Mahalo could have squashed me like a piece of breadfruit, and yet I couldn't stop marveling at him. Arms broad as coconut palms extended from his sleeveless army surplus jacket, and etched into these limbs were black markings symbolizing his ancestors, family, job and personality – he literally wore his heart on his sleeve. He then took off his hard hat to reveal a face and bald head almost completely covered in dark ink. I didn’t know it then, but in many ways Mahalo was a microcosm of how French Polynesia was changing.