July 15, 2026
Gratitude: A Different Kind of Journey
There are some journeys that stay with you long after you’ve unpacked your suitcase. This was one of them.
As I was preparing and packing for this trip, I realized something that brought me joy: this was the first trip in a while that did not involve attending a funeral. My recent travels had been shaped by loss and saying goodbye to loved ones. Some of those journeys took me across the Pacific, while another took me to the Pacific Northwest. Each carried its own weight of grief. This time was different. This time, I packed with a heart full of anticipation, gratitude, and joy. I didn’t know what to expect; I just wanted to be a part of the celebration in Tonga.
I must also admit that what gave me the courage to make the journey this time was knowing that I would not be traveling alone. Other members of my family were making the trip from Alaska, and we would all meet in Tonga. There was comfort in knowing we would experience this sacred occasion together. That simple fact made all the difference. I also notified a couple of family members in Tonga a few days before my arrival.
Faith: Celebrating Two Hundred Years
The primary reason for my visit was to participate in the bicentennial celebration of Christianity in the Kingdom of Tonga, celebrated by the Siasi Uesiliana Tau’atāina ‘o Tonga during its Annual Conference. Two hundred years is an extraordinary milestone. It is difficult to fully grasp the generations of faith, sacrifice, worship, and witness that have shaped the church throughout those two centuries. To be present for such a historic celebration was a gift in itself.
But for me, there was another moment that I did not want to miss.
Memory: Returning to My Home Church
I had the privilege of attending the dedication and consecration of the new Sisasi Uesiliana Tau’ataina ‘O Tonga (SUTT) Church in Mu’a, Tatakamotonga, my home church.
This is the church where I was baptized.
This is the church where my grandmother, Ana, faithfully walked with me to worship.
This is the church where my faith was first nurtured and formed.
Standing there, surrounded by thousands of worshippers, I found myself overwhelmed with gratitude. It is difficult to find the words to describe what it meant to return, not simply to a building, but to a place that shaped who I am. Memories came flooding back. I felt the deep connection between past and present, between childhood and ministry, between the faith that was planted in me decades ago and the life God has since called me to live.
I was simply thankful to be there.
Most people had no idea who I was, and honestly, that didn’t matter.
I wasn’t there to be recognized.
I was there because I felt I belonged.
Even if my only role that day was standing at the entrance (self-appointed), joyfully welcoming people as they arrived (with my camera on), I considered it an honor. Thousands made their way into Mu’a that day, and I found great joy in greeting them with a smile. Sometimes the greatest privilege isn’t standing on the platform; sometimes it is simply standing at the gate, welcoming others into the presence of God.
Hope: Rebuilding What Was Lost
The day carried even greater significance because of what had come before.
In 2018, Cyclone Gita devastated Tonga, and this church was among the many buildings that suffered catastrophic damage. That year also happened to be my last visit to Tonga. Six months after the storm, I stood in the ruins of this very church. The roof had been torn completely away, and the destruction was heartbreaking. It was difficult to imagine how such a beloved place of worship could ever be restored.
Yet the Church has always been a people of hope.
Through the generosity of countless families (including ours), congregations, groups, and fundraising efforts across Tonga and throughout the Methodist connection abroad, a new church rose from the devastation. Today, it stands larger, stronger, and more beautiful, not as a monument to human achievement, but as a testimony to God’s faithfulness and to what God’s people can accomplish together.
To witness its dedication to the glory of God was profoundly moving.
Connection: Remembering One Another
One of the unexpected blessings of the trip was reconnecting with childhood friends whom I had not seen since we were children. Time has changed our faces, and I must admit, I didn’t recognize many of them. We remembered one another by name.
There is something beautiful about that.
Years may pass, oceans may separate us, lives may take us in different directions, but some connections remain. The same moana that separates can now be viewed as a bridge. We laughed, shared stories, remembered old times, reconnected with extended family, and formed new friendships through the broader Methodist connection. It reminded me that the Church is more than buildings and events. It is relationships. It is community. It is the family of God spread across generations and around the world.
Gratitude: Looking Back, Looking Forward
As I reflect on this journey, my heart is simply full.
Full of gratitude.
Full of memories.
Full of hope.
