Three hundred years ago, a village named Sasavaimuli existed on the Samoan island of Upolu. It was reported to be inland from the village of Vailu’utai, and its other closest neighbours were the villages of Fasito’otai and Faleatiu. In modern days, this area is close to Sāmoa’s only international airport, Faleolo.
If one were to imagine a quintessential Samoan village before the arrival of European missionaries, the following image may be conjured:
Image: From Wikipedia.
Here is a very embellished retelling of the story of Sasavaimuli, with fictional figures inserted.
If you just want the basic outline of the story, you can watch my video here, or read this.
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The people of Sasavaimuli were just like any other village in Sāmoa.
The men would go out to the fields, and the women would tend to the household chores. The children would play to their hearts’ content in the safety of their community, and depending on their mobility, the elders would either pass the days by idly, or help the younger generations at their own discretion.
As the hot, humid air filled with the sounds of children’s laughter, mothers sweeping, and squawking chickens, one would think that Sasavaimuli was an idyllic, tropical paradise straight out of a movie.
However, that was far from the truth.
The joy and delight seen in the village regularly dissipated as the day wore on, completely vanishing as the sun completed its slow descent across the sky. The men working in the fields would quickly pack up and hurry home, passing by an innocuous-looking pua tree on the outskirts of their village.
The tree was beautiful and aromatic, dotted with pleasantly fragrant pua flowers that normally would have enticed people towards it. The flowers would have made perfect sei, or even beautiful ula. Yet, not a single flower had been plucked from this tree in years.
In fact, the very sight of the tree filled even the village’s most hardened warriors with inexplicable terror.
Those who were brave enough would cast tentative, fleeting gazes at the tree, but those who knew better kept their eyes on the road ahead and intentionally ignored it. The adults of every generation had ingrained in their children a stern lesson: pass by the tree at night, and you will surely die at the hands of the aitu.
For years on end, the villagers of Sasavaimuli had diligently obeyed the teachings of their forebears. Nevertheless, they could not control the actions of outsiders who failed to heed their warnings.
The most recent case pertained to a young man visiting his family members in Sasavaimuli. Although his cousins had begged him not to let his curiosity get the better of him, he paid no heed to their pleas and snuck out of the house under the shadow of night. Fearful for their own lives, the cousins did not follow him.
The next morning, the men on their way to the fields were horrified to find his badly mangled and bloodied corpse at the foot of the pua tree. The state of his remains were incomprehensible – there were no animals, not even humans, capable of inflicting such grievously gruesome damage to another person like this.
The young man’s face was unrecognisable, slashed and bashed in such a way that all of his facial flesh had effectively become mush. The rest of the body, while essentially in one piece, was held together by mere shreds of sinew and muscle. Limbs were twisted and bent in angles that should have been completely impossible, and his woven leaf and plant fibre ‘ie lavalava had been callously torn off and left in a crumpled heap at the roots of the pua tree with clumps of his dark, bloodstained hair scattered around.
Upon seeing the young man’s body, the party of men let out loud cries. Some dropped to their knees, others clutched at their faces. For minutes, no one wanted to approach the body. The sight of it was so macabre, so grotesque, that they could not bring themselves to even think about touching him. What if the aitu lingered around him? What if they also met the same fate?
Finally, a young man named Toa bravely stepped forward. Although he was one of the youngest in the group, he recognised that someone needed to take control of the situation.
Amidst the pained sobs of grief and fear from his seniors, Toa solemnly bent down and picked up the man’s discarded ‘ie lavalava, before placing it over what remained of his body.
“Let us hurry,” Toa said decisively, turning to look at the rest of the group. “We must return him to his family.”
The men hesitantly took it upon themselves to tidy up the man’s remains and transport them back to the village, where they were met with equally terrified screams from those who saw them approaching. The women hurried to clear their children away from the men and into their homes, far away from the traumatising sight of the young man’s inhumanely contorted body.
All work for the day was immediately cancelled, and preparations were made to send his body back to his family for a proper funeral. As the older adults took on the task of moving the man, Toa found himself deep in thought.
The root of their torment was caused not by the pua tree, but by the aitu who called it their home.
The aitu had inhabited the pua tree since time immemorial. During the day, they would depart from the tree and roam around the rest of Sāmoa, giving the people of Sasavaimuli a period of peace and respite, even if it was only temporary. By nightfall, they would return in hoards and take up residence in the tree until sunrise. Those who dared to approach the tree while the aitu were home, or even come close to it, would meet a grisly and untimely demise.
It seemed to Toa that for some reason, the aitu were drawn to this specific pua tree. After pondering his thoughts for a while, his eyes lit up with an idea. He had a plan, but he would need to discuss it with the chief and village council first.
When Toa took his idea to the elders, they were reasonably skeptical. Though he wasn’t the first to propose this specific plan, the recent attack on the visitor had shaken many of the villagers. Thus, it came to a general consensus that the village would proceed with Toa’s solution.
