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A Path of Honor
My Journey to Receiving the Sooalo and Laupu'e Chiefly Titles in Samauga
by Sooalo Laupu'e Daisy Bentley-Gray
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I begin my story by acknowledging my ancestors, my family, and my village of Samauga, past and present, in the fa’alupega, which honours the birthplace of Sooalo and Laupu’e.
Tulouna a oe Samauga
Tulouna le Aiga sa Peseta
Tulouna le nofo matua o Tuu, ma lau Faleagafulu
Tulouna le Falelima o alo Na’i
Tulouna a lau Afioga a Malaitai ma lou Usoalii
Tulouna lau Susuga a Tua’ilemafua
Tulouna lau Afioga a Fuimaono
Susū mai lou tapa’au o le Fetafune
MALAE-FONO
Lalotava o le tua o Finao
MAOTA O ALII
Tuu-Si’ufaga Fuimaono-Si’ufaga
Mala’itai-Lolua Tua’ilemafua-Asu
Aofa’iga. Malo au tasi
O IGOA-IPU A ALI’I
Tuu-Faitauafelogoa’i Mala’itai-Logoitumua
Tua’ilemafua-Gase toa a e ola pule
Fuimaono-Usoalii lelei ‘ Au-Lefepoia’i
AUALUMA O TANE
Sa Peseta
SA’OTAMA’ITA’I
Tuu-Faanā’itaua Malaitai-Faamaugatusa
Tua’ilemafua-Fuata’i Fuimaono-Noage
(p21-22).
An earlier and longer version of the faalupega of Samauga was compiled by Te’o et al. (1930)
A contemporary, abbreviated version offered by Tofaeono (2012) states, “Afio mai Sapesetā, Maliu mai le fetaliaga ia So‘oalo ma le mamalu ia
Samauga” (p. 120). Despite their differences, both formulations remain relevant and widely employed whenever matai from Samauga are present.
I acknowledge that this narrative centres on my paternal great‑grandmother’s lineage, through which I am honoured to hold these two titles. At the same time, it is important to recognise my wider familial connections on both my mother’s and father’s sides. The Samoan proverb e tele a‘a o le tagata nai lo a‘a o le la‘au—a person has more roots than a tree—captures this truth. My identity is shaped not by a single genealogical line, but by the many interwoven roots that ground me in multiple families, places, and histories, each contributing to who I am and who I continue to become.
Source: Masland. (2026). Large political and administrative map of Samoa with roads, cities and airports.
Heritage and Belonging: The Roots That Define Us
As I reflect on my recent saofa‘i for the tulāfale titles of Sooalo and Laupu‘e from the village of Samauga in Savai‘i, I am deeply moved by the journey that has led me to become a chief entrusted with two titles. My thoughts return repeatedly to my family and to the profound blessing of belonging. In the words of Tui Atua Tupua Tamasese Efi (2003), belonging is not an abstract sentiment but a cosmological truth:
I am not an individual; I am an integral part of the cosmos. I share divinity with my ancestors, the land, the seas and the skies. I am not an individual, because I share a “tofi” (an inheritance) with my family, my village and my nation. I belong to my family and my family belongs to me. I belong to my village and
my village belongs to me. I belong to my nation and my nation belongs to me. This is the essence
of my sense of belonging. (p. 51)
These words speak directly to my lived experience. To have been asked to carry these titles is a privilege beyond measure. As a child growing up in Samoa, I witnessed many title bestowments, including my father Chester Bentley’s tulāfale ali‘i title To‘omata in the late 1980s and his ali‘i title, Leota To‘omata, in 1997 in Solosolo, his maternal grandfather’s village. Never then did I imagine that I would one day sit where he sat.
Yet here I stand today—a woman matai with two chiefly titles earned through birthright tautua (service)—living in the diaspora in Aotearoa New Zealand, but firmly rooted in the genealogies, obligations, and inheritances that define who I am. My journey affirms that belonging is not diminished by distance; rather, it is carried, enacted, and renewed across generations.
Family Legacy: Weaving Past and Future
I have come to understand that the events shaping one’s life often unfold according to a rhythm that becomes clear only in hindsight. While the significance of certain moments may be obscured as they occur, their purpose is often revealed retrospectively, illuminating the pathways through which family, history, and identity intersect. Over time, I have grown to believe that such timing is neither accidental nor arbitrary, but part of a broader continuum that connects individual experience to the enduring legacies of those who came before us.
