Remembering Master Navigator Captain Sesario Sewralur
By: (Eipéráng) Gregorie Michael Towai
There are years that quietly become chapters we cherish, marked by birthdays, weddings, reunions, and the simple joy of gathering with those we love. Then there are years that seem determined to test every ounce of strength a family possesses. For my family, 2026 has become one of those years. We have buried one loved one after another, each loss arriving before we have had the opportunity to truly grieve the one before it. Just when we thought our hearts had reached their limit, another phone call reminded us how fragile this journey through life really is.
This time, it was my Uncle Sesario.
On July 10, 2026, in Taiwan, my uncle, Master Navigator Captain Sesario Sewralur, peacefully began his final voyage, just one day before his 57th birthday. There is something profoundly fitting, though deeply painful, about the way he left this world. He did not pass while seeking comfort or retirement. He passed while continuing the work that had defined his entire life, sharing the ancestral science of traditional Carolinian navigation, strengthening relationships among Indigenous peoples, mentoring future navigators, and ensuring that the wisdom entrusted to him by our ancestors would continue long after we are gone.
To the world, Uncle Sesario was one of the Pacific’s most respected Master Navigators, carrying forward one of humanity’s oldest continuous traditions of oceanic navigation. His voyages took him throughout Oceania and beyond, where universities, museums, cultural institutions, Indigenous communities, governments, and fellow voyagers welcomed him not simply because of where he had sailed, but because of the knowledge he carried. He possessed the rare ability to read the stars, the winds, the ocean swells, the currents, the birds, and every subtle language spoken by the sea, preserving a tradition that has guided Pacific peoples across the world’s largest ocean for centuries.
To me, however, he was never simply a Master Navigator.
He was my uncle.
He was family.
He was a man whose gentle smile immediately put people at ease, whose humility never changed regardless of where his voyages carried him, and whose greatest joy came from teaching rather than being praised. He never carried himself as someone extraordinary, even though those around him knew they were standing beside someone whose knowledge had become increasingly rare in our modern world.
My uncle often reminded people that traditional navigation was never simply about finding another island. It was about knowing who you are before you ever leave shore. It required patience before confidence, observation before assumption, humility before leadership, and an understanding that the ocean is not something to conquer but something to respect. Those teachings extended far beyond navigation. They were lessons for life itself.
In many ways, Uncle Sesario represented something our world is in danger of losing. We often celebrate technology because it promises to make life easier, but we sometimes forget that our ancestors accomplished extraordinary things without satellites, electronics, or digital maps. Long before modern navigation existed, Carolinian navigators crossed thousands of miles of open ocean guided only by knowledge patiently passed from one generation to the next. That knowledge survives today because individuals like Uncle Sesario dedicated their lives to protecting it, sharing it, and inspiring young people to believe that Indigenous knowledge deserves not only remembrance but continued practice.
As news of his passing spread, condolences began arriving from throughout the Pacific and around the world. Navigators, educators, Indigenous leaders, scholars, students, friends, and complete strangers shared stories of the kindness they encountered, the lessons they received, and the encouragement he offered so freely. Their words reminded me that while our family mourns the loss of an uncle, countless others are mourning a teacher whose influence helped shape their own journeys.
Yet even the most heartfelt tributes cannot fill the empty spaces left behind at home.
This has been one of the most difficult years our family has ever known. We have now said goodbye to far too many people we love in far too little time. Every funeral has reminded us that our greatest libraries have never been buildings filled with books. They have always been our elders. When someone like Uncle Sesario passes, we lose more than a beloved relative. We lose a living archive of language, genealogy, stories, navigation, ceremony, and cultural memory. The passing of an elder is not merely the loss of a person. It is the closing of a chapter that can never be written exactly the same way again.
His passing also reminds us that preserving our culture is not the responsibility of a few remarkable individuals. It belongs to all of us. If we truly wish to honor Uncle Sesario, then mourning alone is not enough. We must continue building traditional Carolinian proas. We must continue speaking our languages. We must continue protecting our oceans. We must encourage our children to sit with their elders while they still can, to ask questions, to listen carefully, and to carry those teachings forward. Culture survives only when each generation accepts the responsibility of becoming the next teacher.
As I reflect on the many losses my family has endured this year, I find myself returning to the same thought. Tonight, somewhere above the Pacific, the same stars Uncle Sesario spent a lifetime reading will appear once again. Young navigators will continue looking upward just as he taught them. Somewhere, another traditional Carolinian proa will be launched. Somewhere, another child will ask how our ancestors crossed an ocean without instruments. Because Uncle Sesario dedicated his life to preserving that knowledge, there will still be someone left to answer.
That is how a navigator truly lives on.
Fair winds, Uncle Sesario.
May the stars forever guide your spirit.
May your ancestors welcome you home.
And may every voyage across our Pacific carry forward a small part of the remarkable legacy you have entrusted to all of us.
The ocean has lost one of its greatest readers, but because of Uncle Sesario, it will never lose its language.
Gregorie Michael Towai (Eipéráng)
Native Refaluwasch Son of the Northern Mariana Islands
Founder, Refaluwasch Journal of Knowledge and Culture (RJKC)
Co-Founder and Impact Advisor, Islander Connect
The views expressed are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect those of NMI News Service.
