It was always a mystery to me why the churches of Ireland were filled with women, and empty of men. I looked up at the crucifix and thought it was a bizarre thing for women to worship a man in a church run by men. As far as I was concerned being a Catholic was silly, and being a Jew meant so much more washing-up. What all religions do, however, is what most political systems fail to do — they prize and praise the figure of the mother.
She is the machine, the hidden power. She is the ideal, the revered one, the truly loved. Which makes up, in a way, for being skipped in shop queues and looking like a heap.
And more. On the third night of my child’s life I looked into her eyes and realised that nothing I believed could explain this. It was an embarrassing moment. I think I saw her soul. I suffered from the conviction that a part of her was ancient; and that part chose to be there with me at the beginning of something new. I had a wise child.
Carrying her out of the hospital and into the noise of the traffic; driving her home in second gear; feeding her in the middle of the night, and at the beginning of the night, and at dawn — so precious — I found myself shrinking in the face of her vast and unknowable future. How would she turn out? What would she do? When would she die? Not for many, many years, I hoped; not for the longest time. The mechanisms of fate, the grinding of her days that would lead to one end or another, became urgently opaque to me. There were a thousand things that could hurt this child, or even estrange her from me. What could I do? Nothing. My best.
These are all feelings that religion understands.
I had, I thought, become human in a different and perhaps more radical way. I had let something slip into the stream of time. What else can you do, but trust the river — put it all into the hands of a higher power?
Oh, all right.
And who else, but the suffering Christ, could know the suffering that motherhood brings?
Actually, I will resist the tug of it, if you don’t mind. Still, I will resist.
Anne Enright, ‘God’ in Making Babies: Stumbling into Motherhood, London: Vintage, 2005, 111-12.
***
Children are actually a form of brainwashing. They are a cult, a perfectly legal cult. Think about it. When you join a cult you are undernourished, you are denied sleep, you are forced to do repetitive and pointless tasks at random hours of the day and night, then you stare deep into your despotic leader’s eyes, repeating meaningless phrases, or mantras, like Ooh da gorgeous. Yes, you are! Cult members, like parents, are overwhelmed by spiritual feelings and often burst into tears. Cult members, like parents, spout nonsense with a happy, blank look in their eyes. They know they’re sort of mad, but they can’t help it. They call it love.
From ‘Baby-Talk’ in Anne Enright, Making Babies: Stumbling into Motherhood, London: Vintage, 2005, 138.
‘Oku ou fifili ma‘u pē pe koehā hono ‘uhinga ‘oku fonu ai ‘a e ngaahi falelotu ‘i ‘Ailani′ ‘i he hou‘eiki fafine ka e hala ia he mātu‘a tangata. ‘Oku ou fa‘a sio hake ki he kolosi′ mo fakakaukau ‘oku faikehe ‘a e lotu ‘a e kakai fefine′ ki ha tangata′ ‘i ha siasi ‘oku fakalele ia ‘e ha mātu‘a tangata. ‘I he anga ‘o ‘eku vakai′ ‘oku ngali vale ‘eku kau ki he Katolika′, pea ko ‘ete Siu′ ‘oku lahi ange ‘a ‘ene totonu ke fakahaohaoa‘i kita′. Ko e ngaahi me‘a ‘oku fakahoko ‘e he ngaahi lotu′ ‘oku tatau tofu pe ia mo e ngaahi sistemi fakapolitikale ‘oku holofa – ‘oku nau fakapale‘i mo hikihiki‘i ‘a e ‘imisi ‘o e fa‘ee.
Ko e fā‘ee ko e misini, ‘i ai hono fu‘u mafai fakapulipuli. Ko e ‘imisi mo‘oni, ‘oku faka‘ei‘eiki, pea ‘oku ‘ofa‘i. Pea tā ko e ‘uhinga eni ‘oku ne fakalaka atu ai ‘i he kiu ‘i ha fale koloa ‘i he taimi ‘e ni‘ihi, mo ngali ‘oku lahi ‘a hono ngaahi lelei′.
Pea ko eni. ‘I he pō tolu hono fanau‘i ‘eku ki‘i tama′ na‘a ku sio ki hono mata′ ‘oku ou fakatokanga‘i ‘oku hala‘atā ha‘aku tui ‘e lava ke fakamatala‘i ‘a e me‘a ko eni′. Ko e momeniti ngalivale lahi eni. Na‘a ku pēhē ‘oku ou sio ki hono laumālie′. Na‘a ku filingaua ‘i ha fa‘ahinga tui tokua ‘oku ‘i ai hono tafa‘aki ‘olokuonga; pea ko hono konga koia′ na‘e pau ke fe‘ao mo au ‘i he kamata‘anga ‘o ha me‘a ‘oku fo‘ou. Na‘a ku ma‘u ha tama ‘ilo loloto.
