Love - Mortlockese Style #1

I am not an expert on love but I do know one thing: Mortlockese Love is the real deal. It is genuine and sincere, it defies descriptions. If you're shown love Mortlockese style, you will lose yourself in its warmth, comfort and beauty that you will always find  yourself coming back for more. Incidentally, I'm not talking about eros or your typical sexual love. I am talking about the love for your own people, your family,  your relatives, your fellow islanders, your lands and your seas. It is the love of all these things combined and more. It is also the love you extend to your neighbors, to strangers and to visitors that come to your islands. It is the love of your own rich culture and traditions and unique lifestyle. It is the love that I'm afraid we will lose through our exposure to foreign customs and influences if we're not careful.
For instance, on Oneop, as on any other island in the Mortlocks during the Japanese rule, young men were selected to go and do hard labor in the phosphate mines of Angaur, Palau. Actually, they were ordered to go. They did not have any other choice. To refuse is to defy the Imperial Empire and would end up severely punished or even executed. The selection of able-bodied men to go on such a dangerous and sometimes fatal mission was not an easy feat. The local chief was given the task by the bumon cho and the kenpei tai to pick who was to go. This difficult task always tore his heart to shreds. Who would want to send his father, uncle, cousin, brother, nephew or son to die in a far away land? No one. So, out of concern and compassion for his people, the chief decided to send only those that were related to him - his brothers, uncles, cousins, nephews and sons. At least, if something happens to any one of them, only he and his family will suffer and grieve for their loss. He just could not send anybody else. However, that wasn't always the case.
During the general assembly before deployment, the chief openly wept as he read out the names of the men he had selected to go to Angaur. As he called out each name, a young man stood and went to the front. Everybody started to sobbed and wailed and cried out his name. His mother and female family members went up to him, put coconut oil and mwaramwars on him, sobbing and begging him not to go. The next name was called and the same thing was repeated. There was sadness all around. The chief continued to read off the names on the list and after a while, the people started to realize that all those young men standing up there at the front were from the same family or clan; that of the chief's. Immediately, young men from the other clans jumped up and stood in solidarity with them, volunteering to replace some of their brothers on the list. To them, it was unthinkable and unacceptable to send all the men from the same family into harm's way. Some of them were needed to stay behind and look after their womenfolk and children.
The Mortlockese Love that becomes apparent in situation like these guarantees that people on those islands live together in peace and love and harmony. It makes sure that no family or clan is deprived of its rights to live and prosper and produce offspring that will carry on their family name into the future and beyond. It is the kind of love that makes me proud to be a Mortlockese.

What is a Mortlockese?

Is it an identity? Yes. An ideology? Of course. And a  Mortlockese is an individual, a bonafide citizen of the Mortlocks Islands who was born there or elsewhere to Mortlockese parents and grew up in the Mortlockese culture and upbringing that distinguish him or her from other peoples. The Mortlock region spans southeasterly from the Chuuk Lagoon, specifically from Lukeisel (Nama, Losap, Piisemwar) in the north, through isolated Loilam or Namoluk at the south end of Appong, out to Namosepei or Ettal which is effoch iaas away from Moch which shares the atoll with Kuttu, and long and skinny Ta which stretches from Aliar Pass to Parang end of Satowan-the sub state center. East of these, there is Lekinioch always staring down at Oneop through that seven-mile stretch of blue lagoon called Nomonemu. Remochuloks are found in large groups in Weno and scattered throughout the rest of the big islands in the Truk Lagoon. They can also be found in Sokehs, Sekere and other villages in Pohnpei. There is a large contigent in Guam and in Honolulu as well as in Maui and the Big Island. They are also scattered all over the continental USA and throughout the world. But wherever they are, these Mortlockese never forget their identities, their roots and cultures and the islands that they left behind. For them, those islands are always refered to as "Back Home."

