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In a family way
Apr. 15th, 2007 11:30 amMy brother and his family came up for the weekend so that we could visit our Yapese friends in Federal Way. Our friend Theo had to work from 11am to 8pm yesterday, so we visited for an hour and a half in the morning and then drove down again that night. In between, we went to a Mariners game at Safeco and saw them beat the Rangers. It was my nephews' (and sister-in-law's) first Major League Baseball game, and obviously their first game at Safeco, which rewarded them by having to close its roof when it started to sprinkle. A good time was had by all.
It was great as always to see Theo and Antonia and their various kids and grandkids and cousins and other family. Theo is working at an auto parts store now, and struggling to learn the secrets of the computerized cash register. He seems to have concluded that he doesn't have what it takes to find a niche in the US, and he and Antonia are planning to return to Yap in 2008 with their two youngest boys and their (now) two-year-old grand daughter, who they will raise for their daughter, who will stay here. At the same time, Theo says, everybody on Yap tells him it is hell there right now, with the economy (such as it ever was) in complete shambles, gas and diesel at five bucks a gallon and rising, the cost of electricity (also diesel generated) going through the roof, the school system dysfunctional, etc, etc.
We chewed the fat (or the betel nut) about Yap for most of both visits. For some reason, I was even more cognizant than usual of the different hierarchies in Yapese society. All of the young women in the apartment (and there were up to four at different times) were extremely deferential to the men (including my brother and me), and would sort of crouch or bow as they left the room, as though they were trying not to disturb us, yet the behavior was so ritual that it called attention to itself and to the act of deference. Theo's kids were extremely deferential to him personally, too, and his youngest boy would fetch him beer from the fridge. And as usual, Lonnie is always treated as the patriarch of our family, including over me. This is a very formal thing, and it took me a long time to understand certain aspects of it. For example, Theo and I played together for a year or two when my family lived out on Yap in the '60s. As far as I know, he and my brother didn't have much of a friendship, but Theo always says it was the other way around and that he remembers Lonnie and not me. Of course, I didn't remember him all that well myself, from our childhood, but over time I've come to see that his own version of things is mostly a reflection of how he understands proper interfamilial relationships to work. The patriarchs -- the eldest males in the respective families in any given family grouping -- are the central pair from which all else flows. (I say "in any given family grouping," because Theo isn't actually the eldest male of his siblings.)
As I say, it's a formal thing for Theo, and it has real consequences that are hard for us to fathom sometimes. For example, my nephews were given Yapese names by Theo (or maybe by Antonia, since women usually give names on Yap, usually an aunt on the father's side), and names are always connected to property. (Traditionally, your name was the name of a piece of property that you were then considered to "speak for," which is something like ownership.) So, as Theo reminded us yet again this weekend, there is a piece of property on the southern tip of the island (near the village where Antonia grew up -- the property belonged to her father) that he considers to belong to the boys, and we're welcome to build a house there if we want to live or winter in Yap after we retire. This is always pitched to Lonnie, of course, although I'm included in the offer by virtue of my relationship to Lonnie.
Now, he's said this for years, and Lonnie and I are never sure how serious or real it is. But the eldest nephew told me an interesting story about this weekend. He and the youngest were hanging out with Theo's kids and younger relations in the kitchen last night, and one of the cousins -- the daughter of Theo's brother -- asked who they were.
Theo's daughter gave their Yapese names: "This is Falthin, and this is Figir."
"Yeah, right," the other young woman said. "What are their real names?"
"I'm serious," Carmen apparently replied. "They're basically our cousins."
So even Theo's kids perceive it that way. So it suddenly seemed that much more real and more serious, once I'd heard this story.
I've wondered before how much, if any, of my interest in the alien is a response to the experience of growing up on Yap. A couple of years ago, as I was renewing my acquaintance with the pulp science fiction Venus of steamy jungles and vast oceans, it struck me: Venus is Yap. It's an interesting notion to toy with, although the influence actually works in both directions, as the pulp writers based their ideas of Venus on their ideas of the tropics. Still, part of the ongoing fascination of Yap is the enigmatic puzzle of its customs and how they play out in the real terms of our friendship with Theo and his family. How much of the alien is the product of cultural exogamy?
