HOW TO SAY "DULCE NOMBRE"

 

The name of Guam's cathedral-basilica is a Spanish one. Dulce Nombre de María, which means "the Sweet Name of Mary." It's been called this since the beginning, when Sanvitores built the first Catholic church in the Marianas more or less at this present site in 1668 (it was dedicated on February 2, 1669, but construction began earlier).

Being a Spanish name, some people wonder how to pronounce it.

Well, there's more than one answer to that question, but there aren't dozens of answers to it. There are a few correct ways to say it, and many more incorrect ways to say it, depending on what language has borrowed the Spanish original.

In this video, I'll cut to the chase and start off pronouncing it the standard way of saying it as said by the majority of Spanish speakers, which is the way it was said on Guam (and still should be).

Then I will say it using two other possible pronunciations, and finally I will explain how one pronunciation is a confusing of Latin/Italian pronunciation and Spanish and should not be followed.

LISTEN....

A WRONG WAY TO SAY IT

Many years ago, someone started mixing up Spanish and Latin (or Italian).

He probably did this because there is a Latin hymn to Mary (the Salve Regina) which ends with the words "DULCIS Virgo Maria." 

Latin was the language of ancient Rome and is the historical language of the Roman Catholic Church. The Spanish word DULCE is based on the Latin word DULCIS, and they both mean the same - "sweet."

But Latin and Spanish have different rules of pronunciation. In Latin, a C before I, E, OE or AE is pronounced like a CH. So, in church Latin, DULCIS sounds like DULCHIS.

But this is not so in Spanish.  In Spanish, a C before an E or an I is NOT pronounced like a CH. It is pronounced like an S, among the majority of Spanish speakers, or in northern and central Spain, like a TH.

So that person was confusing Spanish with Latin (or Italian, which has a similar pronunciation of C before E or I). Hearing the Salve Regina week after week (it is traditionally sung in church on Saturday mornings), he got used to hearing the Latin pronunciation and started using it with a Spanish word. I have no other way of guessing why he made this switch, but it all began with him. I never heard anyone ever say DUL - CHE Nombre de María until he started saying it that way. But since he was holding a microphone, a lot of people went along with it. 

JUST LISTEN TO THE AUDIO and you'll be OK.

FINO' MAN ÅMKO' : WHAT GOES AROUND

 

Todo håfa bidå-mo siempre un binisita.

Everything you do will surely visit you.

This is one Chamorro way of saying "what goes around comes around," or "you reap what you sow."

This way of phrasing it seems a little scarier!

We all get unexpected visitors, especially the unwelcome ones.

They knock on the door and we want them to go away, but they don't. We can close our eyes and pretend not to hear the knock, but they keep knocking.

This sounds more similar to the expression, "It will come back to haunt you."

You can control some things, but you can't control who looks for you; who knocks on your door or who comes to visit you. They just won't go away.

So it is with some of our bad decisions. We think we can get away with it, but at some unexpected point in time, catching us totally by surprise, justice comes to pay us a visit.

DIALING A WRONG NUMBER IN 1972

 

In modern times, dialing a wrong number brings you to a dead end. Lucky if the other party even says goodbye before they hang up. Lucky if the other party even answers the phone, since they probably won't recognize your number.

But in the good old days, there was no caller ID. Every time the phone rang it created suspense. Who could it be? What was the call about? And so many people were excited to answer.

Calling a wrong number in the south of Guam (and maybe even in the northern Marianas) meant you had a good chance of not only dialing the wrong house but finding out news about the house you were trying to call. Such was island life back when everyone knew everything going on in our small, tight-knit communities.

Here's an example :

~ Alo? Marikita?
~ Åhe', ti si Marikita este.
~ Oh pues hu espipia si Marikita.
~ Håye na Marikita?
~ Si Marikita'n Santiago.
~ Åhe' adei. I numeron-ñiha 2147 ya hame 2174.
~ Ai sa' hu na' lachi.
~ Lao mungnga ma ågang siha på'go. Manaigue gi gima'.
~ Oh?
~ Må'pos i dos para i mediko.
~ Ada malångo si Marikita?
~ Åhe'. Depotsi para ma reseta gue' åmot hai blåt.
~ Oh. Po'lo sa' tiene ke bai li'e' gue' gi otro Såbalo para i fiestan-miyo.
~ Esta. A las singko i Misa.
~ Ok. Si Yu'us ma'se'. Adios.

----

~ Hello? Marikita?
~ No, this isn't Marikita.
~ Well I'm looking for Marikita.
~ Marikita who?
~ Marikita'n Santiago.
~ Oh no. Their number is 2147 and ours is 2174.
~ Oh I made a mistake.
~ But don't call them now. They're gone.
~ Oh?
~ The two went to the doctor's.
~ Is Marikita sick?
~ No. She was to get a prescription for high blood.
~ Oh. Never mind because I'll see her next Saturday at your fiesta.
~ Ok. Mass is at 5 o'clock.
~ Ok. Thanks. Bye.

