Growing up biracial can often feel like navigating two worlds, especially when one culture isn’t a constant presence. For many, including myself, who spent their childhoods geographically distanced from their heritage, the connection can feel tenuous. Language barriers and a lack of immersion can create a sense of disconnect, a void that feels challenging to bridge.
My own upbringing in suburban Adelaide, Australia, during the 90s placed me far from my Samoan roots. It wasn’t until my teenage years that I began to grapple with and overcome the internalised awkwardness surrounding my identity. Following my parents’ divorce and a move to Darwin with my mum, my journey of cultural rediscovery began to take shape.
It was through Pasifika dance groups that I found a profound avenue to explore and embrace my Samoan heritage. These groups became more than just an extracurricular activity; they were a vibrant space where mixed-race Islanders like myself could connect, express themselves through art, and proudly celebrate their multifaceted identities. I am indebted to my mother for fostering these crucial connections, consistently reminding me of my origins and encouraging a deep sense of pride in my Samoan heritage. My father, too, has always been a strong advocate for embracing one’s cultural background, and I am fortunate to have had both parents championing my exploration of my roots.
My journey into Samoan Tattooing began just before my 18th birthday with a taulima, a traditional Samoan armband. This significant step followed my first transformative visit to Samoa four months prior. This trip fundamentally altered my understanding of the profound significance of my cultural heritage. Witnessing the richness and intricacy of Samoan culture firsthand ignited a desire to express my connection more deeply. Inspired by my father’s own tattoos, he designed my taulima, marking the beginning of my own physical and spiritual journey into Samoan tattoo traditions. Years later, my mother, inspired by my commitment, received her own first tattoo, a similar band elegantly placed above her ankle.
Little did I know then, but traditional Samoan skin markings were to become a defining element of my life and cultural exploration. In my early twenties, I chose to get a thicker band tattooed above my ankle. This piece was larger and considerably more painful than my first, yet it remains one of my most cherished tattoos. In the subsequent years, three more tattoos followed, each holding personal meaning, though not all were of Samoan design. During this time, my research deepened into the profound significance of the Samoan malu, considered the most sacred tattoo a woman can receive in Samoan culture.
The history of tattooing throughout the Pacific Islands is rich and captivating. Exploring this history reveals the depth and artistry embedded within these traditions. Traditionally, the malu held a prestigious status, primarily bestowed upon daughters of Paramount Chiefs. However, contemporary Samoan society has seen a shift, with eligibility becoming less strictly defined. Debates continue regarding who should rightfully receive the malu, mirroring similar discussions surrounding the pe’a, the traditional tattoo for men. Both the malu and pe’a carry immense cultural weight. The process of receiving these tattoos and enduring the pain is seen as a powerful testament to one’s commitment to family, tradition, and a significant rite of passage into adulthood.
Reflecting on my own path towards considering the malu, I was acutely aware that by traditional standards, I didn’t fit neatly into the historical criteria. I was not a chief’s daughter, nor was I raised in Samoa. Furthermore, receiving the malu would be a solitary journey for me, unlike the traditional practice of being supported by a partner. Despite these deviations from tradition, a persistent and undeniable pull towards the malu remained. I recognized it as a necessary step, a way to culminate the personal journey of identity I had consciously embarked upon since my teenage years – a journey etched in ink and deeply rooted in heritage.
