SINANGAN MAN ÅMKO'

 

TI SIÑA UN FOKSE HÅGA' GINEN I KAMUTE

You cannot squeeze blood out of a sweet potato.

This is a Chamorro variation of "you can't squeeze blood out of a turnip," or "you can't squeeze water out of a stone," and many more.

It's the same idea.

You can't get from someone what that person doesn't have to give.

HINENGGEN MAN ÅMKO'

 

MUNGNGA TUMOHGE I MAPOTGE' NA PALAO'AN GI PAPA' I PETTA.

A  pregnant woman shouldn't stand under a door.

A woman was telling me that one of her pregnancies was a very difficult one. Her prior deliveries had been normal, but this one delivery in particular had been unbearably hard. The child just didn't want to exit! It took more than several days for her baby to be born, healthily, thank God.

Why was this delivery so painful and different? She had heard all her life, since childhood, that the man åmko' (elderly) said that a pregnant woman should NOT stand stand under a doorway. Either come in, or go out, but do not stand there idly.

And why not? Because if she does, her delivery will be very difficult.

And this lady regrets not paying attention to a belief she knew and heard about for a long time.

Maybe the belief comes from the idea that if the mother doesn't move through a door, either going or coming, neither will her child to be born move through the door of the birth canal. As she just stood there, not moving, neither will the baby in her womb.

KOSTUMBRE : KÅNTAN AGRADESIMIENTO

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 agradesimiento (appreciation 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 durånte i sumagå-mo na un setbe ham, i boniton che'cho'-mo man sen na'manman.

(During your time that you served us, your beautiful works were very wonderful.)

Mit beses yan mås in saluda hao in gofli'e' na påle'-måme un dingu ham.

(A thousand times and more we salute you, you are leaving us our beloved priest.)

2. I bonito na memorias ni un setbe Santa Rita man åmko' yan man hoben ti in fan maleffa.

(The beautiful memories of you serving in Santa Rita, the old and young we will never forget.)

Mit beses yan mås in saluda hao in gofli'e' na påle'-måme si Yu'us ma'åse'.

(A thousand times and more we salute you, thank you our beloved priest.)

ANGELINA CAMACHO ANDERSON

1919-1999

HINENGGEN MAN ÅMKO' : CLEFT LIP

 

YANGGEN HUMUYONG I MAPOTGE' NA PALAO'AN AN GUALÅFON, SIEMPRE PIRI' I NENE

If a pregnant woman goes out when the moon is full, the baby will be born with a cleft lip.

Chamorros have many folk beliefs about pregnancy. This is just one of them.

Of course there is no scientific basis for this, and even some elderly Chamorros I talked to (especially the women) dismiss this belief as nonsense. "Håye fuma'tinas ayo?" "Who made that up?"

It's interesting that some older Chamorros are not the only ones with this belief.

Among some Mayans of Mexico, children born with a cleft lip are called "children bitten by the moon."

Others believe if a pregnant mother uses a knife, her child will be born with a cleft lip. It's not hard to see why some people think a cleft lip could be caused by a knife.

Very few of our people believe in this today, judging from all the pregnant Chamorro women who routinely go out at night even when it is a full moon.

At least this belief is mild and tame compared to some cultures who believe that a child with a cleft lip is possessed or cursed by evil spirit. Thank God our folk belief didn't go that far.

"TAIGUENNAO MOHON" OR "AMEN?"

 

How should we end our prayers in Chamorro?

You hear "Amen" a lot of the times but sometimes you hear "Taiguennao mohon."

A lot of people aren't even sure what "taiguennao mohon" means.

Guess what? It means "amen!"

Well, what does "amen" mean?

"Amen" was the Hebrew word used to end prayers. It means "so be it, may it be so, truly" and things like that.

When a congregation responds with an "amen" to what a priest or prayer leader says, it's the congregation's way of agreeing with the prayer just said and making that prayer said by someone else their own as well.

TAIGUENNAO means "that way."

MOHON is a word that can express desire, or a possibility that hasn't happened yet.

TAIGUENNAO MOHON means "may it be that way." Which is what "amen" means.

