Halloween is not yet celebrated in Tonga outside of a small clique of expats, so I was surprised my principal knew at knew enough about the silliest of all American holidays to call it that ‘aho tufa lole”, or “day to distribute candy.” Anyone with a cursory understanding of Tongan culture would recognize instantly that the candy aspect alone makes Halloween the perfect Tongan holiday, so Juleigh and I had no trouble gathering enthusiasm for our own cross-cultural Halloween extravaganza.
It became the biggest party my home had ever hosted. It was no Halloween any American has seen before, and our guests would be pardoned for leaving with the understanding that Halloween is a strange day when Americans eat mounds of watermelon, carve faces in fruit, consume alcohol-infused Jell-O, drink Bourbon, shower each other candy, and when men wear women’s lipstick. They wouldn’t be far off from a true American Halloween party.
We couldn’t have known it would happen so well. As our 8pm start time flew by without any visitors, Juleigh remarked that perhaps Ha’apai Halloween 2011 would consist of two PCVs and seven watermelons watching a scary movie and slurping raspberry Jell-O shots. It wouldn’t have been the first party failure. Countless previous no-shows and the enormously expensive cultural burden of forcing the host to provide absolutely everything for the party made these sorts of parties rare. We hoped the promise of candy would motivate.
The late wave of Tongan and Japanese guests crashed into my home all at once; with the music, activities, and alcohol keeping the spirit pulsing until midnight when the wave suddenly receded. It started with watermelon carving, which is far easier, faster, and more delicious than pumpkin carving. There was no apprehension. Based on a few images from my computer our twelve guests began slicing open, gutting, eating, and carving faces as though they also had been doing this since childhood. It was in fact every non-white attendee’s first fruit-face carving. Having filled a large bucket with bloody watermelon guts, I was naïve enough to assume that we’d be drinking ‘Otai for days. Instead, it became second dinner for the guests and for the students studying in the science room next door. It was all gone within an hour.
The orange-vodka-infused raspberry Jell-O tray emerged from the refrigerator to ravaging spoons. I couldn’t determine if the rave reviews were due to it being almost everyone’s first encounter with gelatin, or that we had shown Tongans that there was indeed a way one could eat alcohol. Like the watermelon, it didn’t last long.
With Juleigh’s bottle of bourbon flowing into cups of coke, candle-lit blood-red Jack-O-Melons sneering from the table, and Michael Jackson’s Thriller blasting from my speakers, a dance-party ensured. I had been begging for a non-Tongan music dance party for months, and I was thrilled that our guests were all familiar with my favourite dance anthems. Juleigh began offering a bowl of M&Ms for anyone who said, “trick or treat,” and Latu and Loa whisked me into my bathroom to decorate my face in baby powder and lipstick (I have only ever worn lipstick twice in my life; both times here in Tonga). With dramatic flair, I emerged as some sort of creature of the night to showcase my best Thriller dance to uproarious applause.
You know you’re having a good time in Tonga when a troop of neighbors and strangers has congregated outside your house to watch your festivities and listen to your thumping music. If I hadn’t seen it occur so many times before I would have found it creepy and discomforting, though I did chase off two peeping boys standing just outside my windows. There’s no privacy.
No one should be concerned about our festivities at all interfering with the Form 5 study session happening next door – our principal attended my party too, and he was by far its most enthusiastic participant. It was his idea to replace pumpkins (which don’t exist in Ha’apai) with watermelons, and it was his idea to take the Jack-O-Melons outside for a photo-op (though it was my idea to move everyone away from my air-drying underwear for the photo.) I placated those supposedly studying students too by promising them candy after their session as long as they knocked on my door and said the words, “trick or treat.” And indeed they later repeated those words with atypically perfect pronunciation after assaulting my door with their eager fists. Everyone was happy that night.
The happiest two were Juleigh and me. Of course we enjoyed carving watermelon;, indulging in chocolate; eating alcoholic Jell-O; and dancing to music that was not in the soundtrack of Grease, the Musical, but we were euphoric over having gloriously happy guests experience America’s craziest holiday. It wasn’t the Halloween any of them would see if they ever visit America, and they may now consider Palangis to be quirkier than ever, but they experience something completely new in Ha’apai. And that’s one of the three reasons Peace Corps is here.
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