The next day, a party of men led by Toa were dispatched to the pua tree with their axes at the ready. For generations, their people had lived in perpetual fear because of it, and they were finally prepared to take matters into their own hands.
Befittingly, Toa was the one to take the first hit at the trunk of the tree. When he reached back with his axe, his body coursed with adrenaline as he steeled himself to remain strong and steady. Despite this, Toa’s demeanour was momentarily challenged when the sharp side of his axe came into contact with the tree.
To everyone’s shock and horror, blood spurted out from the tree and onto Toa.
“Everyone! Come on!” shouted Toa, rallying the men as he swung his axe back and went in for another chop.
Boldened by Toa’s actions and insistence, the men all jumped in with their own weapons and began hacking at the tree mercilessly. In the process, they were all smeared with the blood that the tree produced, but no one let it faze them.
After a little while, the men cheered in victory as the tree collapsed and fell to the side, leaving only a bloody stump behind. It was as if a burden had been lifted off of their shoulders. The air felt fresher, and it seemed like the darkness that once plagued Sasavaimuli disappeared. Toa himself let out a strong fa’aumu, raising his fist triumphantly at the clear blue sky. Unperturbed by the blood that covered them, the men gathered their things and made the short journey back to the village.
They were greeted by their fellow villagers, who were eager to hear about whether they had been successful or not. At first, there was dismay at the sight of their men drenched in blood; but after hearing about how they had completed the task, there was no doubt in the villagers’ minds that they were finally free from the life of fear that the aitu had imposed on them.
The villagers decided to hold a feast in celebration, with Toa and his men being the guests of honour. Of course, they made sure to head down to the stream and wash away the foul blood on their bodies before attending!
Unfortunately, as the feast of Sasavaimuli was in full swing, the ghastly aitu returned to what was left of their pua tree.
“The audaccccccity of these humansssss!” hissed one, analysing the fallen tree.
“What shall we do now?” asked another, looking at the others. They gathered around the stump of the tree, considering what the appropriate course of action would be. Upon careful discussion, the aitu made their decision. At once, they set off towards the village of Sasavaimuli with great anger.
As the villagers feasted on dishes of roasted pig, taro and coconut cream, palusami, and many other Samoan delicacies, an ominous cloud descended upon Sasavaimuli. The light of the stars and the moon that had once shone brightly were quickly extinguished, and sensing that something was amiss, young children began to cry inconsolably.
Violent winds came tearing through the village with no explanation, and the festive mood was immediately shattered. Laughter had been replaced with screams, and without even knowing what was happening, many people had gotten up and started running out of the village. Betwixt the bloodcurdling screams of the villagers and the jeering cackles coming from the darkness, one voice was louder than the rest.
“You have insulted us…and you shall pay for it with your lives!”
Suddenly, the giant shadow splintered into several smaller phantoms and chased after the fleeing villagers. The biggest of them crashed into the large fale where the feast was being enjoyed, and smelled the blood from the pua tree. Although the men involved had cleaned themselves thoroughly, faint traces of the blood lingered on them that only the frenzied aitu could smell.
In the large fale, Toa and his accomplices sat frozen in fear. Unable to move their bodies freely, they all stared at the smokey wraiths with complete terror in their eyes.
“What’s wrong?” jeered the aitu, showcasing its full, horrendous power. “Did you chop out your tongues too?”
The screams of Toa and the other men were amplified throughout the village, where the other aitu belligerently hunted down the others who had been involved in the orchestration of their tree’s desecration. The chief, the council, the villagers who had agreed – their guilt emitted a foul smell that encouraged the aitu‘s violence.
Those who were able to outrun the aitu would flee to the homes of their families in other villages, while those who failed would brutally lose their lives in Sasavaimuli. Some fled across the strait to villages in Savai’i, such as Iva and Salelavalu, hoping that the water and distance would serve as a deterrent for the vengeful spirits.
The family members of Toa and his companions who survived scattered predominantly into the villages of Vailu’utai, Faleatiu, and Fasito’otai – despite escaping with their lives, they would face misfortune and catastrophe for generations to come.
With that, the village of Sasavaimuli met its end, and no attempts have been made since to repopulate it.
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GLOSSARY
Pua – The name for many types of flowers in Sāmoa and other Pacific Islands.
Sei – The word given to a flower used for adornment in one’s hair or behind one’s ear.
Ula – The word for necklaces of any kind, eg., flowers, shells, leaves, etc.
‘Ie lavalava – Coming from the words ‘ie, referring to the traditional fine mats, and lavalava, referring to the traditional clothing that was once worn around the lower body.
Fa’aumu – Also known colloquially as the ‘cheehoo’. Used traditionally as a battle cry or in times of celebration.
Palusami – A Samoan dish using taro leaves and coconut cream. Although fish and corned beef are added as a modern adaptation, it was traditionally a vegetarian dish.
Fale – A word meaning ‘building’.
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If you made it this far, fa’afetai tele lava for reading!
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
Last updated: Wednesday, December 25 2024
Tales of Oceania 
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