Intergenerational Transmission of Values
In August 2022, my father contacted our family group chat from Samoa to inform us of a talanoaga held with our extended family on his maternal grandmother’s side. During this meeting, it was agreed that the descendants of my great‑grandmother, Eti Pusi Papali‘i, together with the descendants of her siblings, would prepare for the Sooalo and Laupu‘e chiefly title bestowments scheduled for December of that year. My father relayed this decision to us and asked whether any of my five siblings—John, Dwayne, Jasma, Fagamalama, and David—or I would be willing to take up one of the titles. Two of my siblings, Dwayne and Fagamalama, who reside in Samoa, immediately declined, having only recently received titles from my father’s maternal grandfather’s Malietoa line. In the preceding month, Dwayne had been bestowed the Seiuli title, and my sister, Fagamalama, had received the Galumalemana title.
Given this context, it was proposed that my youngest brother, David, might assume the Sooalo title. This seemed fitting, not only because of our Sooalo family’s acknowledged connection to Vanuatu but also because David, who was then engaged to his now‑wife, Leona—herself of Ni‑Vanuatu heritage—felt a natural alignment with the title’s genealogical and cultural significance. As the second oldest, and out of respect for my elder brother John, I suggested that he be considered for the Laupu‘e title, while my sister Jasma and I would await a future calling. Our father made it clear that he did not wish to compel anyone; the decision rested with us, although he needed to convey the final choices back to the extended family. David soon confirmed his acceptance and prepared to travel from Canberra. John, however, felt unready at that time.
In December 2022, David and his then fiancée arrived in Samoa, but shortly before their journey, they were informed that our Sa‘o Matai, Sooalo Tina Tofilau—the Paramount Chief and my paternal grandmother’s first cousin—had fallen ill and would be travelling to Aotearoa New Zealand for medical treatment. As a result, the ceremonies were postponed to the following year. When the occasion did not eventuate, the extended family continued to await further confirmation of a new date. It was not until late 2023 that another meeting took place in Samoa, attended by my father, during which it was agreed that the saofa‘i would be held on the Friday following Easter in 2024.
My parents returned to New Zealand in late November, and it was during a casual conversation with my mother, Pauline, and my husband, Tupuola Faleao George, that my father raised the matter once again. By this time, David and Leona were expecting their first child, due around the same period as the ceremony, and thus he could no longer commit to travelling. In earlier years, Samoans living abroad could tapa le ipu, meaning that a representative could stand in their place to receive the blessing and drink the kava on their behalf. However, legislative changes now require all matai title bestowments to occur physically in Samoa, rendering overseas ceremonies illegal. Consequently, any individual accepting a title must be present in Samoa to participate in the saofa‘i, reinforcing both the cultural integrity of the process and the continued transmission of values across generations.
A visual showing only the connection between Sooalo Laupu’e Agaimalo and me, Sooalo Laupu’e Daisy. It does not show the other descendants of Sooalo Laupu’e Agaimalo.
Why This Matters - My Children’s Future Choices
Since my father had first approached my siblings and me in 2022, I had spent considerable time reflecting on the responsibility and cultural significance of stepping forward should our family require it. I consistently maintained that I would be willing to do so if needed. My motivation stemmed not only from a desire to honour my father and pay homage to our ancestors, but also from a deep commitment to ensuring that my children understand their fa’asinomaga—their genealogical identity and sense of belonging. With the unwavering support of my husband, I expressed to my parents that I would be humbled to accept the Laupu‘e title. Witnessing my father’s face light up in response was profoundly moving. He then gently proposed that I consider receiving both the Sooalo and Laupu‘e titles. His confidence in me, and the reverence with which he held this possibility made the decision deeply meaningful. After thoughtful consideration, I confirmed that I would be honoured to accept both titles, especially knowing that my husband—who himself holds two [1] chiefly titles, the ali‘i title Tupuola from Tanugamanono and the tulāfale title Faleao from Satupa‘itea—stood firmly beside me.
My husband and I spoke often about what this meant for our children. Accepting the titles was not merely a personal milestone; it was a commitment to safeguarding their connection to Samauga. Although they are growing up in Aotearoa New Zealand, my titles affirm Samauga as an enduring part of their heritage. Equally, the decision enabled me to honour the lineage of my father, my late grandmother, and my great‑grandmother. My great‑grandmother, Eti Sooalo Pisimaka, was one of the four [2] children of Sione Tolo Laupu‘e of Samauga and Leitu Emosi A. Afamasaga of Satupa‘itea. Her father, my great‑great‑grandfather Sione Tolo Laupu‘e, was the son of Sooalo Laupu‘e Agaimalo of Samauga and Tafi‘ai A’eau Saga [3] of Falealupo. Accepting these titles, therefore, represents both continuity and responsibility—an affirmation of identity for myself and a legacy for my children.
