In connection with my New Zealand organic wool wax project, I ran a small acreage on the South Sea island of Samoa. It was strategically located - as a stopover on my flight to New Zealand. The locals made a natural maceration (heat extraction in the sun) of flowers, herbs and roots from coconut oil, resulting in a wonderfully fragrant oil. I was often there when they were singing and doing their work with great dedication. After pressing, they put the plant parts in glass bottles and dig them to ripen in the warm sand on the beach - so that the extract could slowly soak into the coconut oil.

At that time I decided to create my own cream with this extract, it should be called Samoa Cream. I placed orders with a contact person on the island and paid in advance. The person sent the oil to Germany reliably. It went like this for about two years, then I flew there again. The island women who were allowed to make this oil for me were proud and happy about it, and when I came here for the second time, they welcomed me with a big party at which they prepared an "umu" (the earth becomes overnight a pig cooked with hot lava stones). At some point, however, no more deliveries arrived in Germany. For six months I tried to contact my Samoa contact without success! One evening, around half past ten, I was already in bed, the doorbell rang at the door (at that time I had my private apartment directly above the company). I opened and faced a tall, dark-skinned man, a pretty irritating sight in the middle of the night. I was close to closing the door when I saw a taxi waiting behind him. The man told me in a Mishmash English that he had a shipment from Samoa and whether I was the German cosmetics woman.

I followed him curiously to the taxi, about 20 one-liter Coca-Cola bottles were waiting for their release in the trunk, filled with the valuable blossom coconut oil. The man made it clear to me that his brother, who had been my supplier, had died. He himself had not known how such a delivery would take place, so he had collected money for a flight all over the village so that he could hand over the delivery, which had already been paid in advance. The tears were in my eyes, at least I wanted to share in the "delivery costs".

He refused to accept any money, not even the taxi that had taken him from the airport in an hour and a half to be refunded. The next morning he flew back, and since then I haven't dared to order in Samoa. Finally, there are fears that the village will go broke on my account. On my next visit I took generous gifts with me - unfortunately I had to take the Samoa cream off the market.