So both "amen" and "taiguennao mohon" mean the same, exact thing. One is based on Hebrew, and the other is Chamorro.

OTHER LANGUAGES, TOO....

"Amen" can also be said in the native language in many countries around the world.

Some Spanish speakers say "así sea" instead of "amen," because "así sea" in Spanish means "that way (así) may it be (sea)."

In Italian it's così sia. In French it's ainsi soit-il. They both mean "may it be that way" which is what "amen" means.

Many languages end their prayers with "amen" and sometimes they end it with "may it be so" in their own language.

Most times, people all over the world end their prayers with "amen" and for this main reason. It's shorter and faster to say than "may it be so."

FLEXIBILITY IN CHAMORRO

In Chamorro, people can end their prayers saying either "amen" or "taiguennao mohon."

Even in Påle' Román's prayer books, he sometimes ends the prayer with "amen" and sometimes he ends the prayer with "taiguennao mohon."

For me, "amen" goes better with something like making the sign of the cross. "Gi na'an i Tata, yan i Lahi-ña yan i Espiritu Sånto. Amen." "Amen" is a quick ending to a short prayer. For a longer prayer, I might use "taiguennao mohon."

One good thing about using "taiguennao mohon" is that it makes clear what "amen" means. That is, of course, assuming you know the Chamorro language, which a lot of Chamorros don't nowadays.

NINA PARA TODOS

 

In many families, a female member who became a godmother (matlina, or nina) for one baby in the family was called NINA by everybody, even by those who were not her godchildren.

This often happened with women who never married, or at least who never had children of their own.

Single women often became godmothers because, having no husband and usually no children of their own, they could really put their all into being a godmother. All her godchildren could receive her undivided attention, since she had no biological children of her own.

And, reciprocally, the single woman with no children of her own, now had spiritual children to make up for the absence and, many times, actually raise the godchildren as her own.

So, some lady named Ana, for example, never married nor had children. So she became godmother to this child, then another child a year later and a third child two years later. On and on she became godmother to so many children that people just ended up calling her Nina'n Ana even if they weren't her godchildren.

Even if Ana were not godmother to many children, if she was the godmother of an oldest child or an important member of the family, the younger children heard the oldest child call her Nina, and so they followed suit and called her Nina as well. Or, because she was godmother to a high-ranking member of the family who called her Nina, everyone else called her Nina.

And so one example of a godmother who was called Nina by everyone, even those who were not her godchildren, was Tomasa Pereira León Guerrero from the Pakito clan.

Tomasa never married, but adopted a daughter. She also raised a number of children. Every younger member of the family called her Nina, whether she was their godmother or not.

SHE WAS OUR AUNT, BUT EVERYONE CALLED HER NINA

Rita Pérez Torres

In my own family, one of my grandmother's sisters never married and was godmother to a number of nieces and nephews, so she was called Nina by practically everyone.

NINA'N WIRICK

Eugenia SN Dueñas Wirick

And Eugenia San Nicolás Dueñas, one of our relatives, married later in life to the American Melvin Wirick. She never had children but was godmother to children inside the clan so she was called Nina'n Wirick by everybody. No one in our family called her Tan Eugenia or Auntie Eugenia; only Nina'n Wirick whether she was our own godmother or not.

NA' TAOTAO TUMANO'

 

FIESTA SCHEDULE FROM 1977

NA' TAOTAO TUMANO' is a Chamorro term used on Guam for the communal meal served to the faithful who attend a parish fiesta or feast.

To understand the concept, one must think of the olden days when people traveled on foot or by bull cart from one village to another, many times taking many hours to reach the destination.

The feast of Saint Joseph in Inalåhan is a good example. Being such a popular saint, and patron of the men, many people from Hagåtña went down to Inalåhan for the feast (called the Patrosinio) in March. Due to the distance and the long travel time, going to the Patrosinio was a whole 2-day commitment. People had to spend the night in Inalåhan, sleeping at relatives or friends' homes.

People did the same when it came to all the southern fiestas. Even Hågat and Sumay, which were closer to Hagåtña, took some time to get to.

