Fia Ola: The Galulolo Devastation and Its Far-Reaching Impact

After a few years of managing a real estate company in Apia, Tala and Lelei relocated to the coastal district of Aleipata (Figure 2) with their two children, Lau (son) and Rosa (daughter) to care for Tala's ageing parents. It was while living in Aleipata that they came face to face with the full force of the galulolo. After the earthquake, Tala heard a radio warning reporting that a galulolo wave had hit nearby villages. He scrambled to gather his family to head to the hills in their four-wheel drive ute for safety. His wife Lelei frantically grabbed their passport bag and their daughter Rosa. Tala, his father, and their two children headed for the front cab while Lelei jumped onto the deck. Tala's mother was still running towards the ute when the wave reached them.

Figure 2 Galulolo wave on September 29, 2009. Note: Sourced with permission from http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2009/

The wave battered the house first before smashing the ute, flipping it upside-down, crushing Tala's mother under its full weight. Lelei was thrown off the deck and into the ocean, which filled the dry ground they had been standing on just minutes earlier. The force of the wave dragged their upturned vehicle and the helpless Tafea family into the tōgā togo (mangroves) swamp next to their house, about a 100 metres inland. The dissipated wave also halted the rolling ute, which now trapped one of Lelei's legs underneath its frame. The pain of her ordeal caused Lelei to become unconscious. Tala was still trapped inside the cab of the ute, battling to stay alive underwater. When he finally broke out and swam to the surface, his gaze fell upon the submerged body of his father, who was dead. Tala tried administering CPR to revive him, but it was to no avail. Tala's mother and his two children were nowhere to be seen.

Lelei had consigned herself to drowning, but as she became conscious, she saw her husband attempting to revive his father. There was also another wave surging through the damaged and depleted shoreline. Tala hoped and prayed that the wave was not as deadly as the first. He swam to embrace his wife, while also holding onto the lifeless body of his father, before they were battered again by the second wave. And the galulolo came back a third and last time. When the wave eventually receded, Tala began the painful task of freeing his wife from under the ute before collecting the ravaged bodies of his family members, starting with his father.

With the help of some village folk, they freed Lelei. Tala moved her and his deceased father to where the debris-strewn road once was. Much of it was washed away and damaged by the wave. He was then informed that some villagers had found his mother's body. He also placed her by the roadside to await transportation to the nearest hospital before returning to the swamp to search for his missing children. Some time later, he finally discovered the lifeless body of his daughter, Rosa. This discovery caused an overflow of emotion to break loose and he sobbed uncontrollably.

Although fatigued and badly wounded, Tala would not give up his search for his son, Lau. After an agonising search over every bit of the swamp for what seemed like hours, he abandoned the search to transport his daughter's body to the hospital. The journey in the back of a stranger's vehicle while clutching tightly to his baby girl was filled with regrets and haunting memories: his daughter's playfulness, her endearing affection, and her cheerful personality. Tala wished he could somehow exchange places, a longing that would intensify when his son's body was finally found some days after.

Upon reaching the hospital, Tala searched for his wife Lelei, who was now housed in a makeshift tsunami ward with other victims of the galulolo. Lelei was hoping for a miracle, that her children would be found alive. But, as Tala placed Rosa into her trembling arms, Lelei knew that their baby girl was dead. She howled her distress, allowing all her anguish and torment to rupture across the space of the temporary grief-stricken ward, a scene repeated again and again as news of dead relatives was relayed to the injured at Moto'otua Hospital.

Before returning to the swamp to continue in his search, Tala checked the morgue for his son's body. He was not there. Lelei pleaded with God to spare her one child. Despite her earnest plea to the Divine, it was not until three days later that Lau's decomposed body was discovered in the mangroves. At least having a body meant that Tala and Lelei could turn their attention towards organising the burial services for their beloved family members.