My Stance on Abortion

Abortion should be banned not only because it is immoral but also because it is a crime against humanity. Its acceptance by the American people and this administration is orchestrated by lies, deception, and by treacheries of those that stand to benefit from its legalization.
First, abortion of a fetus at any stage of its development is immoral because the fetus is a human being and as such, deserves the right to live as does any other individual. While the proponents of abortion argue that the fetus is just a "blob of tissue", many experts from the medical sciences unanimously declared that it is human and that its life begins at conception. A leading researcher at the Department of Genetics at the Mayo Clinic testified at a Senate Judiciary Committee hearing that, "By all the criteria of modern molecular biology, life is present from the moment of conception."
The proponents of abortion or "choice" argue that women have the rights to control their own bodies. It is their bodies and they can do whatever they want to do with it. However, what they seem to overlook is the fact that the fetuses that they carry inside their wombs are separate individuals. As individuals, they have separate circulatory systems and each has its own DNA setup, unique and different from the mother and from anybody else for that matter. In fact, the heart of a fetus begins to form 18 days after conception and its heartbeat begins to be measureable after 21-24 days. Its brain begins to form on the 25th day and starts to produce brain waves by the 6th week. So, while it is true that the mothers can do whatever they want to do to their bodies, it is morally wrong to abort a fetus because it is the same as killing another human being.
Second, abortion is a crime against humanity because no matter how one views it, statistics show that it is genocide. Since the Roe vs. Wade became law, thirty-seven million babies across America had been lost due to abortion. It is also a crime because, initially, the pro-choice groups argue that legalizing abortion would help reduce child abuse and neglect. However, statistics show that in 1973 when abortion became legal in the United States, there were 167,000 cases of child abuse and neglect that were documented by the Department of Health and Human Services. The following year, there were 785,100 cases; a 370% increase from the previous year. In the third year following the legalization of abortion, there were 2,025,200 case of child abuse and neglect which, sadly shows that there was an increase of 1112% and that abortion has a direct link to this crime against the innocents and the helpless.
Third, abortion should be banned because its legalization is a result of lies, deception and treachery, with which the pro-choice people used to accomplish their goals. The two landmark cases which bring about this immorality, Roe vs. Wade and Doe vs. Bolton, were never the true intentions of the plaintiffs. The counsels in these cases used the plaintiffs and their lawsuits to accomplish their own hidden agendas. On the other hand, many women had abortions because they were pressured and coerced into it by their spouses or partners who do not want to give child supports, and by a society who turns a blind eye to these helpless mothers who need help and support in dealing with pregnancies that nobody seems to accept.
In conclusion, because abortion is immoral, criminal, and does not serve any good or purpose other than exterminating millions of babies, then it should be banned.

The Making of the Famous Konomel

It started with a special kind of giant swamp taro called mwache. Although mwache can be found on other islands throughout Chuuk and the rest of the Micronesian islands, this variation that is grown on Oneop is different. While it usually takes a year or two for the other types of giant taro to reach maturity, mwache can be harvested only after six to eight months. From the initial planting of young shoots up to the time of harvest, mwache leaves all the other types of taro in the mud (pun intended) in terms of maintenance and upkeep. No fertilizer, no compost, no dead cats, no rotten fish, no black magic, and no constant monitoring and pampering is ever required to assure a healthy and succulent tuber or corm. In the words of one Oneopese farmer, “Just stick it in the mud and leave it the hell alone.” And the end product is always the same: a great tasting, mouth-watering, highly fibrous, good textured, energy-inducing, jaw-strengthening tuber that, when pounded, turns into the famous Konomel.

Some folks may ask, “But what is a Konomel?” Well, let me just say this. Konomel is similar to the Hawaiian poi although, it is different in taste, texture, color, nutritional value and . . . did I say taste? Once you taste Konomel, you will never go back to rice or poi or anything else. And this is how it is prepared:
1. First, the taro has to be harvested at least a day or two before cooking. Only the petioles, the leaves and the roots will be cut from the taro bulbs at this time. The mud and the skin should be kept on until immediately before cooking at which time, the women who do the preparation and cooking must skin them and hack them into little pieces using very sharp machetes and stack them neatly in gigantic aluminum pots, cover them with taro leaves and cook over open fires. This practice of keeping the harvested taro overnight is called amesapwin. They say that when amesapwin is done, the konomel becomes more scrumptious. (Note 1: The men who harvest it have to make sure that the corm or tuber is cut from the stem or the petioles (leaf stalks) at the site of harvest - the taro patch. One inch of corm has to stay on the stem to ensure that the leaf stalks don’t separate and fall off. These tuber-less adult taro plants are not discarded but stacked neatly in piles in the taro patch to await replanting as soon as they sprout new leaves. This cycle of harvesting and replanting of already harvested plants happens twice in the life of a taro. In other words, you can harvest two corms from on taro plant.)