NEITHER SEEN NOR HEARD

 

We used to hear before that children should only be seen, not heard.

But the older Chamorro custom in many families was that children should not even be seen, much less heard. But that applied mainly to when adult visitors came to the house.

Here, an older lady explains it :

~ Mungnga man man ekkungok. Respeta i bisita. Yan mås ta fan hånao para i gima'yu'us.

(~ Don't listen. Respect the visitor. And most let's go to church.)

~ Lao yanggen guaha bisita, mungnga ma ekkungok.

(~ But if there's a visitor, don't listen to him.)

~ Mungnga ma ekkungok. Eyigue' mås.

(~ Don't listen. That's the main thing.)

~ I famagu'on.

(~ The children.)

~ I famagu'on.

(~ The children.)

~ U fan ma retira.

(~ They are to leave.)

~ Fan hålom gi kuåtto yan eyigue' på'go hamyo la'mon gi kuåtto.

(~ Go inside the bedroom and then it's up to you now in the bedroom._

I am pretty sure a major reason for this was that the adults didn't want the children to hear what the adults might want to talk about. Even if the visitor was merely paying a social call and, at first, the adults just wanted to talk about pleasantries; it might happen that an adult topic might come up unplanned, and the children shouldn't hear it.

This, of course, assumes that the children understand the language the adults are using. In the old days, this was normal. Everyone, young and old, spoke Chamorro.

But foreign influences were still around, even in the old days.

In the 1800s, a British or American whaler might speak English to a Chamorro who picked up some English along the way; perhaps a retired Chamorro whaler himself.

Some of the elite Chamorros spoke Spanish, and they might speak Spanish to a priest or government official while the Chamorro child looked on bewildered.

After World War II, Chamorro parents who knew how to speak Japanese would switch to Japanese when they didn't want their post-war children to know what they were speaking about. Some children did know some Japanese words. One lady told me she always knew mom and dad were talking about the children, even in Japanese, when she heard them say the word kodomo which is Japanese for "child" or "children." If she heard them say that word, she could expect the father to do some disciplining.

Today, older Chamorro parents can speak Chamorro in order to prevent their children from understanding the conversation.

In today's modern world, many people believe that children ought to be both seen and heard.

GUAM WHALER KILLED BY WHALE

 

Whaling was dangerous business.

Those whales can be huge. They have great power. And they do not enjoy being hunted. They can retaliate and defend themselves.

And so one Chamorro whaler lost his life on some island in the Carolines on March 18, 1860. That's even before the American Civil War.

Pedro Sabbanas, whose real name is unknown, was a 4th mate on the New Bedford, Massachusetts whaling ship Saint George.

The ship came upon a bull whale in the waters of the Caroline Islands and the whale fought back. Another crew member, a boat steerer, was injured by the whale and died.

Pedro broke his back in the same event and somehow got into the water. With a broken back, it's no surprise Pedro drowned.

Apparently their bodies were retrieved and buried on some island in the Carolines.

There is no Chamorro family Sabbanas, but Chamorro whalers were often called by new names when they left Guam to join the whaling ships. Or, Sabbanas could be the mispronunciation of Pedro's true last name  but that is less likely. Sabanas is Chamorro/Spanish for "bed sheet."

HALÅGUAK

 

There was a time when the sound of the name HALÅGUAK sent shivers down the spine of some war survivors.

Often spelled JALAGUAC in the old days, according to the Spanish manner (just like Inarajan, Acfalle and Y Sengsong are spelled following Spanish ways), Halåguak is the area just north of Maite and south of Tiyan.

JALAGUAG 

1913-1915 Map

Being flat land, the Japanese decided that Halåguak (besides Orote near Sumay) was excellent terrain to build an air strip for the coming battle with the Americans. That's where it got hard for the Chamorros forced into work teams laying out the air strip. Since the strip started in Halåguak but headed in the direction of Tiyan, the next locale, some people refer to the airstrip as being in Tiyan. The Japanese called the field Guamu Dai Ni (Guam No. 2), Number 1 being Orote Field.

Prior to the war, Halåguak was used for farming. Some of the families residing in Halåguak in the 1940 Guam Census were Muñoz, Flores and Perez families, among others. 

There was enough of a local population to justify a small school in Halåguak.

Students at Halåguak's school came from all the different barrios in the area; Maite, Tiyan, Ungaguan, Barrigada, Leyang, Toto and the other locales.

