Making nature relevant through culture

Cultures and cultural knowledge are how humans have transferred information about their communities’ survival to their offspring. Knowing how to be, how to thrive, and how to learn from the past has helped us grow as a species, given us purpose, and a sense of connection. Natural features like the rivers, mountains, forests, and the sea were revered and worshiped by ancient societies, and by communities that exist today. Even people born and raised in cities for multiple generations travel to natural spaces seeking solace, wisdom, and clarity.

As I contemplate the intertwining of culture with nature, much comes to my mind from: stories, myths and folklore captured in oral history; handed-down heirloom objects, preserved sites of vernacular architecture; actively practiced indigenous knowledge; consumption of traditional foods and dishes; the significance of psychoactive plants; and the traditions of foraging and ethnobotany. For four months, working remotely from New Delhi, I co-curated the citizen science project of the Übersee-Museum Bremen and the National University of Samoa. In the lead-up to its implementation, I got the opportunity to visit Samoa where I unraveled some such nature-culture linkages.

We had been in conversations with our Samoan colleagues and had seen material about the country online but landing in Apia was still surprising, like entering a time capsule or a film set. Their cultural heritage and the sound of spoken Samoan was vividly unique. The omnipresent tattoos, flowers behind women’s ears, vibrant prints on everyone’s clothing as well as verdant scenery in all directions reminded me of pictures on saturated tropical island postcards and posters.

When we were meeting online, it felt tricky to connect with our Samoan colleagues. I blame the odd time differences, brief meeting durations packed with agendas and everyone putting their professional foot forward. Things changed completely when we landed in Samoa and were greeted with the warmest smiles. Our colleagues greeted us with generous hospitality making us feel at home for the next couple of days. I felt in this project that our Samoans colleagues in-person expressed great warmth, respect, humility, and love for us and each other, and this is attributed to ‘the Samoan Way’ aka “Fa’ʻa Saāmoa”. “Faʻ’a Saāmoa”, embraces the all-encompassing system that guides behavior and responsibilities towards each other, with the elderly, the Matais (chiefs of the family) and to persons holding positions of authority.

The aesthetics of urban planning, the sightings of pickup trucks (or SUV’s) everywhere, sounds of motorized lawn mowers running through the day and formal supermarkets for groceries, seemed like scenes in a US TV show about the suburbs to me. The ‘Fale’ architecture, which were traditional domed roof homes made using all natural materials, could be seen as remnants on the island. These few structures were juxtaposed with either modern-looking ‘Fale’ or box buildings of metal and concrete, with interiors in factory-produced windows, vinyl floor mats and glossy tiles. I think, vernacular architecture and craftsmanship might be skill sets that slip away when new construction methods change with time.

I noticed contrasts in the food systems, too. At university events caterers prepared big batches of fresh meals and on one occasion, an Umu-cooked feast as Samoans traditionally prepare on Sundays with homegrown plants, seaweeds, fish, and meats of their own farm-raised animals. However, the easy-to-access alternatives outside were fast-foods and imported packaged foods. Fruits at supermarkets were pricey, although during research I came across references of DIY roadside shops selling small quantities of homegrown tropical fruits at much lower prices. During our river site visits with the team, I managed to identify some wild edible and medicinal species that I regularly forage in India. I knew these species are native to Polynesia and assumed it might be common knowledge and part of everyday conversations. I later learnt that traditional healers in Samoa keep plant medicine knowledge and methods a closely guarded secret, being skeptical of scientists and pharma companies from overseas.

In Museum archives, I found images of the Samoan communal practice ‘O le Lauloa’ involving the trapping of herring – called ‘Atule’, by nearly 100 people forming a human fence on tidal flats. They use woven coconut fronds for this, and the harvested fish are not sold but are shared equally among the participating families. I learned that only a few villages continue to do this now and community activities like these which connect us with the land are slowly disappearing.

In the late 2000s, when Samoa began making efforts to align more closely with Australia and New Zealand, many Samoans were able to migrate for work and education. With up to 60% now living in New Zealand, Australia, and USA, the diaspora remittances and their annual return home also contributes to the economy. Several Instagram influencers, more visibly from the diaspora, celebrate and document their cultural identity including crafts, language, tattoo etc. I would attribute these to better exposure, funded opportunities, decolonization grants and the most important, a longing for home and identity that comes from distance among Samoans, as shared by culture experts. I found contemporary art and research projects highlighting ‘Samoanness’ but not many which address challenges concerning Samoa from climate change, overfishing, habitat destruction etc.

With migration from the forests to cities to faraway lands in search of employment, education, health facilities, and aspirations for modern lives for our children, we do gradually lose contact with the land and the lived practices. What remains are fragments of stories, versions of belief systems and traditions. Some memories and rituals even start to feel out of context and harder to pass on with each new generation.

When the Übersee-Museum team presented their work from Bremen and introduced the citizen science project, the Matais in the audience, who were also lecturers of Samoan Studies, quickly asked our intentions. Our project became relevant since the Vaisigano river system was connected to their land. They brought up a story of the Alaoa Dam proposal which would join with the Vaisigano river system. This project was being opposed by some members of the community concerned about overall safety, the debt of construction costs and for the families being relocated. The Matais as stakeholders were acting like guardians of their land.

I volunteered to comment on their query as it reminded me of a research project back home in Delhi’s urban forests. Data collection on river systems was important because the locals could build their case by augmenting traditional understanding of nature with scientific evidence, for/against any future development projects. Data could create more room for research at NUS, allowing for engagement of students with the river visits through coursework, and possible new collaborations between scientists, artists, and citizens, just like our Vaisigano Citizen Science project.

The applicant students in their registration forms and in conversations when we met, shared several childhood memories of rivers. They spoke of hikes to the waterfalls, of swimming in the summer months, general recreation at the banks and of fishing in the mangroves but few spoke about the river’s importance to their lives, of their value as a freshwater resource or any cultural stories about the river. Perhaps this knowledge about the land and resources is passed on to younger generations as they start to take on roles and responsibilities in the family and the village.

I continued my argument on how data collection could be the right step in building stewardship towards rivers among younger Samoans. Traditional knowledge coupled with scientific evidence, could adept them in the face of inevitable changes wrought by climate change and aiding them to become guardians, like their elders.

The trip to Samoa made me believe there were many opportunities to engage younger Samoans with their surrounding heritage. The responsibilities in “Fa’a Samoa” for each other could extend towards the village and beyond, to conserve resources for the future. The stories of deities could be contextualized, gamified, and translated for solution-driven envisioning and include non-human responsibilities too. The Church, which continues to instill a strong sense of volunteering, could also steer efforts towards new and existing community-led environmental programs running on the island. 

We were thrilled when our art workshop at the river site managed to engage and entertain the students. The chosen site, which was perfect a day before, had freshly thrown trash when the team arrived. Startled at first, the team navigated their way around and found new clean shaded parts of the bank. Through humor and great facilitation, our Samoan Arts teacher got participants to spend over an hour studying and drawing details of the river system.

Some students chose to create fantasy landscapes by removing any signs of pollution and man-made issues. The students returned the next day to jump back in the river, collecting data and samples with the scientists of the museum. They later learnt to sort and store samples at the lab, took breaks to record TikToks, named their freshwater creatures, and keenly beta-tested the data collection app.

We took this diligent participation over three days as a positive feedback for our pilot programme!