2. The taro is cooked or boiled in large aluminum pots or vats over open fire for about ten to twelve hours. During that time, the women must keep vigil on the pot to make sure that the fire is always stoked and that water is always added to the pot when it becomes low. For that reason, the cookhouse also becomes a temporary sleeping quarter for the women. This time is very important to the women because it also serves as a time to share quality time together. It is a time to exchange information and a time to learn new things. Young pubescent daughters and nieces are taught and instructed in women’s affairs and things during this brief but fruitful period. Furthermore, this is also a time when the juiciest of gossips and the secretest of secrets are exchanged and adds to the fire; not the one under the pot.. (Note 2: This is also a time when husbands, fathers and boyfriends must also be vigilant. On Oneop, there is a band of night crawlers and marauders that are known as the “Ninjas”. They are a menace to society in that they sneak into homes when the people there are sleeping to look for hidden treasures (other than jewelry or money). It is a known fact that when the women spend the night in the cookhouse to cook and prepare the Konomel, these ninjas also go out at night to prowl. They bid their time and wait for the women to doze off so they can sneak in and steal from their pots. So, it is even harder for the poor husbands, fathers and boyfriends because while they must stay out of hearing distance from the cookhouse (it’s taboo for Oneopese males to eavesdrop on women’s conversation), they’re expected to miraculously materialize at the cookhouse at the exact moment the ninjas strike. So, you will often see them sitting in the dark at a distance from the cookhouse, swatting and eating mosquitoes, and constantly swearing at the damn ninjas and at life in general.)
3. Twelve hours later, when the taro corm is cooked, the actual creation of the Konomel begins. The excess water has to be drained from the pot leaving only a little bit in the bottom to steam the taro. Some embers are kept in the hearth under the pot to keep it warm. Rock pounders, pounding boards, coolant, and containers are collected, washed and set up. Pounders (females only) are selected and sent to shower and get ready to pound the taro. These pounders are prohibited from wearing any perfume otherwise the konomel will be ruined. Even only just a tinge of Eternity or Passion can render a whole batch of konomel inedible and worthless. The pounding starts when everyone is present and the server starts to serve the piping hot corms to each pounder. The pounding usually lasts for five to six hours depending on the number of pounders. So, when the pounding starts, there’s no more peace on earth. The constant pounding and staccato of rock pounders on wooden board (it is called kutupwurur) is enough to drive a deaf man crazy. It goes on and on and the konomel paste keeps growing and growing until there’s no more room on the pounding board. At such time, the konomel paste is transferred into large round containers called naoro’s or kapu’s where it awaits the rest of the paste for the final phase of creation. (Note 3: Interestingly, while the kutupwurur is going on, the flow of information is also non-stop. While pounding, the women tell stories and jokes and, sometimes, even blare out favorite songs and local chants. It is a time for hard work and merriment and according to the Oneopese women, there’s nothing more fun than female bonding on the pounding boards.)