Chamorro males aged 12 to 65 were drafted into the labor crews. Although the people living in the vicinity were prime targets for the draft, forced labor came from all parts of the island, loaded onto trucks and taken to Halåguak. Even people from Hågat and Malesso' testified that they were forced to work in Halåguak. The workers were organized by village and the different villages would be assigned different shifts. It was a 24-hour project, even when the sun set and it was all dark.

Machinery was lacking. A lot of things had to be done by hand and muscle : clearing the land, spreading the coral and beating it down into the ground to be compact. A little dynamite might be used to loosen part of the terrain, but most of the work was done manually.

AIRSTRIP CLEARLY SEEN ON THIS MAP

The Chamorros were housed in tents, where it was often too hot to sleep in. Latrines were just trenches dug apart from the tents, but out in the open and they attracted the flies which swarmed the camp. The flies wouldn't let go of the people, day or night.

Even women were drafted, gathering wood or cutting down grass.

The Japanese were not shy in beating or whipping workers they felt were too slow. The Japanese sometimes didn't need a reason to beat up Chamorros. One was punched for just not having the "right look."

AMERICAN PLANES FLY OVER GUAM

shooting at will

If being beaten and forced to work by the Japanese wasn't enough suffering, the Chamorros were also in harm's way thanks to the Americans. The Americans couldn't let the Japanese airstrips be completed, otherwise that would be a military asset to the enemy. So Halåguak airfield was a prime target for American bombs and shooting. The problem was Halåguak airfield was full of Chamorro workers, who would run and scatter when the American bombed or strafed the area.

My mother wasn't very clear about where she saw this, but my family did live in the Barrigada area during the Japanese Occupation, so not far from Halåguak. My mother, aged 16 at the time, would be standing in the open and, all of a sudden, she and others would cry out, "Hikoki! Hikoki!" (Airplane! Airplane!) and they would all run for cover. The American planes would go up and down, diving to shoot at anything that moved.

THE WHITE STRIP IS HALÅGUAK AIRSTRIP

Northeast of the bombed-out City of Hagåtña in 1944

By the time the Americans landed on July 21, all the work at Halåguak had ended and the Chamorros had fled or had moved to the camps set up by the Japanese to keep the people away from the Americans.

The Americans, too, wanted Halåguak and Tiyan, to even surpass the Japanese in using the field as an airbase. By the time the Americans reached Halåguak on August 2, Japanese resistance was not significant. Starting at 630AM, the Americans won control of the airfield by 910AM.

FROM JAPANESE TO AMERICAN

Using all its mechanical might, the US expanded the airstrip and it played a roll in the continuing war against Japan which went on for another year. In 1947, the airfield was turned over to the US Navy and it became Naval Air Station Agaña. It was closed in 1995.

HALÅGUAK IN HISTORICAL DOCUMENTATION

JALAGUAG IN SPANISH DOCUMENTS

All the old documents, from both Spanish and American times, call the place Jalaguag, spelled in slightly different way (sometimes Jalaguac).

JALAGUAG IN AMERICAN DOCUMENT FROM 1928

All the man åmko' I have spoken to, and their testimonies written in newspapers, call the place Halåguak (again, spelled in slightly different ways). The differences are merely between Spanish J (which sounds like an H, as in JOSE and JUAN) and English H, and the ending hard consonant, whether it be a G, a C or a K.

BATTLE OF THE GREEN HOUSE

 

THE GREEN HOUSE IN BARRIGADA

The battle between the Americans and the Japanese over Guam in 1944 involved many different clashes. There was first of all the American landings at Asan and Hågat; the American push up the hilly terrain above Asan; the isolation and capture of Orote point; and the last contest at Matåguak in Yigo.

But I just learned of a little-known clash in Barrigada centered on a Green House. You can see the picture above, taken from the air by an American reconnaissance plane.

THE PUSH NORTH

Basically, the American invasion plan was to land south of Hagåtña then push north till the Japanese were crushed, surrendered or threw themselves into the sea in the north. So they landed at Asan and Hågat, joined forces and captured Orote to use as an airfield, then pushed north. The south of Guam was easily secured as the main Japanese force fled to the north.

This push north meant the Americans had to pass through, and conquer, Barrigada. At Barrigada, there were two main prizes the Americans wanted.

First, there was the road in Barrigada that lead up to Fanhigåyan (Finegayan) which would allow the Americans to chase the Japanese north. Second, there was a sizeable water reservoir in Barrigada which the American soldiers needed badly. In many cases, they had been drinking from streams and rivers, at their risk, when potable water from their own supply chain did not reach them in time. But the north of Guam didn't even have streams or rivers. So the reservoirs the local farmers used became all-important as the Americans drove northward.

But the Japanese were intent to stop the Americans from gaining control of the Fanhigåyan road. The Japanese plan was to hide in the thick forest that surrounded the open areas of Barrigada and fire upon the Americans. Though their numbers were less than American tanks, the Japanese would skillfully use the tanks they had, especially by hiding the tanks till they caught American troops off guard.