Disaster Response and Samoan Funeral Culture

The scale of the galulolo damage led the Samoan government to offer communal burial sites for deceased victims in a designated government cemetery. For many families affected by the galulolo, the national burial site was located closer to Apia, at least two hours away from the most devastated districts, such as Aleipata. Despite this appealing gesture of support, many families, like the Tafea, chose to bury their relatives on their own family lands and at their own expense. The Tafea family buried their relatives a week after the galulolo; the children first and the parents two days later. The children shared a single coffin while the parents had separate caskets. It was reported that some of the victims who were buried within a short time were wrapped in Samoan mats or body bags, due to the resources and financial wealth being destroyed or compromised by the galulolo. The depleted resources also led some to abandon the usual end-of-life traditions and fa'asamoa (Samoan way) cultural expectations associated with funeral rituals (Seiuli, Reference Seiuli2015; Tui Atua, Reference Tui Atua2009). Instead of regular church funeral services, simple arrangements to honour the dead occurred in spite of pressure to have a more elaborate ritual. For example, Tala's father was both a paramount title holder and lay minister in the Latter Day Saints (LDS) church and was expected to be honoured in an esteemed traditional fashion. But, in this case, there was no family service and the LDS church leaders led a simple funeral service at the burial site to honour this deceased matai (chief).

In mid 2010, Tala and Lelei migrated to New Zealand to access better medical care for Lelei, who underwent numerous operations to save her crushed leg, and also to escape the lingering memory of their devastated environment in the village. Later that same year, the family returned to Samoa to unveil two memorial headstones to commemorate the anniversary of the passing away of their family members. The event enabled this couple to find some closure from their prolonged journey of grief, yet they continued to struggle with the pain of their multiple losses. Intense guilt continued to surface as a reminder to Tala in particular, that he was alive and his parents and children were dead. He continued to battle with the belief that he did not do enough to save them. Despite these intrusions, this couple are doing their best to journey forward with a space once occupied by the lived presence of Lau, Rosa and Tala's parents, one full of life, joy, memories, laughter, opportunities, and dreams. The galulolo ripped their lives apart in a matter of moments and it has never been the same since.

Interpretation of These Events

Environmental calamities like the galulolo are unexpected; they occur suddenly with overwhelming devastation and long-term effect (Figley, Reference Figley1985; Tedeschi & Calhoun, Reference Tedeschi and Calhoun1995). The speed at which the waves swept up to the Tafea family's doorsteps left them defenceless to its devastating onslaught, causing social disruption, loss and damage to property, and mass causalities. A galulolo is different from other life events because they manifest in ‘extreme or sudden force, typically causing fear, anxiety, withdrawal, and avoidance’ (Ursano, Fullerton, & McCaughey, Reference Ursano, Fullerton, McCaughey, Ursano, Fullerton and McCaughey1994, p. 5). While the initial event might last moments or minutes, the bodily injury and emotional shock can persist for weeks, months, or many years after. This is often complicated when multiple causalities are also experienced first hand by those with little or no prior experience.

Tala referred to his emotional state immediately after the galulolo struck as ‘mechanical’, helping him to respond bravely to keep his wife alive, and then to search for the missing bodies of his family. Malt (Reference Malt, Ursano, McCaughey and Fullerton1994) suggests that this period is generally referred to as ‘emotional shock, denial, or numbness phase’ (p. 106), one that often determines the way people respond when in life threatening situations. This initial response is often interpreted as ‘victims experience strong anxiety, without loss of behavioural control’ (Malt, Reference Malt, Ursano, McCaughey and Fullerton1994, p. 106). Tala's emotional experiences mirror this phase, where he had mentally shut out those raw emotions associated with the destruction, choosing instead to maintain a sense of calmness and of being in control to save and to find his missing family members. They remained the priority. Hodgkinson and Stewart (Reference Hodgkinson and Stewart1998) suggest that being in a state of shock is a ‘defensive manoeuvre’ (p. 7) that assists survivors to disengage from the catastrophic reality. The conclusion often associated with survivors expressing these symptoms is that they are ‘in control and coping bravely’ (Hodgkinson & Stewart, Reference Hodgkinson and Stewart1998, p. 7) when, in fact, they have not yet begun to react to the calamity.

Responding to a galulolo often means encountering the injured and the dead in devastation unlike other events (Sawrey, Waldegrave, Tamasese, & Bush, Reference Sawrey, Waldegrave, Tamasese and Bush2011; Ursano & McCarroll, Reference Ursano, McCarroll, Ursano, McCaughey and Fullerton1994). This was certainly experienced by Tala and Lelei, and many others affected in Samoa, American Samoa, and Tonga. While trauma and disasters and their related devastation are frequent global occurrences, this does not necessarily mean people are prepared for such a first-hand experience. Exposure to individual and mass death can be disturbing and frightening, often embedding lasting impressions psychologically, especially when the deaths are of people with whom there are meaningful connections or close emotional bonds (DeRanieri, Clements, & Henry, Reference DeRanieri, Clements and Henry2002; O'Connor, Johnston, & Evans; Reference O'Connor, Johnston and Evans2011). The tasks of body recovery, identification, transport, and burial of the victims can prolong contact with the realm of the dead. Such acute experiences can significantly contribute to the development of psychological distresses that delay recovery for those affected, resulting in shock, fear and anxiety — before, during, and after the trauma (Holloway & Fullerton, Reference Holloway, Fullerton, Ursano, McCaughey and Fullerton1994).

