The aroma of newly bought notebooks fills the hallways as students return to classrooms in their crisp uniforms and clean haircuts. It’s a fresh start to another school year at Samoana High School. However, missing from her teacher’s desk, where she taught English for the past 20 years, is Dakota Sofa. “My resignation was kinda long overdue,” she said in a telephone interview. “I’m really sick. When you’re sick, it just changes the way you think. I know who I am—my heart, my spirit of wanting to create things. I’m not able to do any of that because of these illnesses.”
From staging award-winning school performances, choreographing fa’afafine pageant productions, hosting events, and mentoring students, to being the inspiring educator she is, everything Dakota touched turned to gold. But in recent years, faced with challenging health obstacles, she reluctantly resigned from her job and relocated to Utah in August to be near her kids and family. “I need good medical attention,” she added. “Who I was—I feel like it’s fading. I need to take care of it before I lose myself. My mental well-being is at stake too. For a long time, I would always say I’m fine, I was meant to be big, and then the next thing you know, my body is not allowing me to move. It’s important to take care of yourself and keep a tab on your health.”
In the past 20 years, Dakota has been a visionary creator, proficient writer, and an eloquent and motivational educator in the English language. Many of her peers and former students have praised her as one of the great educators of her time. However, for the most part, her name was often heard but rarely seen, choosing instead to be a pillar in the wings. A woman for all seasons, Dakota is undoubtedly one of American Samoa’s finest unsung fa’afafine heroes.
Born the third of six siblings in the Bay Area of California to a laborer father and a nurse mother, Dakota grew up in a devout Mormon household and spoke only English as a child. “The LDS religion played a big role in my upbringing,” said Dakota. “My parents were very strict people, and it made me an introvert to the point where I didn’t like to put myself out there.”
From a young age, Dakota remembers the feeling of being attracted to Mormon missionaries in her ward. Her mannerisms had always been feminine, and everyone who knew her also knew she was different. “I’ve always known I was a fa’afafine,” she recalls. “But it was something that was frowned upon, especially growing up LDS. There’s such a dignified look upon the sexes and the traditional roles that they play. I did not have a coming out because you could not leave and not have an experience with me that I was a fa’afafine.”
At home, Dakota faced difficulties from both her parents, who were tough disciplinarians. She remembers one time getting a beating from her dad for painting a fence purple because she added color to it. “My dad beat me because of things I did wrong, but never specifically because I was a fa’afafine,” she says. “But also, the beatings were a lot harder because I felt it was the only time he allowed his anger about me being fa’afafine. My mom—I could never question her love for me, but her motherly love was addressed from the point of exaltation, where it wasn’t what people thought of her in social standings, but it was more religious. She wanted me to reap the blessings of God and the kingdom, being the religious mother she was.”
In 1989, while her parents stayed behind to provide support, Dakota and her siblings relocated to her mother’s village in Satitoa, Aleipata, to live with her grandparents. Coming from a place of civilization to living in true island style, it was a huge culture shock for her and her siblings. It was in Aleipata where Dakota also experienced her first sexual encounter. “I did not pursue it. Apia men are just very catering to fa’afafine. Experiencing everything in thought, and then action taking place, just made sense for me. It finally twisted the lid and closed the canister on who I was. I felt affirmed.”
After a year of living in Aleipata, Dakota became severely ill, and her parents moved them to American Samoa. At the time, said Dakota, there was a better advantage, and things were more familiar to American life, and she assimilated better to the atmosphere in American Samoa.
Upon her arrival, a woman walked by her house in Utulei village one day, and Dakota thought she was the most beautiful being she had ever seen. Her name was Simeonica, and she later discovered she was also fa’afafine. It was while attending Matafao Elementary School that Dakota also met her first fa’afafine friend, Moesha Bird. “It was like, wow, I finally found my tribe,” she says.
As is customary with many Samoan families, parents usually seek among their kids and navigate towards the one they feel they can depend on. Dakota became that child to her parents. “If things weren’t organized, I would get all the blame because they understood that I was the one who kept things in order,” she said. “Especially when my older sister got married and moved out, it became a bigger responsibility.”
