![]() ![]() It was the aftercare that physically hurt more than anything.Īfter each session you had to take a shower and massage out all the excess ink and plasma (as tattoos are basically a gushing open wound) to reduce swelling and chances of infection, as well as showers every two hours after to massage out any plasma buildup and blood clots. The sessions lasted about two hours each, sometimes a little shorter, sometimes a little longer. I'm not the first one to say that the process of receiving the tatau is far from easy, but you never know how difficult it truly is until it's just you and the 'au and while it most definitely was painful, it was more a mental game than anything else. Right up until I felt like I'd rather be anywhere else. For the next fortnight, the apisā was to be my home and when I felt that first bite of the 'au (the tattoo comb), I knew I was right where I was meant to be. ![]() I laid down, took deep breaths and braced myself. When I walked into the apisā, not much was said as the person receiving the tatau has little to no say in the designs, shapes and final look of the tatau, as it is all up to the tufuga (the master traditional tattooist). ![]() The drive to the apisā (the tatau house) was surreal, "Damn this is really about to happen." I was about to undergo the same ritual, the same rite of passage that my ancestors underwent hundreds of years ago a ritual that survived colonialism, that flew under the radar of pious Western eyes and remained. "I want to go home," but isn't here where you said home is? I've now chalked it up to nerves but at that moment, I wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear. Have you ever had that feeling where you've been wanting something for so long, and now that you're just about to receive it, you're kind of unsure if you still want it? Yeah, that. The sun was just peeking out over the ocean horizon and my grandmother wanted to start the day off with a prayer, for strength to get through the day and the rest of the tatau process. ![]() Photo: RNZ / Marika KhabaziĪ few weeks later I woke up to the day of my first session. I had always appreciated the tattoos as an art-form, growing up wondering if I'll ever get the tatau and thinking "maybe one day." I had made the decision a few years ago to cut down on the number of times I use the word 'maybe' and 'if' and just go ahead and do things I've always wanted to try.Īfter talking to my parents and grandparents and receiving their blessing to undergo the tatau journey, that 'one day' finally had a date. I always kind of knew this, but it took a trip back to Samoa and 23 hours over 11 sessions to really drive home what tautua meant to me. It represents 'tautua', the Samoan concept of service and filial piety. It's also known as 'la'ei Samoa', or 'Samoan clothing', as in the eyes of tradition and culture, even when nothing else is worn, one is still considered fully clothed if donning the tatau.ĭutch sailors in the early 1700's reported they were greeted by locals dressed from waist to heel in "a sort of artistically made silk cloth".īut it holds more significance than the usual "oh it tells our story." It stands for something. The 'tatau' or 'malofie', the traditional Samoan tattoo, is more than just that. Traditional Samoan tattoo combs, known in Samoan as the 'au Photo: Supplied / Meraz Parker-Potoi ![]()
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