Jay Castro 0:11

Who you're hearing is Lenny Samika and James Farn. James actually goes by Jim, and he kind of got on me a few times for calling him James. My mother calls me James. I'm J. Bird Castro. And I'm with my nephew Joseph Titanosa Nicholas. And we're spending the day with our new friends golfing at the Hoffade Classic. You're listening to Red Rice with Finadeni, an experimental podcast that explores the indigenous Chamorro culture and the people from the Marianas Islands. Thanks for listening. Really happy to have you here. Today's episode is titled Mamalao, which is part one of a series dedicated to covering the Hafaday Classic. The Hafaday Classic is an annual golf tournament for Chamorros and people with ties to the Marianas Islands. Men, women, people of all ages participate in this annual golf tournament. And due to COVID, the last two years have been canceled. So this is the 39th annual Hafaday Classic. And it was hosted by the Chamorro Golf Club of Washington State, about an hour's drive south from Seattle, in the sleepy town of Lacey, Washington. We're at the Hawks Prairie Golf Course, home of the ancestral lands of the Coast Salish and Nisqually people, among many other native communities who made their home in this beautiful area. I'd also like to take a moment to recognize that many diverse native and indigenous peoples continue to live and work in this area. I respectfully acknowledge and honor all Indigenous communities, past, present, and future, for our ongoing and vibrant presence. Biva Chamoru. So it's Wednesday morning, day one of the classic. And Joseph and I pull up in our little tiny rental car, a small white Nissan Versa that barely fit the two of us and our golf clubs. And we were already nervous to play. We hadn't practiced much. So the tightness in the car raised the tension. We needed to get out and stretch our legs. And when we did, something strange yet oddly familiar happened. It almost felt as if we transcended out of this Nissan Versa and into our own little Goleidi. A canoe. And we were now among a sea of Goliitis. As far as we could see, cars, shirts, hats, golf bags, golf towels, all showing island pride. There were decals of Guam seals on trunks, chimoral pride bumper stickers, magnets that read lanyat, and veterans' hats. Lots of veterans' hats. Most of the hats displayed their service during the time uh in the Vietnam War. But there's also some from Korea, Iraq, and the occasional World War II. And all this just to show our pride and where our family come from, where we come from, our roots. And for many of us, including myself and Joseph, we grew up stateside and always had a strong sense of Tramoral pride and pride in the islands and and a yearning to learn more about where our family come from. And a lot of that yearning stems from a lack of exposure to it as children or as young adults even. When our family migrated from Guam and Saipan back in the 50s and 60s, they went through a heavy dose of Americanization, which ultimately stripped my family of the language and many culturally significant ways of living. There's still so much I don't know of our islands and cultures, and even more that I haven't experienced. So, like my golf game, when it comes to my culture and the language, especially, and the cultural norms, I'm still a rookie. I'm a beginner. I'm a newbie. That limited exposure kind of gets me to lean into what I know best. I'm here, it's a beautiful day, I'm about to play golf with a bunch of Chamorro. Life is good. So of course I yell out Hafaday! What's up? Only to get silence in return. And a bunch of blank stares, like, who's this dude? He don't look Chamorro. He sounds like a howley. But I'm used to that. That's been the story of my life, everywhere I go. But this time it was different. And that's when it kicked in. The negative self-talk. The imposter syndrome. The I can't. I shouldn't. I'm not. If I don't belong here, where do I belong? These are supposed to be my people. Why am I feeling this way? Thoughts were running through my head, a mile a minute. Do I leave? Do I stay? Where do I go? Where's Joseph? I don't know anybody. I felt alone. The noises ringing in my ears, to go for a walk. It helps clear my mind, helps get me back to a centered space. So I just went on a little walk through the clubhouse, to the driving range, and I felt like a stranger. All that excitement and nostalgia just escaped me. But the walk helped. Even though I didn't speak the language or see familiar faces, I did see many faces that looked like family members. I knew no names, but I heard a couple names being said in the background. Funny story my dad always says is that when he was growing up, they'd be in a garage hanging out with all the cousins and uncles. You know what? Let me actually go get him to tell it. Hold on. One blessing I have in my life right now is that I actually live very close with my family. So I often just go downstairs and knock knock. Hey Dad, will you tell me that story about the time in the garage where everyone had the same name?

SPEAKER_00 7:40

Heck, that was 40 years ago. So I went to a party at my cousin's house in Castro Valley. There must have been about maybe a dozen to a dozen and a half guys drinking beer and talking. And then uh one of the wives came in, she said, Joe. Everyone kind of looked and said, Which Joe do you want? And we all kind of laughed because then we realized that there was John's, Joe's, Felix, and Frank's in there. And that was the only names there were, and there were at least four of each of those names. We had no problems talking to each other about it because we we would say, like, there's Felix the Cat or Felix number two or Felix number one or or you know Denteen Johnny. Then there's all these different versions of our name so we can identify which Frank or which Felix or which Joe or which John we were talking about. And I was Brother Joe.

Jay Castro 8:50

What a Chamorro thing, right? Everyone's got the same name. That's comedy to me. So comedy. Uh thanks, Dad. I appreciate it. So when I heard those names, that nostalgia started to come back. I started to put my smile back on. My shoulders opened up. My back got straight. My eyes opened. I was finally getting my senses back. So I just listened. I hear in the background, par, pari, prim, jalu, now. These terms of endearment really started to soothe me, make me feel like I was starting to feel like I'm part of this group. I saw younger folks bowing their heads to the elders. And all I could think of at the moment was what my mentors over at Guampedia.com shared with me is this code of conduct in the Chamorro culture. Uh Mungna Unma Mamau La. Which is like, don't bring shame to your family. And I was starting to feel Mamalao because I wasn't myself. I was nervous and scared. Would my nana and Tata be proud of me right now? May they rest in peace. What would my aunties and uncles think? And in that moment of shame, I was safe from someone across the courtyard and their big, broad, approving smile. Relaxed body language, and a wink. They motioned me over to come say hello. It was a Manamko, an elder. Tan Diego Hammett, he saved the day. Nephew, Hafatato Manuha. With the simple question of asking how I'm doing, and a gesture for me to bow my head in respect to him, Tan Diego Hammett reminded me of why I was there in the first place. I'm your host, J Burry Castro. Don't forget to check out part two, the tomorrow intro. You'll get to meet Don Diego Hammond, among other monompos and great people who we got to meet and play golf with at the Hoffade Classic in Lacey, Washington. And a big shout out to Savu for providing the music to this podcast. He's a Saipan born artist currently living in Washington. Seju Usamase for listening. Thank you. See you next time.

SPEAKER_00 12:26

Thanks for listening for a Fanny Danny Podcast.