Tapu mo e tangata‘ifonua ‘o Vaihi Mo e Falela‘ä ‘o Maui ‘oku tu‘utai Talu ‘etau tutupu ‘i Pulotu mo Havaiki Mo e fetu‘utakinga ‘a Maama mo Langi ‘Aho ni kuo u toe siutaka mai ki Vaihi ni Ke hoko atu e tauhi vä ne lalava talu mei tuai

By Tevita Ka’ili

WEST VALLEY CITY, Utah (Ano Masima News, Mar. 31) - When I arrived on the island of Maui in the summer of 2002, I felt a sense of reverence toward this Hawaiian island. Deep inside my spirit, I knew that I was returning to a sacred place. As I felt the sacredness of the island of Maui, my mind began to ponder the similarities between ‘äina (the Hawaiian term for land), and käinga (the Tongan term for relatives/kin).Both terms are based on ‘ai /kai, (to feed, to nourish). Moreover, ‘äina and käinga convey the central idea that people are fed, both physically and spiritually, by two important sources of nourishment: their land and their kin. As I reflected on this connection, I began to understand my feeling of reverence toward this island. Maui is one of the ‘äina that fed and nourished many of my ancestral käinga during their ancient long-distance voyages in the moana, the open sea.

It was a moving experience for me, as a Tongan with genealogical ties to Koloa (one of my ancestor Maui’s home islands in Tonga), to stand on the island of Maui—another home island of my ancestor Maui. Ever since I was a young boy, my elders told me countless stories about Maui, a cultural hero of the Moana people. Maui, they said, had great mana. In ancient times, when the sun traveled too quickly over the skies, Maui snared the sun, releasing it only when it promised to travel more slowly and provide abundant daylight for our people. Knowing this story since my early childhood, I felt it a historical moment for me to finally walk near the Haleakalä summit, where Maui stood and snared the sun. With this and all of Maui’s other superhuman abilities—raising the skies, fishing up islands with his mäta‘u fusifonua, and smuggling fire from the underworld to our world—I have always been intrigued by Maui’s ability to be present in almost all of the islands. In Tonga, people talk about the same sun-snaring Maui as the people in Hawai‘i. As I pondered Maui’s presence in all of the Moana islands, I wondered how he kept ties with all of them. Perhaps my initial short visit to this island would help me get a sense of how Maui sustained relationships with many of his relatives who were dispersed yet connected across distant physical spaces.

Connecting Social Spaces at the Market

Every Wednesday morning on the island of Maui, the ‘Ohana Farmers and Crafters Market in the Kahului Center teems with local vendors (mostly Filipinos, with a handful of Tongans) and tourists, bargaining for fruits, vegetables, and handicrafts such as tapa, baskets, and tiki. As my public shuttle bus approached the main entrance to the market, I noticed a Tongan woman in the far left corner, under a large tree, selling bananas, taro, and coconuts, along with Tongan baskets, mats, and various designs and sizes of tapa cloth. I got out of my shuttle and stood a way off, watching her interactions with pälangi tourists. Noticing her all-black attire, I immediately suspected that she was going to a Tongan funeral. I watched her demeanor as the pälangi tourists approached, the way she stood up from her seat, folded her hands neatly in front of her body, and smiled as the tourists scanned the merchandise and asked for prices. After standing by for a few minutes, I walked over to her booth. Before I could say anything, the Tongan lady greeted me in English with a polite "Hello." Because I wanted her to know that I was Tongan, I quickly responded in Tongan: "Mälö e tau mo e ngäue". Her facial expression changed immediately. She appeared both surprised and happy as our conversation continued in Tongan. I introduced myself by telling her my name and she responded by introducing herself as Sëini. When she asked where I was from in Tonga, I responded by giving her the names of my parents and grandparents and their respective islands in Tonga. I told her my mother was from the island of Vava‘u, and Sëini, being from the same island, wanted to know the name of my mother’s village. I said my mother was from Neiafu, Tu‘anuku, and Koloa. Sëini then told me the name of her village. Eagerly, I told her I had visited her village several times many years ago. We talked for several minutes, continuing this type of exchange, tracing our common genealogical connection to Vava‘u. After our exchanges of genealogical information, she asked me what I was doing in Maui. I explained that I was there to do a study on the Tongan community. She then recommended that I could gain a lot of knowledge about the Tongan community in Maui by attending funerals and nightly faikava (kava parties). She informed me that two Tongan funerals were happening that week. She also gave me directions to the funeral homes and the times of the services. Toward the end of our conversation, she instructed her young boy to pack a bundle of nicely ripe bananas into a plastic shopping bag for me. I tried to decline by saying, "Kätaki, tuku ia mo e fakahela" but after much banter about the gift, I eventually gave in. I said, "Mälö ‘aupito", and I gratefully took the bag. My interaction with Sëini, in terms of tracing our genealogical ties to Vava‘u and sharing information and food, exemplified a Tongan way of locating (reestablishing) social connections by organizing and connecting sociospatial worlds. Despite the fact that I lived in Seattle, a big city thousands of miles from Kahului, Maui, our common genealogical link to the island of Vava‘u created a shared social space for us in our very first encounter at the market. I began to wonder whether this form of sociospatial connection might be somehow similar to the kind of ties that kept Maui linked to his kin in Tonga, Sämoa, Aotearoa, Tahiti, Rapa Nui, and Hawai‘i in the past. If so, this form of sociospatial connection undoubtedly has a long history with the Moana people.