Ko hono fua atu mei he falemahaki′ ki he ngaahi longoa‘a ‘o e hala pule‘anga′; faka‘uli māmālie ki ‘api he kia ua′; fafanga he tuu‘apoo, efiafi′, pea mo e hengihengi′ – fu‘u mātu‘aki mahu‘inga ‘aupito – Na‘a ku ongo‘i kuo u ‘avea ‘i hono mata′ pea mo e fu‘u toafa ‘o e ta‘e‘iloa′ ‘i he kaha‘u′. ‘E anga fēfē nai ‘eku ki‘i tama? Koehā ‘ene me‘a ‘e fai? ‘E mate fakakū nai? ‘E mo‘ui fuoloa, ko ‘eku ‘amanaki′ ia. ‘E fuoloa ‘aupito, ‘aupito. Ko e ngaahi ‘alunga ‘o e mala′, ko e teka māmālie hono ngaahi ‘aho′ ‘o hokohoko mei he me‘a ki he me‘a ‘o e fononga‘anga ‘oku fu‘u ta‘e mahino ia kiate au. ‘E lau afe ‘a e ngaahi faingata‘a ‘e hoko ki he valevale ni, ‘o a‘u pē ki ha‘ane mavahe meiate au. Koehā te u fai? Hala‘atā. Ko ‘eku lelei taha pē.
Ko e ngaahi ongo eni ‘oku mahino ia ki he ngaahi tui fakalotu′.
Na‘a ku fakakaukau, na‘a ku hoko ‘o tangata′ ‘i ha fa‘ahinga tafa‘aki kehe pea mo ‘ikai taau. Tokua na‘a ku tukuange ha me‘a ‘o ‘auhia ‘i he vai ‘o taimi. Koehā ha me‘a ‘e to e fai ki ai′, ka ko ‘ete falala pē ki he vaitafe – ‘ave ‘a e me‘a kotoa ki he nima ‘o e mafai mā‘olunga′.
‘Ooo, ‘oku sai.
Pea ko to e hai, ka ko e mamahi ‘o Kalaisi, ‘oku ne ‘ilo ‘a e mamahi ‘oku ‘omai ‘e he‘ete hoko ko e fa‘ēe.
Ko hono mo‘oni′, te u ta‘ofi ‘a e fefusiaki ni, kapau ‘e sai pē kiate koe. Te u kei ta‘ofi pē.
Anne Enright, ‘God’ in Making Babies: Stumbling into Motherhood, London: Vintage, 2005, 111-12.
***
Ko e fānau′ ko ha fa‘ahinga me‘a fakavale ‘atamai, ko hono mo‘oni ia. ‘Oku nau fakavaleloto, fakalao mo‘oni. Fakakaukau ki ai. Ko ho‘o kau pe ki he fa‘ahinga kulupu pehe ni ‘oku ke fiekaia, ‘ikai ke ke mamohe, ‘oku malohiange ke ke toutou fakahoko ha ngaahi ngāue tatau mo ta‘e ‘uhinga ‘i he taimi ‘e ni‘ihi ‘i he ‘aho mo e pō, pea ke siosiofi ‘a e kano‘imata ho taki fakatikitato, toutou lea‘aki e ngaahi lea ‘oku ta‘e ‘uhinga, pe ha fa‘ahinga tui, hangē ko e ‘Ooo ko e fo‘i laulōtaha eni. Ko e kau memipa ‘o e fa‘ahinga kulupu pehe ni, hangē ko e mātu‘a, ‘oku nau fu‘u laulaunoa, fa‘ahinga siosio noa. ‘Oku nau ‘ilo pē ‘oku nau ngali sesele, ka ‘oku ‘ikai kenau lava ‘o ta‘ofi. ‘Oku nau ui eni ko e ‘Ofa.
From ‘Baby-Talk’ in Anne Enright, Making Babies: Stumbling into Motherhood, London: Vintage, 2005, 138.
