Sohaila Abdulali & Zam Zadeh (Illustration) Samoa Diary, Part 1:
Science and Culture Come Together

Yes, Mainas, the good old garden mainas I grew up with, pretty, lively birds whose orphaned chicks my family raised with a bottle. In its great wisdom, the Samoan Wildlife Authority concluded that Indian mainas might help control cattle ticks and introduced them here: the jungle myna in 1965, and the shepherd maina in 1988. Of course (or unnaturally), that was a total flop, and today the birds are everywhere, threatening native species and being extremely dominant. They look like the birds I know, but they sound a little different—more shrill, more piercing. From this I learn: We immigrants must be louder and bolder to hold our own in a hostile environment. We know that we are outsiders.

The museum’s journey of discovery, in which I am so delighted to participate, has many facets, and the Mainas have made that clear to me this morning. Here we have a group of intelligent and respectful people from Europe, where immigration is a central issue. The Overseas Museum’s Oceania project rightly celebrates diversity and tackles some of the legacies of colonialism and immigration. It could go quite smoothly if they were to limit themselves to this more conventional task. But no, they also incorporate natural history, and the result is a mix of fascinating complexity.

Just think about it: Research has shown that the host country ultimately always benefits from human immigration. And that the introduction of non-human organisms, whether plants or animals, usually harms the host country’s environment. So our intrepid museum team must grapple with both of these realities and use them to develop an exhibition that celebrates human mobility while also taking a critical look at the spread of species into environments where they don’t belong. After spending a day with the team, I think they’re the right people for the job—they care, they’re open-minded, they know a lot, and they’re eager to learn.

Back to the kava ceremony [Kava is the mildly narcotic root of the pepper bush, translator’s note]. At the National University of Samoa (NUS), we sit cross-legged on mats, a motley crew consisting of three Germans, a Samoan-Australian, and an even more diverse Indian-American woman. The ceremony is about to begin, and the surreal nature of it all overwhelms me. I am so infinitely far from home, from both of my homes: oceans lie between me and each one in both directions. And they are as different as night and day. The tattoos. The flower garlands. The kava. The lava-lava [a wrap-around skirt for men, translator’s note]. It’s another world. Wait a minute. Is it really? Tons of tattoos in New York, tons of flower garlands in India, tons of sarongs in many places, all with different names.

Outside, I see completely different trees, but I also see gul mohur, hibiscus, and croton, the trees of my childhood. And above all: when the performers dance, it feels so familiar, despite the unfamiliar movements, costumes, words, and music, that it’s downright disorienting. Is my brain all mixed up from jet lag? No, it’s simply the universal human condition. These beautiful young people are dancing on stage, and it doesn’t matter that we don’t understand the words, don’t know the steps, and are absurdly far removed from everything we know.

From Polynesia to Potsdam to Pune to Pennsylvania—we all know what it means to just have to dance! To grin like an idiot because it’s so much fun to live on this crazy planet, which is so huge and so tiny at the same time. To want to scream with joy and anger,and for no reason at all. The students danced, and we were all right there with them, because we were them.

And despite all the real differences in culture, privilege, and geography, this crazy journey suddenly doesn’t seem so crazy anymore. Perhaps that is precisely what the Übersee-Museum’s project is all about: discovering what the common core of human resilience and spiritual lightheartedness is, something that resides somewhere within all of us, and how we can make it accessible to all of us. Perhaps that is precisely the role of museums: to celebrate our differences while acknowledging how much we have in common. Suddenly, the museum staff no longer seem like strangers to me. This morning they were hot and sweating; I was annoyed about my missing suitcase; by the afternoon, we were all enchanted and returning the dancers’ smiles. If I were a scholar, I could now come up with a well-thought-out reference to the dance of Shiva, but since I’m not, I’ll leave it at that.

Even now, on Day 1, I’m already completely hooked: on this enchanting and fascinating country, where everyone smiles—though I know the emergency hotline for women is very busy—and on the team at the Übersee-Museum, who are dedicated and unobtrusive in forging connections and strengthening their partnership with NUS. Among strangers who don’t feel like strangers anymore.

As an outsider, I find it fascinating to observe the different cultural practices. It speaks well of both sides that the Samoans and the Germans are doing their very best to adapt to each other’s personalities and develop a pleasant way of working together. It’s not so easy when “relaxed, wait-and-see” meets “we absolutely have to do everything down to the last detail, or else we’ll end up in chaos.”

he Citizen Science Workshop is the culmination of years of planning. When the Übersee-Museum decided to return its collections to their countries of origin and breathe new life into them in highly creative ways, it launched the Oceania Digital project and reached out to the National University of Samoa. The response was very positive, particularly from the Department of Environmental Sciences. Workshops, lectures, planned in-person innovation meetings—and then COVID-19 struck. As everywhere else in the world, everything came to a standstill, all the planning went out the window, and new forms of collaboration had to be found. It was a testament to the team that they didn’t give up, and instead of flying to Samoa, they found themselves, like all of us, on Zoom.

Even though they had to deal with three different time zones (Germany, Samoa, India), they accomplished a great deal. The funding was secured. A set of photography equipment, which, fortunately, the coronavirus couldn’t harm—traveled across the seven seas—or maybe it was just two seas, but in any case, it was a long journey. At the NUS, visitors could view the Overseas Museum’s exhibits online. But how much environmental work can be done from a distance? That’s why there’s so much excitement that the time has finally come.

What exactly is happening now?

A group of students, an artist, and a few scientists head to a river—that’s how a joke might begin, but it’s actually the first step toward an important scientific endeavor. This pilot project aims to connect students with their environment in a new way, fuse art and science, and combine culture with empirical data. This makes perfect sense to me, and when you think about it, any other approach would be flawed.

With Diana as a freshwater researcher and existing NUS projects in this field, the decision was clear.

“We launched a citizen science project to collect the missing data with the help of volunteers. You can gather many data points, but it’s through mathematical methods that the patterns become visible. Citizen science also raises awareness. When people engage deeply with the environment, it takes on greater significance. We’re conducting a pilot study. I would be very happy if the results were not only presented but also put to use,” says Diana.

If the plan can be carried out, the intersection of science and culture will yield enlightening results. Yes, it’s an experiment, but one that has been preceded by years of deliberation. It could result in a day of splashing around in the river and making drawings. It could lead to a century-long project in which students conduct a scientific study that maps freshwater life in Samoa in detail.

Both are possible, and I’m really looking forward to tomorrow. Will anyone fall into the river? Will the students head off into the hills, or will they stay and follow instructions? Will a future great Samoan artist, male or female, draw inspiration from the waters of the Vaisigano? Will someone, in a few years, come across a well-researched project on the wildlife of the South Pacific at a museum or a scientific conference? In keeping with today’s theme, we’ll just have to wait and see.

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