A decade after Tropical Cyclone Evan, Samoan villages endure a silent struggle

RNZ News

4 days ago

By
Sanjeshni Kumar,
PINA
Photo:
RNZI
More than a decade ago,
Tropical Cyclone Evan, a Category 4 storm,
roared through Samoa's capital, Apia, and its surrounding villages.
It left behind more than just destruction. It redefined landscapes, disrupted lives, and reshaped the livelihoods of communities like Lelata and Magiagi.
Today, its legacy endures - not in broken homes, but in the unpredictable power of the Vaisigano River.
When the Vaisigano river burst its banks in December 2012, it swallowed farms, homes, and memories, creating a new channel that veered closer to homes and families in Magiagi and Lelata. It hasn't moved back since.
Elina Va'a, an elderly resident of Magiagi village, still recalls the chaos that unfolded the day TC Evan hit.
"The water destroyed all of our farming and our house," Va'a said, standing near the very site where her childhood home once stood.
"We were five siblings living here with our parents. After the cyclone, we had to relocate immediately."
Floodwaters submerged roads, and neighbours had to come to their rescue.
That Christmas and New Year's, the family found temporary shelter in an LDS church nearby.
"It felt like we were losing our own land, the place we belonged to," she said.
They have since rebuilt, not just on higher ground but with stronger foundations.
"Our new house is safe now. Even when it floods, the floodwaters don't reach us anymore. But the area where our old home stood, that still floods."
For 29-year-old Asuelu Saifoloi of Lelata village, Cyclone Evan marked the start of an ongoing struggle with water and loss.
"I was inside the house. When the river burst, it came up to my neck," he recalled. "We looked outside - everything was brown water."
The devastation didn't end with the storm.
"My cousins had a cocoa plantation that was their income. We planted root crops for food. But after 2012, we stopped. The land isn't safe."
Now, even regular rainstorms bring anxiety.
"Flooding happens almost twice a month," he said. "When it rains in the mountains, the river can rise without warning. We see grey clouds - and we know. The river might come."
This year, during Mother's Day, the river rose again.
"We had to cross it every day from Monday to Sunday that week," Saifoloi said.
"Thankfully, we had high enough vehicles. But others - they had to walk barefoot through the current. That's what we experience constantly."
At times, the only option is to wait it out.
"We park on the riverbank and sleep in the car for five hours until the water drops," he said. "Our kids miss school. We miss work. Just to stay safe."
Despite repeated promises, a long-term solution remains out of reach.
Saifoloi believes the government needs to act and emphasised the need for proper infrastructure, especially at the river's origin point.
"We're still waiting for the government to redirect the river or rebuild the wall - especially at the beginning. That's where the problem starts. Not just where it ends," he said.
This isn't just about convenience - it's about survival. Medical emergencies are postponed.
"When my mom got sick, the river was too high. We had to wait for the water to go down before we could take her to the hospital."
The land where Lelata village sits is customary, passed down through generations, rooted in identity.
"This is our inheritance," he said.
"Our ancestors called us to live here. Leaving it behind isn't just relocation. It's losing who we are."
But the land is shifting. The river has eaten away at the banks. What was once fertile soil is now a mix of sand and debris.
"Crops can't grow on river sand. The soil's not what it used to be," he explained.
"Why would we plant crops, only to see everything washed away again?
"We've tried. But it's heartbreaking to see all your effort destroyed overnight."
Instead, they focused on resilience.
"So now, we just focus on making our homes strong, raising the foundations, cementing them. Because that's all we can afford.
"But building a proper river wall? That costs millions. We don't have that kind of money."
Today, only a fraction of the original families remain in Lelata.
"From 160 people, now maybe 50 or 60 are left," Saifoloi said.
"The others left because their kids kept missing school, and they couldn't keep crossing the river every day."
Reaching out for help is difficult.
"We go through the proper channels," he said.
"We try not to overstep. But the truth is - we're still fighting a silent battle. We're protecting our families and hoping one day the promises will be kept."
Even healthcare is dictated by the river's moods.
"If someone gets sick and the river is too high, we wait. We wait until the water goes down - then take them to the hospital."
Despite the hardships, there's no bitterness in Saifoloi's voice - only resolve.
"I still believe this problem can be solved. We're not asking for luxury. We just want protection - walls to hold the river, a future that isn't underwater."
In response to the risks posed by increasing climate-related disasters, the Green Climate Fund (GCF) Vaisigano Catchment Project - "Integrated Flood Management to Enhance Climate Resilience of the Vaisigano River Catchment" - was developed by the Government of Samoa in partnership with the United Nations Development Programme in 2016.
Launched in 2017, the project aims to protect communities living near the Vaisigano River from flooding, especially during heavy rains and cyclones. It focuses on preserving forest and river ecosystems to absorb excess water and reduce flood damage.
It also supports local livelihoods - especially those of women and unemployed youth - by creating paid opportunities to plant trees, rehabilitate degraded areas, and manage nurseries. In doing so, it strengthens both environmental resilience and social well-being.
The total cost of the project is US$65.7 million, with US$57.7 million funded by the Green Climate Fund and US$8 million provided by the Government of Samoa as co-financing, according to official project documents.
For now, families in Lelata and Magiagi continue to live with their inheritance, not just the land, but the risks that come with it.
"If our children want to leave, that's their choice. But for us, this is home - and we'll keep hoping, keep waiting, because this land is our story," Saifoloi said.
This article was first published by
PINA
.