Aitu: Uncovering Samoan Mourning Rituals

In traditional Samoa, Turner (Reference Turner1984) reported that unfound and unburied bodies aroused great concern for a grieving family: the spirit of an unretrieved body belonging to a family member killed in war or drowned was regarded as left to ‘wander about, neglected and comfortless’ (Turner, Reference Turner1984, p. 150). The ‘unburied’ do not rest in peace but drift restlessly and vengefully. Until a body is recovered, there is a belief that the spirit or ghost of the dead will continue to haunt the family night and day, with the wandering spirit calling continually from the realm of the dead, urging the family to bring them home (Hodgkinson & Stewart, Reference Hodgkinson and Stewart1998). Such spirits often manifest themselves in dreadful cries as they search restlessly, seeking to cling to and to press people down. Worse still, the disenchanted spirit can affect the living with sickness and disease (Hodgkinson & Stewart, Reference Hodgkinson and Stewart1998, Stair, Reference Stair1983; Turner, Reference Turner1984). As a result, resting or sleeping may not come easily to family members until the relative's body is laid to rest. But first they must be found.

It was Tala and Lelei's mission to find and retrieve their missing son Lau — a spiritual duty in some way because all that they could see and hear was their son running around in the mangroves, trapped and desperate to be reunited with them. Tala says about this experience: ‘I kept seeing him in the mangroves, calling “Mummy, Daddy, where are you?”’ It is for this reason that some survivors in Samoa scrambled to quickly identify deceased bodies and, in some instances, families prematurely identified bodies that were, in fact, not their relatives. This was particularly evident with infants or young children whose features or clothing was beyond recognition. One family revealed during an interview that an infant belonging to them was buried in someone else's burial plot because the child was incorrectly identified by the family who discovered the body immediately after the devastation. For others, repeated visits to the hospital were needed because relatives refused to believe or accept that the dead person actually belonged to their family. To have a body conveys a peculiar comfort that permits a family to say farewell to their loved one. Burial therefore presents some form of closure for those who remain, a reassurance in some way that their deceased family member will be unified with ancestors in the family tu'ugamau (resting place).

Many in the Samoan community, like the Tafea family, recognise that with a death, the general mourning rituals will include: important family fono (gathering) to consolidate resources; memorial church services; transferring the body home; receiving donations from visitors; and reciprocating honour to all who come to offer support (Ablon, Reference Ablon1971; Seiuli, Reference Seiuli2015). These rituals represent significant markers in Samoan mourning traditions, thus providing a helpful path to transition mourners through the various cultural and religious rituals involved. They also signal a beginning and end point for cultural and religious rituals. Under normal circumstances, end-of-life decision-making lies in the domain of traditional leadership, where the sa'o (appointed family head) and those matai (leaders) with designated authority provide family governance (Seiuli, Reference Seiuli2013, Reference Seiuli2015). During these times, the collective unit's effort is to ensure that the deceased person is farewelled appropriately and according to their status (Tamasese et al., Reference Tamasese, Peteru and Waldegrave1997; Turner, Reference Turner1984). The manner by which the deceased person is farewelled directly relates to the family's ability to perform their duties correctly. For some, funeral services that are performed with extravagance and generosity become the measuring stick for expressing their love to their deceased relative. Despite their harrowing ordeal and trauma, Tala and Lelei were expected by some of their āiga (kin members or extended relational ties) to still provide an elaborate cultural funeral for their deceased parents. This was deemed important because of Tala's father's status as a Samoan chief and retired minister. After various family fono (discussions) that included Tala and Lelei, the family chose to enact simpler funeral services for their deceased members.