4. While the women are pounding away, the men are busy collecting and husking adult coconuts – one ingredient in the konomel creating process. The coconut shells are cracked into halves and given to the young men who are manning the pweikers to grate the copra into large bowls in which the coconut cream will be extracted. Before the coconut cream is extracted from the grated copra, wild yellow ginger is added to create a distinct smell in the konomel. The wild ginger also serves as a type of preservative that keeps the konomel from getting spoilt after only a few days. (Note 4: In order to have the perfect konomel, the amount of coconut cream to be used is very critical. The master konomel maker calls all the shots. She knows by experience how many coconuts are needed to produce the exact amount of cream to mix with the konomel paste to produce the desired outcome and she lets the men and boys know. Often, the master konomel maker is the eldest among the females in the family and she wields her matriarchic power in such a manner that makes the Queen looks like a timid new recruit in a convent full of butch nuns.
5. During the final stage, the konomel paste is divided into portions and placed into the naoro’s and kapu’s. A naoro-ful of konomel often weighs fifty to sixty pounds and a kapu twenty-five to thirty. The master konomel-maker orders one of the strong men to knead the konomel paste. So while he’s doing that, the master measures and pours in the coconut cream into the container mixing it with the paste. The mix will have to be just right or the product will, like fish and tourists, stink in three days. When it’s done, the master will put the final layer of coconut cream on top and uses her hand like a trowel to apply the final finish. Unlike konomels from Lekinioch, Satowan and the other neighboring islands where gothic arts are drawn on them, the Oneop konomel is bare, smooth and unblemished as a baby’s bottom. The final product is then covered with banana leaves and stored in the main house. No body will partake of this delicious feast until the next day when the elders divide it up among the members of the family including their guests and those that help in its preparation. (Final note: The art of eating konomel is unique. So, before you eat konomel, it is a good idea to get some training and lessons on the proper way to eat it beforehand. In fact there are two ways to eat konomel. First, if you are a male, it is advisable that you use your fore and middle finger together to scoop up the slippery paste (konomel is only eaten with the fingers--no utensils allowed). But the only way to ensure that the paste is stuck to your fingers is to stick those fingers into the konomel, swirl it around clockwise five times and then bring it up to your mouth. The swirling will cause the konomel to stick to your two digits and not fall off on its way to meet your mouth. Second, if you are a female, you use the same techniques as the males but use only one finger--your middle finger. This is a good technique because if you're mad at your husband or boyfriend, you can use this technique to get back at him and let him know how you feel. Stick your middle finger in the konomel, swirl it around clockwise five times, bring it to your mouth and smack your lips as you suck and swallow it. Keep the middle finger extended upward while staring into your hubby's pathetic eyes and whisper, "In your eyes!")

Happy Thanksgiving

God provides everything for my family including our very lives. For that very reason, I will give thanks to Him on this special day with the hope that he will continue to bless us and look out for us especially through these tumultuous times.

And to everyone, happy Thanksgiving.

Remochulok—On the Brink of Extinction

I believe the gradual degradation of our culture, tradition, and core values will eventually cause the collapse of the closed-knitted relationships and bonds that distinguish us as a unique people—Remochulok.

What we are witnessing in our society today, many of which are negative in nature and most are not conducive to our principles and lifestyles, are the by-products of this form of government called democracy; chosen for us by our “Founding Fathers” in the Congress of Micronesia and later ratified by our parents and by some of us that were of age during that time in the plebiscite that advocated our rights for self-determination and the notion that we would be free of the bondage of colonialism.

Defined and existed as a government by the people, exercised either directly or through elected representatives, democracy in itself, while seemingly proven ideal for the United States and other democratic nations, stands in direct opposition or contrast to our Mochulokese customs and traditions. Ironically, our national, states, and municipal constitutions, in writing, declare that tradition can and will be recognized as one of the deciding entity in the interpretation of the laws and ordinances of the lands. The clash of these two forms of governance, I believe, created many social and cultural fall-outs that left many of the government and traditional leaders paralyzed and incapable to find a common ground on which to enforce the laws of the lands as they’d used to do in the past.

For instance, one of the unique identifiers of the Mochulokese custom is the “anomw, anei, anei anom” concept. Interpreted loosely, it means, your food is my food and mine is yours. Sounds familiar? In the past, in our custom, there is no such thing as “mine” as everything is owned by the collective group –the lineage, the clan, the village, or the island. When the men went on a fishing quest, the catch was always to be partake by the whole community and the traditional protocol dictates that it should go to the elder of the clan or the traditional chief to distribute it evenly among every member of the group. Even if one family did not have any of its member go on the fishing trip, they still get their fare share like everybody else. Socialism? You bet! Did it work then? Of course. Can it run parallel to these democratic and capitalistic principles and still benefits the people? Maybe not. We really must adopt one and let go of the other in order to survive as the proud and the resilient Remochulok.