[1] My husband was bestowed the high chief title, Tavu’i, from Satupa’itea in December 2025, after the talanoaga with my parents took place. Hence, he now holds three chiefly titles.
[2] I am still finding out whether my great-grandmother had three or more siblings because the descendants of four are recognized. However, there are mentions of other siblings who passed away when they were young.
[3] I am confirming these details with family elders.
Historical Context: Understanding the Deeper Currents
The legacy of the Bible translation and the Ekalesia Fa‘apotopotoga Kerisiano Samoa (EFKS) [4]
The historical foundations of my family’s lineage are deeply intertwined with the early Christianisation of Samoa, particularly through the monumental task of translating the Holy Bible into the Samoan language. Among the key figures in this endeavour were my ancestor, Sooalo Laupu‘e Agaimalo of Samauga, and Vaaelua Petaia[5] of Lalomalava. They were two of six esteemed Samoan chiefs (tamali‘i ma failauga) from Savai‘i who collaborated closely with European missionaries, including the renowned linguist and missionary George Pratt. Their collective work culminated in the completion of the Samoan Bible translation after 331 days of intensive labour, nearly thirty years after the arrival of the first London Missionary Society missionaries in Samoa.
A monument known as O le Papa o Misi (The Rock of Missionaries) stands today on the EFKS church grounds in Avao, Savai‘i, commemorating this significant achievement. For many Samoan families, this monument represents not only the early years of Christianity but also the enduring partnership between local knowledge and missionary influence in shaping religious and cultural life. For me, it symbolises a tangible connection to the historical contributions of my ancestors and the values they upheld.
[4] The EFKS Church was previously called the London Missionary Society (LMS) when European missionaries brought and established the church in Samoa. However, it changed its name to the Congregational Christian Church of Samoa (CCCS) or the Ekalesia Fa’apotopotoga Kerisiano Samoa (EFKS) in 1962.
[5] Vaaelua Petaia (Lalomalava) was my husband’s great-great-grandfather; hence, our children have ancestry links on both sides to this historical event.
Photos from left to right: Close-up photos of the (i) original O le Papa o Misi plaque and the (ii & iii) updated O le Papa o Misi (Rock of the Missionaries) monument at the grounds of the Ekalesia Fa’apotopotoga Kerisiano Samoa (EFKS) in Avao. Photographed by Sooalo Laupu’e Daisy, 26 April 2024.
On Friday, 26 April 2024, following the conclusion of the saofa‘i ceremonies, I asked my father, mother, sister, and cousins to accompany me and my sons to the EFKS church at Avao so that I could mark the significance of the day by visiting the O le Papa o Misi monument. Given its location on church grounds, we sought permission in accordance with appropriate cultural protocol. We parked respectfully in front of the EFKS pastor’s residence, and my father approached him to request access.
The pastor warmly granted us permission, allowing us to walk onto the sacred grounds and stand before the monument.
This moment, quiet yet profound, deepened my appreciation for the historical currents that continue to shape my identity, my responsibilities, and the legacy I hope to pass on to my children.
Photos from left to right;
(i) Sooalo Laupu’e Daisy and her sons Joseph (left) and Tuvale (right) at the original O le Papa o Misi or The Rock of the Missionaries monument at the grounds of the Ekalesia Fa’apotopotoga Kerisiano Samoa (EFKS) in Avao. Photographed by Galumalemana Fagamalama Bentley, April 26, 2024.
(ii) L-R Leota To’omata Chester, Laupu’e Eti, Galumalemana Fagamalama and Sooalo Laupu’e Daisy.
(iii) L-R Tuvale, Joseph, Leota To’omata Chester, Sooalo Laupu’e Daisy, Galumalemana Fagamalama, Pauline Bentley at the updated O le Papa o Misi (The Rock of the Missionaries) monument at the grounds of the Ekalesia Fa’apotopotoga Kerisiano Samoa (EFKS) in Avao.
Photographed by Laupu’e Eti Uiagalelei, 26 April 2024.
