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Selina Alesana Alefosio by Geoffery Matautia for Pacific Profiles
Selina Alesana Alefosio by Geoffery Matautia for Pacific Profiles

SocietyFebruary 15, 2025

Pacific profiles: Meet Selina Alesana Alefosio, who teaches Pacific dance at Aotearoa’s most prestigious drama school

Selina Alesana Alefosio by Geoffery Matautia for Pacific Profiles
Selina Alesana Alefosio by Geoffery Matautia for Pacific Profiles

The Pacific profiles series shines a light on Pacific people in Aotearoa doing interesting and important work in their communities, as nominated by members of the public. Today, Selina Alesana Alefosio.

All photos by Geoffery Matautia.

On a bright Sunday morning from her grandparent’s home in Pito-one, I spoke with the incredible Selina Alesana Alefosio about Pōneke’s Tokelauan community, being a performing artist, wearing many hats, and teaching at Aotearoa’s most prestigious drama school, Te Kura Toi Whakaari O Aotearoa. 

Tell us about yourself and your kāiga (family).

Mālo ni! Ko Selina he tamaiti e a Sefilina ma Fiava’ai Isara Alesana. Ko na matua o Sefilina ko Isitolo ma Vitolia Koloi. O Mātua o Fiava’ai o Reverend Āretaseta Alesana Isara ma Tūmanu Alesana. On my mum’s side, we are from Tokelau/Uvea, she also has links to Portugal. Our father, he passed in 2001, is Samoan from the villages of Falefā, Faleasiu, Vaie’e, Salani, and Ulutogi’a Aleipata. I was born and bred in the Hutt Valley, and the eldest of six children. I’m now married to Sale Alefosio and we have two kids. Our daughter lives with autism, and our boy lives with ADHD. This is our grandparents’ house in Richmond, Pito-one, better known as ‘Petone.’ 

I’m curious about the Tokelauan community here in Pōneke. Could you tell me more?

Wellington has the highest population of Tokelauans in the world. Porirua has the most, then the Hutt Valley. Most of us who come from the Hutt predominantly come from the Nukunonu atoll and are Catholic. Catholicism is really prevalent out here, not just the religious aspect but the cultural aspect, too. Our language – gagana Tokelau – and hiva (dance) has mainly been through church. It’s a very strong Tokelau community out here.

We hear a lot about the endangerment of Pacific languages and culture, especially for islands like Tokelau. It’s great to hear there’s a strong, thriving diaspora down here.  

Absolutely. Growing up our grandfather was a very staunch Tokelau/Uvea man, not just in religion but in the gagana Tokelau. I didn’t realise he spoke English until I was in intermediate. They never spoke it to us, so we were fluent from birth. Before we had the community halls, we had a lot of community events out in our grandparents’ garage. That helped my siblings and I to learn about serving, always looking after people, and what it means to be a good host. The language and culture were constantly around us.

When I read up about you I thought it was impossible to capture all that you do under one label because you wear so many different hats. Could you expand on your various roles and responsibilities? 

Where to start. For me, performing arts is the biggest thing in my life. That comes not just from my studies, but since I was a baby. I learnt Tokelau hiva through our grandparents and our kāiga. Our father was a musician and a singer, so music was constantly in our lives. It’d be him on Saturday morning cooking breakfast pancakes with the Samoan songs blasting. In Church there was singing, so performing’s been instilled in me since I was a child. I suppose all those things – reunions, events, performing in front of your family in church – have helped me get to where I am today.

You’re busy!

I think with the different hats, it’s about wherever I see the need, and wherever I see I can help. But I’ve learnt the hard way that you can’t say yes to everything because you can’t do everything. And it took me a long time to learn that. I used to say yes to everything and be there to help everyone, but I had to learn that in order to fill other people’s cups, my cup has to be filled.

True. But it’s easier said than done…

It’s so hard! My grandparents did everything for their community and their family.

I used to think “Who am I? I’m a product of their love and their service, who am I to say no to other people?” Our grandparents are the pinnacle of everything that we grew up learning. I get really emotional talking about them.

And now you’re teaching?

Yes, now that I’m teaching my children help to inform my practice. I have to think; how do I transfer all that amazing and beautiful knowledge that our tupuna and kāiga have given us onto the next generations who aren’t necessarily fluent in the languages? 

How did the role at Toi Whakaari come about?

Like a lot of artists, I had to do the 9-5 and my arts practice was always on the side. I was at the Ministry of Social Development for 16 years. For a long time, I was weighing up the option of being an artist fulltime or not. Having a family comes with responsibilities, but after 16 years of putting it to the side, and with the blessing of my husband, I finished up my role.