Oneop Dock Dedication and Celebration 1981

The following videos were filmed during the dedication and celebration of the Oneop Dock in 1981. In attendance were many of our distinguished leaders and officials from both the FSM National and Chuuk State governments. They include the first president of the federation His Excellency the late President Tosiwo Nakayama, the first governor of Chuuk State the late Honorable Governor Erhart Aten, Speaker of the FSM Congress the Honorable Bethwel Henry, the late Honorable Congressman Ray Setik, their wives plus a host of other equally distinguished guests and officials from our two governments.

We dedicate these videos to the memories of our loved ones who had passed on with the hope that we the living will continue to cherish and honor those memories.


The gentleman leading this group's song was the late Honorable Delegate and traditional chief Mr. Oseter Pweitei


The song leaders of this group were the late Iokichy Alter, the late Nachuo Moses and the ever fun-loving and comedienne the late Kika "Kalepus Inisi Kechiwen Anchang" Oii.

“Mwa Maita Na Auwa Eu Chok Me Kot, Eu Chok Me Kot!”

The title was a quotation by a famous reWanikar of Oneop Island. It was blurted out in a sudden fit of anger and disbelief at what every Oneopese took for granted—that when it rains after a drought, it is only because God decided that it is time.

Here is the story:

It was a very humid Sunday morning and people’s hopes were very high. It was overcast and the cumulonimbus clouds coming over Kurum were heavy and very promising. Everybody wished that it would rain today because the drought was taking too long and people were tired and thirsty and angry. Tempers flared and fights and arguments were frequent. The rain would bring relief, renewal and reconciliation.

Our protagonist was angry. He had been for quite some time. His taro plants had shriveled up and died. His water tank gave up its last drop long ago and he was forced to boil and drink the foul and brackish well water. He was fuming and he had a huge chip on his shoulder.

On this particular Sunday morning, he decided to sleep in. He decided that he would stop going to church because God was either absent or He just didn’t want to listen to the pleas of his soulengs anymore, especially the finalisis. So, when everybody was getting ready to go to church that Sunday morning, the protagonist was pulling his blanket over his head trying to go back to sleep. “Maan kasemwel,” he muttered as his family left for church.

He must have dozed off and slept for hours because he was awaken by the sound of people talking, laughing and celebrating. Church was out and it was raining! From under his blanket, he could hear his wife talking with her finalisi friends, praising God for his loving kindness and for heeding their prayers that He had sent the rain.

Hearing those praises from those poor women sent him ballistic! He flung his blanket off, grabbed his six-D-sized-battery flashlight which was near his bed, threw it against the wall with all his might and yelled, “Mwa maita na auwa eu chok me Kot, eu chok me Kot!!!!”

His flashlight shattered into a million pieces.

Cough, Please.

Just the other day, I took my son to the Clinic to have some stitches removed from his injured wrist. As we were waiting for the doctor, I told him that he should come back soon to have a complete physical. "What is a complete physical?" he asked. I told him that it is a medical process during which the nurse will examine his whole body and report to the doctor if there is something wrong and the doctor will decide if it needs fixing.

"Does the nurse check your hair for ukus?" he asked. I said yes. "Does she check your teeth?" he already assumed the nurse is a she. I nodded.

"What about your eyes and ears?" he wanted to know. "Those, too." I told him. "I bet she will want to check inside my pants, too." he wagered. "Well, I think they need to check there just to make sure everything is there." I tried hard not to smile.

"I'm not coming back!" he exclaimed. I tried not to look at him, "What?" I asked. "And why not?"

He was serious. "My friend told me that when he went for a checkup, the nurse asked him to drop his pants," he said, "then she grabbed his nuts, squeezed them hard and asked him to cough." I cracked up. "Well, did he cough?" I laughed. "No, he was not sick but he almost pissed on her hand." We both laughed and the doctor asked what was so funny as he entered the room. We laughed even harder.

Another Kidney Story

In a previous post, I compared the value of a kidney to that of gold, or a Google share, or a studio in Honolulu. Apparently, I undervalued that little appendage that has a major role in the human physiology. Read here about the Current Price for a perfectly healthy, functional and slightly-used kidney. Just imagine how many bullions or Google shares you can buy with that much money. And instead of a studio, you can even buy a condo in Kakaako.

I'm just sayin'.