Carrying Hope And Humility: Preparing For A Return Home
In preparing to return to Samoa for the saofa‘i, I approached the journey with a sense of prayerfulness and deep humility. Although I hoped for a smooth process, I remained conscious that unforeseen challenges could arise at any moment. My husband and I prayed intentionally about the trip, grounding our preparations in spiritual practice while ensuring that we were also mentally, financially, and physically ready for the responsibilities ahead. I had hoped that my husband and all our children could accompany me; however, this was not feasible. My husband and our two older sons, Chester and Ronan, had just resumed their university studies, and our third son, George Iose, was in his final year of college and unable to take time away from school. Consequently, we decided that I would travel with our two youngest children, Joseph and Tuvale, who were on their term break and would miss only the first week of Term Two. I also drew comfort from knowing that my parents, along with two of my siblings—Seiuli Dwayne and Galumalemana Fagamalama—would be in Samoa to support me.
In March, my father advised me to delay confirming flights for the originally scheduled ceremony date of Friday, 5 April, as confirmation had not yet been received. I waited patiently until the week before Easter, when we were informed that the ceremony had been postponed to the end of April. Once the new date was confirmed, we moved quickly to finalise preparations. A central part of this was assembling our oso—treats to share with our aiga in Samoa, whom I had not seen in fifteen years. I remembered vividly how exciting it had been, as a child, to receive chocolates, chips, and lollies from family in New Zealand, and I wanted to honour that tradition. My parents travelled to Samoa a week before my sons and I departed, which brought additional reassurance and a sense of peaceful readiness for the journey ahead.
The Genealogical Imperative
"Each connection carries responsibility.
Each place name represents not just geography, but obligation
—to maintain relationships, to contribute to development, to ensure the culture continues."
My journey to Samoa was memorable for many reasons, not least because it marked my first return home in over fifteen years. In the months leading up to the trip, I often found myself thinking of the family members I had not seen in so long and the many places I hoped to visit. I imagined attending Sunday Mass in the village, reconnecting with relatives, and walking through the landscapes that had shaped my early life. Yet, despite my anticipation and careful planning, the ten days we had were not enough. I felt a quiet sadness at leaving without visiting all the people and places that hold meaning in our family’s story. This sense of incompleteness reminded me that genealogical ties are not merely remembered—they require continual renewal.
We arrived in Samoa on Monday, 22 April 2024, and were immediately met by the thick humidity that clings to the air. Despite this, we were excited—truly home. For me, being back after so long was deeply nostalgic. I felt the weight of years spent away and the surprising ache of realising just how much I had missed my homeland. I also carried a quiet sorrow that my husband and our three older sons could not join us, though having my parents and two siblings there provided both comfort and a reaffirmed sense of belonging.
I was especially grateful that my two youngest sons could finally experience Samoa as I had known it growing up. They embraced the outdoor life with joy, especially the excitement around my father’s yard, home to seven dogs, three puppies, and a cat—pets lovingly kept by my siblings. Watching my children form these new connections reminded me that genealogy is lived not only through titles and ceremonies but through daily interactions that anchor identity across generations.
Photos from left to right;
(i) Daisy Bentley-Gray and her sons Joseph (middle) and Tuvale as they arrived in Samoa.
(ii) inside the Arrivals area at Faleolo International Airport.
(iii) Front yard of Bentley’s residence in Lotopa, Samoa. Photographed by Daisy Bentley-Gray, April 2024.
The first week passed quickly as we prepared to travel to Savai‘i for the title bestowment ceremonies. Our extended family gathered for a talanoaga on Tuesday evening at Sooalo Tina’s residence in Sinamoga. My father and I attended with my cousins on my great‑grandmother, Eti’s side. As is customary, the talanoaga opened with a lotu before moving into discussions about the plans for Thursday evening and Friday, and the organising of monetary and fine‑mat contributions. These contributions were arranged according to the four branches descending from the children of Sione Tolo Laupu‘e and Leitu: Tolo, Litia, Eti, and Siaosi.
The family had previously agreed on a set amount[6] per title for each descendant receiving one. Thus, those conferred multiple titles contributed accordingly. In total, forty family members confirmed their bestowment of the Sooalo title, and fifteen for the Laupu‘e title. Collectively, we raised over $100,000 which was allocated proportionally—two‑thirds for the Sooalo line and one‑third for the Laupu‘e line. Further, half of this total was presented to the village as our monotaga, again divided according to the same proportions. The descendants of the four siblings also contributed at least five ie toga (fine mats). My parents lovingly prepared two ie toga, and my cousin Papali’i Melissa gifted one ie toga, making a total of three ie toga that I contributed towards Eti’s children’s fine mats.
