The time my number almost came up

It was the late ’70s and I had been living in the beautiful Samoan Islands. I was there with my then husband and our two children. Life was idyllic, to say the least. Such beautiful people, friendly, easy-going and, most of all, happy.

Over the years I lived there, many friends and relatives took the chance to come and visit. It was at one such time that the following incident happened. My sister-in-law had come over to visit. We were the best of friends and had a great time catching up. It had been a habit of mine, to go for a walk each evening. I had done this ever since I arrived in paradise. It was far too hot to walk in the daytime. The locals would all sit out in the evening, I had fun talking to each family and got to know them really well. My walk took in a large block of plantations. It took about an hour to walk around the whole block. There were fales and little shacks most of the way around, except for a bit of a stretch where the cemetery was located.

This particular evening, Sis and I were having our nightly walk. We were talking and generally having a great time when all of a sudden someone grabbed me from behind. I felt a big machete (with a blade about 24 inches long) pressing into my stomach. Oh My God! I gave a yelp and Sis looked around to see what was happening.

The bloke dragged me off into the bushes, the blade still pressed into my stomach. I was speechless, I wanted to shout out but no noise would come. I could hear Sis shouting out for help, but no-one was around, it was too near the cemetery.

“What can I do,” I thought to myself. My assailant spoke only in Samoan, I understood enough to know what was on his mind. I was flung to the ground and this great bloke leapt upon me, almost knocking the wind out of me. He had dropped the machete, I thought I might be able to reach it. But then I thought again, what would I do with it, I couldn’t kill him. I could hit him with it but it might make him mad and he could chop my head off. By this time he had torn most of my clothing off me.

Suddenly, I had a thought, I knew how terrified locals were of ghosts and spirits. I found my voice and pointed upwards, at the same time, shouting “Aitu Aitu”. This means ‘ghost’ in Samoan language.

Thankfully he took off like a rocket.

I was a mess, I was shaking and sweating, Sis ran over and helped me get my clothes back on. We limped home and I snuck into the shower to get cleaned up and composed.

We decided to keep this a secret, mainly because I didn’t want to get police involved and bring shame on the family.

Each evening after that, we invited some of the locals to walk along with us. They were more than happy to do so and polish up on their English. And we felt safe again.

So for all these years it has laid low, but I have decided it is time to get it off my chest, and you know what? It feels wonderful to do just that.