Funeral preparation, whether in Samoa, New Zealand or other places, usually begins after the pronouncement of death. Matai (appointed family chief), close bilateral kin, and older respected relatives’ fono (assemble) to make the practical decisions for burial arrangements, and for religious services (Ablon, Reference Ablon1970). Aside from various fono to gather and combine resources, preparation also means arranging space in the family home as a liminal falelauasi (mourning house) for the deceased to lie in state. Various temporary shelters are erected for food preparation and other general duties. The family garage is converted into a meeting house and storage facility for si'ialofa (gifted items) that are donated by visiting delegations, and any additional resources collected by the family themselves. In urban settings, those who rally to support a family in crisis are not limited to one's extended relations, but embrace others associated with the deceased through their workplace, church, sporting clubs, and from other settings. Ablon (Reference Ablon1971) suggests that relatives or close family friends will make an effort to visit the deceased at his or her house to make their presentation and offer consolation to the family.

The practice of fa'aaloaloga fa'asamoa (reciprocated gifting) is a significant process within death and mourning occasions for many Samoan people. In such contexts, it is essential that one must be seen to reciprocate with those who support one's ‘āiga (extended family) in their times of need. Embree (Reference Embree1933) observed this practice in a village in Tutuila and commented that ‘exchange is the very essence not only of courtesy but of self-respect’ among Samoans (p. 566). To withhold the exchange or to be denied the opportunity to express themselves in the form of reciprocated exchange was, in effect, to ‘seize their souls’ (Embree, Reference Embree1933, p. 566). What Embree is suggesting is that the ritualised practices of si'ialofa and the counter exchange of sua (tributary meal) and meaalofa (financial gifts) speaks to the heart and soul of fa'asamoa traditions. Such heartfelt exchanges are motivated by aga'alofa (compassion) that reflects Christian and community compassion (Sawrey et al., Reference Sawrey, Waldegrave, Tamasese and Bush2011). It is on the basis of such devotion that one might view the desire of the extended Tafea family for more appropriate performance of Samoan funeral culture symbolic of the father's status.

Nevertheless, the acknowledgment and inclusion of these important cultural patterns remains imperative to Samoan identity and belonging (Tamasese et al., Reference Tamasese, Peteru and Waldegrave1997; Tui Atua, Reference Tui Atua2009). In this regard, many Samoan people's participation in funeral customs not only helps them to actively engage with the event itself, but also allows them to respond to the challenge of embracing the cultural patterns of old that have been passed down through the generations. Funeral customs materialise history and culturally patterned relationships by keeping them alive and evolving through their continuous enactment (Stolte & Hodgetts, Reference Stolte and Hodgetts2013; Seiuli, Reference Seiuli2015). For many Samoans, active engagement in funeral rituals assists them to transfer these cultural ideals into a living identity to validate their Samoan heritage (Seiuli, Reference Seiuli2004, Reference Seiuli2013), one that is worthy of being embraced and passed on to future generations.

This catastrophe caused the majority of Samoans in Samoa and other places to gather in a time of collective mourning. For those affected by this tragedy, it relegated the responsibility for funeral rituals and preparations to those available or surviving family members to perform for themselves (Tui Atua, Reference Tui Atua2009). How end-of-life rituals were enacted in the context created by the galulolo was a forced departure from regular Samoan funeral traditions already discussed in this article. As highlighted in the case presented, the Tafea family were caught in the death process absolutely. Those survivors, Tala and Lelei, honoured their loved ones as best they could given their circumstances and the fact of progressing decomposition. Their loved ones had to be laid to rest, and they were.

The galulolo greatly depleted family resources, which affected the way Tala and Lelei were able to provide burials for their family members. Significantly, their own injuries sustained during the wave and the emotional pain they experienced from losing four family members in one event remained a constant reminder of their brush with death. The devastation of this calamity forced many in Samoa to re-examine the core values associated with contemporary funeral culture. Few, if any, of the funerals following the galulolo reflected the traditional and usual pageantry and ritual performance associated with such occasions (Tui Atua, Reference Tui Atua2009). Notably, Tui Atua (Reference Tui Atua2009) reported observing post-galulolo that funerals became very simple affairs because people became preoccupied with the priority of caring for the injured and sorting through the destruction within their community. During this grieving period, the decaying bodies not only dictated the speed with which funerals were performed, but equally significant were the limited resources. These funeral services were completed quickly and without too much elaboration. Similarly, the funerals for both Tala's parents and his children were completed in a simple fashion, keeping financial costs to a minimum.

