Micronesian basket: Now becoming a relic of the past

Micronesia Basket By Alex J. Rhowuniong

My seven-year-old daughter, AnnAngel, sometimes thinks she is the funniest person.

The other day, I entered our room and found her sitting on the bed, browsing through a copy of the Pacific Island Times.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Looking at pictures,” she said nonchalantly. “I’m reading the big letters, too.”

“You mean, reading the headlines!” I said, correcting her.

  She replied, “No. You're funny, daddy. I'm not heading into any lines.”

Huh?

“Come here, daddy. Let me show you something.”

She leafed through the paper again and stopped at the page with my column in it.

“Why does this newspaper have your photo?” she asked.

I explained to her that I write for the paper and that she was looking at my column.

“Are you sure?”

 “Uh-huh!” 

“Daddy, you know, you can tell me the truth. You don't have to hide these things.”

I told her I was telling the truth.

“So, you didn't do anything wrong? And the cops are not coming after you?” she asked, clearly mistaking my column photo for a police mugshot.      

“Sorry to disappoint you, honey!”

“OK, if you ever get into trouble with the police, please, please, please, remember that I asked you for your phone first, alright?”

“I will be sure to remember that.”

A few minutes later, she asked: “What do you write about?”

“Oh, Micronesian basket.”

“Wait! What? You play basketball for them?”

“No, sweetheart, I write for them, remember? I write about anything Micronesia—from a basket, in other words, a storage of Micronesian experience.”

Hours later, I found myself still mulling over how to properly explain the concept of "Micronesian basket" as a figure of speech to a seven-year-old, who I thought had never seen one before.

When I saw her again, she was in the living room playing with her toys. Then, it finally dawned on me: she has seen a basket.

I asked: “Sweetie, remember when we went back home during the summer?” 

“Uh-huh!” she said without looking up from her toys.

“And remember the basket grandma used for your kitten? And also remember the one Brandy (my nephew) used to bring home those breadfruits in?” 

“Uh-huh!”

“Those are the baskets. That’s what they look like. And when I said I write for my friend, the editor of the paper, it's like reaching into a pretend basket of knowledge of Micronesia and giving them a bit of a Micronesian experience.”

Her eyes lit up. But she only recognized her pet in that story. She has forgotten that her kitten died in that basket: “Yeah, my favorite kitten!”

Why didn't—remembering her pet—we bring the kitty with us? I reminded her that the kitten died before we left. 

She had too much fun with that tiny kitten. So my daughter's focus rested on the kitten.

The Micronesian basket has been part of our culture and weaving tradition. It's made of dried coconut or pandanus leaves meticulously woven to create a receptacle, like a pouch or a bag.

Men and women use them to carry personal items. One can become attached to their basket. It’s a very private possession. To open another person’s basket is an unacceptable intrusion of personal space.

Sadly, the Micronesian basket is slowly taking a backseat, being pushed out of the scene by the McDonald's culture.

 Nowadays, the Micronesian basket is reduced to a “gift item” or travel souvenir. In some places, such as Saipan, Guam, Yap, Chuuk and the Marshalls, the baskets are reserved for tourists, if not used as props in cultural events.

Only a handful still traditionally use these native bags. In Yap and Chuuk, people walk around with baskets of various sizes and shapes, filled with betel nuts. In other parts of Chuuk, the basket is used for carrying machetes, food and “rong” (medicine and magic). In Pohnpei, the basket is a symbol of forgiveness.

In the past, they were used to carry food such as taro, breadfruit, potato, banana, coconut drink and fish. This type of basket is rooted in Micronesian life and lifestyle. Yet, it has essentially become a relic of the past, replaced by commercially produced sporty backpacks.

But it is good to know about these things. We can look back, reflect on our cultural past and reach into the basket for stories of our personal lives—and write.

Alex J. Rhowuniong is a freelance journalist and longtime Guam resident. He worked for Marianas Variety-Guam and the Pacific Daily News. He was born and raised in Chuuk. Send feedback to justwrite.ar@gmail.com

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