On Saturday, 7th of June, opening the 2025 Pacific Dance Festival, Stories We Share by PHAB Pasifika takes to the stage at the Māngere Arts Centre with a powerful, moving, and empowering performance that gives me all the feels. I absolutely love it.

As I enter the Arts Centre, the foyer is alive with whispered excitement. After my ticket is scanned, I find my seat and watch as people, both in wheelchairs and on foot, begin to fill the room. What’s clear is that many people know each other. The excited chatter rises, and it is heartwarming to witness so much familiarity and togetherness.

The lights fade further, signalling the start. Naomi Vailima glides in from stage right and welcomes us, telling the audience to sit back, relax, and enjoy the show. The crowd cheers. The lights shift, and a school bell rings. Lavinia Lovo brings the energy immediately, along with the rest of the cast, chattering and crowding around one another. It feels alive.

Choreographed by Lavinia Lovo and creatively directed by Naomi Vailima, Stories We Share blends traditional Samoan and Tongan dance with moments of hip hop freestyle and crumping. These layers add freshness and range to the performance. Two narratives unfold: a modern story and a reimagined legend of how the tatau came to Samoa. Both explore identity, grief, love, and the strength of community.

The show centres the voices of the Pacific disability community, allowing them to share their stories in their own way. These truths are woven with purpose and heart. The choreography and narrative work together to challenge assumptions and offer the audience a new lens. Naomi Vailima shines in her role as the mother in both storylines, holding space with poise and emotional depth.

A standout moment is the on-screen, black-and-white video of Lavinia Lovo and another wheelchair dancer. Their siva is synchronised, graceful, and strong. Their hands move with purpose, and it becomes clear that they are portraying conjoined sisters. Presenting this in black and white makes it feel like a memory, deepening the emotional impact. We too feel as if we are listening to the mother’s story.

The use of space is striking. Dancers travel in wheelchairs and on foot, creating variation in height and perspective. This visual contrast reflects the social disparities faced by disabled people. It is symbolic as well as physical.

Costumes are effective. The cast wears either school uniforms or black clothing, while Naomi Vailima wears a yellow puletasi. These choices reflect the performers’ identities and support the storytelling without distracting. They remind us that these are real people, sharing lived experience. These are the true stories they have chosen to share.

Lighting shifts gently to guide mood and setting. Early scenes are lit like a school hall, while others take on a dreamlike quality. A blue wash near the start reminds me of the moana. These shifts support the emotional tone without overwhelming the performers.

The sound design is clean and supportive, using music to lift the choreography and dialogue rather than overpower it. The rhythm and tempo influence the dancers’ timing and breath, creating flow and cohesion.

The ending is memorable. Everyone gathers around as if circling a treasure, each person holding space for the one under the ‘au, each one protecting the vā. The crowd has their phones out, smiling and taking photos, bearing witness to something meaningful. The tatau connects our communities but also reminds us that disability is not separate from culture. These performers are culture-bearers too. The retelling of the tatau origin story challenges Pacific communities to reclaim the idea that disability is not weakness. It is strength, in a different form.

Ioane’s story stands out. On the surface it feels like a familiar dream-sequence arc, where he wakes before achieving his goal. But it lands differently. Ioane Manupule’s body language carries grief and loss. His movement says what words cannot. Naomi Vailima’s creative direction and Lavinia Lovo’s choreography make this moment especially powerful. Ioane’s voice feels drowned out by the noise of the world, and we feel the ache of that silence.

The show gives the audience much to reflect upon. For me, three takeaways remain:

First, how do we create spaces to support those who need it? This show reminds me it takes a village. No one gets anywhere alone. How can the arts step up for the disabled community?

Second, “It’s okay to be different. No one else can be you.” – Naomi

And third, disabled people are not weak. Their strengths are different, not lesser.

Stories We Share is a celebration of culture and identity that leaves its audience with something to take home and hold. It is a gift of story and movement, from those who have often been left out of the conversation. I would highly recommend this show to anyone, especially those who care about inclusion, representation, and the transformative power of dance.

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