In these moments—amid planning, gathering, contributing, and remembering—I felt the living force of the genealogical imperative. Each connection, each name, each responsibility reaffirmed that heritage is not passive; it is enacted, honoured, and carried forward.
[6] The amount per title was reached by consensus.
Descendants of the four siblings during the family talanoaga at Sooalo Tina's residence (photos i-iii) and the large fine mats (photos iv-v) that were gathered.
Cultural Continuity: Bridging Ancient Wisdom and Modern Reality
Ancestral Lands And The Journey To Samauga
We travelled to Savai‘i on the 2 p.m. ferry on Thursday, 25 April. For my two youngest sons, it was their first ferry crossing, and their excitement was unmistakable. The ferry was full, and my sister and I eventually found space to sit on the floor of the second level outside, surrounded by the warmth and familiarity of others also travelling for the saofa‘i. I recognised many faces from our talanoaga earlier in the week, which reinforced a quiet sense of collective purpose. As the ferry made its way across the Apolima Strait—passing Manono Island first and then Apolima—the sense of returning to ancestral lands became increasingly vivid.
Manono Island
Apolima Island
Although I was born and raised in Samoa, I had visited Savai‘i only twice before this trip. This return felt different; I was not only reconnecting with place but also carrying my two sons into spaces that shaped the lives of our ancestors. My genealogical ties extend to several villages in Savai‘i through both my mother’s and father’s lineages—Samauga, Sapapali‘i, Satupa‘itea, Salelavalu, and Sagone. Being aware of these connections is deeply important to me. The Samoan proverb o le tagata ma lona fa‘asinomaga captures the essence of this belonging. Tui Atua Tupua Tamasese Efi (2007, as cited in Bentley‑Gray, 2023) reminds us that fa‘asinomaga—one’s genealogical identity—“is a man’s inheritance designated by the designator – God” (p. 33). This understanding continues to ground my sense of responsibility to each place and each relationship.
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Arriving in Salelologa, Savai’i and leaving Salelologa.
Upon arriving in Savai‘i, we collected our 10‑seater Toyota minivan and began the hour‑long drive to our accommodation at Le Lagoto Resort & Spa on the northern coastline. The journey was filled with anticipation, especially for my sons, who were eager to reach the water only metres from our bungalows. The view from our front veranda—turquoise ocean stretching toward the horizon—felt almost sacred. In that moment, I felt a profound contentment being surrounded by family, including my cousins from American Samoa.
This return to Savai‘i reaffirmed for me that cultural continuity is sustained not only through ceremonies and obligations, but through the lived, shared experiences that reconnect us with the wisdom of our ancestors while grounding us firmly in the realities of the present.
Sunset view from Le Lagoto Resort & Spa. Photographed by Sooalo Laupu’e Daisy.
Understanding Tautua: The Economics of Chiefly Responsibility and its Emotional and Psychological Dimensions
That evening, our extended family gathered again at Tanu Beach Fales, where most of the delegation was staying, to finalise our contributions and confirm the plan for the following morning. This meeting held particular significance, as it represented the convergence of familial duty, cultural protocol, and the practical realities of tautua—service in its fullest sense. Our elders resolved that we would present half of our collective monetary contribution as monotaga, ensuring that each nofo [7]—each new chief—would enter their role having already contributed to the development and well-being of the village. The meaalofa presented reflected half of the individual contributions made by those receiving either the Sooalo and/ or Laupu‘e titles.
When the village chiefs and elders accepted our monotaga as a lifetime, I felt deeply moved. My husband and I have spoken often about the weight and significance of monotaga, particularly for matai who live in the diaspora. For us, becoming matai is not ceremonial alone; it is a vow of service. Although we reside outside of Samoa, we believe strongly that we must honour our responsibilities to our aiga and villages, just as we pledged when we accepted our titles. Apulu (2010), in his study of tautua fa’atamali’i, describes it as serving with absolute integrity. This commitment carries economic, cultural, and emotional dimensions—requiring not only financial support, but also ongoing relational accountability and a willingness to remain connected to village life (Sio, 2017 as cited in Anae & Peterson, 2020).