I went straight into contract work and I’m now doing work with Toi Whakaari drama school teaching fundamentals in Pacific dance for year 1 drama students.

That’s interesting. I never knew they ran courses like that. 

It’s so beautiful! Term one is the fundamentals of dance. Those who are non-Pacific have never heard of Tokelau, ever! But they learn to sing and dance and in term two they create a production using myth, legend and stories for children’s theatre.

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How have the students responded?

They’ve been amazing. They’re really grateful to learn something new and something different. I work with the beautiful Emele Ugavale, and she is teaching them the importance of learning lots of different things and adding it to their basket of knowledge to tap into when they need it. 

That’s great to hear that the drama curriculum is now teaching from these different cultural lenses. 

It’s impressive to see, in my lifetime, how Indigenous knowledge and culture is valued and can add to a Western model. A lot of people going through the school are non-Pacific, but their response has been amazing. They’re so focused and have this hunger to learn. When I reflect, I think about how I’m creating relationships with people who are the finest up-and-coming artists in Aotearoa. I feel so blessed to have that opportunity.

You and your husband, Sale, co-founded an arts entity the Kupega Affect in 2021. What’s the story behind that?

The Kupega Affect is a Samoan/Tokelau/Uvea arts entity. A lot of the work we first started was around dance. The name pays homage to our tupuna and translates in gagana Tokelau to “fishing net”. My grandmother was a master weaver and our granddad was a rope maker who really grasped onto knowledge. Everything connects. My brother is also a weaver and rope maker and he’s helped us to realise our vision with our costumes. Although he uses traditional methodologies he’s helped us find contemporary ways of using them.

This year we had our Tokelau cultural festival with everyone from around Aotearoa. That was a real highlight as I got to help our children, college and adult groups with the hiva. I see my role as being the bridge from our elders to our young people. I want to make sure the knowledge is shared in a way that they can understand.

You mentioned when you introduced yourself that your children live with autism and ADHD. How does disability advocacy intersect with your arts practice?

Our girl was formally diagnosed with autism at five. We always knew she was different. From a young age, she was very creative and into music. She learnt how to play instruments herself. We were like, “wow!” For us, it was about seeing what she needed. In the education system, we had to fight for what she needed and it made us realise that we have to create what we don’t see. Now she’s 21 and creates music and she and our son are in all our projects. We have so many amazing talented artists here living with different abilities. I hope that people open their minds and hearts to what they have, because there’s so much talent in their craft. People have to realise what they bring and make sure that they’re seen!

This is Public Interest Journalism funded by NZ On Air.

Illustration of a laptop displaying two silhouette figures on a blue screen with digital noise and glitch effects. The figures face opposite directions, and the background has a static-like appearance.
Image: The Spinoff

SocietyFebruary 14, 2025

I was catfished on a dating app. But why?

Illustration of a laptop displaying two silhouette figures on a blue screen with digital noise and glitch effects. The figures face opposite directions, and the background has a static-like appearance.
Image: The Spinoff

If financial exploitation isn’t the motive, why create a fake online persona to mislead someone into thinking romance is on the cards? After a catfishing experience that bruised her ego, Charlotte Bell was determined to find out.

The conversation with Darren* began as most do on dating apps. “What do you do for work? Where are you from? Do you like anal? How many siblings do you have?” No major alarm bells rang looking at Darren’s profile. He was attractive, but not in an unattainable way. He was in my league. He gave specific details about Christchurch that only a person who lived here would know. He said he worked for BNZ, went to a gym on Victoria Street, and didn’t have many friends as he’d relocated from Sydney four months previously.

Usually, if I’m planning to meet up with someone from an app, I ask to see their social media first. Darren said that he’d deactivated all of his accounts because he’d been “catfished” by someone on Tinder. He had sent his catfisher incriminating videos of his penis, and this person was blackmailing him by threatening him on his Instagram account. This struck me as unusual, but I’d heard plenty of stories about people being conned out of money or arriving at a first date to find the person meeting them looked nothing like their profile.

When I suggested messaging on WhatsApp, he said he couldn’t because he was using his work phone and couldn’t sign in. I couldn’t rationalise this. Why would someone have Feeld (a sex-positive dating app known for normalising kinks) on his work phone but not WhatsApp? Darren told me he was on holiday with his boss and their family on Waiheke, but he wanted to meet when he got back the following week. I said I felt uncomfortable about not having any way to verify his identity, so he could give me a call when he got back, and we could get a coffee.