After graduating high school, she attended BYU in Hawai’i, but it was perhaps the hardest temptation ever, said Dakota. “BYU Hawai’i was blessed with the absolute finest specimen of Polynesian men, and I could not concentrate.” She returned to American Samoa and took courses at the community college. There, she came under the guidance of Cherie Ripley, a longtime transgender secretary at the college.
“Mama Cherie Ripley—I call her my Queen Mother because she was pretty much there. I found myself constantly battling with my religious and fa’afafine identity. I felt like I couldn’t coexist between the two—it had to be one or the other. Cherie was very instrumental in putting me in a mental space where I could understand, grow better, and accept who I was and understand my worth.”
In 1996, Dakota’s father passed away. For many years, her father was their sole provider, but even with his pay as a customs agent, they struggled. After his death, they lived off their mother’s only income—her social security checks. Dakota also faced her mother’s hesitancy to accept her fa’afafine identity. “My mom made it difficult, and I found myself struggling with who I was,” Dakota reflected. “I didn’t want to be a stress factor. She worried most for me for many things—one being fa’afafine, the other being overweight. She was concerned about my soul and salvation, but she was also consistently worried that because the fa’afafine life was hard and people weren’t accepting, she didn’t want me to experience the hurt she knew.”
Dakota recalls one ugly fight with her mother that made her feel she couldn’t live at home anymore. She packed her things, threw them in a trash bag, and out the window. Shevon Matai, a cousin, saw her walking on the road with her trash bag in hand. Shevon had also endured a difficult upbringing with her father. She invested in reassuring Dakota, from one fa’afafine sister to another, that the life of a fa’afafine would have its difficulties, but rest assured, if you put everything in perspective, it will all turn out good in the end. “I did my best to stay in school and get a scholarship to keep my mom happy,” says Dakota.
Dakota’s dreams were to become a lawyer. She earned her bachelor’s degrees in English literature, political and historical studies, and criminal justice from Chaminade University in her pursuit to attend law school. But a call from her mother to return home after graduating college prompted a change in direction. Returning home, she applied for jobs at the local police station, criminal justice, and attorney general’s offices and never received a call back. “The one place I didn’t apply was the one place that called me—the Department of Education,” says Dakota. “And that’s how I came into the profession of teaching. And the rest is history.”
Dakota expressed that it was the relationships she forged with teachers and students that she treasures the most from her teaching experience. She maintained good relationships with kids she got close to and stayed in contact with them for years, offering guidance and support. She noted heartfelt gratitude from past students, such as spoken word poet Penehuro Williams, and those who returned to teach alongside her, naming in particular Ammon Fepuleai and Manino Reed, were moments she felt the most proud as an educator.
Her teaching philosophy has always been: “Your grade reflects what you turned in.” “My feelings have no bearing on it,” she asserted. “That same philosophy grew tensions with kids that I was close to because they got too comfortable with me not turning in work. But it also worked for those who didn’t like me because they did their work honestly and got a real good grade. I was always firm with that philosophy because it is the only way to grade a student. You have to be fair and give them what they deserve.”
I asked Dakota about the increase in the number of valedictorians in high schools in American Samoa in recent years. Samoana High went as far as awarding 16 students valedictorian status, which was very unheard of in the past. The move came with criticism and doubt from the local community on the integrity and fairness of the public school system.
“That type of advocacy for students is very harmful,” she said. “Being firm in your beliefs has disadvantages. If it upsets them, then there’s a lesson. Being valedictorian is not a measurement of your intelligence, it is a measurement of your work ethic, meaning you worked hard to get that grade. There are so many valedictorians who don’t reach a 1000 SAT score, and SATs are an assessment of critical thinking. It separates those who are considered intelligent—that’s the difference between the SAT and GPA.”
