Receiving my matai title: A personal reflection on the saofa’i ceremony

By Associate Professor Dr Jacoba Matapo

The date of the 30th of August, 2024, had been set months in advance. Leading up to it, we held regular family Zoom calls with uncles, aunts, and cousins from Australia, New Zealand, and America. These calls were initiated by my mother, the eldest in her family from Siumu, and were integral to bringing us all together, despite the physical distances. Though scattered across the globe, we remained deeply committed to preserving our family titles and fulfilling our ancestral duties and collective obligations.

I often wondered why my mother never chose to take on a matai title herself, though she fully embraced her role as the eldest, enacting tautua (service). She preferred that her children carry that mantle, honouring the leadership roles she held in such high regard. In the weeks leading up to the event, our family discussions on Messenger focused on gafa (genealogy), fa’alupega (village, family and land genealogy) and the protocols of the saofa’i (matai title bestowing ceremony). Twenty-two of us were preparing to receive titles, and it dawned on me how much of an honour, privilege, and responsibility this decision was for each one of us.

The conversations leading up to the saofa’i revolved around who would take on which titles. For my son and me, the decision was especially significant. We were to receive the ali’i title of Fa'alogo, a name of great importance in our family, passed down from my mother’s father and his paternal line. This title carries the legacy of leadership and the weight of our family’s ancestral heritage.

We prepared short speeches for the ava ceremony, an essential part of the saofa’i. My mother also ensured my daughter was involved, wanting her to witness and participate in these ancestral rites. The evening prior, she sat alongside other family members, practising her posture and role for the ava ceremony. As a taupou (maiden), it was an honour for her to serve the ava, a sacred and ancestral duty that connects her to the customs of our people.

I, too, was seated, participating in the ceremony and feeling the weight of it all. The pins and needles in my legs from sitting for so long reminded me of when I had observed my grandfather sitting cross-legged and realised how he made it look so easy. Through the embodied expressions and symbolism of the ceremony, I felt a deep connection to this ancestral practice. I watched my daughter, her back straight, her hands carefully holding the ava bowl, silently enduring her discomfort while maintaining equanimity. In those shared moments of vulnerability, I realised I belonged to her and the generations of women who had performed this role before us.

The experience has deepened my appreciation for my place within our collective identity, within our aganu'u (culture), and urged me to embrace the spaces, relationships and contexts I occupy. The saofa’i is woven into the very fabric of Samoan society, a ceremony that solidifies one’s standing within the family, village and nation. It was not just about receiving a title—it was about reaffirming my role as a mother, responsible for preparing the next generation to stand firm in their fa'asinomaga (identity).

At the same time, the critical part of me can’t help but question the micro-politics that unfold and the tensions I feel as a woman navigating these spaces. These reflections lead me to consider my cultural, ancestral and intellectual place in it all—not just for today, but also for the future. Accepting my imperfections, the unfamiliarity of some traditions, and the uncertainty in my understanding is part of my journey.

As an academic and Pacific scholar, I often reflect on why I am so passionate about my work, particularly in decolonising and indigenising education for Pacific peoples. In moments like these, where I am firmly grounded in cultural and ancestral spaces, I understand why. In these ceremonies, in how we speak our genealogies, and in how the land and people are connected, I see the enduring value of Indigenous knowledge systems.