JAPANESE TANKS ON GUAM

They were very light and successful in slowing down the American advance

THE GREEN HOUSE

When the Americans encountered enemy fire in Barrigada, it was mainly coming from the eastern side of the open field. Standing in front of the forest was a two-story house with a concrete ground floor. The Americans called it the Green House on account of its green-painted tin roof. It was behind the Green House and a little to its right that the main strength of the Japanese shooting lay. The Green House served as a focal point for the American attack.

Despite American shooting, artillery and even tank fire, the Japanese held on as if untouched for two days of fighting, from sunrise till sunset. The Americans were stuck. Many died on the soil of Barrigada or were wounded. Many of the GIs were sitting ducks if they were in the open field while the Japanese hid in the bushes.  Out of nowhere, it seemed, a Japanese tank would emerge and fire upon the Americans hugging the ground, praying. Japanese sharp shooters even targeted medics and stretcher bearers.

AMERICAN SOLDIERS SURVIVED BARRIGADA FIGHTING

One of them has a helmet riddled with Japanese bullets that didn't hit his skull

American tanks, superior in number than the Japanese, finally came to the rescue, but it was now becoming dark and time had been lost. The Japanese in Barrigada were successful in slowing the American advance and killing scores of Americans. The Americans even feared on the second night that the Japanese would mount a banzai attack, as they had done at other times in other places. But it never happened.

When the sun rose on day three, there was no sign of Japanese activity. During the night, they had packed up and left, bringing their wounded along. The Japanese had simply decided, or were ordered, to move north, where more fighting - and death - was waiting for both Americans, Japanese - and the Chamorro civilians caught between them.

But, for the remainder of the fighting on Guam in the north, the Americans would have canteens full of water, partly thanks to capturing the reservoir in Barrigada near the Green House. The day the Japanese abandoned Barrigada, the Americans sent engineers to use the back of a jeep for an engine, improvised a belt from a leftover Japanese fire hose and got a stream of water flowing from the reservoir.

KILLED BY THE JAPANESE IN BARRIGADA

Lt James T. Whitney, United States Army

ATAN GUIHE GI SAN LAGO

 

This is a Chamorro hymn to Our Lady of Mount Carmel which teaches us how the early Christians associated the Blessed Mother with a cloud coming from the sea which the prophet Elijah saw on Mount Carmel in northern Israel.

The land was suffering a severe drought and Elijah, from his mountain, looked to the sea for a sign of rain. Finally he saw a small cloud coming towards the land and this meant rain, the end of the drought and of hunger and suffering.

Mary is like that cloud. Clouds bring rain, which blesses the land. Mary brought forth Jesus, who saves mankind.

This version of the Chamorro hymn is the one sung in Sumay before the war and now by the people of Santa Rita. It sounds a little bit different from the way it is sung in other parts of the island.

LYRICS

Atan guihe gi san lago a'annok i mapagåhes.

(Look there at the ocean, the cloud is visible.)

Refrain : Mapagåhes gi Katmelo maila' ya un Nånan-måme.

(Cloud of Carmel, come be our Mother.)

1. Ya humuyong homhom uchan ya i tano' inichåne

guiya muna' uchan påpa' ayo i Sainan i langet.

(And the dark rain came and the earth was rained on

she made rain down the Lord of heaven.)

2. I nuhong-ña un hinemme gi minaipen talo'åne

i binibun i Saina-ta si Maria u linangle.

(Her shade will cover you from the noonday heat

Mary will shield the anger of our Lord.)

3. Si Yu'us ha' un gineggue Raina Nånan mina'åse'

såtbe lina'la' i taotao yan ninangga yan minames.

(God defend you Queen and Mother of Mercy

hail life of the people and their hope and sweetness.)

4. Håye ennao i kumahulo' kalan atdao talo'åne?

Si Maria Nånan Yu'us i sen gasgas i tailamen.

(Who is that who rises like the noonday sun?

It is Mary the Mother of God, most pure and sinless.)

5. Ya pinipet si Maria as Jesus hulo' gi langet

ya pine'lo gi tronu-ña Saina Rainan i man ånghet.

(And Mary was escorted by Jesus up to heaven

and placed on her throne as Queen of Angels.)

6. Tayuyute ham Maria gai Yi'us na mapagåhes

un ma åse' nu i taotao mames na Bithen det Kåtmen.

(Pray for us Mary, the cloud containing God

have pity on the people sweet Virgin of Carmel.)

KOSTUMBRE : KÅNTAN DESPEDIDA

 

An old custom among our grandparents' generation which has pretty much died out now is the composing of songs specifically for certain occasions. Someone's arrival or departure or anniversary or achievement was celebrated by a singer or group of singers telling the story in song.