“How has teaching and education changed in this era of ever-advancing technology?” I asked. “My first 10 years, the internet was a thing, but it wasn’t as exacerbating as now, where we have connections on our phones and gadgets,” she explained. “When information became accessible in terms of speed, learning became more of a chore to the student rather than a lesson. I’d rather have a student who may not get a great grade but has learned the content. It becomes part of their bank of knowledge, enabling them to apply it to their understanding.”
“And that goes for anyone, even if you’re not in school. You have to allow yourself to understand things and then absorb them. When you’re not able to participate well enough in discussions, it’s because you don’t have enough background knowledge to draw an informative opinion. Learning never stops; you’re learning till you die. The biggest challenge is when kids are just moment learners and find no value in it.”
The fa’afafine community is much more visible today in American Samoa than it was 30 years ago, especially in places and roles that were once glass ceilings. “Do you feel there’s a difference in the generation of fa’afafine now compared to when you grew up?” I questioned. “There is so much competition among the younger ones in the fa’afafine community today,” Dakota stated. “You can tell from all their social media posts. When all the barriers that were once against us became a lot smaller, they take it for granted because they don’t know what the struggle was. They might have heard of the struggles, but they cannot relate if it wasn’t their experience.”
“It’s very important that the young fa’afafine invest in each other in terms of understanding and mafutaga (bond), because when no one else can relate to you or help you, the only ones you can count on are your own. As much as our situations are different, our stories all fall under the same foundation.”
Throughout her entire life, Dakota faced challenges and struggles with her LDS faith. “I haven’t attended church since 2018,” she said. “It is challenging because I was once such a strong member of the church. There are certain things that we believe in, like the blessings one can receive. And because I did not prove myself worthy, it was sad when I got older. The people and friends I grew up with in the church were able to go to the temple, except me. I found myself in these confessions with my bishop, but I always left feeling less valued. Every confession ended with some kind of encouragement, but with every confession, a piece of me diminished.”
“I felt like I failed at God’s task. I felt like I must have chosen to be fa’afafine, and for a long time, that’s how I felt. In my younger years, most of the happiness I ever had was because I felt in tune with my church’s teachings. I yearn for those moments where I was truly a good follower of the principles of the Mormon faith. But I made peace that I may never yield. I’ve found favor in God, but God found favor in me because I was faithful enough. I’ve also made peace with the fact that I’m also human, and it doesn’t mean that I don’t love my Heavenly Father.”
Dakota’s mom passed away in 2011. In remembering her mother, she reflected, “One of the things that resonated is out of all her kids: kalofae si ou kama po’o ai e alofa moni ia te oe (My poor child, who is gonna ever love you the way I do?). She had such a burning sense of love a mother could have for her child. It hurt her soul that if she died, she was the only one who could afford me that type of love and companionship.”
Dakota raised her sister Pa’i’s kids alongside her mom. When their mom passed, Dakota was broken but comforted that she had her sister and her kids. However, the heartbreak deepened when Pa’i died unexpectedly in 2021 during the COVID-19 epidemic. American Samoa was on complete lockdown, and only one of Pa’i’s kids was living in Samoa at the time. None of her other children could attend the funeral.
“My sister was my saving grace,” she said. “She protected me a lot from my dad’s beatings. She would jump in front of me because she knew our dad would never lay his hands on her. Having to raise her kids since they were toddlers—I think that was God’s way of foreseeing the help I would need here in these years now. He allowed me to raise these kids, who now love me in return.”
“Looking back on your life and career, what do you hope your legacy will be?” I asked. “I never really thought about that,” she replies. “I guess that I was here. That I existed. That people will be able to be inspired by the valiant job of teaching. It’s a profession that has made all other professions possible. We do it for the kids. While people think teaching is a one-way street—no! We learn as well from our own students. Teaching is one of those professions where you don’t see the fruits of your work immediately.”
“Like a lawyer can win a case, a football player can win a game and build their house. But we have to wait for our students to go out there, take care of themselves, and sustain financially. Can they raise their kids? Can they provide for their families? Teachers will be able to see what they had a part in. It takes skill to help your students understand, but also to learn how to learn. And when they do, that’s a skill. Then we can take our trophy and finally say… thank you.”
