CHamoru weavers keep tradition alive one leaf at a time

By Ron Rocky Coloma

Nate Manibusan sat with a strip of åkgak leaf in his hands, folding it slowly, intentionally. Around him, the air buzzed with quiet chatter and the faint scent of pandanus.

“It’s a tradition that I enjoy doing,” Manibusan said in an interview while preparing for a weaving workshop at Artspace Guåhan in Hagatna on May 28.

For Manibusan, this wasn’t just a class. It was an act of remembering and giving back. “Weaving is part of who I am as an islander and a CHamoru,” he said.

Unlike many traditional artisans, Manibusan didn’t inherit weaving from his parents or grandparents. He came to the practice later in life, around 22 or 23, when he met Saina James Bamba and Saina Mark Benavente, both of whom became his mentors.

Martha Tenorio

Another mentor, Saina Anthony Mantanona, was the one who invited him to the workshop. The invitation aligned perfectly with what motivates him most: sharing. “I like to pass on the knowledge I have gained to fellow artisans and practitioners, so the knowledge and skill are not lost or forgotten," he said.

At the workshop, Manibusan and Mantanona guided participants in weaving pandanus bracelets. The process involved not just technical skill, but also patience and care for the material.

Patience, he noted, is a lesson that stands out from his own learning experience.

ADVERTISEMENT

“A lesson in weaving is to understand the leaves that you are weaving with. It’s all about patience,” he said. “I’m glad that all my Saina I’ve learned from has always been patient while teaching me.”

For Manibusan, weaving is deeply tied to history and survival. He views it as a vital connection to the past and a living part of the island's identity.

“It was the way our ancestors survived. Using the skill of weaving, they were able to make thatching for the roof, baskets and bowls to carry items to and from their homes, make sails for them to sail to neighboring islands.”

He added, “Weaving is our tradition that has lived long and will live, as long as we are able to learn and teach others who are interested in gaining the knowledge and value of the craft.”

During weaving, Manibusan often thinks of who the item is for and who came before him. “I focus on the pattern of the item and the person to whom I will gift it. While doing so, I think of how our ancestors were doing while they were weaving.”

Nate Manibusan

That connection, he believes, is what makes weaving powerful. It’s not just about art. It’s about pride, purpose and keeping something alive. “It gives me pride that I am able to continue our traditions and provide woven items to others that don’t have the knowledge of weaving.”

And what does he hope participants walked away with? “The interest in continuing to learn how to weave and in passing on the knowledge.”

Joining Manibusan at the workshop was Martha Tenorio, who shared her cherished memories of learning—and the skills behind them—with a new generation of learners.

Before she even understood the complexity of weaving, Tenorio was pulled aside by her grandfather one quiet afternoon. With a coconut leaf in hand, he demonstrated a style of katupat weaving she had never seen before. She watched closely. That lesson stayed with her for life.

Tenorio led a session focused on the katupat and gueha, both woven with coconut leaves and steeped in ancestral tradition.  

“The katupat is a single-leaf ‘rice basket’ that allowed our ancestral seafarers, hunters, fishermen, and travelers to have sustenance with them because the cooked rice was able to last for several days without spoiling,” she said. “The gueha was a useful tool to have when making and sustaining fire for cooking—and of course, comes in very handy during our maipe Guam days.”

A generational weaver from Talo’fo’fo’, Tenorio learned the art form as a child by observing her mother and grandparents. “I was surrounded by these skillful weavers who inspired me to want to learn and become a weaver,” she said. “And so, I started to pick up the leaves, practicing and learning by their example.”

Now, weaving is more than a technique. For her, it’s an emotional and cultural lifeline. “Weaving, to me, is my connection to my past and to my culture,” she said. “I’m instantly brought back to the days when I used to watch my mom and grandmother weaving various items for our family fiesta.”

Tenorio believes that knowledge like hers isn’t meant to be kept. “This knowledge is not mine, but ours; it belongs to everyone,” she said. “And so, I truly believe that it is my responsibility to pass on and share this weaving knowledge with those who want to learn it.”

The workshop was made possible in part by the QCC Grant Series 7, funded by the Guam Economic Development Authority and supported by Guam Regional Medical City. It drew participants from across the island who engaged not only with the craft but also with the stories and meanings interwoven in each fold and knot.

One of Tenorio’s favorite materials remains the coconut leaf, and her favorite item to teach is the katupat. “I also make katupat leis, as well as jewelry pieces with them, and I use katupats in many of my decorative wreath weavings,” she said.

She sees a unique fingerprint in CHamoru weaving styles, particularly in the Marianas. “Our double-rim basket, also known as the guagua’, is very much unique and special to our area of the Pacific,” she said. “The styles and techniques are slightly different depending on what culture they are coming from.”

In recent years, she’s noticed something promising: a renewed passion among young people for weaving. “I’ve done weaving classes at the University of Guam, and it is so wonderful to see the increased interest by our younger generation,” she said.

She credits that shift to a stronger embrace of identity.

“There is a stronger sense of pride in our CHamoru identity—who we are and where we come from,” she said. “Weaving is part of that identity... not just in the weaving, but in the performing arts, medicinal knowledge, culinary skills, seafaring, carving, and last, but never least, the language itself.”

Subscribe to

our digital

monthly edition