The boys arrived to school that day with 18" knives. The girls with buckets and brooms. It was a work day, I was told; the first of the year. Organized and overseen by Sione Leo and Nu’lala Helu, former students and present teachers, it was a day dedicated to the preparation of their chalkboards, their desks and their turf. A day to ready their classroom. Even if I had understood the instructions given at the 8:30AM assembly (which of course were in Tongan) I could have never conceived of what I would see.

Upon release the boys made their way out into the high grass. Holding those knives as casually as pencils, it was work straight away. One arm behind the back and completely bent over, slash, slash, slash. The little ones up to their knees in water. Teachers cutting alongside. Swish, swish, and down fell the greens. Laughter and smiles intermixed. One became tired, so he stopped and rest, another took over. The same pace for the girls in the rooms. Sweeping the floors and scrubbing the windows. Some organizing the library. They were the skilled workers, the fine tuners. Later on they’d be using those same brooms to gather the cut grass into their coconut leave baskets.

In its entirety, the ‘Atenisi Institute is comprised of the High School, the University and the ‘Atenisi Foundation for the Performing Arts (AFPA). One might never guess so much from a first glance. Stilted in the swamp, the campus appears to be a collection of rusted, busted buildings. The high school is big, cement, weathered and divided into three sections. A hundred students fill six forms, a classroom and a chalkboard for each. Louvre windows sit in some, but most open to the winds. After heavy rains, the grounds fill like a bath. Water covers the paths between the buildings and the long stretch from the gates to the school holds enough to easily submerge an ankle or small calf. The university’s 50 or so students spread themselves through a number of smaller buildings, with the two-story Lolo Masi (named after a former volunteer) the center of most discussion and activity. They have access to one old Macintosh but no internet, a decent library, but one quite out of date, some interesting professors though certainly no labs.

In my two months at ‘Atenisi, I was by title a "visiting musician." In terms of defined responsibilities, I taught a couple of forms of music theory in the high school (each which met three times per week), gave piano lessons every afternoon (to about 15 students) and assisted with both the Senior and Junior Chorales in the evenings. I also taught Form 1 Geometry and tutored Calculus at the university. It was a busy schedule and because I was working without textbooks or even syllabuses (I had one from 1989 for my math class) it also proved to be quite challenging. Teaching was a creative process. There were no supplemental resources, no maps, no radios, no workbooks. At first I felt lost. But when it came down to it, I had all I needed. Eager students. The students I found at ‘Atenisi were so excited to learn. Sure there were times that they rolled their eyes at the crazy pa’alangi trying to teach them about down-beats with a broom on the board, but once I started dancing, they were mine. Because of their struggle with English, I had to really break my lessons down. I struggled for clarity. And then, I tried to funk it all the way up. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. I taught in as interactive a way as possible. In math we cut and taped and measured and played. Music stretched me farther. It was difficult not having access to any instruments for them to play and having to borrow a stereo everytime I wanted them to hear something. But it made me really focus in on what was essential. And what I love about music.

Teaching piano and assisting with the choirs led me into another world in itself. I can still see the smile spreading across little Kalolina’s face when we discovered octaves. And crazy Charles, playing "The Singing Donkey," a song which induced incessant laughter. And Lau Kau, placed on this earth to be a musician, if only she would practice. I’d make her sing with me in our lessons and by the time I left she was just flowing through the first page of this Mozart Sonata. Rehearsals with the Junior Chorale took me beyond psyched. We’d spend time at the start stretching and breathing and doing all sorts of silly warm-ups. Traditional Tongan singing is based on the philosophy that loud is good and louder is better so most of our little girls came to us hoping to showcase their blossoming at bellowing vocal chords. I tried to help redirect that energy towards the more lyrical sounds of "Ave Verum."

The older choir was comprised of mostly university students as well as a few of the older high school kids. They were a group highly regarded in Tonga, always referred to when talk was of Tongan music and a group that has plans to tour the west coast of the US sometime next summer. They sing classical and traditional Tongan music, as well as the occasional show tune and rehearsals with them were always a riot. They’d laugh when I’d try to explain certain phrases and I’d crack up hearing them sing "New York, New York." By the end they were teaching me Tongan dancing and through this moment I can still hear their voices.