The talanoaga that evening between our family representatives and the village chiefs and elders covered the sequence of events for the next day and matters essential to maintaining harmonious relations. It was agreed that the Sooalo bestowal ceremony would commence at 7:00 a.m. at the residence of Sooalo Selulo[8], followed by the Laupu‘e ceremony at 10:00 a.m. at the home of Laupu‘e Kimo. Our gathering was opened and closed by one of our respected elders, Reverend Fa‘avae Siaosi Sooalo of the Methodist Church of Samoa, whose prayers and reflections grounded us in humility and purpose.
[7] The word nofo has more than one meaning, but it refers to the soon-to-be matai in this context.
[8] Sooalo Selulo is a descendant of one of Sooalo Laupu’e Agaimalo’s sisters.
Echoes of Honour: Receiving the Sooalo and Laupu’e titles
I set my alarm for 5:00 a.m., but I awoke earlier on Friday, 26 April 2024, to the soundscape of torrential rain and rolling thunder. For a moment, I doubted whether the bestowment ceremonies would proceed. Yet, within that same moment, I recognised the weather as a kind of benediction—an elemental affirmation that what was about to unfold was spiritually significant. I was surprised by my own composure as I dressed: a red, glittered satin puletasi—chosen and paid for by my parents—felt like an embrace, a reminder that lineage is a garment we wear as much as a history we inherit. Time pressed, and we moved with purpose. The accommodation’s sheltered walkway from our bungalows to the parking area carried us through the last gusts of wind. As we drove toward Samauga, the rain softened, the sky lightened, and by the time we reached our destination, the clouds had already begun to part.
The Sooalo Title Bestowment
We arrived at the residence of Sooalo Selulo just before daybreak. I stepped from the van so my sister could help me complete my regalia: the kiki‑fulumoa (feathered waistband), the ulanifo (necklace made from boars’ teeth[10]), and the palefuiono (headpiece). My parents had sourced each element of the saofa‘i attire, every strand and feather carrying the weight of their care and the continuity of our family’s obligations. We gathered briefly for photographs and received a prayer of blessing from our elder, Reverend Fa‘avae Siaosi (Sooalo), before the ceremony commenced with the arrival of the village elders, chiefs, and the EFKS Pastor.
[10] Traditionally, the ulanifo was (and still is) made from boars’ teeth, but the more affordable versions are made from wood.
Moments pre-Sooalo title bestowment
Sitting in anticipation within the maota while my mother, my sons, my sister, my cousins, and members of our aiga observed from outside—and others watched online from beyond Samauga—I felt both singular and held. My father, a Sa‘o Matai on his maternal grandfather’s side, sat in the fale alongside our family elders, their presence a visible testament of approval and guardianship. Forty of us would be bestowed with the Sooalo title that morning, a collective rite of passage that locates individual identity within a communal horizon.
The ceremony opened with a service led by the EFKS Reverend of Samauga: a Scripture reading, a sermon on the meaning of chieftainship as service, and prayers of blessing over the forty new Sooalo. The protocols that followed—fa‘alupega, oratory, the dignified cadence of exchange among chiefs (including the village mayor), and the mixing and distribution of the ‘ava—were both ancestral and immediate. I was unexpectedly moved by the hour and a half that passed, not because the rituals were unfamiliar, but because they rendered me answerable to them, calling me to inhabit them with intention.
As the ‘ava neared, my nerves intensified. I sat in the front row, first on the right—the sequence that meant I would receive the ‘ava first. When the ipu was presented, I spoke the words that had formed within me during prayer: “O lau ava lea le Atua. Ia manuia” (This is your ‘ava, God. Be blessed). I tipped a portion forward in reverence, then drank. In that gesture, I felt the joining of faith and custom—the theological and the cultural—meeting in the embodied act of acceptance.
At the conclusion of oratory and ritual, we reciprocated the honour we had received. The forty newly bestowed Sooalo presented our regalia—headpieces, necklaces, and the satin materials—to the village, for the elders and chiefs to distribute among the people. This gifting was not a surrender of identity but a circulation of abundance; it affirmed that chiefly honour is inseparable from communal wellbeing. Our family’s spokesperson for the day, Sooalo Kuresa, carried the oratory with grace and precision, ensuring that the EFKS Pastor, the village elders, and the chiefs were acknowledged appropriately and with the dignity they are due.
During the Sooalo bestowment and immediately after.
