[ MAUKA-MAKAI ]

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OLA NA IWI Students and teachers of Ola Na Iwi, an 11-day University of Hawaii Hawaiian language summer school program, get down and dirty cleaning a taro patch in Ke'anae, Hana, Maui.

A city girl shares
taro patch lessons

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keiko kiele akana-gooch
kakana-gooch@starbulletin.com

It takes a lot to make me sweat. It takes even more to make me cry at the farewell of a new acquaintance, or miss places and people before parting with them. But after an 11-day Hawaiian-language summer-school class on Maui, I've worked, learned, played and bonded like never before.

From the greenish-brown combination of dirt and weed embedded in my nails, to the tanned shape of slippers, surf shorts and bikini top branded into my skin, to the sing-songy appreciation chant sung throughout the trip that now plays like a broken record in my mind, my heart sings to a new tune -- one of appreciation and respect for my heritage, culture, language and people.

KEIKO KIELE AKANA-GOOCH /KAKANA-GOOCH@STARBULLETIN.COM Gary Wiliama Ka'ohelauli'i, a native Hawaiian speaker from Ni'ihau, helps the students prepare their next meal -- fish -- which they caught at a cove at Hamoa, Maui.

For a week and a half, nearly 30 students, three teachers and a handful of native Hawaiian speakers spent hot, long, laborious days cleaning taro fields and a Hawaiian temple, and equally long, chilly nights sharing stories, singing Hawaiian songs, dancing hula and enjoying other country-style entertainment, all the while immersed in the Hawaiian language and culture.

The program, "Ola Na Iwi" -- meaning "the bones (of our ancestors) live on" -- is a six-credit summer school course that fulfills degree requirements in Hawaiian conversation and culture for Hawaiian-language majors and minors. University of Hawaii-Manoa and Hilo students must have completed second-year Hawaiian-language classes or demonstrate comparable language skills to be accepted.

As a city girl born and raised on Oahu, digging into the dirt and mud outdoors for hours on end is unfathomable, much less waiting in line to bathe in icy cold water every night or sleeping on the stiff, solid ground of someone's yard or a church's meetinghouse. For most of us, the only bedtime cushioning was provided by a 2-inch-thick sleeping bag -- which, by the way, shrinks when weight is applied -- and body fat.

Even body fat was hard to come by after spending eight-hour days hunched over, digging up weeds, clearing trees and brush, and stripping ti leaf plants.

The only luxuries were in the last leg of the trip, which included the soft, carpeted ground of a house and heated bath water, but of course, that was generously given to the students on the very last night.

I wasn't the only one unaccustomed to the rustic lifestyle. Maya Kawailanaokeawaiki Saffery, a 21-year-old UH-Manoa student from Maunawili, said, "Ma O'ahu, 'a'ole au he wahine hana i ka lepo" (On Oahu, I am not a woman who works in the dirt). After working in taro fields for most of the trip, "Maopopo ia'u, hiki ia'u ke hana i ka la holo'oko'a, i ka la welawela. Ma hope o keia huaka'i, hiki no" (Now I know I can work the entire day in the hot sun. After this trip, can do).

But the foreign lifestyle was what made the experience so unique.

The trip wasn't without its highlights, like learning how to pound poi from 'Anakala Eddie Ka'anana, to throw a fishnet and identify various Niihau shells from Niihau natives, and to cook from the Hawaii Island natives. We experienced every aspect of food production from ocean to plate; we caught, cleaned and cooked our fish, and ate taro harvested from the patches we weeded, to supplement our Western sausages and eggs. Most important, we were able to practice, improve and expand our Hawaiian-language skills and cultural knowledge.

