My hair is rough like the husk of a coconut. My voice is as loud as the choir singing in the church. My eyes reflect the light coming from the sunset. My skin is as brown like that palm tree trunk that reach over me when I walk outside.
My feet sinks down into the soft green grass every time I step out the door. The hot wind blows my hair back and forth. Trucks go past blasting music louder than a lion's roar. Village people carrying baskets made from long palm fronds across their shoulders.
The sounds of animals rings through my ears as I walked pass derelict houses abandoned by owners may be through tribal wars. The aroma of freshly cooked umu food causes my nose to twitch. Roasted pork, still on the burning fire, leaves my mouth watery as I would savour just even the slightest drop of water.
Tired from walking in the hot rays of the sun, I stop to catch my breath, faster than I could catch a ball. For a moment it feels like the sun peeking through the clouds. Then I thought “What a magnificent and beautiful place Samoa is.”