Journeying With Grief

Through the trauma created by the galulolo, which remains for many an ongoing presence and challenge, one might ask: Has any good arisen? Disruption presents an opportunity for people to enact their reflective and reflexive capacities. The galulolo created an ideal context for reassessing the value of life and its performance, and the opportunity to do things differently. In some instances, Samoan funeral culture has been the target of fierce criticism and discussion because of the perceived exploitation and greed among those who seek to benefit from these difficult times (Tui Atua, Reference Tui Atua2009, Reference Tui Atua2011). The issue of available resources remains important to the way funeral rituals are carried out, not only in normal circumstances, but especially when many of these resources are damaged by a catastrophic event such as the galulolo. More discussion is required on this topic, particularly if those end-of-life cultural rituals are to be celebrated as life giving and life affirming.

Although there is a growing concern over the increasing costs of maintaining Samoan funeral patterns, many have shown that they can take care of their responsibilities by pooling their resources together (Ablon, Reference Ablon1970, Reference Ablon1971; Braginsky, Reference Braginsky2003; Seiuli, Reference Seiuli2015). A Samoan proverb reiterates this notion of communal support where it declares: ‘A e iloa a'u i Togamau, ou te iloa foi oe i Siulepa’, which means ‘if you do me a good deed in Togamau, I will reciprocate in Siulepa’ (Tui Atua, Reference Tui Atua2009, p. 5). Community support and the reciprocal performance of fa'asamoa customs is motivated by the knowledge that the kindness will be reciprocated at some point in time. For some, there is a prescribed expectation to offer help to other family members as a way of showing respect (Ablon, Reference Ablon1970). Ablon (Reference Ablon1970) further suggests that the strength of such vital connections supports many Samoan communities to better handle death and grief processes than the Palagi (European) population in general, helping to alleviate some of the emotional distress characteristically associated with bereavement.

How individuals and communities prepare for, behave during, and respond after witnessing a traumatic death often determines their ability to cope with the aftermath of such a crisis (Ursano & McCarroll, Reference Ursano, McCarroll, Ursano, McCaughey and Fullerton1994). Psychological responses to tragic events underlie ‘the reactions of normal human beings to sudden, unexpected and terrifying events in their lives’ (Hodgkinson & Stewart, Reference Hodgkinson and Stewart1998, p. 1). Such reactions can form the basis for surviving, attempting to cope, trying to recreate a meaningful existence, and of finding the will to move on. Mooney and colleagues (2011) argue that ‘recovery is [not] a simple process’ (p. 27), and may not necessarily mean a return to life pre-disaster. Nevertheless, steps towards recovery need to happen in spite of the recall of memories that linger every day and everywhere. It involves some form of progression, from the event and its aftermath, towards a process of transformation and renewal (Bowlby, Reference Bowlby1980; Kubler-Ross, Reference Kubler-Ross1969; Levang, Reference Levang1998; Rando, Reference Rando, Wass and Neimeyer1995).

Survivors of such profound devastation often seek to process the ‘why’ questions associated with their survival: Why me? Why is it that they died and not me? Why did God cause this to happen to our family? In addition to these questions are the reported feelings of guilt about whether their actions or lack of action could have made a difference to those who passed away in the calamity (Hodgkinson & Stewart, Reference Hodgkinson and Stewart1998). Considering Tala and Lelei's situation as survivors of the galulolo, their feelings of guilt were initially felt intensely because they survived while their children and Tala's parents all died. Understandably, this couple avoid talking about the events of the galulolo because it invokes too many painful memories. An imprint of death caused by the calamity continues to provide haunting images of the Tafea's encounter with the galulolo. The result of ‘cumulative effects of several losses and the virtual eradication of social support networks’ (Hodgkinson & Stewart, Reference Hodgkinson and Stewart1998, p. 40) left Tala and Lelei feeling totally alone in their grief.

The death of children elicits more intense and complex grief reactions for surviving parents than other types of bereavement (Wijngaards-de Meij et al., Reference Wijngaards-de Meij, Stroebe, Schut, Stroebe, van den Bout and van de Heijden2008). For Tala and Lelei, losing both of their children severely affected and completely disrupted them as parents. Wijngaards-de Meij and colleagues suggest that the heightened sense of loss experienced is related to both parents being in grief simultaneously and therefore neither being able or available to support the other. This couple's inability to support the other person only intensified the grief process they felt. Tala admitted that their combined grief caused him to become clinically depressed, affecting his mind and body. The worst moments were characterised by ‘whole body grief’, where the aching remains ever present and accompanied by flowing tears, sorrow, pain, and depression. Tala's grief was not only experienced through his physical, social and emotional being, but also affected him spiritually; that is, his ‘soul’ was also ripped apart with the excruciating pain of their loss.