Tongans’ New Spatial Mobility

Within the past forty years, Tongans, descendants of the Pulotu people, have been venturing out to distant spaces in new ways. This time they are not only starting from and returning to familiar places (Sämoa, Aotearoa, Hawai‘i) but are also venturing further, to new places (Australia, Canada, United Kingdom, the US continent). In the continental United States, Tongan communities are flourishing in cities such as San Francisco, Seattle, and Salt Lake City, as well as in places like Euless, Texas; Denver, Colorado; and Anchorage, Alaska. Epeli Hau‘ofa views this spatial movement as an expansion of Oceania (1994, 151, 160). Recent census figures indicate the number of Tongans living abroad is equal to the number living in Tonga. This modern migration is shaped by Tongans’ past history of spatial mobility and contemporary global economic conditions that facilitate the mass movements and multidirectional flows of people, ideas, and goods. Some scholars have labeled this process transnationalism: the cultural practice of forging and sustaining significant social and economic ties across nations (see, eg, Basch and others 1994; Okamura 1998).

Studies on Tongan Transnationality

In Voyages: From Tongan Villages to American Suburbs (1997), Cathy Small presented her fieldwork on Tongan migration and transnationalism, spanning fifteen years. Her book chronicles the life of a Tongan family whose members were dispersed in Tonga and California. This Tongan family was part of a new global phenomenon known as "transnational family"—family members who live apart in different countries while maintaining strong ties with one another. Small found that almost every household in the family’s home village had someone living overseas—mostly in New Zealand, Australia, and the United States. This led to the creation of many Tongan transnational families. Based on her research, Small argued that the migration of Tongans overseas did not represent a rejection of Tongan traditional ways but rather was a way of securing a "good Tongan life" in order to fulfill cultural obligations to kin and extended kin. With tightening economic conditions, land shortage, and scarcity of jobs in Tonga, overseas migration has become an avenue for locating new resources to fulfill kinship obligations.

According to Small, reciprocal exchanges appear to be a crucial cultural practice for maintaining relationships between Tongans in the homeland and their kin overseas. Similarly, Hau‘ofa’s 1994 essay "Our Sea of Islands" points to the ancient practice of reciprocity as the core of all Moanan cultures, one that continues to be central in Moanans’ lives in transnational spaces (1994,157). For instance, relatives abroad send money and goods such as appliances, clothes, and watches to their relatives in the homeland. Homeland relatives reciprocate with goods such as mats, tapa, kava, taro, and yams —goods they produce and grow. In addition, homeland relatives maintain ancestral roots and lands, and keep "homes with warmed hearths for travelers to return permanently or to strengthen their bonds, their soul, and their identities before they move on" (Hau‘ofa 1994, 157).