But beyond all the chalk and sheet music, I found my center at ‘Atenisi at the Helu house. ‘I. Futa Helu is the Founder and Director of ‘Atenisi and as I quickly learned, is probably one of the most highly respected men in all of Tonga. He started the school in the 60’s with the intension of building an institution of education focused on criticism through study of the classical western tradition. ‘Atenisi, by name, is the Tonganization of "Athens." He is a true educator, in every sense of the word. Students from the university would come to the house in the evenings to sit just to listen to him speak. He initiated a Monday Night Lecture Series at the university as a forum for professors as well as members of the community (and visitors such as myself) to give lectures on a variety of topics to students and other members of the community. He was the man that anthropologists sought first. The man that Tongans could come to if they had concerns. Sometimes serving as a liason to the King. And his was the house at which I ate dinner every night.

Futa has six kids, from age 10 to 27. Nu’lala, the eldest, in the middle of a masters program in Ancient History in Auckland. Sisi’uno, 25, trained at a conservatory in Austrailia, she runs AFPA and teaches the bulk of music in the high school and university. Luisa, whom I never met, is singing opera somewhere in Sydney. Elisa, 23, working on his BA at ‘Atenisi and in love with the Police. Atolo’make, 21 and my bestest. A beautiful singer, she already completed her BA and is hoping to study in Spain next year. And little Vecinia, just itching to be one of the older girls. It was through them, Futa’s wife Kaloni and the cousins and other University students that lived at the Helu’s that I really got to feel Tonga.

They were the ones that took me to the market before I could navigate it on my own. The ones that drove me across the island to see the Blow holes and to Blue Pacific, that nutty Tongan night club. The ones who would teach me about the kumala, the hoapa and the ofi, all indigenous Tongan root crops. Who would let me help make our Sunday dinner in an oumu, an in-earth oven. The ones with whom I would goof around with at Drama Club in Saturdays. They were the ones with whom I would sit up late into the evening, drinking coffee and talking. The ones who loved my dancing. The ones whose dancing I loved. They were my friends.

It wasn’t a week before we were making music together. Not knowing what exactly was going on right from the start I spent a lot of my time those early weeks practicing. The pianos were pretty out of tune, but for my gerneral purposes they were fine. One by one they would trickle out to the music house, ‘Make often to practice, others just to listen. And it wasn’t long before I saw their book of Italian opera favorites. Many nights were spent in the music house reading through arias and excerpts from all the best. Verdi, Bellini, Rossini, Donizetti. It was liquid beauty to them. And to me as well.

To filter out all that soaked into me in that Tongan sun would be an endless task. As it is I feel entirely restricted by the margins of these few pages. But in some ways that’s ok. For me Tonga wasn’t so much about all the little bits, the Friday evening fai kava, the pigs outside the classrooms, the church bells on Sunday morning, the guava behind my house. It was more about the simplicity of the way things were. The low-speed pace. The freedom from stress. The incredible concept of sharing. And the everyday acknowledgement that above everything else, family is most important. Those were two months that worked their way deep into my heart and have since awakened the rest of my self. I plan to return to ‘Atenisi after graduation, to spend a year or so and to really dig in.

But for this introduction, this overture, I thank you.

Deirdre Brenner, '01, is a double major in engineering and 
music. Though she enjoys many aspects of the former, she has 
recently decided to pursue her love. In the spring of 1999, 
Deirdre studied at the Royal College of Music in London as 
part of a Dartmouth Foreign Study Program, and she currently 
works with Sally Pinkas. Her senior year will be hilighted 
by her performance of a Mozart Piano Concerto with the 
Dartmouth Symphony Orchestra in November. Upon returning 
from a longer stay in Tonga after graduation, Deirdre hopes 
to attend graduate school in music. 

Deirdre.L.Brenner@Dartmouth.EDU

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