In Samoa, where I studied anthropology and native agriculture, they grew breadfruit, taro and plantains as their primary staple starches. This was always supplemented by palusami, a coconut cream with wild onion sauce. Bananas, mangos, papaya and other fruits were common as well. Fish was caught in the lagoons and by seafaring canoes. Pigs were kept mostly for special occasions, but feral ones were a nuisance to the garden and a danger to people, and would be shared with the extended family and local community when culled. Chickens outnumbered people in the country, and in my host town Lotofaga, where I did my month of field research, roosters outnumbered people and this was particularly notable when I got a double ear infection free diving in sea caves just as the nation’s doctors went on strike. Each town had a bone setter and a medicine woman. The one in Lotofaga, Salome, likely saved my life massaging voluminous amounts of gunk out of my head when antibiotics were unavailable. It was the worst pain of my life but she helped more than any painkiller.
I think a lot of this experience in Samoa, and later in Fiji, has informed my permaculture approach. More than their incredible farming knowledge and green thumbs, I learned from going around the village sharing the harvest after a day’s work planting taro or harvesting coconuts and whatnot. I have never had better tropical fruit, but few things are sweeter than a “Malo” (“greetings and good health”) and heartfelt hugs from Samoan auntie. The ongoing strong traditional faasamoa network of extended family and community made this the most resilient town on the island to hurricanes, tsunamis, and predatory international logging companies. I have never met richer people, even though their per capita income would not pay rent in even a small impoverished American town like mine.