Sometimes we return home expecting to revisit the past. Instead, God reminds us that our past continues to shape our present, and that every step of our journey has been held together by grace.
For that, I give thanks to God.
Until next time, Tonga, ‘Ofa lahi atu fau!
Sela
a journey in existence 
When My Homeland Becomes a Flavor: Tonga
September 3, 2026
When My Homeland Becomes a Flavor: Tonga
Last week at my local H‑E‑B grocery store in Texas, I was caught off guard in the baking aisle. There it was: a 4‑ounce bottle of vanilla extract called Tonga for $12.98. Regal. Rich. Luxuriant. From the Kingdom of Tonga, it read.
My homeland, reduced to a shelf label. Grief wrapped in frustration.
I shared my experience on social media. Comments rolled in, many well‑meaning: “It promotes our island!” “It helps our farmers and employees!” And they’re not wrong. Some Tongans are benefiting as farmers are paid, jobs are created, and the economy grows. I acknowledge that. I want our people to thrive.
But beyond the economics, there’s a deeper issue: cultural misappropriation. Taking our name, our identity, our story and packaging it for profit without our ownership or meaningful control. The question that keeps circling: If the beans are from Tonga, why is someone else owning the brand and keeping most of the premium?
The Fiji Water Parallel
This isn’t new. Look at Fiji Water, a US‑owned company, run by billionaires, that extracts water from Fijian aquifers and sells it globally at premium prices. Meanwhile, a portion of Fiji’s population lacks access to clean drinking water. The profits flow disproportionately out of the country. Some revenue returns, yes, but the government had to impose an export tax to capture a fraction of the value.
Fiji has been reduced to a water bottle. Tonga is being reduced to a vanilla bottle: same script, different ingredient.
The Warning of Nauru
If you want to see where unfettered extraction leads, look at the country Nauru (recently renamed the Republic of Naoero). Once wealthy from phosphate mining, foreign companies strip‑mined over 80% of the island into a barren lunar wasteland of jagged coral, bare skin and broken bones. When the resource ran out, the foreigners left. Today, Nauru survives by selling passports and hosting a detention center.
Vanilla today, phosphate yesterday. Same pattern: we supply the raw material, others take the brand and the profit, and we’re left with the scraps. And when the crop falters or the market shifts, will they stay? Or will they leave us like Nauru?
I’m Not Against Export. But At What Cost?
We need trade partners. We need buyers for our farmers’ harvests. But if the price of export is handing over our nation’s name and reducing our identity to a shelf product with an expiration date, that price is too high.
Nahhh, I don’t stand for that.
Our identity is not a flavor of the month. It is not a marketing gimmick to be shelved next to the cinnamon and nutmeg, bought, used, and trashed. We are a Kingdom. We are a people who crossed the moana in double-hulled canoes long before Europeans dared to leave the shore. We do not exist to be consumed and discarded.
So I’m drafting letters. One to Cook’s Flavoring Company asking for transparency on their supply chain and profit share. Another to our Prime Minister asking: why aren’t we building our own processing plants, our own brands, our own capacity? Why aren’t we adding value at home before anything leaves our shores? Furthermore, there needs to be some form of international law to prevent a country’s name from being commodified, especially by a foreign company.
This isn’t about rejecting outside investment. It’s about awareness. It’s about asking the hard questions. It’s about making sure that when the world buys Tonga vanilla, Tonga itself, not just a few farmers, but our entire nation and identity, actually benefits in a meaningful, lasting way.
We are not Fiji, whose water wealth flows to US billionaires while locals go thirsty. We are not Nauru, hollowed out and forgotten.
But we will be if we keep letting others define our worth, extract our goods, and walk away with our name.
The land is ours. The beans are ours. The name Tonga is ours.
Let’s wake up, build our own table, and make sure the next bottle on that shelf is ours, from bean to brand, and from profit to people.
🇹🇴 ‘Ofa atu. Mālō ‘aupito.
Sela Finau
Posted by Sela E. Finau on September 3, 2026 in Community, Culture, Economics, Family, Life, Tonga
Tags: commentary, cooks, cultural misappropriation, culturalmisappropriation, exploitation, fiji, food, moana, nauru, pacific, pasifica, pasifika, Tonga, tonga-vanilla, tongavanilla, travel, vanilla