So the people of the village receiving these guests from other places felt obliged to feed the people when the religious services were completed. They wanted to feed the pilgrims.

A pilgrim is someone who makes a journey for a religious purpose.

The Chamorro word for "pilgrim" is taotao tumano'. The Chamorro word na' means "food."

Na' taotao tumano' means "food for the pilgrim."

TUMANO' comes from the Chamorro word for "land" or TÅNO'. People traveled by land to get from village to village, so to tumano' means to travel by land (tåno').

Nowadays, it takes less than an hour, and many times less than twenty minutes, to go from home to the church holding the fiesta, but many people still call it the na' taotao tumano'. I hope we never lose the term. It reminds us what a pilgrim is.

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.

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.

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

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.

HINENGGEN MAN ÅMKO' : I ABABBANG

 

YANGGEN ÅTTILONG NA ABABBANG HUMÅLOM GI GIMA', GUAHA GI FAMILIA PARA U MÅTAI.

If a black butterfly enters the home, there is someone in the family who will die.

Some mañaina (elders) believed that if a black butterfly fluttered around inside the house, it meant that someone in the family would be dying in the near future. It was a harbinger of death.

The butterfly had to be black or predominantly black.

YANGGEN OTRO NA KOLOT, GUAHA HÅYE NI ESTA MÅTAI MANBISISITA.

If it's another color, some already dead is visiting.

But if the butterfly was of different colors, or mainly of colors other than black, and it flew into the house, it meant someone who had already died some time ago was visiting.

People would say a prayer for the dead when they saw a butterfly (other than a black one) fly into the house.

HINENGGEN I MAN ÅMKO' : MEAT ON LENTEN FRIDAYS

 

Yanggen chumocho hao kåtne an Kuaresma na Bietnes, siempre ma hågga' i katne.

If you eat meat on a Lenten Friday, the meat will surely turn bloody.

Well, that's what some mañaina (elders) told us to scare us when we were tempted to break the rules of Lent and eat meat on a Friday in Lent.

Even though the rule applied to only those 14 years old and up, most parents and grandparents applied the rule even to the small children!

Well who wants a mouthful of blood?

So the threat that the meat, no matter how well-cooked it was, will fill your mouth with blood was enough to scare some children from eating meat on a Lenten Friday.

HINENGGEN MAN ÅMKO'

 

Mungnga umo'mak yanggen masahahalom ha' hao trabia.

Don't shower if you're still sweaty.

When we were kids playing in the streets, hitting empty tin cans down the street with sticks, or playing catch and racing each other, when we'd come home some of us would want to take a shower right away because we were so sweaty from our games.

But some saina, often the nånan biha or grandmother, would forbid us to. "Cha'-mo umo'omak sa' masahahalom ha' hao trabia!" ("Don't you dare shower because you're still sweaty!")

We'd have to dry off before they'd let us shower. So, we'd take off our sweaty shirts and just keep our shorts on and it didn't take too long to dry off. They'd never allow us to dry off standing in front of a fan, either. 

The fear was we'd get sick if we took a shower while we were still sweating.

Is there a scientific basis?

Although science does not say showering when still being sweaty will kill you or make you sick, medical people and health experts generally advise people to cool down before showering after they've sweated from playing sports or exercising. Water, either hot or cold, will have an effect on the body, one's heart rate and body temperature, so it's best to subject the body to cold or hot water when the body is in its natural rest state.

Others say if you take a hot shower while still sweaty, your body still needs to sweat in order to cool down the internal organs, so you'll end up sweating after the shower anyway. Wait, then, till your body stops sweating and then take a shower.

Still...

I think or man åmko' had other concerns when it came to showering while still sweaty.

They really believed you could get sick if you did. 

My Filipino friends tell me they had the very same belief. Tropical people think alike. Parents believed that showering right away would shock the child's body. Remember that Filipinos generally shower with cold water, just as almost every Chamorro did before the war and even after. The body needs to cool down, both Filipinos and Chamorros believe(d), before the body can properly deal with the water from showering.

