I was 18 years old when I first set eyes on Ken McLeod. My first impression was: “Oh my God, he’s handsome!” Then shortly after: “But he’s unreachable. Why would he go out with an island girl like me?”
I’d just finished high school and was working as a bartender on the island of Vava’u. Ken was 28, an electrician on an Australian government aid project, and he seemed to me to be a man of the world.
There were so many reasons why I thought Ken wouldn’t give me a second glance. I was shy and I truly believed I was unattractive. Growing up in the islands, light skin was seen as more beautiful. I was darker than my siblings, I had frizzy hair, and we were poor, so I’d grown up in a traditional Tongan hut with no shoes, no nice clothes.
There was one thing, however, that gave me confidence. I was good at school. If you show even a little potential in Tonga, the whole village is right behind you. If I wanted to get out of chores at home – cooking, collecting firewood, lighting the fire – I’d pick up a book, because then I’d be exempt. I’d graduated dux of the school and could speak a little English, which came in handy now because – when my shyness didn’t get the better of me – I could chat across the bar with Ken.
I don’t think it was love at first sight for Ken, but there was a definite attraction for conversation and companionship. He came into the bar most days after work, and after a while I noticed a twinkle in his eyes.
Ken and I started dating. Tonga is a religious island and Sunday is a day of rest. Everyone goes to church. Back in the ’80s, there were no shops open, no flights out, even swimming on Sunday was an offence, and Ken and I were the worst offenders.
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