NAN BOTA

Verónica Lizama Camacho, better known to us in the village as Nan Bota, was one of my elderly parishioners in San Roque, Saipan in the early 1990s. She was born in 1908, during the German administration of Saipan. She was 83 years old when I first met her.

She is one of the reasons why, from 1991 till 1994, I had to improve my Chamorro language skills dramatically. She, along with a few others, was one of those people born so long before the American presence in Saipan began in 1944 that she could not speak English.

Learning to become as fluent as possible in Chamorro was not just a way to communicate with those who didn't speak English. Speaking Chamorro to Chamorros who could speak English connected me to them more strongly. The language is ours and it carries a feeling, an underlying message, beyond the literal meaning.

Nan Bota went to Mass almost every day.

TI SIÑA TITIYAS

She told me a lot of things about the past, but one that sticks out is the rule against unnecessary manual labor on Sundays, the Lord's Day.

She said that the family's titiyas (corn tortillas) which were to be eaten on Sunday had to be made on the Saturday before. You couldn't grind the corn on a Sunday to make the corn flour to make the titiyas. The grinding required real manual work. "Ti siña an Damenggo sa' fuetsa," she said. "You can't on a Sunday because it is exertion," as she stretched out her arms and mimicked the motion of grinding corn.

WHY SHE MARRIED LATE IN LIFE

Nan Bota was a widow for many years already when I got to know her. She once explained to me why she married late in life.

"Åntes de gera, gi gima'-måme giya Garapan, man akihot i gima' siha. Siña un hungok håfa ma susesede gi besino." ("Before the war, in our house in Garapan, the homes were close to each other. You can hear what is happening at the neighbor's.")

"Guaha dos na umasagua na besinon-måme. Todo i tiempo mumumu i dos. Umachatfinu'e yan uma'essalåggue." ("There was a married couple who were our neighbors. They fought all the time. Cussing at each other and yelling at each other.")

"Hu deside, na yanggen taiguine i lina'la' kasamiento, ti malago' yo' umassagua." ("I decided, if this is married life, I don't want to get married.")

WHY SHE MARRIED HER HUSBAND

"Påle', bai sangåne hao, gof chatpago i asaguå-ho, lao hu asagua gue' sa' pot maolek i kostumbre-ña." ("Father, I will tell you, my husband was very ugly, but I married him because of his good character."

I'd say a very good reason to marry someone. Marry them for the beauty of their heart, which not only doesn't age but which in fact can grow in beauty, rather than for the passing beauty of the body. Makes for a more successful marriage.

A SPECIAL AFFIRMATION

When I announced that I would be leaving the parish to be transferred back to Guam, she was sad to see me go. She told me,

"Meggai na mamåle' hu li'e' lao tåya' na hu li'e' gi pumalo siha na mamåle' taimano i un cho'gue guine." ("I have seen many priests but I have never seen in the other priests the way you did things here.")

Considering that this was a lady who lived thirty-some years BEFORE World War II and fifty-some years after the war, I was very touched by what she said. I am sure that other priests did exceptional work all those seventy-some years before me, and that she was speaking in the context of seeing me leave. Just to think of Påle' Tardio, the Spanish priest of Garapan who faced gigantic challenges under the Japanese and during the war! But I still appreciated her affirmation.

A LAND I COULDN'T OWN

I had already left Saipan but would visit at least once a year to offer an occasional funeral Mass, or lead a retreat, preach a mission and so on.

On one such visit, I went to see Nan Bota. She was getting weaker and sensed that she may not have many more years ahead. As she lay in bed, she called into the room her daughter, a few grand children and even great grandchildren who were in their early 20s.

She started to tell them all, in Chamorro, that she wanted me to inherit a portion of her land when she died. She identified specifically what lot she wanted me to have.

We all smiled and nodded and said, "Hunggan, hunggan," ("Yes, yes,") but we all knew her intention could never be fulfilled and for two, separate reasons.

First, I am a Capuchin Friar with a vow of poverty, which means I cannot own anything in my own name. Even if my own parents willed some of their land or possessions to me, I could not inherit them in my own name.

Secondly, the Constitution of the Northern Mariana Islands, in Article 12, limits ownership of land in the Northern Marianas to those of Northern Marianas descent, which I am not. It is legally impossible for me to own land in the Northern Marianas.

Still, I was touched by her kind gesture.

Rest in peace, Nan Bota.