Micronesia & Marino Sammy

Each morning I noticed a man passing by on the street in front of the cafe. One day he came in. Marino Sammy, a gentle man with dark features, a smile, a twinkle in his eye, and a clear accent came in and asked for coffee. Our coffee does not taste like the coffee in his country. He gets it from the Phillippines. His name is Marino Sammy and he comes from the Federated States of Micronesia. He lives in the State of Chuuk on an island called Udot, that is less than 1.5 miles wide.

Sammy is in town visiting his son who moved to this area. His daughter moved to Missouri. His island has limited opportunities for jobs, so his kids moved. He is in Oregon for the first time and of course finds it much different. In his country, Sammy shops little. Most items that are eaten are grown by him or by other locals who share their food. He has to shop for very little. Each state within Micronesia has its own language. English is their secondary language. Sammy is proud of his life and his people and his island. He works for the government and gets up each morning and hops on his motorboat for a half hour boat trip to work on another island.

Sammy doesn't know about gangs or thieves or busy urban life. He likes it that way. Come to think of it, I think I'd like that too!

I pulled up the Federated State of Micronesia for him on the map and he beamed as he guided me through the beautiful pictures and showed me his homeland on the map. "Wow! You can find all of this on the computer?" he marveled. After looking at his beautiful state, I wanted to go. "Come to Chuuk and I will show you all of this!," said Sammy.

Later that day, a police officer was in and I told him about a visitor from Micronesia. "Micronesian gangs are heavy drinkers and a violent bunch, just a few miles up the street." I was disappointed, and I stupidly disappointed Sammy later.

Next morning Sammy came in with his smile and we enjoyed conversation. I mentioned that I heard we had Micronesian gangs. He was crushed. I explained to him that it wasn't a reflection of his people, but more what happens in America when poor immigrants come to find work, cannot and as a matter of survival get involved in drug sales. As I said it, I thought about it. These peaceful people from a quiet country come to America - a common thread amongst immigrants - and then learn about gangs.

Sammy was disturbed. "Find this information for me on the computer and show me," he said. I tried and couldn't. "Please find this information and print it for me on my next visit," he said. "If people from my country are doing bad things here I want to know and do what I can to stop it."

I spent the evening researching what I could for Sammy. I google searched for "micronesian gangs" and could only find issues in Hawaii, where there is signs of much racial tensions where the word "gang" is used in comments. I searched the gang expert sites and found no issues with Micronesian gangs. Perhaps I concerned Sammy for nothing?

So, Marino Sammy, a happy gentleman from Micronesia comes in my coffeeshop and paints me a picture with his stories, that when I close my eyes, I can feel the serenity. And Marino Sammy comes in my coffeeshop and I tell him stories about America and the gangs from Micronesia and now when he closes his eyes, he worries. If only we could see the world through Sammy's eyes here - and the beauty. Paradise is how you view it, and I'd rather share in Sammy's paradise then the black brush in which I just painted Micronesia American-style.