More recently, Mike Evans presented a study of Tongan gift exchange in his book, Persistence of the Gift: Tongan Tradition in Transnational Context (2001). Evans identified three Tongan core principles that organize the reciprocal exchanges of gifts at all levels of Tongan society: ‘ofa (love and generosity); faka‘apa‘apa (respect); and fetokoni‘aki (mutual assistance) (2001, 57). I agree with Evans that ‘ofa, faka‘apa‘apa, and fetokoni‘aki are core principles in organizing gift exchanges in a transnational context. However, I would include as another core principle the cultural value of tauhivä, that is, caring for sociospatial relations with kin and kin-like members. In the context of transnational exchanges, the cultural value and practice of tauhi vä, ‘ofa, faka‘apa‘apa, and fetokoni‘aki are all woven together to produce the uniqueness of Tongan transnationalism. Tauhi vä has been acknowledged by many Tongan elders as one of the fundamental cultural values of Tongan society (see Moala 1994, 23).

Tauhi vä : Nurturing Sociospatial Ties: Vä: Space between People or Things

In order to grasp the complexities of tauhi vä, we must first understand the meaning of vä, sociospatial connection. When Tongan seafarers sail from one island to another, the open sea between the two islands is called vaha or vahanoa (both words are formed from the root word vä). Even in today’s high-tech world, when my Tongan friends in Aotearoa and Australia use the Internet to contact me, they call the Internet "Vahaope"— another word constructed out of the root word vä. The Moanan idea of space, vä, emphasizes space in between. This is fundamentally different from the popular western notion of space as an expanse or an open area. Although few scholars have discussed vä in their works, I believe that ‘Okusitino Mähina, a Tongan historian and anthropologist, is the only scholar who is giving critical attention and in-depth analysis to vä. Within human social contexts, vä is experienced in social, sociospatial relations, and space between people (Mähina 2002).

In tauhi vä, vä is primarily based on the social dimension of vä. Tongans describe extended family members who are tightly knit and socially close to one another as väofi (literally, spatially near to one another). Thus, for Tongans, human relationships are both socially and spatially constituted. Since vä is the social space between individuals or groups, it also relates and connects individuals and groups to one another. The shared sociospatial connection of vä is apparent in the context of käinga relations. For käinga members, vä encompasses the sociospatial ties that are created among käinga who are genealogically woven together.

In fact, in Tonga, käinga members are conceptualized as a product of weaving. Weaving metaphors are frequently found in Tongan ideas of people and genealogy, as in the Tongan expression, "‘Oku hangë ‘a e tangata ha fala ‘oku lälanga". This saying expresses the Tongan idea that a person is woven genealogically from multiple and overlapping kinship strands. In this context, we can understand vä as the social spaces that are created among käinga members who are woven together genealogically, like a mat. The idea of weaving is central not only to genealogy but also to the process of socializing Tongan children. In a Tonga College alumni meeting that I attended in Salt Lake City, Utah, a few years ago, Folau, a former schoolmate, spoke the following words in his closing prayer: "‘Oku mau fakafeta‘i ko e ‘apiako ne fai mei ai homau lalanga" (We are indeed grateful for the school in which we were woven). Folau’s words illustrate the Tongan cultural belief that educating or socializing children is a form of weaving. Children are woven (educated) with good values and behaviors. Also reflecting this weaving idea is the Tongan proverb, "Papata pë ka na‘e lalanga", which means that Tongans value woven (educated) children, and their outward physical appearance (whether coarse or proportionately refined) is secondary. ‘Olivia Kavapalu has pointed out that the weaving of Tongan children with Tongan values is the highest form of weaving (2000).

In traditional Tonga, genealogy weaves together connections to käinga (kin members) as well as fonua (land and its people) (Mähina 1992; 1999a, 281–282). Thus, people are woven together genealogically via käinga and fonua ties. The identities of Tongans are determined by their genealogical connections to their fonua and to their käinga. When I meet another Tongan, I say I am the son of ‘Anapesi Lakalaka Mälohifo‘ou and Tëvita Ka‘ili from Kolofo‘ou, Tongatapu. My paternal grandparents are ‘Ilaise Mafi from Hä‘ano, Fakakakai, and Pangai, Ha‘apai, and Rotuma; and Viliami Soakai Pulu from Ma‘ofanga and Kolonga, Tongatapu. My maternal grandparents are Meliame Loata Toki of Tu‘anuku, Vava‘u; and Tonga Pöteki Mälohifo‘ou of Koloa and Neiafu, Vava‘u, and Lakeba, Fiji. In Tongan social contexts, tracing of hohoko (genealogy) is a cultural practice of positioning oneself within one’s genealogy in order to organize a vä (sociospatial tie) with another Tongan. This was the case when I met Pita, a Tongan man in Seattle, for the first time. He asked, "Kätaki mu‘a ‘o fakahoko mai koe". The word fakahoko is appropriate in this context because it means to make a connection with another person. Through hohoko, käinga members are socially and spatially joined. Because vä is the social or relational space connecting people, it suggests that the Tongan notion of space places more emphasis on spaces that link and join people. For Tongans overseas who are related, no matter how far apart they are dispersed in physical space, they can still be connected to one another through genealogy.