HINENGGEN MAN ÅMKO' : YANGGEN MAN ATTOK I MANNOK

 

Yanggen man attok i mannok siha annai u'uchan, siempre u dinira i ichan para un råto ha'.

Lao yanggen ti man attok, siempre u uchan tolot dia.

If it's raining and the chickens hide, the rain will last just a short time.

If they don't hide, it will rain the whole day.

It's almost as if the chickens are telling us, "If it's going to keep raining and raining all day, there's no use hiding. Just stay in the rain."

But it could be that the rain softens up the ground, allowing the chickens to get at worms and bugs hiding in the soil more easily. Sometimes, with the soil loosened by the rain, the worms just come out of hiding. A rainy day, therefore, can mean good hunting for the chickens.

The feathers of the chicken do help a lot to keep the chicken warm in the rain, but, unlike a duck, the feathers are not water-proof. The chickens will want to get out of the rain at some point. But the good hunting might keep them in the rain for part of the day.

LAST WILL IN CHAMORRO

 

In 1927, a prominent and wealthy man decided to write his last will and testament as he was not in good health and wanted to be prepared for death. He wrote his will in Chamorro, which lets us see the kind of Chamorro being spoken in Guam in the 1920s, 28 years into Guam's slow but sure Americanization.

The man was born around 1872, and his father was a very prominent man on Guam in the mid 1800s, as his father before him had been a Spanish government official who fathered children with a Chamorro lady.

I have changed the spelling to my own spelling more familiar to people today, and I am leaving out last names because the family's current descendants may not appreciate this will becoming public knowledge. An English translation follows each paragraph and explanatory notes come at the end.

Guåho si José ____ ____, 55 åños edåt-ho yan taotao este iya Hagåtña, låhen _____ yan _____. I numeron sedulås-ho 3313. Malångo yo’ lao mamaolek ha’ todabia i hinaso-ko. Hu fa’tinas i uttimo na disposision-ho ni todo i guinaha-ho, taiguine mo’na :

I am José ____ ____, I am 55 years old and a resident here in Hagåtña, the son of _____ and _____. My cédula is number 3313. I am sickly but my mind is still well. I make my final disposal of all my assets as follows :

UNO : Guåho sottero yo’ ya tåya’ tinatte-ko pat patgon-ho ni mañaina-ho sino solamente mañe’lo yan sobrino siha.

ONE : I am single and I have no descendants or children nor parents except only siblings and nieces and nephews.

DOS : Desde ke hu tutuhon macho’cho’ asta på’go hu sodda’ este siha mo’na na propiedåt :

TWO : Ever since I began working till now I find the following properties :

(a) Un guma’ teha yan i solåt-ña ni gaige gi Calle Esperanza, barrion San Ramón, numero 1299, na hu adkiere påtte pot erensia ginen i mañaina-ho yan påtte pot finahån-ho gi mañe’lu-ho. One house with tiled roof and its plot which is on Esperanza Street, in the barrio (district) of San Ramón, number 1299, which I acquired partly through inheritance from my parents and partly from my purchase from my siblings.

(b) Un fangualu’an giya Pa’åsan hurisdiksion Hagåtña na hu adkiere lokkue’ pot erensia ginen i mañaina-ho. A farm in Pa’åsan, jurisdiction of Hagåtña, which I acquired also through inheritance from my parents. 

(c) Un paståhe giya Makåhna hurisdiksion Hagåtña yan trenta na guaka ni man ma påpåsto guihe. Este na tåno’ finahån-ho gi as Juan ____, as Joaquin ____ yan otros mås. A pasture in Makåhna, jurisdiction of Hagåtña, with thirty heads of cattle which are pastured there. This land is my purchase from Juan ____, Joaquin ____ and others.

