If you’ve read my “bares all” article about the journey that my family and I are currently undertaking, you would know that we’re back in Fiji. One of the main reasons for my coming back at this particular time was to bury my paternal grandmother, Teisa Marama Mataika, who had just passed unexpectedly. Grandma, as my siblings and I affectionately called her, played a large part in making me who I am today. She was the matriarch of the family, which is not surprising for a woman who was the Head Girl for Fiji’s prominent female leadership secondary school—Adi Cakobau School. She was stern, spiritual, a stickler for rules and, in most ways, she was a constant in my life.
Most of my adolescent decisions can almost be tracked as being contrary to my grandma’s preferences. I decided to play rugby, a sport she thought too rough. I fell in love with rap, R&B, and hip hop as opposed to her playlist of classical and her hopes that one day I’d be the Pacific’s answer to Don Pavarotti. I spent my Sundays at the billiard shops at Samabula while my grandma prayed for me in church. I’ve mentioned this in my initial post for grandma’s funeral but I had spent most of my life running away from her and I didn’t make it back in time to say goodbye.
So this is my itatau to my grandma.
The house is mute without your words to fill it.
The garden has withered without your tending hands.
Birds don't sing without their hazzan.
Your love will be missed for its warmth,
Your soprano for its heavenly heights,
Your prayers of comfort.
We cherish your words of wisdom.
Celebrate your loving hands,
Your life.
By Alfred Tora
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Alfred Tora 
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