Tauhi vä: Commitment to Nurture Sociospatial Ties

In everyday conversation, tauhi vä is often defined as the Tongan value and practice of keeping good relations with kin and friends. It is also thought of as a commitment to sustain harmonious social relations with kin and kin-like members. The word tauhi means to take care, to tend, or to nurture. Mähina has drawn similarities between tauhi vä and the Tongan art of lalava—the art of lashing coconut fiber ropes (kafa) to bind Tongan house beams together. For Tongans nurturing ties between individuals and käinga generally involves reciprocal exchanges of economic and social goods. Even though the practice of tauhi vä is most visible during formal cultural events—such as marriages, funerals, christenings, birthdays, and misinale (church offering celebrations)—tauhi vä also exists in more informal, everyday practices. It is manifested in sharing foods, offering one’s home to kin, and sharing resources with kin and people. Moreover, tauhi vä takes place not only among käinga members but also in käinga-like relationships with friends, schoolmates, coworkers, käingalotu (fellow church members), and so on. In addition, tauhi vä operates across generations. Hohoko is both temporal and spatial in the bonds it weaves between people. For instance, people often reciprocate goods to the children or grandchildren of the person from whom they received goods in the past. In both Seattle and Maui, I have received many goods from Tongans because of my parents’ and grandparents’ practice of tauhi vä in the past.

In Seattle, a Tongan named Sione invited me to his house for dinner the first time I met him, because my father always took good care of him in Tonga, and it was my father who helped Sione to attend college in the 1980s. Past history of tauhi vä from other spaces and places (such as Tonga) continues to be the foundation for organizing my sociospatial ties with Tongans in Seattle, where I now live. This form of tauhi vä affirms and reaffirms the sociospatial bonds across generations. In this cross-generation context, children are born into multiple, preexisting social spaces.

The performance of tauhi vä is often etched forever in the memories of people involved in the process. As long as käinga members remember past history of tauhi vä, the social spaces of parents, grandparents, and other ancestors and relatives will most likely be passed on to their children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and so forth.

Encountering Tauhi vä

My first awareness of the significance of tauhi vä in transnational spaces was not in Maui, but in Seattle during my work as a research assistant to Barbara Burns McGrath’s Project Talanoa—a study funded by the National Institutes of Health to develop a culturally meaningful HIV prevention program for US Pacific Island adolescents. As a Tongan researcher and a new member of the Seattle Tongan community, I soon realized that the willingness of many Seattle Tongans to participate in my research was motivated, in part, by their desire to maintain vä with me and my family (Ka‘ili and McGrath 2001). My genealogy created my sociospatial ties with many members of the Tongan community in Seattle. In most of my first interview meetings, my genealogy was the critical piece of information Seattle Tongans wanted to know. They asked, for example, who were my parents and which village were they from? The beginning of every research interview became a time to recite genealogies, käinga and fonua, and to trace possible genealogical ties. My interviews were supposed to take only an hour, but they ended up taking an average of three hours: one hour for research interviews and the rest for tracing genealogies, reminiscing about Tonga, and eating Tongan food. Over time it became clear to me that when my Tongan participants located genealogical connections with me, they were more willing to help with my research. For them, my presence in the community was an opportunity to nurture and reaffirm their sociospatial ties with me, my parents, my grandparents, and my other ancestors. Throughout my research, it was my genealogy and my ancestors’ past tauhi vä that opened the particular social space for me to do my work. Seattle Tongans performed tauhi vä in the form of providing me with important information for my research as well as offering me food on many occasions. In return for their kindness, I nurtured my vä with them by going on a weekly basis to Manamo‘ui Center (a Seattle Tongan Community Center) to tutor the children of my Tongan participants. Also, on several occasions, I gave presentations to Tongan parents about ways to prepare their children for college and to access resources from the University of Washington.

