Akendo Onamwar suspects he is one of the highest-paid Chuukese in Hawai'i today.

He makes $30,000 a year.

By Western standards, Onamwar may not seem successful: He lives in public housing. He takes care of a multitude of relatives. The money he earns working as an employment counselor for Goodwill Industries of Hawaii barely stretches from one payday to the next.

But Onamwar, 54, does not judge himself by those standards, and neither do his peers.

Where he comes from, the measure of a man is different. As in Hawaiian culture, success comes in intangibles. Taking care of extended family. Perpetuating the culture. Having people seek you out for advice and knowing they can rely on you for help, as Onamwar's community did when a 5-year-old Chuukese boy died in a recent house fire, and Onamwar was among those who met with John "Rex Boy" Ceasar's father to offer aid.

Perhaps we should introduce you to Pastor Onamwar, one of the first Chuukese students to study at Hawaii Pacific University in 1974.

"If I have the authority to compare myself with my own people, yes, I'm satisfied with my lot," said the ever-humble Onamwar, who studied social sciences at HPU. "I consider myself a success, even if this might not be in the eyes of the Western world."

The opinion is not solely his own. When three parishioners among the hundreds of people milling around First Chuukese Church of Honolulu, which Onamwar founded in 2000, were asked to point out people he has helped, they all looked around the courtyard and answered with the same word: "Plenty."

Liwisa Kaspar, a 43-year-old mother, is one of Onamwar's admirers. When she arrived here from Chuuk (formerly Truk) in 2005, she didn't know the ins and outs of the American medical system — or how to pay for care.

"He helped me a lot with applying for insurance, how to get to hospital and finding assistance," Kaspar said, adding that the pastor stressed how she needed to get a job.

"He advised me not to rely (on government aid)," she said.

She took that advice: These days, she herself works in the health field, as a medical assistant in a health center.

A DUTY TO HELP

Family in Chuuk is remarkably close. There are no words for "auntie" or "uncle" or "cousin" — all are "mother" and "father" and "sister" and "brother." Grandparents are "old mother" and "old father."

"It is a no-no to turn your back to your people," Onamwar said simply. "It's our duty to help the newly arrived."

How do you serve the new transplants in a new land, yet help them hold onto their identity? While Onamwar believes that keeping the language alive here is imperative for keeping his culture intact, he also is practical enough to admit Chuukese in Hawai'i must learn to navigate local waters.

"You have to have money to live here," he advises the newly arrived. "Back home, you have subsistence. (Here,) you must know how to use their money wisely."

Another challenge for the employment counselor: combating "Micronesian time," he said with a laugh.

"One o'clock means 2 o'clock or later — it's not that bad, as long as you show up," Onamwar said. "I tell them (heeding the designated) time is very important, especially with medical appointments."

Many in his Chuukese church came to America as part of the Compact of Free Association, or COFA, to get medical care or take advantage of educational opportunities. Schools here, he said, are more rigorous than back home.

First-generation arrivals like Tom Tomson, a young deacon at the church, know it's not easy to adjust. Tomson tells of parents who bring their school-age children to the hospital to help the parents communicate with their doctors.

Tomson himself really learned English through his first job, at a Round Table Pizza. Now he works for The Lunch Bunch, a school-lunch catering company.

He sits up just a hair straighter when you ask about his education. Tomson attended community college in Chuuk. That's quite something for a young man who hails from the tiny island of Losap.

How small is it?

"You can stand on one side and see the people on the other side," Tomson said.

The social scientist in Onamwar knows it's important to canvass the needs of his countrymen who are not only coming here but coming here in greater numbers than ever before. That's why he helped with a 2003 census of Micronesians in Hawai'i.

Jut how many of the "COFAnesians," as Bill Wood, a professor of sociology at the University of Hawai'i terms them, are here is a hotly debated topic.

A 2003 census came up with 8,357. Onamwar estimates that there are 15,000 now, just from his nation of Chuuk alone. If you wanted a figure for all COFAnesians, he'd guesstimate more than twice that. Burgeoning populations are being found on the Big Island, in Hilo and, most recently, in Kona.

Another census is being planned for next year. It's one priority of the Compact of Free Association task force, which has drafted a report for the next legislative session outlining what is needed to serve this fast-growing population.

CHURCHES HELP

Churches are often the first source of aid for the newly arrived. Sekap Esah, president of Micronesians United, said most — 90 percent to 95 percent, he told members of the task force — of these arrivals are Christian.

Onamwar's church is Congregationalist, like the Pohnpei group that meets at Central Union Church on Sundays.

Micronesians seem to be equally divided between Catholics and Protestants.

"Of all the Micronesians, Chuukese are the largest group as Catholics," said the Rev. Lane Akiona, who works as a liaison between Micronesians and the Roman Catholic Diocese of Honolulu.

About twice a year, a priest is sent from Chuuk to say Mass and administer sacraments here, especially in Hilo. In Wai'anae, a Samoan-speaking pastor, the Rev. Sebastian Chacko, attempts once a month to say Mass in Chuukese.

Besides offering services in his native tongue, Onamwar makes sure some customs from back home are upheld here.

After a recent service, a second offering was collected for a family paying for a funeral in Chuuk. If someone dies elsewhere, the family wants the body returned to Chuuk, whatever the cost.

Onamwar understands that impulse. Even after all the years he's spent in Hawai'i, Onamwar still wants to be buried back home. "And I know they will do it, too," he said, nodding his head to the people packing the church.

Will that change with the next generation, as they become more assimilated into the American culture? "Eventually, that will die out," the social scientist says.

ARRIVALS INCREASE

As a father of four and grandfather of six, Onamwar's goal is to keep his culture alive, even as it moves and grows.

He recalls the days when he was one of just 10 Micronesian students at HPU, working towards his bachelor's degree. "As the years went by, there were more and more," he recalled.

Onamwar himself would travel back and forth between his home in one of the Mortlock Islands to Hawai'i, but today his primary residence is here.

While his parents' marriage had been arranged, Onamwar bucked tradition and chose his own wife. Two of his daughters are still in school here. And he has his contract job with Goodwill Industries of Hawai'i and his church keeping him rooted.

But he doesn't shy away from the emblems of his homeland.

The sermon is in Chuukese; as the music swells, Chuukese lyrics are projected onto a screen with an overhead projector.

Women dressed in bright likoutant (mu'umu'u) wear their dark hair bundled tight in buns and set with beautiful combs. In the main sanctuary of the Church of the Crossroads, where the Chuukese church meets, women and children take up the main sanctuary, while most of the men are segregated to one side.

"They are deacons and pastors," offered Tomson, by way of an explanation.

As Onamwar looks out over the 200-plus congregants during his sermon, he knows what his countrymen truly need: better education, medical care, economic stability.

Life is changing for Chuukese both here and in Chuuk, where the government is being weaned from COFA money.

"So many people have come here because of a change in mentality. ... Yes, I understand we are struggling, trying to adapt to new ways. ... We'll overcome barriers," he said. "It's a learning process."