I start with Saipan
håle' (Chamorro): root (of a plant); source; origin.
Hafa adai, hey.
When I think of home, I often think of Laolao bay, known to us Chamorro people as Unai Bapot1, though for my sake I’ll continue to refer to it as Laolao.
I have always loved this bay, and funny enough, my body has a connection to this place. On my right calf is an old but prominent scar. I got the scar as a souvenir from my very first beach cleanup in the 3rd grade, when I was 7 years old and my class adopted the nearest beach, which was Laolao.
Laolao was a place that I grew up going to with my Dad to fish by hand or with nets, high school teachers who certified me to dive, and with friends to hang out and chill. It’s also one of the oldest sites of Chamorro and “Remote” Oceanian culture in the Pacific found so far, dating back over 3,500 years ago (Carson & Hung et al. 2017) as well as being a site of major ongoing ecological restoration work2.
At this place, I was to meet with two people in my circle of home-grown CNMI3 folks who are important to me. I hadn’t seen either of them in years, and would probably not see them for a few more. I was excited and grateful they made time for me.
My little brother and I slowly made way through Laolao in an old Toyota truck while the tide receded drastically in the distance. The lagoon surface was still, like glass, while the waves surged and crashed at the reef’s crest in the distance. He parked the car at the first palapala, where I hopped out and saw my friends turn to me.
“Ay what’s up doot!”-type greetings were exchanged.
Saipan people are not very touchy-feely after all. Afterwards, we spent time hanging out and had a decent time catching up for a short while despite the sudden onset of strong rain, winds, weather. Rain poured, winds blew heavily. I always feel like strong weather is an indicator of something powerful happening, like ancestral hands weaving ropes of connection in the background. Time is measured differently in the Pacific, after all. Suddenly, it all stopped and the clouds opened up.
Maintaining relations to important people and places in my life means a lot to me, and I enjoy spending my time cultivating my presence and re-establishing my roots in Saipan and the Marianas. It keeps me firmly planted in my community, and gives me ties to advocate on their behalf while being discerning.
It was enjoyable to experience this place with others who appreciate it for this, and more. The rain pounded on the roof of the palapala we were under and kept up, but I still enjoyed the company. I said my goodbyes. Back into the rickety truck we went. Slowly, we made our way back up listening to Micronesian jams on the radio.
The rain had poured down the leaves of the banalo tree (Thespesia populnea), dripping down and seeping through the sands of this ancestral beach, one of the last primary forests of Saipan and in need of protection from erosion and overfishing, pesticide run-off from the Laolao golf course, agriculture, and wild feral animals like cats who kill native birds and ungulates like the Philippine deer Rusa marianna. Despite facing all these challenges to keep existing, she is still a beautiful place to me.
Here is a poem I wrote from that. I considered using ‘Chamorro women’, ‘Micronesian women’, then settled on Pacific women, because us women of the Pacific, in all of our great diversity from Papua New Guinea wantoks to beautiful Belauan brethren, from radical Hawaiian Kingdom wahine to the powerful Māori sisters, are timelessly devoted to our communities and continue to be carriers of culture.
Pacific women are like rain,curvy clouds hold it all inside.Powerful emotions, seen and unseencan be too much to handle quietly.Nourishing their surroundingsthrough giving themselves.Long after our clouds depart,our tears seep through the groundsustaining our descendants.
When I got home, I got a message from a dear friend. They had heard of a great opportunity to submit a story to a Chamoru anthology on behalf of University of Guam Press later this year, and were hoping I’d submit. I may work on polishing some of my previous writings and submitting something decolonial, nature-based, possibly with themes of demilitarization but unsure at this point. Such is the precarious life of a Pacific Island woman who wants to write but doesn’t have a writing mentor!
This is all for today. Esta!
ACTS OF SOLIDARITY
Help me protect the Marianas: the U.S. military emits more unregulated CO2 than 140 countries, join me in protecting my home from military expansion and sign this petition in support of Our Commonwealth 670, an Indigenous Islander network of concerned NMI people who would appreciate allies: https://chng.it/YHTbLSYjHM
Help me protect Hawai’i: Red Hill/Kapūkakī is a military facility that has historically leaked jet fuel due to negligence into a large aquifer supplying water to major parts of O’ahu, resulting in residents needing to ration resident’s water usage while tourist areas are allowed to still operate with less regulation of water usage. Please stand with Kānaka (Native Hawaiians), do not travel to Hawai’i, do not support settler-owned tourist businesses, AirBnB’s, and military presence in Hawai’i. They appreciate allies. Learn more here: https://oahuwaterprotectors.org/
I intentionally did not italicize the use of any Indigenous words here. In any of my posts, I will not, because I don’t recognize English as my primary language, it was forced violently upon colonized peoples and is simply the one I use to communicate through this medium.
[Taken directly from CNMI Division of Coastal Resources Management’s website:] The watershed is not only the earliest site of civilization in the Northern Mariana Islands. Excavations at Laolao recently uncovered evidence of the oldest known habitation in the entire Remote Oceania, radiocarbon dated at 1687-1531 BC (Carson and Hung, 2017). People have been living in the Laolao watershed for over 3,500 years! Archeological studies throughout the watershed have found several large village sites with petroglyphs and rock art, stone and shell artifacts, ceramic shards, and latte stones.
Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands, where I was born and raised