The Marshall Clan : Islanders Thrive on a Far Shore, Basking in the Warmth of Their Extended Family

It was only about three hours into the party and already the guest of honor had skinned out of more outfits than Gypsy Rose Lee could in a week. One minute he would be resplendent in a brand new custom-made suit, the next he would be charging around in his underwear, only to be swiftly dressed again in yet another new outfit.

Pretty heady stuff for a 1-year-old. Add to that the fact that Timi Calep is a manje-- which among Marshall Islanders is about as exalted a title as a kid still in diapers can aspire to--and you’ve got the makings of the birthday party of a lifetime.

Manje (pronounced mon-jay) means first-born child in Marshallese, and along with the title comes a first birthday party to rival New Year’s Eve in Times Square. In Orange County, it means that every transplanted Marshall Island native around shows up to eat, drink, dance, sing and renew old ties to the homeland.

That could mean a guest list of as many as 300, for the county is home to the largest colony of Marshall Islanders in the continental United States.

Beginning about 25 years ago, the first of these left their tiny grouping of islands in the South Pacific for Orange County in search, primarily, of a college education. (There is but one small college on the islands, and its curriculum is limited.) What began as a trickle soon become a flood--at least by Marshallese proportions. The transplanted islanders’ success in finding educational opportunities and jobs--along with the lure of the mild climate--prompted many relatives and friends to try their luck here too, said Que Keju (pronounced cue kay-joo), 33, who emigrated from the Marshalls in 1971 and is now a public administration major at Cal State Fullerton.

“It got around by word of mouth,” Keju said. “People would say to their friends or relatives in the islands, ‘Why don’t you come over here to our place?’ It’s within our tradition to have that close-knit family type thing. The community is like an extended family where you tend to stay together, whether it’s with family members or within a certain place in Orange County. It’s a home away from home.”

There is only one other large enclave of Marshallese in the continental United States: in Enid, Okla., home to about 100 Marshallese (there are smaller communities in San Diego, Dallas and Eugene, Ore.). That’s not as strange as it sounds, Keju said. Their community evolved the same way the Orange County one did: Several of them obtained scholarships and, later, jobs. Word of their acceptance and success went to the islands and a waves of immigrants arrived to learn and to live among friends from the islands.

That sense of community and interdependence runs deep in every Marshall Islander, whether living at home or abroad. It is, says Mel Kernahan, a Newport Beach writer who specializes in Pacific Island culture, the pivot upon which Marshallese society turns. Kernahan was a press aide to the prime minister of the Cook Islands in 1982 and ’83 and has studied Pacific Island cultures for 28 years. She said that in spite of the Marshallese desire to preserve their culture here, a part of the traditional American Dream has begun to figure in their lives.

“I find that the Marshallese here in Orange County are more goal-oriented, like Americans,” she said, “because of their exposure to American life. They don’t drop out of school. That just doesn’t happen. The Marshallese really seem to value an education and look at long-term goals rather than short-term ones.”

But, she said, unlike many Americans, acquisition of wealth or power has no attraction for them. Among many Marshallese, she said, “the only motivation to acquire things is to have something to give away.”

Indeed, the Marshallese may be the most truly communal people Americans will ever meet--which explains Timi Calep’s quick-change acts and, in a more general sense, everything about his first birthday party. The party, called a kemen (pronounced cay-men), a sort of super-luau, was held on a recent evening at the Polynesian Island Village area (formerly a part of Lion Country Safari) in Irvine. The event offered example after example of the transitory nature of ownership among the Marshallese.

“The first birthday of the first child is one of the most celebrated occasions in the Marshall Islands,” said Bue Garstaing of Costa Mesa, Timi’s grandfather and a machinist. “It’s like a wedding. It’s one year in the making, and we were preparing up until the very last day.”

The preparations involved the families of both of Timi’s parents, Yolandina Mack and Quincy Calep, both of whom attend Costa Mesa High School. Family members in Orange County and in the Marshalls spent weeks fashioning dozens of intricate shell headbands and necklaces, weaving brightly colored fans and straw mats, and sewing delicate floral pillowcases. They made dozens of colorful dresses, shirts, trousers, hats and other items of clothing--all for the guests and themselves to be worn at Timi’s party. And the day before the kemen , the family members and many of their guests made enough food--from traditional island dishes such as breadfruit and poi and coconut crabs flown in from the Marshalls, to American favorites such as potato salad and baked beans--to fill several tables.

And they sewed outfit after outfit for Timi himself. For Timi’s clothes--like the food, the fans, the pillowcases, the mats, the necklaces, the hats and nearly every other item made by the parents’ relatives--all would be given away to the guests in a kind of reverse baby shower.

“If you have a baby out there,” said Garstaing, speaking from a stage to his guests and pointing at Timi, “grab him. Everything that he wears is yours.”

And they did. All that was needed from a guest was a smile and a tug on one of Timi’s sleeves and Timi’s mother, grinning, would immediately remove the outfit and present it to the guest. By the middle of party, Yolandina Mack had lost track of the number of times she had stripped her son to his diapers.

“Oh, my God, I don’t know,” she said, laughing. “I think we’ve gone through seven or eight by now.”

“The highlight of the evening is preparing and presenting the gifts to our guests,” Garstaing said. “To us, the idea is that they take the gifts in remembrance of the day. We assume they’re taking it for sentiment.”