The Laupu’e Title Bestowment
When the Sooalo ceremony concluded, we made our way from the residence of Sooalo Selulo to the home of Laupu‘e Kimo, where the conferrals for the Laupu‘e title would take place. The short journey down the road felt like a deepening into the heart of Samauga. We passed the EFKS church—the only church in the village—and the village school, landmarks that frame the moral and educational life of the community. At our arrival, I again stepped from the vehicle so my sister could ready me as she had earlier; the repetition of these preparations felt like a bridge between titles, reminding me that each honour carries its own history and its own responsibilities.
The Laupu‘e ceremony was scheduled for 10:00 a.m. By then, the sky had cleared completely, as if the earlier storm had served its purpose and now receded to let the day shine in its fullness. We began with photographs and a blessing from Reverend Fa‘avae Siaosi (Sooalo). Sixteen candidates were to receive the Laupu‘e title: fifteen descendants of the four siblings—children of Sione Tolo Laupu‘e and Litia Afamasaga—and one village member, recognised for exemplary service[11]. That inclusion, while uncommon, signals the village’s enduring recognition that service can create kinship: tautua may sometimes precede and justify title.
Several features distinguished this ceremony from the first: a more intimate setting, fewer recipients, and a powerful emotional register that was palpable as we walked together from the family home to the fale. We entered in unison and in song, our voices signalling both humility and resolve. Perhaps most significant was the presence of our Sa‘o, seated among us to be conferred with the Laupu‘e title in the same ceremony—a reminder that titles are not static inheritances but living institutions that require active guardianship across generations.
[11] Although Samoan chiefly titles are mostly passed down through kinship, there are instances where a non-kin person may be conferred a title based on their tautau (service) to the village and the family with which the title belongs.
Photo of me as Sooalo Daisy before my Laupu’e bestowment ceremony.
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As with the Sooalo bestowment, formal oratory preceded the EFKS Pastor’s prayer service. His homily framed the meaning of chieftaincy as service leadership: a call to hold the welfare of the village in view at all times and to enact that care through practice, not merely sentiment. The prayer that followed situated our commitments within a larger spiritual horizon, aligning authority with responsibility.
Before the commencement of the Laupu’e title bestowment.
Photos taken during the service in which we knelt while the EFKS Pastor prayed over us.
When the ‘ava was served, I was seated in the middle row. The act was familiar now, but no less solemn. I repeated the words I had spoken earlier—“O lau ava lea le Atua. Ia manuia”—poured a measure before me and drank. These phrases, modest and declarative, held the weight of covenant. They reminded me that acceptance of honour must be accompanied by a pledge of service—spoken, embodied, and sustained
Once the ritual exchanges concluded, we again gifted our accessories to the village—palefuiono, ulanifo, kiki‑fulumoa, and satin materials—returning what had adorned us to adorn the community. I felt an immediate swell of emotion: gratitude alongside ache. My husband and our three older sons were not physically present, and in that absence, I felt the closeness of my late paternal grandmother as a quiet, anchoring presence. The sight of my father seated with our elders, and my mother, one sister, and my two youngest sons supporting from outside the fale, surrounded me with the kind of assurance that cannot be manufactured. It is earned over time, through relationships, obligation, and the unspoken ways that love is translated into presence.
Photos from left to right;
(i) gifting accessories immediately after the ceremony,
(ii) with my grandmother’s cousins, our family Sa’o, Sooalo Laupu’e Sauoaiga Tina (sittng) and Laupu’e Tupai Peni who has since passed away (standing) and my cousin, Laupu’e Eti, (iii) with our elder Reverend Fa’avae Siaosi Sooalo and elder Reverend Falefia Tupu,
(iv) with my parents, cousins one of who is the Reverend Dr Arthur Wulf who is on my father’s left, and sister.
Reflections on honour and responsibility
These twin ceremonies—Sooalo and Laupu‘e—did more than confer titles; they re‑situated me within a network of obligations that are at once familial, spiritual, and civic. The dawn storm, the careful dressing, the rhythm of oratory, the sanctity of prayer, the ‘ava shared, and the gifting of regalia—each element participated in a choreography of honour that ties identity to service. If the outward forms suggest prestige, the inner logic demands tautua. Titles, in this framing, are less personal accolades than public trusts, measured not by what one receives but by what one returns.
In the days that followed, I kept revisiting the beginning—the rain and thunder, the hurried walk under shelter, the clearing skies. It seemed to me that the weather had rehearsed the ceremonies before we lived them: testing resolve, blessing intention, and then opening a way. I missed my husband and our older sons, but I also understood that their absence had expanded the circle of those who carried me—my parents, my siblings, my cousins, my children, my ancestors. Honour echoes most clearly, I learned, when it is shared. And responsibility becomes sustainable when it is held in common.