Kalani Makekau-Whittaker, one of three Hawaiian-language instructors on the trip, emphasized the trip's unique opportunities. "'O keia waiwai, 'a'ole hiki ke loa'a ma ka papa. Ma ka papa, nana 'ia ka pilina 'olelo, na analula, a me ka mo'olelo. 'A'ole nana nui 'ia ka puana a me ke ki'ina leo. E aho ka noho pu me ka manaleo" (The value of this trip cannot be derived within a classroom. In a regular classroom setting, focus is centered on grammar, sentence patterns and stories. Limited attention is given to pronunciation and intonation. This would be better learned by living with a native speaker, as we did for 11 days).

KEIKO KIELE AKANA-GOOCH /KAKANA-GOOCH@STARBULLETIN.COM UH-Hilo's Ka Haka 'Ula O Ke'elikolani College of Hawaiian Language students and teacher pose after a refreshing swim at Kaihalulu, a Hana beach.

NOW, SEATED comfortably in a cushioned leather chair in an air-conditioned office, staring at a computer, with passing traffic and English-speaking co-workers in the backdrop, it's hard for me to imagine living and working the way we did.

At the same time, returning to unfriendly drivers, suffocating high-rises and polluted beaches wasn't the ideal homecoming.

It's not just the country lifestyle and atmosphere that I'll miss. The spirit and attitude of my classmates, teachers and Hawaiian-language experts, who hailed from Oahu, Maui, Hawaii Island and Niihau, are what kept me motivated and looking forward to another fun-filled workday.

Whether it was our first time sampling ha'uke'uke (an edible sea urchin), jumping two stories into a pond or clearing weed-laden taro patches in the pouring, cold rain, wearing T-shirts and shorts, we were all in it together. The few complaints were always made jokingly.

Manaiakalani N.K. Kalua, a 23-year-old UH-Hilo student from Keaukaha, said, "No ka mea holo'oko'a, ua maika'i loa" (In regards to the entire trip, it was very good).

The trip centered on "hana, hana, hana" (work, work, work), he said. Skipping meals was a common occurrence that we learned to laugh off. "I'm a big boy," Kalua said. "Pono au e 'ai" (I have to eat).

Important discussions of the day dealt with when the next meal was and, of course, our daily classes, which focused on Hawaiian history, stories, chants, places, genealogy and language, including syntax, pronunciation, usage and intonation.

One of the most important requirements of the trip -- to speak entirely in Hawaiian -- was also the most challenging. Kalua reiterated my sentiments. "I ka hapanui o ka manawa, mamake au e lele i ka 'olelo haole" (Most of the time, I wanted to jump back into English).

But that which challenged us also united us as more than mere friends, but family. A 30-year-old UH-Hilo student residing in Maui, Leomana Crozier, said, "'O ka 'olelo Hawai'i ka mea e pili ai ia makou kekahi i kekahi" (The Hawaiian language is what brought us closer together). Crozier learned firsthand the validity of an old Hawaiian saying, 'A'ohe hana nui ke alu 'ia (No task is too big if done together).

THERE IS ALSO a lesson to be learned from taro itself, which may explain why we spent so much time and sweat in the patches. As another Hawaiian-language instructor on the trip, Kaleikoa Ka'eo, said, "Pau ke kalo, pau ke kanaka" (Once taro is gone, so, too, go the Hawaiians).

This may not sound plausible to most people, but not only was taro a healthy staple for Hawaiians, it embodies many Hawaiian and worldly values -- family, community, cooperation, conservation and love. From mature taro sprout baby stalks, 'oha, creating a family, 'ohana, of taro. It takes many hands working together, laulima, to clear land for a taro patch and to maintain it. Taro patches require fresh water from streams, so Hawaiians learned to divert water from the stream for their irrigation. But they also ensured that the water would not go to waste by ending the irrigation system at the ocean, where the rich water from the taro patches feed fish. Finally, as any taro farmer can tell you, growing and maintaining taro is a labor of love.

