31 Days of Waikato River Strolls

Chamorus are ocean people. Even though I live away from the Mariana Islands, I continue to feel this genealogical tie to and wholeness from the tåsi. The ocean has always been a constant in my life, until very recently. My work in Pacific and Indigenous Studies led me to Aotearoa (New Zealand) where this large island nation (comprised of two islands) is profoundly shaped by the ocean and countless waterways. The region I currently reside in is named after the Te Awa O Waikato (Waikato River), which is Aotearoa’s longest såddok. I consider myself a woman of the tåsi, however local Māori iwi (e.g. Ngāti Maniapoto, Ngāti Wairere, Ngāti Raukawa, and Ngāti Hauā) are river people. Like the ocean, this såddok is considered a generous ancestor and treasure that is a bountiful source of food, spiritual fulfillment, conduit of connection for trade, and more.

While much of the world struggled with COVID-19, Aotearoa spent nearly a year and a half of semi-normal living. This changed in October 2021 when the Auckland and Waikato regions went into lockdown due to a community case of the COVID-19 Delta variant. I used this time as an opportunity to deepen my relationship with my neighboring såddok. What if I made more of a concerted effort to be a river person? What would happen if I spent the entirety of October, come rain or shine, walking the river for a hour everyday? How can the Waikato be a conduit of connection to my family and friends far beyond these shores during a pandemic and international border restrictions that feels never ending?

I could write an exhaustive list about what I learned during my daily strolls next to Te Awa O Waikato, but we don’t have time for that. There are oceans to swim in and rivers to walk. Here are 10 lessons the Waikato River taught me on my month long challenge:

1. Change is constant and beautiful. The gallery of photos above are 11 of the 31 pictures I took of the river every day of October. The images are one way of cataloging the many faces of the Waikato. Every sunset, current, mist, and reflection offered a new glimpse into the river’s personalities, especially during this spring season.

2. There are endless shades of greens and blues. You have to get outside to notice them.

3. Tūī love to sing around my neighborhood’s portion of the Waikato. I never realized how loud their wings were until I stood under a kōwhai tree and watched a few tūī fly from branch to branch. You can get a glimpse of their song from one of my walks in the video below.

4. Folks in Kirikiriroa love nothing more than a social distanced picnic along side the river.

5. It’s so easy to take for granted the Waikato when your daily routine often requires driving over it via one of the many bridges in our area.

6. The many parks alongside the river commemorate colonial histories of conquest and war. They actively erase the Indigenous stories of Kirikiriroa. More on that problematic narrative to come in a future blog post because oh boy is it persistent in this city.

7. The river never smelled bad. I could smell the rain and crisp air through my mask. I could also catch the scent of a purple-ish flower that smells like Pineapple Lumps. Look up Pineapples Lumps to get a sense of one of New Zealand’s beloved candies.

8. My hour long walks offered the best time to catch up on the phone with my sister, best friends, cousins, and mom. The crazy stories, dramatic tales, and funny chats were balanced out with a quick glance over at the river. It’s called having perspective folks.

9. The Waikato is photogenic from all viewpoints. She has no bad angles as proven from the gallery of photos above. Also trees do a great job at providing a natural frame for the river.

10. Spend time with a new body of water near you. This can be particularly grounding if you’re in the diaspora and trying to find another meaningful way to understand the Indigenous people of the land you currently occupy. Spending time includes talking to people and reading about, wading in, walking alongside, sitting with, or swimming in that body of water. Get to know its Indigenous name and the stories that connect that waterway to its people. You’ll appreciate that water more, I promise.

- Jesi

Practicing the art of fino’ puti’on

Hafa adai, and welcome to the Fino’ Puti’on blog!

Minanggao Pulan has all the fun Cha-merch (Chamoru merchandise, obviously) to bring our values and pride to the mundane spaces of our lives. While creating Cha-merch is fun, Lia and I want to have a place to share photos, stories, and conversations that inspire us. We envision this blog to be our place to i fino’ puti’on, or engage in star talk. During ancient times, young Chamoru men gathered at i guma’ uritao (bachelor house) and learned new skills. It is said that these men spoke in fino’ gualåfon, or language of the full moon. Historic records from non-Chamorus made note of our men but did not discuss the languages and gatherings unique to Chamoru women. Talk about gender biases! There is no doubt that our young women ancestors had their own means of communication where they too learned from elders and found support amongst each other. Fino’ Puti’on is Minanggao Pulan’s imaginings of how Chamoru women collectively came together in the past and the ways we can build off of this to share in community and new futures. 

This blog is a celebratory space that is meant to make you laugh, find inspiration, and hopefully get you to think about your Chamoru-ness in new and unexpected ways. Lia’s insights as a Chamoru born and bred in the Marianas will give you your daily dose of all things grounded in the home islands. Lia has her ear to the ground and ocean in Guåhan. My insights will be from the Marianas and beyond, and by beyond I mostly mean Aotearoa (New Zealand). I was born in the states and raised in i Sengsong San Diego, California (the Village of San Diego, California). I bring another kind of Chamoru perspective to our star talk, one that is in conversation with the home islands but also very much part of the diaspora. I’m currently figuring out what it means to be a Pacific person in Aotearoa, where Pacific Islander in this context often renders those of us from the northern half of Oceania invisible. We’ll get to all of those deep and meaningful conversations at a later time. All of our experiences of being Chamoru are valid, and hopefully you see yourself in some of these post. Together, Lia and I will show the ways Chamorus stay in connection and support each through our coconut network, which spreads across, through, and around again in Oceania. We hope you enjoy all the content to come!

Si yu’us ma’ase yan saina ma’ase,

Jesi