In 1991, a priest in Santa Rita, Guam was leaving the parish for a new assignment in Saipan.

Angelina Camacho Anderson, at age 72, composed a kåntan despedida (farewell song) which she sang at the priest's farewell party at the parish. Here's how the song went. I will spell it my way.

1. Gi un silension konbento na hu establese yo' kulan propio gimå'-ho nai mafañågo yo'.

(In a quiet rectory I settled myself as if it were my very own house where I was born.)

Lao ti siña hu deroga sa' måtto i ora para bai ma trasfiere para Saipan.

(But I couldn't undo the order because the hour came for me to transfer to Saipan.)

Koro : O mames na lugåt, silensio yan trankilo iya Santa Rita.

(Chorus : O sweet place, quiet and peaceful in Santa Rita.)

2, An gaige yo' gi otro tåno' magof yan gefsaga lao este pinayon-ho ti siña yo' maleffa.

(When I am in another land I will be happy and comfortable but I cannot forget this familiarity.)

Lao ti siña hu deroga sa' måtto i ora para bai ma trasfiere para Saipan.

(But I couldn't undo the order because the hour came for me to transfer to Saipan.)

I wish I knew what the tune was Tan Angelina sang this to, but there is no recording as far as I know.

NOTES

(1) Deroga = some of the lines do not state the full meaning because the full meaning is assumed to be understood by the listener. Deroga means to "undo, break or cancel" an agreement or contract. The priest could not oppose the order from his superior to be transferred to another parish.

(2) Pinayon = this is difficult to translate into English. Påyon means "to be accustomed to, to be used to, to be familiar with," as in something habitual. Pinayon is the noun, and I cannot find an English noun for it except "familiarity," which doesn't quite do the trick. But the meaning of this line is, "I can be happy in a new place, but I can never forget Santa Rita to which I have become very accustomed to, as if it has become part of me."

ANGELINA CAMACHO ANDERSON

1919-1999

TÅYA' ILU-ÑA!

 

Manet came running as fast as he could to his father's ranch house in Luayao, just past Barrigada heading towards the eastern cliffs of central Guam.

He and his father were supposed to spend the night there and they had arrived there just after the noon hour, having taken a karetan guaka (bull cart) from Hagåtña. After feeding the pigs, goats and chickens, and repairing some fences, Manet's dad told him to take it easy and relax while the dad did some last-minute preparations before the sun went down when they'd have dinner and go to sleep. 

It was around 5:30 in the afternoon when Manet went, stick in hand, into some jungle trails surrounding their ranch property. Reaching dead ends, he'd go back and try another trail. One lead him to the edge of the cliff, where he was able to just see the horizon of the sea by stepping on some huge boulders to get past the tree line. The sun was setting on the other side of the island but Manet was able to get a glimpse of the dark blue sea.

As light was leaving fast, Manet jumped off the boulders and headed back towards the ranch. The scene was very quiet, as Manet was all alone in a secluded place and the ranch dogs hadn't even followed Manet all the way in. Bored, perhaps, or maybe hungry, the dogs had deserted Manet and returned to the ranch ahead of Manet. Every now and then, a faint bark from the dogs reminded Manet where the ranch was.

As Manet passed a håyon lågo tree, he distinctly heard some rustling to his left. He figured it could be benådo (wild deer) or a babuen hålom tåno' (wild pig), or maybe even a hilitai (iguana). Whatever the case, he thought to himself, it was getting darker and he'd rather be back at the ranch than fight off some angry animal. Picking up his gait, he sped his way down the stony trail.

But the further he went, the rustling seemed to follow him. He sped up some more. The noise on his left seemed to have stopped. He was just about to breathe a sigh of relief when all of a sudden he heard rustling on his right! "Asaina!" "Lord!" Manet thought. "Are there two animals tracking me? Or did the one cross to the other side?" Neither possibility was good, Manet thought.

Relieved he was nearing the main trail that took him directly to the ranch house, the periodic barks of the ranch dogs sounding closer and closer, Manet was now briskly walking down the trail. Ouch! His foot got snagged in an unseen crevice in the ground, hidden by nightfall's darkness. Down Manet went, but he broke his fall with his outstretched hands. But when Manet gathered his bearings, instead of the rustling of trees and bushes to his left or right, he heard the rough noise of moving gravel behind him.

Still on his hands and knees on the ground, Manet peered behind him. Looming high above him about ten feet away was a massive black shadow, with the broadest shoulders he'd ever seen on a torso. As dark as it was, this deep black shadow still stood out against the purplish dusk sky. When Manet turned around, the figure stopped walking and, without thinking, Manet jumped to his feet and ran for his life.

