with subdued dignity overlooking the sea.