To receive the Sooalo and the Laupu‘e titles is to be newly reminded of the Samoan proverb, ‘o le ala I le pule o le tautua’; that the pathway of leadership is, fundamentally, a pathway of service. It asks for attentiveness to village needs, continuity in relations, generosity in giving, and humility in decision‑making. It requires that I narrate my life not as a solitary achievement but as a chapter within a longer genealogical text—written in prayer, in practice, and in the everyday choices that keep culture alive.
Adapting ancient structure to modern contexts
In contemporary Samoa, all chiefly title bestowments must be formally registered with the Lands and Titles Court, reflecting the way traditional governance structures now operate within a modern legal framework. Following the conferral of the Sooalo and/or Laupu‘e titles, each matai was required to provide official identification as evidence of their physical presence at the saofa‘i. In addition, individual registration forms for each title—issued and signed by the Pulenu‘u (village mayor), Sooalo Siliga, and endorsed by the Sa‘o—needed to be completed. Responsibility for lodging these documents with the Lands and Titles Court rested with each newly installed chief. Although administrative in nature, this process is deeply significant: it legally validates and legitimises the ancient rituals of title bestowment, ensuring that the authority of matai titles is recognised not only within customary structures but also within the constitutional and statutory systems of modern Samoa.
Conclusion: The continuing journey
In April, I travelled to Samoa as Daisy, and returned to Aotearoa New Zealand as Sooalo Laupu‘e Daisy, carrying with me two chiefly titles that represent both honour and profound responsibility. Being entrusted with these titles is a privilege I hold with deep respect, knowing that chieftainship is a lifelong commitment to my aiga, my village, and my nation. These titles are not mine alone; they belong to the collective genealogy from which I come and will one day form part of the inheritance I pass to my children. They affirm, in a tangible and enduring way, the connection of myself, my siblings, our children, and future generations to Samauga as a place of belonging. It is my hope and prayer that I will serve faithfully as a woman matai, contributing meaningfully to the well-being and development of my family, village, and Samoa—even while living in the diaspora in Aotearoa New Zealand.
Acknowledgement
Service and responsibility: The weight of leadership
I give honour and praise to my Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ, for the blessings and gift of life. I also extend my deepest gratitude to my immediate family—my parents, mother-in-law, husband, children, siblings, nieces, and nephews—and to my extended family and friends whose prayers, support, presence, and alofa sustained me as I prepared for my chiefly bestowments. Their encouragement remains a source of strength for which I am profoundly grateful. I am humbled to serve as a matai, and I am committed to tautua—to serve my family, village, and nation with integrity, guided by the enduring principle ‘o le ala i le pule o le tautua’ (the path to leadership is through service).
In documenting this account, I recognise that additional detail is needed to more fully honour the breadth of my family’s legacy. However, my primary intention here is to narrate my journey in becoming Sooalo Laupu‘e Daisy. I hope that, in time, there will be an opportunity to compile a comprehensive history of our Sooalo family for future generations.
Bio
Sooalo Laupu’e Daisy Bentley‑Gray currently serves as the Interim Manager Pacific Success and a Pacific Academic Development Lecturer at Unitec. Born and raised in Samoa, she maintains strong ancestral ties to Samauga, Satupa’itea, Sinamoga, Sagone, Salelavalu, Solosolo, Faatoia, Vaiala, Lauli’i, Faleata, and several other villages. Her identity and leadership are grounded in the core values of respect, humility, and alofa (love), which she consistently demonstrates in her professional and personal relationships. She is deeply committed to her family, particularly her husband and five sons, who remain central to her life.
Sooalo Laupu’e Daisy brings over 20 years of experience across secondary and tertiary education sectors in both Samoa and Aotearoa New Zealand. She has led multiple research initiatives and presented at numerous academic symposiums. In addition to her teaching and leadership roles, she contributes to institutional governance as the Pacific representative on the Unitec Research Committee (URC) and the Unitec Research Ethics Committee (UREC), and she chairs the Pacific Research Fono (PRF), where she advocates for Pacific research priorities and culturally grounded methodologies.
Her professional practice is firmly anchored in her Christian faith, guided by Proverbs 3:5–6, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding but in all your ways, acknowledge Him and He will direct your path.”, which continues to shape her purpose, integrity, and leadership journey.
References
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