By Conrad Wesselhoeft

Fifty years after serving as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Samoa, I returned. I wanted to see the changes wrought by time and progress, to reconnect with half-forgotten aspects of my youthful self, and to revel again in the beauty and delight of the Samoan islands and their people.

Of equal importance was the chance to share this homecoming with three Peace Corps pals from the old days. Today we are feisty septuagenarians with a bond of friendship dating to our stints in Samoa in the late 1970s. Mike is a retired university professor from Georgia, Bruce a retired university professor and administrator from New Zealand, Tom a retired city planner from Arizona, and I’m a retired journalist from West Seattle. All of us are fathers and three of us are grandfathers.

From thatch to bustle

Mike and Bruce married their Samoan sweethearts during their service and have returned to the islands several times, but it was Tom’s and my first time back. Change and modernization are understatements. The 50-minute drive along the shore road from Faleolo Airport to the town of Apia—previously interspersed with quiet scenes of farm and village life—is today a continuous, bustling panoply of cinder-block houses and supersized school and church campuses. We saw few of the traditional thatch houses (fales) that used to pepper the route.

Tom and I had booked rooms at Aggie Grey’s, the legendary South Pacific hotel named after the shrewd businesswoman who ran it for generations. As a young Volunteer, I interviewed Aggie for a freelance magazine article. I sat in her spacious apartment above the hotel’s palm-shrouded courtyard as she regaled me with tales of her island life, including colorful memories of Samoa’s transformative World War II years when U.S. Marines and Sailors seemed to be everywhere. She remembered one Navy lieutenant, an aspiring author named James A. Michener, as being "so quiet butter would melt in his mouth." She died in 1988, but her memory and hotel continue to thrive.

“I’m not 23 anymore!”

On our first full day, Tom and I hiked the rugged rainforest trail to the top of Mt. Vaea, from which the views of the Pacific are magnificent. In the old days, we would dash up the trail, but it had grown considerably steeper in the past 50 years. Tom said, “If I go at a snail’s pace, it’s because I’m not 23 anymore.”

At the summit, we paid our respects to Robert Louis Stevenson, the author of Treasure Island, who lies buried here beneath a large white-washed gravestone. Stevenson lived in Samoa from 1890 until his death from tuberculosis in 1894. The locals affectionately dubbed him Tusitala, or “Teller of Tales,” and, to this day, like to quote—and sing—his self-composed epitaph in both Samoan and English:

Rendezvous with an old student

The next day, Tom and I dropped in unannounced at my old school, formerly Methodist High School, now Wesley College. Class had just let out, and the hallways and grounds resounded with cheerful students clad in the same white-and-gray uniform colors of five decades ago. Surprised to see me, the principal quickly organized a photo with staff and students. Memories leapt from every angle. Here was the room where I’d taught Fifth Form (10th grade) English, here the library where we’d rehearsed our comical take on “Macbeth.” The modest bungalow I’d shared with another Peace Corps teacher had been demolished years before.

Later I met one of my former students, Wood Salele, whom I remembered as bright, witty, and a natural leader. Today, Wood is a highly regarded senior lecturer in economics at the National University of Samoa and a former member of the national Parliament (Fono). He spoke gratefully of the role the Peace Corps had played in helping to educate generations of young Samoans.

“The Peace Corps changed my life”

In the afternoon, Tom and I took a motorized fishing scow to the small island of Manono, where Tom had lived with his Samoan family early in his service. When we encountered several descendants of his host parents, a spontaneous reunion ensued. We were treated to fresh coconuts, a super-sweet libation called koko Samoa (hot chocolate), and an old remembered song.

Next day, we boarded the Lady Samoa III for the 70-minute crossing to the country’s largest island, Savai’i. As young Volunteers, Tom and I did some of our basic training in the village of Fusi. Mike and Bruce each taught for three years on Savai’i, where they met their wives-to-be, Sete and Ruta.

The six of us gathered for dinner at the Amoa Resort. “The Peace Corps changed my life,” Bruce said. He recounted how his Volunteer experience had served as both an axis and horizon, unveiling pathways to a rich family life and fulfilling academic career in New Zealand.

I shared how the Peace Corps had expanded my own horizons. I’d joined with a fairly conservative U.S.-centric mindset, but after two years of service in Polynesia yearned to be part of the wider human community—as a citizen of the world.

A deluge of memories

In the morning, Mike guided us to the Afu Aau Waterfall. Today it’s a short drive through a forest, but in the old days, we had to hike through a large copra (coconut) plantation and down a steep switchback trail to reach the lovely, tropical pool. Mike and I plunged in and swam to the rocks beneath the cascading water. As we sat beneath the deluge, memories flooded back.

On our last full day on Savai’i, Tom and I circumnavigated the island in a rental car. As a young Volunteer, I walked most of the 100–plus mile route in flip-flops, relying on the kindness of villagers to provide a sleeping mat and roof overhead once darkness fell. The high point of our drive was the mile-long stretch of blowholes near the village of Taga, where massive ocean waves rush through underwater fissures in the lava beds and shoot jets of seawater as high as Old Faithful.

Life-changing impact

On my last morning, I awakened at sunrise and gazed across Apolima Strait to the silhouettes of the four main islands that constitute this beautiful country. At a gut level not always easy to describe, each of us realized the life-changing impact of our Peace Corps years in Samoa. We were four impressionable young men seeking purpose, direction and adventure. The Peace Corps provided—and richly so.

Conrad with one of his classes at Methodist High School in 1978.

Conrad with one of his classes at Methodist High School in 1978.

 L-R: Conrad, second from right, and friends seek the shade of a fale about 1978. One of Conrad's students is in front.

Conrad at the grave of Robert Louis Stevenson atop Mt. Vaea in 1977.

Conrad paid a visit to Wesley College, formerly Methodist High School, where he taught English from 1976 to '78. Between classes, staff and students jumped in for a quick photo.

Robert Louis Stevenson, seated top center, with his family and staff at his home Vailima in 1892.