Reaffirming My Vä with Tongans in Maui

In Maui, once again I entered a Tongan social space. Although it was my first visit to Maui, as well as my first time to meet the Tongans there, I immediately became part of their social space. This social space was reaffirmed once my genealogical links with Maui Tongans were established. As mentioned earlier, whether in the Farmers Market or Maui Swap Meet, once Tongans established our genealogical ties, they generally practiced tauhi vä with me in the form of sharing their food (green coconuts, ripe bananas, etc), even though they charged everyone else—especially the tourists. One time, Misi, a Tongan vendor at the Maui Swap Meet, offered me a free, ice-cold green coconut from his cooler. It was a hot and humid day, so I did not resist his offer. I tried to pay for my coconut, but Misi told me (in Tongan) to save my money while at the same time he was telling the tourist (in English) that the coconut cost $3.00. I encountered the same treatment when I visited some of the Tongan wood-carvers (tiki carvers) in Maui. While riding the public shuttle one day, I noticed a big wooden sign hanging on the left side of the road, which read: "Master Wood Carver, Sifa." I asked the shuttle driver to stop; I got off and walked over to Sifa’s carving stand. I greeted Sifa by saying, "Mälö e tau mo e ngäue" (Thank you for persevering in your work), and we shook hands. Sifa, recognizing that I was Tongan, invited me to come inside and sit next to him on his carving mat. Sifa’s carving mat was placed in the middle of the ground with several tiki and carvings placed in rows on the tiki-stands surrounding his mat—as though the tiki were protecting Sifa. I then sat down and introduced myself by telling him my name, my parents’ names, my grandparents’ names, and their respective villages. While I was reciting my genealogy, Sifa stopped me and told me that we were related through my mother. He then explained how we were related. I was elated that I had found another person from the island of Vava‘u. Sifa then motioned to me to lean forward and he said, "Ha‘u ke ta fe‘iloaki". Fe‘iloaki is to kiss cheek-to-cheek—the Tongan way of greeting relatives. We then talked for several hours and I gave him a brief update about all of the family members in the continental United States. At the end of our conversation, Sifa offered me a tiki from his stand. I declined several times but reassured Sifa that I would return to see him before I left Maui. When I returned several days before I left Maui, Sifa told me again to take a tiki for myself as a gift. I declined several times again, but in the end, Sifa won, and I accepted his tiki with much gratitude. The Hawaiian name of the tiki that I took is Ku‘ai. Sifa carved on the bottom of the tiki: "Ku‘ai, Maui 2002, Sifa." This was his way of making sure that I remember the name of the tiki, the carving place and year, and him, the carver. I asked Sifa about Ku‘ai, and he said: Ku‘ai was the Hawaiian god who protected the ancient temples. I felt good that I picked a protective god. I knew that Sifa insisted I take one of his larger tiki because of my grandmother. In the past my maternal grandmother maintained good vä with Sifa. After my visit with Sifa, he thanked me by saying: "Mälö e ‘a‘ahi mai mei motu lahi. Neongo ‘etau nofo vämama‘o ka ‘oku ‘ikai teitei ngalo hotau vä".

Tauhi vä among Käinga in Maui and Beyond

In Maui, tauhi vä among käinga members is manifested in multiple ways, as is apparent even to non-Tongans living in Maui. Rita, a Filipino woman who has helped many Tongans to apply for immigration visas, told me that Tongans in Maui are excelling in school and business because "they take care and help one another." In her many interactions with Tongans on the island, she said she felt that they have a strong "camaraderie" among themselves, and that Tongans care about kin members, first and foremost, before making money or profit. I found her observation to be true in the relationship between Sifa and some of the Tongan tree-trimmers. In Maui, Sifa, a Tongan from Vava‘u, receives most of his carving wood, free of charge, from Tongan tree-trimmers who are also from Vava‘u. After cutting trees, the tree-trimmers give their wood to Sifa so that he can use it to make his tiki and other carvings. The tree-trimmers even take special care to identify certain trees (ie, monkey pod and milo) and cut them in appropriate sizes for tiki and wood carvings. Sifa and these tree-trimmers are genealogically related to one another as members of the same fonua—the island of Vava‘u.