It was always a mystery to me why the churches of Ireland were filled with women, and empty of men. I looked up at the crucifix and thought it was a bizarre thing for women to worship a man in a church run by men. As far as I was concerned being a Catholic was silly, and being a Jew meant so much more washing-up. What all religions do, however, is what most political systems fail to do — they prize and praise the figure of the mother.
She is the machine, the hidden power. She is the ideal, the revered one, the truly loved. Which makes up, in a way, for being skipped in shop queues and looking like a heap.
And more. On the third night of my child’s life I looked into her eyes and realised that nothing I believed could explain this. It was an embarrassing moment. I think I saw her soul. I suffered from the conviction that a part of her was ancient; and that part chose to be there with me at the beginning of something new. I had a wise child.
Carrying her out of the hospital and into the noise of the traffic; driving her home in second gear; feeding her in the middle of the night, and at the beginning of the night, and at dawn — so precious — I found myself shrinking in the face of her vast and unknowable future. How would she turn out? What would she do? When would she die? Not for many, many years, I hoped; not for the longest time. The mechanisms of fate, the grinding of her days that would lead to one end or another, became urgently opaque to me. There were a thousand things that could hurt this child, or even estrange her from me. What could I do? Nothing. My best.
These are all feelings that religion understands.
I had, I thought, become human in a different and perhaps more radical way. I had let something slip into the stream of time. What else can you do, but trust the river — put it all into the hands of a higher power?
Oh, all right.
And who else, but the suffering Christ, could know the suffering that motherhood brings?
Actually, I will resist the tug of it, if you don’t mind. Still, I will resist.
Anne Enright, ‘God’ in Making Babies: Stumbling into Motherhood, London: Vintage, 2005, 111-12.
***
Children are actually a form of brainwashing. They are a cult, a perfectly legal cult. Think about it. When you join a cult you are undernourished, you are denied sleep, you are forced to do repetitive and pointless tasks at random hours of the day and night, then you stare deep into your despotic leader’s eyes, repeating meaningless phrases, or mantras, like Ooh da gorgeous. Yes, you are! Cult members, like parents, are overwhelmed by spiritual feelings and often burst into tears. Cult members, like parents, spout nonsense with a happy, blank look in their eyes. They know they’re sort of mad, but they can’t help it. They call it love.
From ‘Baby-Talk’ in Anne Enright, Making Babies: Stumbling into Motherhood, London: Vintage, 2005, 138.
‘Oku ou fifili ma‘u pē pe koehā hono ‘uhinga ‘oku fonu ai ‘a e ngaahi falelotu ‘i ‘Ailani′ ‘i he hou‘eiki fafine ka e hala ia he mātu‘a tangata. ‘Oku ou fa‘a sio hake ki he kolosi′ mo fakakaukau ‘oku faikehe ‘a e lotu ‘a e kakai fefine′ ki ha tangata′ ‘i ha siasi ‘oku fakalele ia ‘e ha mātu‘a tangata. ‘I he anga ‘o ‘eku vakai′ ‘oku ngali vale ‘eku kau ki he Katolika′, pea ko ‘ete Siu′ ‘oku lahi ange ‘a ‘ene totonu ke fakahaohaoa‘i kita′. Ko e ngaahi me‘a ‘oku fakahoko ‘e he ngaahi lotu′ ‘oku tatau tofu pe ia mo e ngaahi sistemi fakapolitikale ‘oku holofa – ‘oku nau fakapale‘i mo hikihiki‘i ‘a e ‘imisi ‘o e fa‘ee.
Ko e fā‘ee ko e misini, ‘i ai hono fu‘u mafai fakapulipuli. Ko e ‘imisi mo‘oni, ‘oku faka‘ei‘eiki, pea ‘oku ‘ofa‘i. Pea tā ko e ‘uhinga eni ‘oku ne fakalaka atu ai ‘i he kiu ‘i ha fale koloa ‘i he taimi ‘e ni‘ihi, mo ngali ‘oku lahi ‘a hono ngaahi lelei′.
Pea ko eni. ‘I he pō tolu hono fanau‘i ‘eku ki‘i tama′ na‘a ku sio ki hono mata′ ‘oku ou fakatokanga‘i ‘oku hala‘atā ha‘aku tui ‘e lava ke fakamatala‘i ‘a e me‘a ko eni′. Ko e momeniti ngalivale lahi eni. Na‘a ku pēhē ‘oku ou sio ki hono laumālie′. Na‘a ku filingaua ‘i ha fa‘ahinga tui tokua ‘oku ‘i ai hono tafa‘aki ‘olokuonga; pea ko hono konga koia′ na‘e pau ke fe‘ao mo au ‘i he kamata‘anga ‘o ha me‘a ‘oku fo‘ou. Na‘a ku ma‘u ha tama ‘ilo loloto.