(d) Guaha lokkue’ ga’-ho singko na båkan karabao yan dos na toriyon karabao na man ma sosotta gi paståhen Luís ____ giya Bubulao. Guaha lokkue’ un båkan guaka na ha popoksai si Joaquin ____; un bakiyan guaka na ha popoksai si José ____ yan tres båkan karabao, i uno ha popoksai si Juan ____, i otro ha popoksai i pastot-ho as Juan ____ ya i otro ha popoksai si Vicente ____ yan un lecheran guaka na gai patgon. I have also five female carabao and two young male carabao which are loose on the pasture on Luís ____ in Bubulao. There is also a cow being raised by Joaquin ____; a heifer being raised by José ____ and three female carabao, one being raised by Juan, the other by my herdsman Juan ____ and the other by Vicente ____ and a dairy cow with its calf (or is pregnant?).

(e) Guaha lokkue’ dos karetå-ho, i uno troso i otro råyo. I also have two carts, one with solid wheels and the other with spoked wheels.

(f) Guaha lokkue’ iyo-ko na piano. I also have a piano.

TRES : Hu deklåra na tåya’ ni uno hu didibe ya ni uno dumidibe yo’.

THIRD : I declare that I am in debt to no one at all and no one is in debt to me.

KUÅTTRO : I disposision-ho ni este siha i propiedåt-ho ni esta hu sångan taiguine mo’na :

FOURTH : The disposal of my properties already described is as follows :

(1) I gima' teha yanggen måtai yo’ para si Marikitan che’lu-ho. The tiled-roof house should I die is for my sister Marikita.

(2) I tano’ giya Pa’åsan, i paståhe giya Makåhna yan i guakas siha guihe yan i singko båka yan dos toriyon karabao ni man gaige gi paståhen Bubulao para i sobrinu-ho as Enrique ____ kon la obligasion de i kubre todo i gåsto pot guåho durånte todo i malangu-ho yan i gåston i entieru-ho yanggen måtai yo’. Pot si akåso homlo’ yo’ nu este na malangu-ho ya esta yo’ siña macho’cho’ komo åntes, obligao yo’ na hu na’na’lo gue’ ni todo i gaston-ña pot guåho. The land in Pa’åsan, the pasture in Makåhna and the cattle there and the five female and two young male carabao which are in the Bubulao pasture are for my nephew Enrique ____ with the obligation to cover all the expenses during my illness and the expenses of my funeral should I die. If I should recover from this illness and I can work as I did before, I am obliged to pay him back all his expenses for me.

(3) I tres båkan karabao, i tres båkan guaka yan un tatneron guaka ni man ma popoksai segun i esta hu sångan guine gi sanhilo’ yan i dos kareta yan i piano para i mañe’lu-ho famalao’an as Marikita, Caridad yan Consuelo. The three female carabao, the three cows and one carabao calf which are being raised in the way I have already stated above and the two carts and piano are for my sisters Marikita, Caridad and Consuelo.

(4) Hu nombra i primu-ho yan amigu-ho as José ____ para atbaseå-ho para ke, yanggen måtai yo’, guiya u dispone todo i propiedåt-ho konfotme i malago’-ho guine na testamento. I name my cousin and friend José ____ as my executor so that, should I die, he will dispose all my properties in accordance with my wishes here in this testament.

Hu deklåra na este ha’ i uniko na testamento fina’tinås-ho asta på’go na ha’åne. I declare that this is the only testament that I have written till the present.

 

Ya este na testamento hu suplika i sobrinu-ho as José ____ para u tugi’e yo’ sa’ chatsaga yo’ hu tuge’ pot i malangu-ho ya todo este siha na disposision-ho humuyong ginen i pachot-ho yan i minalago’-ho, sin hu ma su’ok pat hu ma chachalåne, ya bai hu fitma este na testamento gi me’nan i testigo siha ni i hu na’ fan ma agånge para u ha hungok i disposision-ho guine na testamento, guine giya Hagåtña på’go gi dia ocho de enero gi mit nobesientos beinte i siette na såkkan.

And this testament I requested my nephew José ____ to write for me because I am unable due to my illness to write it and all of these instructions of mine have come from me verbally and from my will, without me being pressured or influenced, and I will sign this testament before the witnesses whom I have called to hear of the instructions in this testament, here in Hagåtña on today’s date of January 8, 1927.