Sending money to Tongan relatives in Tonga, New Zealand, and Australia is a major part of the transnational tauhi vä process for Tongans in Maui. While shopping at the local Foodland supermarket in Kahului, Maui, I noticed a long line of Tongans standing in front of the Western Union counter, waiting for the next available clerk to assist them in sending money to their relatives. This Western Union counter is located conveniently inside Foodland, a store where many Tongans do their grocery shopping. One morning while I was there, I asked one of the Western Union clerks which countries they send most of the money to. Without hesitation, the clerk said, "By far, we send more money to the Philippines and Tonga." He went on to say that he had processed three transactions to Tonga that morning (it was around 10 am). The clerk also reported that Tongans not only send money to their relatives in Tonga, but also to their relatives in New Zealand and Australia, and occasionally to family members on the continental United States. What I learned from the clerk is supported by what I heard from Tongans in Maui. Sälote told me that her relatives live with her for free while they send a good portion of their money to their kin in Tonga. In a similar manner, Sifa, the wood-carver, has been making tiki in Maui for twenty years. In that time, Sifa has been sending a substantial amount of his money to Tonga to support his relatives. His relatives have used the money to build a family house, pay school fees, buy a car, and even as misinale (church donations). Sifa came to Maui in the early 1980s and has never been to the continental United States. He works six days a week as a carver in order to make enough money to send to Tonga as well as to support himself in Maui. Because a good portion of his money goes back to Tonga, it is difficult for him to save enough to visit his relatives on the continental United States, although he hopes to do so one day. For now, Sifa is content that he is able to practice tauhi vä with his relatives in Tonga by regularly sending them money from his tiki business.

The practice of tauhi vä, with genealogical roots in käinga or fonua, serves both to benefit Tongans and to reinforce sociospatial ties with kin members in Maui and beyond. But there are limits. Because the practice of tauhi vä requires a lot of time, energy, and resources, some Tongans in Maui are selective about nurturing social spaces with others. For example, Sifa has never visited his relatives in the continental United States because he lacks the money. Because Sifa continues to send his money to Tonga, he will always have a difficult time saving enough spending money to visit his relatives in the continental United States. In other words, the demands of tauhi vä keep Sifa "chained" to his tiki-carving business. Here we can see that Sifa’s sociospatial ties to his kin in Tonga are maintained— even at a price.

In Maui’s transnational world, the willingness of Tongans to allocate a significant portion of their resources to sustain social relations with geographically distant relatives points to their commitment to practicing tauhi vä. For early Moana people, genealogical ties kept people connected to one another. Despite the fact that the Moana people were scattered in geographically distant islands, their common genealogical ties kept them connected. This was manifested by their far-reaching social and trade networks. Today, this globalized trade network continues to move along routes based on genealogical lines. According to Hau‘ofa, the transnational flow of goods among Pacific Islanders "depends on an informal movement along ancient routes drawn in bloodlines" (1994, 156). As I think more about my ancestor Maui, and his ability to maintain social and spatial ties with all of the dispersed people of Moana nui, it seems clear to me that he must have moved along ancient routes marked by genealogical lines.

As I think about the future, I see myself nurturing my vä with the Tongan carvers. Ku‘ai, the protective god-tiki given to me by Sifa, stands like a palace guard on the bedroom window of my apartment in Seattle. Each morning, I wake up and see Ku‘ai, and I can feel my spatial connection to Sifa in Maui. Next time I return to Maui I plan to invite Sifa to my home for dinner. As for Sëini, the Tongan lady at the market, I hope that I can help her son get into college some day. I keep in contact with Tuki via e-mail messages, and I also sent him and ‘Api an invitation to my wedding last year. In Seattle, I work together with Kalama and Haulani—both from the island of Maui—on several projects for Moanans in Seattle and elsewhere in the United States. This is how I practice tauhi vä with the känaka ‘öiwi (indigenous people) of Maui. As we continue to maintain our transnational Moanan social spaces, we are weaving our children and grandchildren together, and we hope they will tauhi vä with one another in Maui and beyond.

April 6, 2005

Tevita Ka’ili is just completing his Doctoral work at the University of Washington in Cultural Anthropology and has been offered a Professor position at BYU-Hawaii where he will begin this coming Fall in the Department of Intercultural Studies.


This article was first published in The Contemporary Pacific, Volume 17, Number 1, 83–114. It has been edited with the permission of the author for publication on the Ano Masima News


Ano Masima News: http://www.anomasimanews.com

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