Ko hono fua atu mei he falemahaki′ ki he ngaahi longoa‘a ‘o e hala pule‘anga′; faka‘uli māmālie ki ‘api he kia ua′; fafanga he tuu‘apoo, efiafi′, pea mo e hengihengi′ – fu‘u mātu‘aki mahu‘inga ‘aupito – Na‘a ku ongo‘i kuo u ‘avea ‘i hono mata′ pea mo e fu‘u toafa ‘o e ta‘e‘iloa′ ‘i he kaha‘u′. ‘E anga fēfē nai ‘eku ki‘i tama? Koehā ‘ene me‘a ‘e fai? ‘E mate fakakū nai? ‘E mo‘ui fuoloa, ko ‘eku ‘amanaki′ ia. ‘E fuoloa ‘aupito, ‘aupito. Ko e ngaahi ‘alunga ‘o e mala′, ko e teka māmālie hono ngaahi ‘aho′ ‘o hokohoko mei he me‘a ki he me‘a ‘o e fononga‘anga ‘oku fu‘u ta‘e mahino ia kiate au. ‘E lau afe ‘a e ngaahi faingata‘a ‘e hoko ki he valevale ni, ‘o a‘u pē ki ha‘ane mavahe meiate au. Koehā te u fai? Hala‘atā. Ko ‘eku lelei taha pē.
Ko e ngaahi ongo eni ‘oku mahino ia ki he ngaahi tui fakalotu′.
Na‘a ku fakakaukau, na‘a ku hoko ‘o tangata′ ‘i ha fa‘ahinga tafa‘aki kehe pea mo ‘ikai taau. Tokua na‘a ku tukuange ha me‘a ‘o ‘auhia ‘i he vai ‘o taimi. Koehā ha me‘a ‘e to e fai ki ai′, ka ko ‘ete falala pē ki he vaitafe – ‘ave ‘a e me‘a kotoa ki he nima ‘o e mafai mā‘olunga′.
‘Ooo, ‘oku sai.
Pea ko to e hai, ka ko e mamahi ‘o Kalaisi, ‘oku ne ‘ilo ‘a e mamahi ‘oku ‘omai ‘e he‘ete hoko ko e fa‘ēe.
Ko hono mo‘oni′, te u ta‘ofi ‘a e fefusiaki ni, kapau ‘e sai pē kiate koe. Te u kei ta‘ofi pē.
Anne Enright, ‘God’ in Making Babies: Stumbling into Motherhood, London: Vintage, 2005, 111-12.
***
Ko e fānau′ ko ha fa‘ahinga me‘a fakavale ‘atamai, ko hono mo‘oni ia. ‘Oku nau fakavaleloto, fakalao mo‘oni. Fakakaukau ki ai. Ko ho‘o kau pe ki he fa‘ahinga kulupu pehe ni ‘oku ke fiekaia, ‘ikai ke ke mamohe, ‘oku malohiange ke ke toutou fakahoko ha ngaahi ngāue tatau mo ta‘e ‘uhinga ‘i he taimi ‘e ni‘ihi ‘i he ‘aho mo e pō, pea ke siosiofi ‘a e kano‘imata ho taki fakatikitato, toutou lea‘aki e ngaahi lea ‘oku ta‘e ‘uhinga, pe ha fa‘ahinga tui, hangē ko e ‘Ooo ko e fo‘i laulōtaha eni. Ko e kau memipa ‘o e fa‘ahinga kulupu pehe ni, hangē ko e mātu‘a, ‘oku nau fu‘u laulaunoa, fa‘ahinga siosio noa. ‘Oku nau ‘ilo pē ‘oku nau ngali sesele, ka ‘oku ‘ikai kenau lava ‘o ta‘ofi. ‘Oku nau ui eni ko e ‘Ofa.
From ‘Baby-Talk’ in Anne Enright, Making Babies: Stumbling into Motherhood, London: Vintage, 2005, 138.