"Tåta! Tåta!" "Father! Father!" Manet screamed as he got to the ranch house, illuminated by coconut oil lamps here and there. "Påkkaka'!" Manet's dad yelled back. "Keep quiet"

"Manli'e' yo' taotaomo'na!" "I saw a taotaomo'na (ancestral spirit)!"

"Ha falagu'e yo'!" "It chased after me!"

Manet's dad explained, "Masea lao tåya' bali-ña i para un essalao. Esta hao maolek. Trangkilo." "Even if it chased you, yelling about it doesn't do any good. You're safe now. Just calm down."

"Lao tåta....tåya' ilu-ña! Tåya' ilu-ña!" "But dad, it had no head! It had no head!"

The fact that Manet only saw a huge black figure with broad shoulders but no protruding head lead Manet to the firm conclusion that the spirit was headless. The fact that it had no head was what really did it for Manet. The fear factor increased by a thousand percentage points because of it. How could a spirit know where it was going if it had no eyes in a head to see?

WHY SOME TAOTAOMO'NA ARE HEADLESS

If the taotaomo'na are the spirits of ancient Chamorros, then it's no surprise that some of them appear headless.

Our people in the days before European contact often took the skulls of deceased relatives out of the grave and placed them back in their homes. Sometimes the skull was put in a high place inside the home and other times the skulls were placed in baskets.

The skulls were valued as ways of venerating the deceased relative or of asking them to bring good fortune, or both. In any case, ancient Chamorros often separated the skull from the rest of the body remaining in the grave, so it makes sense that some ancient spirits chose to reappear on earth as headless beings.

As for the broad shoulders, this could be attributed to the fact that a lot of hauling of heavy stones and other artifacts was needed to be done by men for, let's say as an example, the building of latte stone sites, some of which were used in house building.

NOTABLE VICTIMS OF 1918 INFLUENZA

 

The 1918 Spanish Influenza pandemic hit Guam like a ton of bricks.

It began in November and, by the end of that month, more people had died in one month than in entire years prior to the pandemic. Some 673 Guam residents died that month alone, and in the entire year prior to this, in 1917, only 243 Guam had died. So many people were dying daily that carts were brought up and down Hagåtña's street picking up bodies to be buried quickly at Pigo cemetery. 

The flu was very bad on the elderly. Some of the island's oldest people died in November 1918. Every human life is precious, but some stand out because they were patriarchs or matriarchs of large clans, or were notable people in the community or lived to a very long age. Here are some of them who died in November 1918 during the pandemic.

GREGORIO CRUZ PÉREZ

Goyo

HUSBAND AND WIFE DIE DAYS APART

Gregorio Cruz Pérez and Rosa Aguon Flores

GREGORIO CRUZ PÉREZ was the founder of the Goyo clan of Perezes, which has played an important part in Guam's recent history. Gregorio himself was a big landowner and held some civic posts, including Associate Judge. Some of his descendants include Guam politicians (including a Governor, Felix Camacho) and businessmen. He died at age 71.

Just two days later, in the same pandemic, his wife ROSA AGUON FLORES, of the Kabesa clan, passed away at age 75. They are buried in the family cemetery in Yigo.

NICOLÁS AND AGUSTÍN EVARISTO DUEÑAS

Brothers

Two brothers, from a respectable family who themselves are the patriarchs of many descendants, died days apart because of the pandemic.

NICOLÁS EVARISTO DUEÑAS was the grandfather of Father Jesús Baza Dueñas, only the 2nd Chamorro priest ordained in history and who was executed by the Japanese in 1944. He is also the great grandfather of Judge Cristóbal Camacho Dueñas. He was 87 when he died.

His younger brother AGUSTÍN died not long after. Agustín is the founder of Oting clan, and another branch coming from the Oting clan is the Kaila family. He died at age 74.

KATSON

One branch of Aflagues are known as the Katson family. VICENTE FLORES AFLAGUE was one of them, the son of Manuel Camacho Aflague who served as a judge during Spanish times. Vicente's mother was Saturnina Manalisay Flores.

Just 54 years old, Vicente died from the Spanish influenza.

He was the great grandfather of Governor Lourdes Aflague León Guerrero.

ANTONIO PANGELINAN MARTÍNEZ

Although he did not leave many male descendants, ANTONIO PANGELINAN MARTÍNEZ, while he lived, was one of Guam's highest level elites. He had tremendous land holdings, including a cattle ranch in Dandan. His several daughters married prominent men, including foreigners. He died from influenza at the age of 81.

KUETO

JUANA PÉREZ SAN NICOLÁS was the matriarch of the large Kueto clan. Her husband, who did not die from influenza and who lived many more years after the pandemic, was José Mendiola Taitano, a former whaler. When a Protestant mission was opened on Guam as soon as the Americans took over Guam, José'n Kueto joined them. Juana was 68 when she died, leaving behind many children whose descendants include many politicians, including a Governor (Carl Gutiérrez). She is buried in the Custino (General Baptist) Cemetery in what is now called East Agaña.

