Food and Community
Tākanga ‘enau fohé
Mates at their oars; perhaps, their oars are mates
Tākanga ‘enau fohé describes the rowing of kalia (double-hulled canoe), in which the people at the oars must row in unity for the kalia to safely arrive at its destination. This Tongan proverb emphasizes the importance of community and working together for the collective good. Anthropologist Tēvita O. Ka’ili extended the proverb to the Tongan diaspora in the modern world in the hope that the community will continue to “work collaboratively and collectively, forge new alliances, map and remap new social relations and sociopolitical networks, all for the betterment of [their] Tongan people as a whole” (Ka’ili 2001).
Nearly 70,000 people of Tongan descent reside in the United States, with one of the largest populations in California. Serving Tongan Americans in the Inland Empire, MALO embodies the community focus inherent to Tongan culture. Since its establishment in early 2017, MALO has developed and launched diverse initiatives to support its community members. However, as articulated by Lolofi Soakai, founder and executive director of MALO, “the whole goal of MALO, even when it was just preserving culture, was we wanted everyone to feel welcome in the space…That no one is a stranger.” Lolofi’s vision of MALO as a community-centered space is rooted in memories of her mother and father’s home in the 1970s:
If you came from the island, you came to stay in the back of my mom and dad’s house. They made the garage a big housing. The environment they created was an environment of not a lot of money, not a lot of food, but lots of love.
MALO Community Health Worker Simon Tuivai shared a similar memory from his childhood:
“Whatever we have, we give wholeheartedly. And when my friends came over when I was younger, we weren’t wealthy or anything, but whatever we had, we gave: we got some water, and we got some apples and oranges.”
Simon’s recollection highlights the positive interpersonal relationships, generosity, and sharing in the family and community that characterize Tongan culture. Specifically, generosity in the form of food sharing traces back to traditional Tongan feasts: “Ceremonial distributions of food…helped to reaffirm kinship bonds and to restore social solidarity within the kinship group,” such that “the presentation of food and the extension of social goodwill [were] intimately connected” (F. L. S. Bell 1931). MALO CHW Annie Vave relates the role that food played in her dad’s community:
“Celebrations and gatherings were a place to connect and work alongside one another… My dad’s family were fishermen. They would catch the fish, take it home, and spend all day preparing it. It took a whole bunch of people to make one feast.”
Traversing generations, this value remains strong in MALO’s community members, observable in their food distribution initiatives. Simon explained:
“The role of giving is implanted in [Tongan children] young. They’ll take that with them as they grow. I see them running out and helping people carry their food boxes to their car…They see what their elders are doing, and then they’re like, “Oh, that’s what we’re supposed to do.” So it’s a lot of visual and cultural stuff that comes into play that I see is the reason why MALO runs so well, it’s because of the love and the passion that we have.”
Lolofi’s son added personal experience to Simon’s reflection: “Me and my dad used to drop off food for everybody…I really liked that…I got to know my cousins and my family a lot more.” This intrinsic connection between food and family extends beyond food distribution as MALO incorporates food sharing at regular meetings with its members. MALO Community Health Worker Annie Vave recounted one such event:
“You know, nothing can go wrong with food, right? Our last dinner we had together was celebrating Easter, but also we were gathered to present a project…I think it was the beginning of our mental health… We were talking about how the pandemic had affected [community members] or how did they feel? And we gave the floor to the elders…it’s really nice to have [the floor] open as a family. Yes, we were eating dinner, but you’re also conversing about real life things that had happened…and you’re seeing our children being able to speak up for themselves.”
As in other Polynesian cultures, the kāinga (extended family) is integral to the transmission of Tongan learnings from elders to youth, and food may play a significant role in such cultural exchange and the construction of Tongan identity. While youth community members expressed gratitude for MALO and its cultivation of intergenerational knowledge, they also shared some concern about the food prepared at these events. Laila Soakai Zovich, Lolofi’s daughter, recalled that at many community gatherings, “they give you plates of food. And it’s only meats, different types of potatoes. And there’s not really any vegetables…And mayonnaise really killed the point of the greens.” A previous MALO youth leader, Fonofa, shared a similar sentiment:
“For me, it was definitely the family barbecues because I realized…we have the pork belly, the beef, fish. And I like to look at the plate. You realize the side dishes? All we’ve got is just rice. That’s a lot of meat…The food triangle shows that we should have more than just two colors on the plate.”
Laila and Fonofa’s reflections draw attention to the profound shift in Tongan food culture that has occurred with increased globalization and assimilation to a Western diet: “Traditional [Tongan] cuisine changed after western contact, being influenced by a range of new ingredients”—notably high in fat, sugar, and salt—which have contributed to a health crisis for both the Tongan American community and Pacific Island nations at large (Neill and Toloke 2021; Serra-Mallol et al. 2021). Lolofi emphasized these effects by providing her own observations regarding the impact of Westernization on the health of her community members:
“…The island didn’t have mayonnaise until we got Americanized. Before it was coconut, coconut milk. When you come to America, now you have to add this man-made mayonnaise and now, we become the most unhealthy people…So it’s, you know, reteaching ourselves and our kids that we don’t have to eat…gobs of mayonnaise and ketchup because we can try to go back to those original flavors and try to spruce it up.”
Similar hope in consuming healthier ingredients was echoed by Fonofa, who proposed “slowly incorporating more healthy vegetables in a marinade, just starting up really simple. And then, as time goes on, incorporating more green so that we all get used to it.” However, as community members attempt to incorporate vegetables and fruits into their diet, they often find that sourcing fresh and safe produce can be challenging. ‘Asena Taione-Filihia, director of development of MALO, explained, “If you’re gonna buy and you’re buying it at any retail price, it has pesticides and whatnot. And if you’re gonna buy something that is super safe at the farmers market, it’s gonna cost you.” ‘Asena reminisced about her childhood when her family grew vegetables in a garden:
“My dad always grew something in my backyard, but I think we as children were like, we don’t want to eat that tomato… It’s almost like growing up and not really understanding that growing your own food is the safest food can be.”
Asena hopes that one day, MALO will have its own community garden. In the meantime, the MALO CHW team is working to modify traditional recipes to include healthier ingredients. At the 2023 Kisina Health Fair, Jennifer Suliafu prepared ‘otai with natural juices and agave syrup, and she is continuing to work with Health Bridges to create more healthy traditional recipes.
As relayed by Pacific-Indigenous scholar Tracie Mafile’o, “If we don’t think about [our individual wellbeing] in the context of the greater wellbeing of our families and communities, we become more and more separated” (Mafile’o 2005). Prioritizing health through the adaptation of traditional recipes positions MALO as a center for community strength and the preservation of Tongan culture.