Tala and Lelei's decision to relocate to Auckland, New Zealand from Aleipata in mid 2010, where family and village support were closely available, precipitated an increase in the levels of depression, loneliness, and isolation they reported experiencing. Tala suffered from insomnia and was referred to a local general practitioner for treatment, who then prescribed him medication to alleviate his levels of anxiety and sleeplessness. Tala did not take the medication. He refused to allow his grief to be numbed involuntarily, because the pain of losing his parents and kids reminded him of the place they once occupied in his life. Tala and Lelei were later referred to a Pacific clinician for trauma counselling and support. Using Pacific models of engagement, the clinician was able to help this couple to reconnect with their cultural identity to make sense of their losses. Importantly, they received counselling support to address their own trauma recovery. Shortly after the start of these therapeutic sessions, Tala found part-time employment with a Pacific healthcare agency who were engaged in the Like Minds, Like Mine campaign aimed at reducing discrimination and stigma associated with mental health illness. Tala's employment as an educational facilitator provided a pathway to share his story of trauma and grief with his audience, and his efforts to overcome depression and anxiety resulting from his loss. Retelling his story of survival allowed Tala to release some of his inner turmoil slowly with those who were also suffering from various anxieties like his. Importantly, he discovered that a vital part of his recovery came through the opportunities to help others through their grief, thus indirectly providing a way of helping himself.

For Tala and Lelei, one way to manage their emotional pain was to keep the memories of their loss to themselves. Private memorialisation and incremental steps were the preferred ways to move towards regaining regular routines. While aspects of their grief remained private, their process of healing was not. As discussed earlier in this article, the level of support available through family and church community helps to transition many Samoan mourners through the initial period of grieving (Sawrey et al., Reference Sawrey, Waldegrave, Tamasese and Bush2011; Tamasese et al., 2007). This level of support continues to be an integral part of Tala and Lelei's recovery journey. Moreover, the strength of their love and support for each other in perilous times illustrated again the depth of their marital bond, their faith in God, and their undivided commitment to their family. They battled the galulolo waves together, and now they needed to battle depression, fatigue, loneliness, memory triggers, and grieving tears, side by side.

Since moving to New Zealand, Tala and Lelei have been blessed with three more children: two boys and a girl. They attribute these new additions to God blessing them for the way they served Tala's parents while alive. Though a vacuum was left by the death of four family members, they believe that their three healthy children are God's meaalofa (gift) through their recovery. The children remain core to their healing and restoration. Their recovery journey so far demonstrates an undeniable sense of resilience and purpose that is grounded in their Christian faith, affirming and carrying them through. This way of dealing with death concurs with what Ablon (Reference Ablon1970) reported, that despite painful events of whatever magnitude, for many Samoan people, ‘life must go on’. Tala and Lelei have demonstrated this life journey of recovery as one of purpose and spiritual faith, and an unbreakable love and respect for each other.

Empirical Engagements and Analysis

For the study, a total of 22 participants (19 men and 3 women) were interviewed who identified themselves as Samoans and were aged 18 years and above. Of the 22 participants, 5 lived in Samoa, 4 in California in the United States, and 13 in New Zealand. The fono fa'atalatalanoa (narrative dialogue) involved an examination and documentation of important areas in each of the participant's life, such as their family history and connections to Samoa, their aiga (family) relational networks, their specific involvement in traditional or contemporary family rituals, their spiritual practices, and their pathways of coping when a death affects their family.

All of the recorded interviews were transcribed verbatim, thus providing written accounts of what the respondents said. The interview transcripts were then reorganised under key questions explored in the talanoa interview schedule, which allowed for participants’ responses to be categorised and organised. Field notes were analysed in conjunction with the interview transcripts, and coded according to the relevant categories or themes. The outcome of this process resulted in the writing and analysis becoming closely connected with many of the themes and findings emerging through the writing process. Thematic analysis is a common technique used to support a narrative analysis, thereby extending the focus of the analysis beyond the mere content of the narratives, and considers the wider aspects of significant action and events within the narrative (Riessman, Reference Riessman2008). Like the case study presented in this article, the fono fa'atalatalanoa followed both a descriptive and exploratory pathway that enabled a deeper understanding of the how and why questions within the context of death rituals and mourning customs from these Samoan individuals and their families (Yin, Reference Yin2012).