HUSBAND AND WIFE DIE SAME DAY

Down in Sumay, a husband and wife died from influenza on the same day. They were FRANCISCO GUZMÁN SABLAN, aged 80, and his wife ANDREA DÍAZ PÉREZ, aged 73. What a sad day for that family to have to bury both spouses on the same day. They left many descendants.

OTHERS

Others who perished in the pandemic were PEDRO GUZMÁN SABLAN, the grandfather of Baptist minister Reverend Joaquín Flores Sablan. He was 76.

FÉLIX BORJA PANGELINAN, of the numerous Kotla clan, died at age 45. Still being relatively young, his widow remarried.

TITO QUICHOCHO BAZA, patriarch of many Bazas in Yoña and a large landowner, died of influenza at age 59.

MARÍA LUJÁN IGLESIAS was 54 when she died of influenza. She was the grandmother of Agueda Iglesias Johnston. 

OLDEST

The oldest victim of the Spanish Influenza of 1918 we have on record was JOSEFA DEMAPAN TANOÑA. She was 99 years old, and possibly older, since ages were notoriously inaccurate in those days, as many people could neither read nor write and documentation was not only unnecessary but also useless to many people in those days.

Josefa was married to a Borja and they had land in Cañada, Barrigada.

And so, these members of Guam's past and present history pictured above, a Protestant minister, a Catholic priest, a leading island educator and a Governor of Guam all lost a grandparent or great grandparent in the Spanish Influenza pandemic in 1918 that took the lives of over 600 people on Guam in pretty much a month's time. 

FAMILIAN ANONAS

A branch of the Guerrero family on Guam is called the familian ANONAS.

The anonas is a tropical fruit, related to the åtes and laguaná, or custard apple and sour sop. There are literally dozens of different kinds of anonas in the tropics. They originated in Mexico, Central America and the Caribbean and were brought to the Marianas and the Philippines by the Spaniards. The name anonas comes from the Native American Taino word for the fruit. The Tainos were from Hispaniola, the island on which Haiti and the Dominican Republic in the Caribbean are located.

"Anonas" is also said in a number of Philippine languages.

Here's an early artistic portrayal of the anonas as found on Guam:

According to Safford, the Chamorros did not eat much of the anonas, preferring the åtes most of all, and then the laguaná. But the fanihi (fruit bats) relished the anonas and they grew wild in the jungle, so the bats had their fill of them.

DOMINGO BAE GUERRERO

The branch of the Guerreros known as the familian Anonas seem to be the descendants of Domingo Bae Guerrero who was born around 1849 or so. He was still alive, age 71 years, in the 1920 Guam Census. But he does not appear in subsequent censuses, so he must have passed away in or prior to 1930.

It is believed he was the son of Ignacio Guerrero and Andrea Quintanilla Bae.

DOMINGO'S SIGNATURE IN 1906

It was common to abbreviate Guerrero as Grro

Domingo married Ana Blas and they had five children.

SOLEDAD was the only daughter. She married José Garrido Álvarez but they had no children.

DOMINGO, a son, never married.

JOSÉ, another son, left Guam during Spanish times joining the crew of a ship.

JOSÉ BLAS GUERRERO

José was already out of Guam by 1897 as he is absent from the Guam Census taken that year. He may have gotten to the US during Spanish times, then. At any rate, he was married in California in the year 1900 to a Hispanic woman named Augustina Rodriguez, whose father was born in California and whose mother was born in Mexico. Originally living in San Francisco, the couple moved to Stockton by 1910. They had many children, so the Anonas family has had a branch in the United States for over 100 years.

NICOLÁS, another son, married María San Nicolás Luján, the daughter of Silvestre and Nieves.

They had a daughter María and a son Silvestre.

Nicolás married a second time, with Josefa Dueñas Crisóstomo, the daughter of José Tagaña Crisóstomo and María Camacho Dueñas.

Their children were Manuela, Rafael, Ana, Maria, Domingo and José.

Nicolás' children kept the Anonas clan continuing and spreading on Guam.

FRANCISCO, also a son, is listed in the 1950 Guam Census as the husband of Josefa Dueñas Crisóstomo. So it seems that, after his brother Nicolás died, he married his widowed sister-in-law Josefa. But both were too old by then to have children.

Domingo, the patriarch of the family, apparently married a woman named Nieves, perhaps after his first wife died. But by then he and his new wife were too old to have children.

I have not come across any information as to why Domingo's branch of Guerreros are nicknamed Anonas.

BAE

Domingo's middle name, Bae, which was his mother's maiden name, was a family here on Guam in the 1800s that has since vanished due to lack of male descendants. There are only 5 people with the surbame Bae in the 1897 Guam Census, and they are all women.