Translation Commentary
Telesia Kalavite
The Tongan language (Lea Faka-Tonga) is the official and indigenous language of the Kingdom of Tonga, also known as the Friendly Islands in the Pacific (Guile, 2005). English is the other official language. Lea Faka-Tonga is now spoken by more than 100,000 around the world. It is one of the most ancient of the Polynesian languages and is a branch of the Astronesian language family (Campbell, 2001). There are two Polynesian languages spoken in Tonga. They are Lea Faka-Tonga and Lea Faka-Niua (Niuan Language). Lea Faka-Tonga is a Tongic language related to Vagahau Niue. Lea Faka-Niua, spoken in Niuafo‘ou and Niua Toputapu, is a Samoic language, related to Western Polynesian languages such as Gagana Tokelau and Gagana Sāmoa (Ministry of Education, 2012). However, in any language the written form is different from its spoken form in many respects. Tongan like other Polynesian languages has a much stronger and richer oral tradition compared to its written tradition and that “literature in Tongan, fiction as well as nonfiction, is almost non-existent” (Otsuka, 2007, p. 457). This makes translation into Tongan from another languages very challenging. Lea Faka-Tonga has six unique characteristics that are historically significant. Some of these characteristics came through in the translations of Anne Enright’s work into Tongan as discussed in the following paragraphs.
Firstly, the Tongan spelling is phonemic. That is, Tongan words are spelled the way they are pronounced and pronounced the way they are spelled. Relatively few languages can boast of this convenience. All consonants are separated by a vowel. And all words end in a vowel (Shumway, 1978). All the words in this Tongan translation of Enright illustrate this, as in fifili, falelotu and ‘Ailani on the first line of the God (‘Otua) extract.
Secondly, Lea Faka-Tonga includes many old words and expressions for ancient customs and cultural items that are now extinct in Tonga. These Tongan vocabularies are used in oratory and poems that help effective communication amongst the Tongan people. Tongans who live in the diaspora in New Zealand, Australia, the United States and around the world who do not know how to speak in Tongan will find it hard to understand and conduct Tongan customs and traditions (Taumoefolau, 2006). Lea Faka-Tonga is crucial to communicate authentic Tongan culture (‘ulungaanga Faka-Tonga), which is fundamental to the whole of Tongan society. Since the setting of the narrative of these extracts were not in Tonga and characters were not Tongans there are no words in the story that relate to this characteristic of the Tongan language.
Thirdly, there is the honorific speech register that reflects Tonga’s hierarchical social structure with the King and the royal household at the apex, followed by the nobles at the next level down, then the elites, with the commoners at the base (Kalavite, 2010). There are different sets of vocabularies used for each level of the social hierarchy. This honorific register was further categorised by Taumoefolau (2012) into six different ways of talking. Starting from the top level of the hierarchy there is, first, lea fakatu‘i (regal level); two, lea fakahouhou‘eiki (chiefly level); three, lea fakamatāpule (polite level); four, lea faka‘aki‘akimui (self-derogatory or humble level); five, lea tavale (everyday conversational level); and six, lea ‘ita (abusive language level). In this translation I used a mixture of levels three, polite level; and level five, the everyday conversational language.
Fourthly, there are some English words that cannot be translated into Tongan as they have no English equivalent to translate it correctly and effectively, for example the word ‘cult’. I translated it as ‘kulupu fulikivanu, anga mālohi, fakavaleloto, mo ivi mālohi’ (a group that is bizarre, strong headed, eccentric, weird, peculiar, and powerful). In this context I explained the word (give the meaning) because there is no Tongan word that is equivalent to cult. Another example is ‘mobile’ I literally translated it as ‘mopila’ then I give a full explanation like this, koe me‘ava‘inga ‘oku ngāohi ‘o tui ki ai e fanga ki‘i me‘ava‘inga kehekehe ‘o tautau he mohenga pēpee pea ‘oku ngaungaue ‘o va‘inga ki ai e pēpee ‘i he‘ene tokoto hono mohenga′ (a mobile is a toy structure attached on top of a baby’s cradle. Smaller toys that are hanging from the structure move when the baby moves, which excites the baby). Another example are the translations of names where I put the English name in brackets, as in, Monitolieni (Mondrian) and Tapulini (Dublin).