The plan afoot currently is that when the eldest nephew graduates from high school next spring, we'll go back out to Yap for a month. This will only work if Theo is able to return with his family next year as well. He made it clear that he real wants to, whatever our plans are. In the US, he feels like a fish out of water and like an old dog (just turned fifty) who can't learn new Information-Age tricks. He wants to go home where he has a niche, even if the place is falling apart at the seams. Hope we all get this chance to return and consider the puzzle further.
It was great as always to see Theo and Antonia and their various kids and grandkids and cousins and other family. Theo is working at an auto parts store now, and struggling to learn the secrets of the computerized cash register. He seems to have concluded that he doesn't have what it takes to find a niche in the US, and he and Antonia are planning to return to Yap in 2008 with their two youngest boys and their (now) two-year-old grand daughter, who they will raise for their daughter, who will stay here. At the same time, Theo says, everybody on Yap tells him it is hell there right now, with the economy (such as it ever was) in complete shambles, gas and diesel at five bucks a gallon and rising, the cost of electricity (also diesel generated) going through the roof, the school system dysfunctional, etc, etc.
We chewed the fat (or the betel nut) about Yap for most of both visits. For some reason, I was even more cognizant than usual of the different hierarchies in Yapese society. All of the young women in the apartment (and there were up to four at different times) were extremely deferential to the men (including my brother and me), and would sort of crouch or bow as they left the room, as though they were trying not to disturb us, yet the behavior was so ritual that it called attention to itself and to the act of deference. Theo's kids were extremely deferential to him personally, too, and his youngest boy would fetch him beer from the fridge. And as usual, Lonnie is always treated as the patriarch of our family, including over me. This is a very formal thing, and it took me a long time to understand certain aspects of it. For example, Theo and I played together for a year or two when my family lived out on Yap in the '60s. As far as I know, he and my brother didn't have much of a friendship, but Theo always says it was the other way around and that he remembers Lonnie and not me. Of course, I didn't remember him all that well myself, from our childhood, but over time I've come to see that his own version of things is mostly a reflection of how he understands proper interfamilial relationships to work. The patriarchs -- the eldest males in the respective families in any given family grouping -- are the central pair from which all else flows. (I say "in any given family grouping," because Theo isn't actually the eldest male of his siblings.)
As I say, it's a formal thing for Theo, and it has real consequences that are hard for us to fathom sometimes. For example, my nephews were given Yapese names by Theo (or maybe by Antonia, since women usually give names on Yap, usually an aunt on the father's side), and names are always connected to property. (Traditionally, your name was the name of a piece of property that you were then considered to "speak for," which is something like ownership.) So, as Theo reminded us yet again this weekend, there is a piece of property on the southern tip of the island (near the village where Antonia grew up -- the property belonged to her father) that he considers to belong to the boys, and we're welcome to build a house there if we want to live or winter in Yap after we retire. This is always pitched to Lonnie, of course, although I'm included in the offer by virtue of my relationship to Lonnie.
Now, he's said this for years, and Lonnie and I are never sure how serious or real it is. But the eldest nephew told me an interesting story about this weekend. He and the youngest were hanging out with Theo's kids and younger relations in the kitchen last night, and one of the cousins -- the daughter of Theo's brother -- asked who they were.
Theo's daughter gave their Yapese names: "This is Falthin, and this is Figir."
"Yeah, right," the other young woman said. "What are their real names?"
"I'm serious," Carmen apparently replied. "They're basically our cousins."
So even Theo's kids perceive it that way. So it suddenly seemed that much more real and more serious, once I'd heard this story.
I've wondered before how much, if any, of my interest in the alien is a response to the experience of growing up on Yap. A couple of years ago, as I was renewing my acquaintance with the pulp science fiction Venus of steamy jungles and vast oceans, it struck me: Venus is Yap. It's an interesting notion to toy with, although the influence actually works in both directions, as the pulp writers based their ideas of Venus on their ideas of the tropics. Still, part of the ongoing fascination of Yap is the enigmatic puzzle of its customs and how they play out in the real terms of our friendship with Theo and his family. How much of the alien is the product of cultural exogamy?
The plan afoot currently is that when the eldest nephew graduates from high school next spring, we'll go back out to Yap for a month. This will only work if Theo is able to return with his family next year as well. He made it clear that he real wants to, whatever our plans are. In the US, he feels like a fish out of water and like an old dog (just turned fifty) who can't learn new Information-Age tricks. He wants to go home where he has a niche, even if the place is falling apart at the seams. Hope we all get this chance to return and consider the puzzle further.