He was persistent in communication, but not in an overly intense way, so I found myself replying to his messages throughout the week. In all honesty, he seemed like a cool guy. It felt as though we had similar interests, a similar friend circle, he talked about going to therapy for low self-esteem, and how he had three younger sisters that he was protective of. He sent a few pictures over the week, but it was hard to tell if they were recent or old. He’d told me his last name was Pritchard, a very common Australian surname. But Darren Pritchard didn’t come up in any searches. I tried googling Darren Pritchard BNZ, Darren Pritchard BFT gym, Darren Pritchard Sydney. I searched for the BNZ work apartments he supposedly lived in. I scrolled through the lists of BNZ employees and went through every single tagged image of the gym he said he belonged to. I searched for the dog called Loki in one of the selfies he sent me. I couldn’t find him on LinkedIn, Instagram or Facebook.

It’s an uncomfortable thing to accuse someone of lying about their identity, especially when you can’t be 100% certain. So I agreed to meet him near his apartment in the city, then I would find out once and for all. The very day we were supposed to meet, his account disappeared, and that’s when I realised I’d been duped.

Whenever I feel foolish, I do whatever it takes to feel in control of the situation. I remembered I knew a woman who worked part-time at the gym chain he said he attended. I asked if she’d ever met an Australian guy called Darren in the classes. She hadn’t but was very on board with trying to expose the catfisher. A few hours later, she sent through proof that “Darren Pritchard” was not a member.

I thought that finding out for sure that Darren was not real would be the end of it. I could let it go and move on with my life. But it wasn’t as simple as that. My ego was bruised, and I needed to know why.

Catfishing is the act of creating a deceptive online persona in order to mislead others. According to a research paper on “the motivations of catfish perpetrators” published in 2024, one of the primary motivations of catfishers is financial exploitation. We are all too familiar with podcasts and Netflix series like Sweet Bobby and The Tinder Swindler, so this shouldn’t be surprising. However, it didn’t fit with my situation. Darren knew I was a student, working part-time as a writer and broke. I hadn’t sent him any explicit videos or images for him to use as blackmail. So why did he bother?

hands holding a phone and computer surrounded by love hearst and dollar signs
We’re all too familiar with catfishers who are in it for financial gain, but sometimes it’s just about validation

Annabel Kuhn, who completed her psychiatry residency at Harvard, explained in an interview from 2022 that some catfishers use this form of manipulation as entertainment. By creating an alternative identity, individuals can distance themselves from their reality, gain attention, or satisfy unfulfilled emotional needs. The internet’s anonymity enables them to pursue these desires without facing immediate real-world repercussions. She goes on to say that people with low self-esteem or narcissistic tendencies may engage in catfishing. Crafting a perfect online identity provides them with a sense of validation and admiration they believe is missing from their offline lives. Those with narcissistic traits, in particular, may exhibit a lack of empathy and manipulate others for their own benefit.

Tragically, the people most vulnerable to being catfished are often those seeking emotional connection and validation. Individuals with low self-esteem or loneliness may become deeply invested in online relationships that provide them with the attention and support they crave. Older adults and those less familiar with digital deception are also at risk, as they may struggle to recognise the warning signs of a fraudulent relationship. Similarly, those actively looking for love, particularly after a breakup or personal loss, may be more willing to overlook inconsistencies in an online partner’s story. Naturally empathetic and trusting individuals can also fall victim, as their tendency to see the good in people makes them easy targets for manipulation.

Dating apps are a hotbed for deception. With easy anonymity, anyone can craft an appealing persona. Instant validation, flirty messages and a flood of matches can make users more trusting – especially if they’re feeling lonely or fresh out of a breakup. Algorithms keep feeding us what we want to see, while the lack of face-to-face cues makes it harder to spot red flags.

As much as I hate to admit it, I’d been feeling lonely. I was coming to terms with a rejection from a man I thought I loved and was desperate to move on. I was drawn to Feeld as I’d heard it attracted a more mature and open crowd. It is known to be a more progressive and inclusive app that embraces all identities and orientations. It supposedly prioritises privacy and discretion, but after this ordeal, I wondered what measures were in place to protect the app’s users.

It was a shock to realise that Feeld doesn’t have a mandatory identity verification process, making it all too easy for users to create fake profiles. While there’s the option to link social media accounts for some added authenticity, there’s no strict system in place to confirm real identities. This lack of verification leaves the door wide open for potential catfishing and fake profiles.

Three days after Darren’s profile disappeared, I received a notification. It was Darren but with a fresh set of photos. His message read, “I’m so, so, so sorry! My account was deleted, and I had to remake one. I feel so, soooooooo bad.” I replied and asked him to send me a photo with his face in it, holding something to prove today’s date, eg a Stuff article from that day. He sent me a heavily edited, black-and-white image of a man lying in bed. I blocked his account and never heard from him again. Though on nights where I’ve been in bed alone, I’ve found myself thinking, I wish my catfisher was real.

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