NOTES

(1) The testator uses some Spanish loan words which are hardly used today. Atbasea (Spanish albacea) means executor, as of a will. The sedulas (Spanish cédula) was a personal identification paper. He also uses phrases straight out of Spanish such as "kon la obligasión de" (with the obligation to).

(2) He uses the original word todabía instead of trabia (in Saipan, tarabia), meaning "still, not yet." Monsignor Calvo (born 1915) always said todabía as well.

(3) The man has a piano, a rarity among Chamorros at the time. It indicates he is a man of above-average financial means (as also evidenced by his properties and cattle) and cultural affinity with the West.

(4) This man's last will differs from older last wills in one very noticeable way - the absence of any religious language. The man was Catholic, and I am not suggesting he wasn't a practicing one, but he does not include any religious language at all, not even about his funeral, whereas older last wills were very religious in tone. They almost always began right away with a profession of the person's Catholic faith; this was often the very first line of the last will. The person went on to express how they intended to die a loyal Catholic, obedient to the Catholic faith till death, and included clear instructions that he or she be given a Catholic funeral and sometimes even made provision to pay for the exact kind of funeral services they wanted, or how many Masses they wanted to be offered for them.

(5) Place names. The man's real estate assets were all centered in what we now call the Agaña Heights area. He mentions two places : Pa'åsan and Makåhna. I have never heard of a place called Makåhna, only the mountain by that name. A mountain is hardly a place for a pasture, but maybe he means the slopes of Mount Makåhna near Agaña Heights or maybe the backside of the mountain, which isn't a steep climb.

PA'ÅSAN AND MAKÅHNA

In addition, he mentions a place called Bubulao, where he didn't own land but where one of the landowners there allowed him to pasture some of his animals, maybe for a fee or a share in the meat if and when the animal was butchered. Bubulao was prime pasture land and some prominent Hagåtña people owned land in Bubulao and raised cattle there, sometimes hundreds of heads of cattle.

Bubulao is somewhat remote. One has to drive from Malojloj inland to the foot of the mountains.

BUBULAO

ÅNTES DE UMO'O' I GÅYO

 

This is a schedule of Catholic Masses on Sundays in all the Catholic churches and public chapels on Guam in the year 1955, excluding the military chapels.

You can see how early in the morning Sunday Mass was in the old days, many of them before the crack of dawn.

In fact, a common saying among people, especially mothers, back then was, "Åntes de umo'o' i gåyo, esta debe de un gaige gi gima'yu'us."

"Before the rooster crows, you should already be at church."

I'll explain the reasons for these early Mass times further down this article.

But notice : the earliest Sunday Mass was at 5AM (Agaña Heights and Sinajaña) and the latest Sunday Mass was at 10AM (Agaña Heights, Sinajaña and Yoña).

But in many villages, Sunday Mass no longer available after 8 or 830AM. If you were from Asan, Dededo, Maina, Malojloj, Mangilao, Ordot, Santa Rita, Toto or Humåtak and weren't in church by 8AM, you missed Mass or had to go to another village to find one.

WHY SO EARLY?

The FIRST reason is on the Church side.

In the good old days, no one, not even the priest, could receive Holy Communion unless they had not eaten anything or drunk anything at all, not even water, from 12 midnight till the time of Holy Communion. Obviously, the later the Mass was in the day, the hungrier the person - and the priest! So they scheduled Masses as early as possible in the morning, or even before dawn.

Notice that no Masses began after 10AM. By then it was too late in the day for priests and people to keep fasting.

The SECOND reason is on the people's side.

Before the war, the vast majority of people farmed for a living. That meant that they woke up very early, and prided themselves in that. This way they could hear Mass at 4AM or 5AM and get to their farms (often on foot) before the sun made the day too hot. After the war, farming almost completely disappeared, and people began waking up a bit later, though old habits didn't die right away. 

The people didn't go to their farms on Sunday, of course. All manual labor was forbidden by the Church on the Lord's Day. But the people still woke up at 4 or 5AM, even on Sundays. It was just a routine the people didn't break.

