Red Rice and Fina'denne' Podcast
SUMMARY
This red rice story is about feeling *mamåhlao* (shame) for not appearing “CHamoru enough” and how a simple smile can transform shame into belonging. Join Jaybyrd, a 1st generation Stateside CHamoru, as he prepares to compete in the 39th Hafa Adai Golf Classic in Washington State. The Hafa Adai Golf Classic is an annual golf tournament for people with ties to the Mariana Islands.
**Timestamps**
00:55 The 39th Annual Hafa Day Classic Golf Tournament
02:57 Guam and Saipan: A Family History
07:34 That time when all the CHamoru men had the same name
**Links**
Read: [Guampedia.com on mamåhlao](https://www.guampedia.com/mamahlao-shame/)
Visit: [Hafa Adai Golf Classic](https://hafaadaigolfclassic.com/)
Listen: [Sabyu: Lava Flow album](https://www.sabyu.com/lava-flow)
Watch: [University of Guam students](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cvdNVRozNjw)
Add your story: [RedRicePodcast.com](http://www.redricepodcast.com/)
START
Lenny S. 0:02
Well that pins in a tough spot too.
Jim F. 0:04
Sure is man.
Jay Castro 0:07
What club did you use?
Lenny S. 0:08
I used a six, an easy six.
Jay Byrd 0:08
Who you're hearing is Lenny Scimeca and James Fejerang. James actually goes by Jim. He kinda got on me a few times for calling him James. "M y mother calls me James!" he'd say. I'm Jay Byrd Castro, and I'm with my nephew, Joseph Taitano San Nicolas, and we're spending the day with our new friends, golfing at the Hafa Adai Classic.
You're listening to Red Rice with Fina'denne', an experimental podcast that explores the Indigenous CHamuru culture and the people from the Marianas Islands. Thanks for listening. Really happy to have you here.
Today's episode is titled "Mamahlao" which is part one of a series dedicated to covering the Hafa Adai Classic. The Hafa Adai Classic is an annual golf tournament for CHamorus, and people with ties to the Marianas Islands. Men, women, and 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 Hafa Adai Classic. And it was hosted by the Chamorro Golf Club of Washington State. We're about an hour's drive south of Seattle, in a 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. Biba 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 to 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 galaide, a canoe. And we were now among a sea of galaides. 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, "CHamoru pride!" bumper stickers, magnets, that read "Lanyat!", and veterans hats, lots of veterans hats. Most of the hats displayed their service during the time 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 in 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 CHamoru 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, haha, 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 CHamoru, life is good. So of course I yelled out "Hafa adai! Wassup?" only to get silence in return. And a bunch of blank stares like, "Who's this dude? He don't look CHamoru. He sounds like a Haole." 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 imposters 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 are 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.
Something I've learned from my therapist, is that when I get this feeling of anxiousness, this cloudy head, the noises ringing in my ears. To go for a walk, it helps clear my mind and 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 look 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 on the garage where everyone had the same name?
Joe Castro 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 one of the wives came in, She said, "Joe" and everyone kind of looked it says, which store do you want? We all kind of laughed, because then we realized that there was Johns, Joes, Felix, and Franks 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 would say like there's Felix the Cat or Felix Number 2 or Felix Number 1 or or you know, Dentine Johnny. Then there's all these different versions of our name so we can identify which Frank or which Felix or which Joe which John we're talking about. And I was Brother Joe
Jay Byrd 8:51
What a CHamoru thing, right? Everyone's got the same name. That's comedy to me. So comedy. Thanks Dad, I appreciate it. So when I heard those names, that nostaliga started to come back. I started putting 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? Che'lu! Nao. These terms of endearment really started to soothe me, made 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 CHamoru culture. “Mungga na un ma’ mamåhlao.” Which is like don't bring shame to your family. And I was starting to feel my mamåhlao, because I wasn't myself I was in 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 saved, 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 manåmko', an elder, Tan Diego Hammot—he saved the day. "Nephew, hafa tatamanu hao?" With the simple question of asking how I'm doing, and a gesture for me to bow my head and respect to him, Tan Diego Hammet reminded me of why I was there in the first place. I belong to be there.
Thank you for listening to Part 1 Mamåhlao at the Hafa Adai Classic. I'm your host, Jay Byrd Castro. Don't forget to check out Part 2, The CHamoru Intro, you'll get to meet Tan Diego Hammot, among other manåmko's and great people we got to meet and play golf with at the Hafa Adai Classic in Lacey, Washington. And a big shout out to Sabyu for providing the music to this podcast. He's a Saipan born artist currently living in Washington. Si Yu'u ma'ase for listening. Thank you. See you next time.
Kalani Joe C. 12:26
Thanks for listening to a Fina'denne' podcast.