The goals of the program are synonymous with the connotation of its name -- to celebrate and commemorate our ancestors through their language, culture and history. With cooperation, determination and hard work, our group helped to ensure that this summer-school program lived up to its name. Makekau-Whittaker said, "Ola ka 'aina, ola keia mau hana, ola ka 'olelo -- 'o ia na iwi o na kupuna. E malama ia lakou i 'ole e waiho na iwi. Malama maika'i" (Perpetuate the land, the culture, the language -- these are the bones of our ancestors. Care for them well so that the bones won't be left carelessly).

KEIKO KIELE AKANA-GOOCH /KAKANA-GOOCH@STARBULLETIN.COM Ola Na Iwi participants face their next project -- cleaning Pi'ilani Hale heiau. With laulima, many hands, it took only several hours to clear the rubbish from the top of the Hawaiian temple.

Many of us have big dreams for the Hawaiian language. Kalua wants to hear Hawaiian language spoken at the airport freely and shamelessly.

Crozier wants to see theatricals, Hollywood-style movies and soap operas in Hawaiian.

Unlike many of the students on the trip who want to become teachers of Hawaiian language or culture, I want to be a reporter on a Hawaiian TV news station or daily newspaper.

Our grand plans may never come to fruition in our lifetimes, but one thing is certain -- after spending 11 days with Hawaiian-language speakers from 60 to 5 years old -- the language is one aspect of our Hawaiian ancestors that will be around for generations to come.

As Katrina-Ann Kapa'anaokalaokeola Oliveira, the third instructor on the trip, pointed out, the Hawaiian language spoken by students and many instructors is different from native speakers. "Hiki ke lohe 'ia ke 'ano haole. 'A'ole makou he manaleo. Pela ke 'ano o ke kolonaio" (You can hear the English style in our Hawaiian. We are not native speakers. That's the nature of colonization).

But being different can be a good thing. Kahale Saito, a UHM family resources major minoring in Hawaiian language, said, "We're not living back in the days of the ancient Hawaiians; we're living now. Our language is going to have to adapt. The only way that it's going to live is for it to adapt to the way we live now."

Saito hopes to become a counselor in the Hawaiian community.

Most students of Hawaiian language and culture are taught in educational institutions. Uluhani Wai'ale'ale is one of the fortunate few who got a double dose of the language and culture, first at home in Molokai and then at school at UH-Hilo. Her native-speaking grandmother served as her first Hawaiian-language teacher, and her parents were her cultural mentors. Just graduated in May with two bachelor's of arts degrees in communication and Hawaiian studies, Wai'ale'ale didn't need to take this summer-school class. She may even enter UH-Hilo's Hawaiian-language program, but she doesn't continue her Hawaiian language and cultural studies out of obligation, much less necessity. "When I'm perpetuating the language and culture, it's something I love doing. For me it comes naturally." And she enjoys sharing the unique lessons taught by her family. "Everything I've learned isn't only knowledge for me. The blessing is teaching what you know."

Like most Hawaiians studying their language and culture will tell you, carrying the torch passed on by our ancestors is a self-imposed responsibility. "I don't feel pressured," Saito said. "I feel like it's a gift that I chose to perpetuate for generations to come."

Hawaiian language speakers are pushing on at a time when immersion schools are threatened by federal regulations calling for standard English testing.

Despite struggles and controversies, Hawaiian language and its speakers have come a long way. Elaine Kawehilehuaokilauea Ka'awaloa Hamili Hauanio, a 61-year-old Kalapana woman, is still paranoid when she speaks Hawaiian. In her elementary school years, Hauanio was hit on the hand with a ruler and forced to stand in a corner when she spoke the only language she knew. "To be afraid of your own language is a terrible feeling," she said.

But seeing the students speak Hawaiian in grocery stores while people stare in bewilderment made her proud. "This is where we belong with the language. This is students speaking the language in the land where you belong."

While this probably isn't the summer trip most college students would fantasize about or willingly pay $255 for, if I had my choice, I would still be knee-high in mud.

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