"ATAN I BOLA" : CHAMORRO CODE

 

A former seminarian from the 1960s, who, for reasons you will understand at the end of this story, did not proceed to the priesthood, told me a story which reveals how older Chamorros spoke in code.

The parents of one seminarian owned some beach property and so they would invite the seminarians from Father Dueñas to picnic and barbeque there once in a while.

These parents had a daughter who was lively and friendly. She loved to play the guitar, and this seminarian loved to sing.

Well, dad was not dumb, so when he had the seminarians play softball at his beach, he would walk up to this seminarian and whisper in his ear, "Atan i bola, no? Atan i bola." "Look at the ball, ok? Watch the ball."

In other words, though unspoken words, "Båsta ma atan i hagå-ho." "Stop looking at my daughter."

So, rather than embarrass the seminarian and his daughter, he spoke in code. Which the seminarian understood.

He eventually graduated from Father Dueñas but did not pursue the priesthood and is now a happily married man. But not with the girl on the beach.

HINENGGEN MAN ÅMKO' : CLINGY BABY

 

YANGGEN MAPOTGE' TA'LO I NANA, MÅS CHETTON I PATGON-ÑA GIYA GUIYA.

If a mother gets pregnant again, her child becomes more attached to her.

I was walking to a woman who was holding her baby daughter who was maybe a year-and-a-half old. The daughter is old enough to walk and frequently does so; she even runs a few steps now and then.

But the baby girl would not get down from her mother while I was talking to her.

Our chat was getting longer and the baby was getting heavier, so the mom tried to put the girl down more than once. But, each time she tried, the girl would grab onto her mother even more and make a fuss.

And it wasn't that the girl was afraid of me either. For a while the girl has been talking to me and has even come up to me while I'm sitting down and slaps my knees with her hands in a playful way.

Some of our mañaina (elders) believed that even a baby can sense when the mother is carrying a new child inside her womb.

There is no way a toddler aged 15 months can understand what pregnancy is, or that an unborn baby is inside the mother's womb. But the elders say the baby can feel it somehow. And thus the baby becomes clingy towards the mom.

Is it fear that the baby is being threatened by a sibling? It's hard to tell, isn't it, since babies cannot talk and explain their feelings.

And yes. The mother I was talking to, with the clingy baby, is actually expecting another child on the way.

UNUSUAL MEDICINE

 

Even as late as the early 1800s, that is, 120 years after Spanish colonization, our ancestors turned to some very unusual (for us) remedies for illnesses, using the things available to them at the time.

Unusual things such as diseased body parts and animal poo.

French visitors to Guam in 1819 wrote down their observations, describing some of these unusual cures. Some of these remedies used things that only came after Spanish colonization, such as some animals. But the principles probably went far back to pre-contact times.

Access to western medications was very limited, so one has to keep in mind that necessity is the mother of invention. When one is sick, one takes what one can get.

TÅKE' BABUI

One Chamorro lady fried pig feces in oil and applied the paste to the part of her body that ached. She boasted how the pain went away. The French doctor remarked that it was simply the heat of the fried manure that did the trick.

The Frenchman only had to remember that the ancient Romans and Egyptians also used fecal matter, both human and animal, in various cures. The Romans, for example, considered that animal manure was good fertilizer. It made the land grow and produce. So perhaps it could also heal the human body. Cows and other ruminants ate herbs that were known for their healing properties, so the digested herbs in cow manure could possibly heal as well, so they thought.

Another Chamorro took canker sores that had come off and boiled them in water till half the liquid evaporated. In one gulp, she drank the brew and cured her stitches, which are cramps or aches around the abdomen or sides.

SPIDER'S WEB

To cure indigestion, rice flour is grilled with spider's web (tararåñas or tiraråñas), and then the powder is added to water and the patient is given this to drink.

Perhaps less distasteful, to us, were other ingredients used in remedies such as grease, charcoal and the soot of burnt shells.

In addition to these, our ancestors had recourse to the many and varied plants that had curative benefits. Although some of these plants are very bitter to the taste, we wouldn't find them as strange to consume as tåke' babui or tararåñas.