I went to a dear friend's funeral last month. As I stood there looking down on him, it hit me like a Chuukese ‘föu-chööl’ (volcanic rock): This person was, inadvertently, responsible for the diaspora of our people to Guam. He opened his home and his life to us all. Now, he was lying quietly here, oblivious to what was going on around him.
“He was the most hard-working individual I had ever known,” his daughter wrote about her dad and read aloud during the viewing. “He'd get off work and jump right into the water to fish. He loved fishing.”
My friend always ensured everyone was okay with the basics: food and housing. We can provide clothing on our own.
He lay there covered with a mesh that looked like a fishing net to keep the flies away. He looked rather natural, as if he were sleeping.
Before his passing, my friend took several trips to the States for the past three to six months for medical reasons. His body was flown back to Guam for burial.
Almost everybody from the islands in Pattiw, Chuuk, who wanted to come to Guam, saw their dream come true because of this guy.
In my mind's eye, I watched little eaglets waddle onto the edge of their nest. With a little nudge from the mother eagle, they free-fall until they can fly on their own.
Many of our people milling around him have since gained their “freedom,” moving out of my friend’s house and establishing their own families. Those who moved out and soared have turned around and done the same to their loved ones. The cycle repeats itself.
I looked out at the people in front of me and saw hundreds gathered there who, one way or the other, had been directly or indirectly affected by this guy. Some flew in from the mainland, some from Chuuk, to pay their respects.
We sang and we cried. He was a great friend, a husband, father, brother, uncle, and the backbone of our small community.
My small group on Guam gave me a glimpse at how the Chuukese community has grown over time.
We like to flock in numbers. When we build homes, we build them knowing help will come from relatives. When we build canoes and set sail, the same thing.
We are a community of people interwoven for a purpose— to share our burdens, our sufferings, our joys and happiness.
When we came to Guam, though, we gradually learned to let go of our dependence on one another. In this cash economy, we are more concerned about “my” food, “my” rent, “my” power and water.
In the Yigo area called “O Down,” some Micronesians own properties. I spoke with one of them and asked who built their houses. They have builders, but not Guam-licensed builders, he told me.
And how do they get workers? The tenant explained that he hires his uncles, cousins and nephews in Chuuk. They come to Guam, one by one or four by four, depending on how much money is available at any given time.
“When they get here, I'll help them look for a job,” the tenant said.
They pack into his tin-roofed house while working and building his bigger concrete house.
From this region of Chuuk, he said, he knows of some Chuukese who are doing the same. “It works best for us, at least, for me.”
According to Guam’s 2020 census, “The Chuukese alone population was the fastest growing (Pacific islanders) group, increasing 296.2 percent to 10,500 in 2020.”
That could be attributed to the way the Chuukese migrated—one careful step after another.
Alex J. Rhowuniong is a freelance journalist and longtime Guam resident. He worked for Marianas Variety-Guam and the Pacific Daily News. He was born and raised in Chuuk. Send feedback to justwrite.ar@gmail.com
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