The Bae family goes back even further in time, and the name was sometimes spelled BAHE which means it was pronounced BA - E, since the Spanish H is silent and is used at times to separate tow vowels.

YOU NEVER KNEW WHO WAS SLEEPING

 

With the many risks involved for one's children nowadays, it's no wonder more and more parents are not allowing their teenage children, especially the girls, to have their friends spend the night at their house.

But in old Guam (and the Northern Marianas), and even up till today, a slice of old Chamorro home life was that you never knew who would show up and spend the night in your home.

The average home in the Marianas of old consisted of one, maybe two, rooms. Both the kitchen and the toilet were outside, in separate places. Thus, all you needed inside the house was a floor to spread the guåfak (woven mat), a corner for baskets or boxes (maybe a kaohao, a wooden chest) where clothes and personal effects could be stored and maybe a table or chest of drawers, often topped with religious statues and the kåndet Yu'us (the lamp or candle that burned all the time). 

Except in the homes of the more affluent, which had separate rooms, privacy in the average Chamorro one-room house was almost negligible. At night, everybody slept on the floor wherever you found a spot. One night it was your brother lying next to you, the next night it was your spinster auntie. There could be as many as a dozen people snoring away just inches from you.

But some nights, you didn't know who you were sleeping next to until you woke up the next morning.

"Kalan i chalan ha' i gima'-måme," said one old lady to me years ago. "Our house was like the street."  Just as people freely walk the streets, people came in and out of their house at will. No one worried about security; "Tåya' para ma såkke." "There was nothing to steal," she said.

Relatives would come visit at night and end up just sleeping on the floor when the hour got late. Good friends were also accorded the same courtesy if they came to visit at night.

It could be that a man came over to spend the night because the next day he would accompany the father of the house to the ranch to work on some project and they'd head out early. "Chågo' i lanchon-måme, ya tåftaf siempre i hinanao-ñiha si tatå-ho yan i amigu-ña. Ya siempre ma udai i dos gi karetan tatå-ho." "Our ranch was far, and they would journey early in the day, my father and his friend. And they'd surely ride in my father's cart."

"Pues maolek-ña yanggen maigo' ha' i taotao giya hame ya mungnga si tatå-ho man nangga gi sigiente dia. Ya mås angokuyon yanggen gagaige ha' i amigu-ña gi gima'-måme gigon ha' makmåta i dos." "So it was better that the man sleep just at our house and my father wouldn't need to wait for him the next day. And it was more dependable if the man were right there at our house as soon as the two woke up."

A few times, someone in trouble would end up sleeping at their house. "Un biåhe, mumu i primu-ho yan si tatå-ña sa' guaha båba bidå-ña si primu-ho. Måtto giya hame ya sumåga giya hame unos kuåntos dias asta ke pumås yan si tatå-ña." "One time, my cousin and his dad fought because my cousin did something wrong. He came to our place and stayed a few days until he and his dad made peace."

In other families, relatives or friends who were sort of free spirits could end up sleeping a night or two in your home. These were often single people with no home of their own, who ventured from the house of one relative or friend to another. These people were thus never a burden to just one family, as they moved around. But that also meant you never knew when they'd show up.

Some relatives, especially older ones, who lived far away, would come and spend two weeks at your house, in order to keep close to your side of the family.  "Guaha primå-ña si nanå-ho ni sumåga Sumay. Dos pat tres biåhe kada såkkan, siempre måtto giya hame para u såga un semåna pat dos." The mother had a female cousin. Since the woman lived in Sumay, and her family lived in Hagåtña, she'd stay with them two or three times a year to keep the family ties close.

This reminded me of my grandmother's cousin Carmen Guzmán. Though cousins, they acted more like sisters. Tan Carmen lived in Santa Rita, but two or three times a year all of a sudden there she was in our kitchen, and she'd live with us for a week or two. Tan Carmen had her own home and her own bedroom in that home, but she wanted to stay close to my grandmother. I never knew when she'd appear all of a sudden, but I always enjoyed her being around.

There was no spare bedroom for guests; not even a spare bed. So Tan Carmen would sleep on the same bed as my grandmother's spinster sister. I used to laugh when I was a small boy because it looked funny to me how two old ladies would be sleeping on the same bed, one head lying north and the other head lying south, which meant that both ladies' feet were in front of each other's faces.

Today, with hardships abounding all the more with modern life; with economic hardships, losing one's home, being evicted from one's apartment; with domestic troubles increasing with drug abuse and an unstable family life; it's no wonder that even today homes can be like an airport with people coming and going in need of a place to stay the night. You never know who will be sleeping on the couch tonight.

But this started a long, long time ago, even if it happened in the old days in more tranquil circumstances.