Fifthly, there is no smooth transfer of meaning between English and Tongan because the structure of the Tongan language is entirely different from the structure of the English language (Taumoefolau, 2004). This is because writing in English and writing in Tongan follow different rules. There is nowhere where one can acquire the art of writing in different genres in Tongan as these are no set rules or regulations to guide Tongan writers on how to write fiction, non-fiction and newspaper columns in the Tongan language. Nevertheless, the basic Tongan sentence structure follows a verb–subject–object (VSO) pattern (Volkel, 2010). English follows five basic syntactic structures: (1) subject–verb (SV), (2) subject–verb–object (SVO), (3) subject–verb–adjective (SVAdj), (4) subject–verb–adverb (SVAdv) and (5) subject–verb–noun (SVN) (Kalavite, 2019). I opted to transform these English sentence patterns to fit Tongan’s standard of VSO pattern. In the extract Time (Taimi) the first sentence that reads ‘My earliest memory is of a pot stand’ (SVN) is translated as ‘Ko ‘eku fuofua manatu ko ha tu‘u‘anga kulo’ (VSO) (is my earliest memory of a pot stand).
Finally, the inclusion of diacritical marks (ngaahi faka‘ilonga) in the translation is vital so that the narrative makes sense to Tongan readers. These are first, the fakau‘a [ ‘ ] not [ ’ ] the apostrophe symbol: Fakau‘a faces to the right like an inverted comma while the apostrophe faces to the left. Fakau‘a represents the sound of the glottal stop and it is a consonant in the Tongan language. Using a glottal stop can make a difference to the meaning of the word; for instance, ‘ofa (with a glottal stop) means ‘love’ while ofa (without glottal stop) means “to measure in fathom”; secondly, the use of toloi [macron: ā] can make a difference to the meaning—for example, pēpē (with macron) means ‘baby’ but pepe (without macron) means ‘butterfly’; thirdly, the fakamamafa pau [ ′ ] definitive accent; fa‘ee′, falls on the final vowel of a word and indicates definiteness. As an example of the difference that the definitive accent can make, take the word fa‘ē (mother). Ko e fa‘ē means “a mother,” but ko e fa‘ēe´ (with the definitive accent) means “the mother.” Finally, the speakers of Lea Faka-Tonga normally stress the second-to-last vowel or syllable of words (fakamamafa he lea fie pipiki’ [Na‘a′ ku]). One-syllable words in the Tongan language can’t be spoken in isolation, and so they are pronounced as part of the preceding (or following) word. This means that a one-syllable word (an enclitic) at the end of a sentence is pronounced as the final syllable (or vowel) of the preceding word. For example, in the extract of Time (Taimi) the phrase ko e ‘uluaki faikehekehe ‘o e ongo me‘a′ ni, the a in the word me‘a is stressed because it is followed by the enclitic ni. The differences in pronunciations reflect the differences in meanings. These conventions on diacritical marks in the Tongan language are used throughout the story.
This Tongan translation of Anne Enright’s work is a strongly literal rendering of the English version into Tongan, basically, to convey a clear meaning of the narratives for common contemporary Tongans to enjoy. This translation attempted to preserve as many of the original elements of the extracts as possible (for example, the country in which the story occurs, cultural icons and customs).
References
Guile, Melanie. 2005. Tonga: Islands of the South Pacific. Sydney, NSW, Australia: Carmel Heron.
Kalavite, Telesia. (2019). Tongan translation realities across tā (time) and vā (space). Journal of
New Zealand and Pacific Studies 7:2, pp. 173-183.
Kalavite, Telesia. (2010). Fononga ‘a Fakahalafononga: Tongan Students’ Journey to Academic
Achievement in New Zealand Tertiary Education. PhD Thesis, The University of
Waikato, Hamilton, New Zealand
Ministry of Eduation. 2012. Ko e fakahinohino ki he lea Faka-Tonga: The Tongan language guidelines. Wellington, New Zealand: The Learning Media.
Otsuka, Yuko. 2007. Making a case for Tongan as an endangered language. The Contemporary Pacific, Volume 19, (2). pp. 446-473.
Shumway, Eric. B. (1978), Intensive Course in Tongan. Honolulu, HI: The University Press of
Hawaii.
Taumoefolau, Melenaite. 2004. The translation of Queen Salote's poetry. In S. Fenton (Ed.), For better or for worse: Translation as a tool for change in the South Pacific (pp. 241-272). Manchester, England: St Jerome.
Taumoefolau, Melenaite. 2006, 30 September - 2 October. Mahu'inga 'o e lea faka-Tonga: The importance of the Tongan language, Kosilio 'a fafine Tonga Nu‘usila Conference 2006.
Palmerston North, New Zealand.
Taumoefolau, Melenaite (2012). Tongan ways of talking, The Journal of the Polynesian Society 121:4, pp, 327-37.