"I did this to honour my Mum's pain."

CJ Stowers displays his malofie, a traditional Samoan tattoo which covers two-thirds of his body. PHOTO/STUART MUNRO

THERE'S nothing unusual about a young man walking through the streets of Wanganui wearing tattoos.

But 24-year-old CJ Stowers is starting to get used to people staring at him and his tattoo. That's because CJ wears the malofie [also known as the pe'a], the traditional Samoan tattoo that covers two-thirds of his body.

A stunning piece of art, with a rich cultural and personal meaning, the malofie covers CJ from the middle of his back to just below his knees. It takes in his buttocks, his lower abdomen from his belly button, covers his thighs and knees completely, but avoids the genital area.

It's made up of heavy black lines, particularly in the thigh area, and more delicate dots and arrows arranged in patterns through and alongside the lines.

It took 30 hours to complete, in sessions lasting between 90 minutes to six hours, and it was carefully hand-tapped into CJ's skin using a set of serrated combs called the au, by a master tufuga, or Samoan tattooist.

Considered a rite of manhood for Samoan men, a malofie is not for the faint of heart.

CJ's journey to his malofie began at the age of five. The only child of a Pakeha father and a Samoan mother, Wanganui-born CJ has always been very close to his Samoan family - grandparents, aunties, uncles and cousins - and visited Samoa regularly. When he was five, his father committed suicide, and not long afterwards his mother began a long battle with breast and brain cancer.

For years, CJ watched his mother suffer.

"After my father passed away, it was just me and my Mum, and I was the man of the house. I saw all the pain that she went through - she was sick and weak and she had radiation and surgery."

But as he got older, CJ "fell in with the wrong crowd" and got in trouble with the police. Just before his mother died three years ago, she discovered he had been arrested.

The thought that his mother died worried about him nearly broke CJ.

"I was really tortured by it - I felt guilty that I hadn't done enough, that I'd acted in a way that my mum wouldn't approve of."

While he couldn't undo what he'd done, CJ took his mother's death as an opportunity to sort himself out and get his life back on track.

"I used to say to her, 'I wish I could take your pain' and after she passed I started thinking to myself about how I could actually do that. And suddenly it occurred to me - I could go get one of the most painful tattoos in the world. I'm of Samoan descent so I fitted the match."

A Samoan man cannot receive the malofie without the blessing of his family. So he spoke to his aunty and her husband about the idea, and they were supportive - on one condition.

"They told me I must complete it, that if I came back without it finished because I couldn't handle the pain, I would bring shame on the whole family."

CJ Stowers, 24, displays his malofie, a traditional Samoan tattoo which covers two-thirds of his body. PHOTO/STUART MUNRO

In February CJ travelled to Auckland to meet with the master tufuga, Su'a Peter Suluape. The Suluape family is famed for the quality of their traditional tattoos.

Because CJ is only half-Samoan he felt it was especially important that he research the meaning and history of the malofie carefully so the tufuga would know he "wasn't just doing it for vanity reasons".

"If he'd thought that's what I was doing, he would have denied me right then and there.

"Every little piece on the malofie means something. I told him my story and he designed the malofie based on what I'd told him. It's not just about my family and my village, it represents Samoan culture and the Samoan way of life.

"Imagine that someone wrote a book about Samoan culture - well, the malofie is that book in picture form. It's saying that you're Samoan and this is your place in the world."

Patterns differ, but the basic shape of the malofie remains the same.

Every day for two weeks, in a shed in South Auckland, CJ lay on a mat-covered floor - with a sheet over his head to deal with the pain and male family members sitting nearby for support - while the tufuga and his assistants tapped away at CJ's skin. At night his uncle or cousin would help CJ, weakened by pain and nausea, take cool showers so he could wash the blood and ink off his skin.

The work was completed after a mammoth six-hour session that included the most painful area - the belly button.

"The tufuga stopped, and everyone in the room started clapping, and it was such a relief - oh, thank God."

During the time he was being tattooed CJ was tapu. This meant he couldn't shave, have sex, drink alcohol or take drugs, or sleep in a bed. Once the malofie was completed, CJ went through a sama ceremony, where the tapu was lifted and his new status as a soga'imiti [someone who wears the malofie] was celebrated.

Gifts were also offered to the tufuga by CJ's family during the ceremony.

Three months on, CJ's skin is still healing, although he's able to play rugby again and is feeling well. And he feels like a different person.

"I felt like my Mum was with me the whole time [while getting the malofie], and the more it went on, the more she forgave me. I forgave myself, but I felt her forgiveness too. At the end, I felt clean and although I was in pain, I felt euphoric.

"Every morning when I wake up and see it I feel like my debts have been paid, and I'm reminded to be a better person and do things my Mum would be proud of."