Barbara, or Palepa, was my mother's name, bestowed on me by my family chief, the late Timu Lafaele, on my fifth birthday, the same day we buried my mother. Our family was never alone, though. Like many Pacific migrant families, our house was the transit lounge for the scores of family members as they arrived from Samoa, worked, saved money, and moved on to set up their own houses. We had 24 people living in our house at one time, but there were always beds because as the night shift went out, the day shift came home. Most of my family worked at the plastics factory or the local hospital, where they did the laundry, were the kitchen hands, the cooks, the cleaners, or the orderlies. While they were in the bowels of the kitchen, they sent me and my siblings to the decile 10 school right next door.