The gifts--the pillowcases, fans, mats and articles of clothing--were hanging on lines or arranged on the floor around the stage. Around 9:30, after the come-and-get-it signal was given, the nearly 300 revelers had picked the lines clean in a matter of seconds. Garstaing said matter-of-factly that the rush for the gifts is known as a “raid.” The swiftness of the raid, however, was matched by the admiration of the guests for their gifts. American guests, particularly, were full of praise for the intricate handiwork apparent in many of the items.

How much does a party such as this cost? Marshallese dismiss such concerns as unimportant. Kernahan said she believes that a family will go all out to throw an elaborate party.

“There’s a saying at home,” Keju said by way of explaining the attitude: “ ‘Money go, money come.’ ”

The tradition of community property among the Marshallese goes much deeper than gift-giving at a party, however. The well-known maxim, “What’s mine is yours,” doesn’t say it all, either. One must add, “What’s yours is mine.”

“The way we seem to be singled out from everyone else, be it other Micronesian people or other nations, is in this idea of sharing,” Keju said. “You might not have a legal right to a certain thing, but once somebody--your uncle, say-- asks for something of value, like a car, you are likely to give that car to your uncle without any hesitation. You might feel a little bad about it, but it’s done. If somebody revered comes to you and asks if you’re willing, you say, ‘Yeah. Here are the keys.’ It’s all a part of loyalty, reverence and respect for people.”

Often, Keju said, it takes nothing more than an expression of admiration to prompt a Marshallese to part with a valuable item, and to do so gladly.

“If you say to someone, ‘I like your shirt,’ don’t be surprised if he takes it off and gives it to you,” he said. “Bue gave away his TV and his VCR to his father-in-law.”

“In the American culture, gifts are accepted from the guests, but to us, the family prepares the gifts,” said Damien Ishoda, an uncle of Quincy Calep who, like nearly 20 other family members, had traveled from the islands for the party. “It would be like this at home too, only more so,” Ishoda said of the elaborate party preparations and the large guest list. “If we were to hold this at home, practically the whole island would be joining the celebration.”

That may sound like an exaggeration, but Timi’s mother, Yolandina Mack, comes from one of the Marshalls’ two most populous atolls, Majuro (the capital); and Quincy Calep, the boy’s father, comes from the other, Kwajalein. Those atolls account for about 60% of the 31,000 people living on the islands, islets and atolls in the double chain of land masses that makes up the Marshalls.

The islands were named for John Marshall, an English sea captain who explored the islands in 1788. Many Americans first heard Marshall Islands names during World War II, when savage battles were fought with the Japanese on Kwajalein and Eniwetok. Eniwetok and another atoll, Bikini, were used as U.S. nuclear testing grounds between 1946 and 1962, and the United States today maintains a missile tracking base on Kwajalein.

After World War II, the islands became a United Nations trust territory under U.S. jurisdiction, and became a self-governing republic in 1979. Before 1982, Marshallese coming to the United States to work or go to school had to remain here if they wanted permanent residency status, Keju said. If they returned to the islands for any reason, they could not return permanently to the United States. However, in 1982 the islands signed a compact of free association with the United States, which, among other things, allows Marshallese to come and go from the islands as they please, he said.

Many Marshallese in Orange County plan to return to the islands someday, Garstaing said. Until then, however, many of them strive to maintain the ties to their culture and traditions while living in Orange County. About 60 are active members of Jake Jabol Eo, a club formed in 1978 “to maintain an acquaintance among ourselves and to revitalize our relationship with islanders and keep our culture alive.” Garstaing is the current president of the club.

“From a few people, we’ve built a real community here,” Garstaing said. “We’ve gone to school and found jobs. What we emphasize is the importance of having an education, and we are aware that education is the key that will unlock every opportunity, because our dream is to go back (to the islands). There are needs there that our leaders have told us about. They won’t force us to go back, but we feel the pride in our country and we want to go back to help. They need people there in the upper-level professions.”

So, Marshallese people probably will continue to come to Orange County, and to Costa Mesa in particular, a place Keju says is well known in the islands as an outpost of people from home.

“We’re still recruiting people for the sole purpose of going to school, for education,” he said. “Of all the families that have established themselves here, every single one came here to go to school.

“Sure, I miss the islands, but I feel that I have to finish my educational goals first before I can go back there and be an asset. But I long to go back. And in the long run I plan to retire there.”

MARSHALL ISLANDS AT A GLANCE

Where: In central Pacific Ocean. Two chains of islands/atolls about 650 miles long, about 130 miles apart. The capital, Majuro, is 2,000 miles southwest of Honolulu and 1,300 miles southeast of Guam.

Total Land Area: 70 square miles on 31 atolls.

Population: 35,000; 12,000 in Majuro.

Status: Granted Free Association status by United States in 1980. Basically a sovereign, self-governing republic with the U.S. being responsible for defense and providing agreed upon services and economic aid.

Government: By Constitution built from American and British concepts. The Nitijela (parliment) elects the president from amoung its members. It consults with the Council of Iroij (local chiefs).

Modern History: Visited and claimed by Spain in 1529, they were named for British sea captain John Marshall, who explored them in 1788. Germany bought them from Spain in 1899. Japan occupied them in World War I and was allowed to rule them by the League of Nations. The U.S. forces captured islands during World War II. U.S. exploded nuclear weapons at Bikini and Enewetak Atolls from 1946-58.

Products: Copra (dried coconut meat) is chief product. Also breadfruit, fishing.