Life on the Beach

Struggling families with nowhere else to go find refuge outdoors at parks along the Waianae Coast

Bert Bustamante's family might appear to be camping for the weekend on a pristine Hawaii beach in Waianae, with kids swimming in the ocean, fresh fish frying on the grill and radio music floating in the air.

A closer look reveals the truth: Life on the beach is about all Bustamante and his neighbors have.

Just up the coast from the Ko Olina luxury resort, by latest count at least 725 homeless spend their days on a 16-mile stretch along the Waianae Coast. Some estimates put the number of homeless in the area as high as 4,000.

Dinner comes from food stamps, flies circle trash bags and low-paying jobs do not provide enough money to move from sand to a house inland.

"This is real life. This is as real as it gets," says the 48-year-old Bustamante, who has been living in Nanakuli Beach Park since last fall. "Why is life this way? It could be worse. I could be without food. I could be without water. But that's life."

They bathe in beach showers and sleep in tightly packed tents with as many as eight other people. But they say their Spartan life in the sun beats the creeping cold of a downtown bed made of concrete.

Some have jobs in recycling centers, restaurants or hotels, but those jobs do not pay enough to rent an apartment or buy a house on Hawaii's main island, where the median price for a single-family home exceeds $650,000. Beachfront lots would cost millions.

They end up on the beach because of misfortune, drug problems, mental illness or lifestyle choice.

Bustamante admits he has done drugs in the past and ended up on the beach with his wife and nine kids after losing his rented house and job.

Roxy Bustamante, his wife, is the breadwinner for the family, working at a pizza delivery call center and making about $2,000 a month.

She feels like she is stuck on the beach because her husband needs to watch over the kids, and she does not earn enough to move to a more permanent residence.

"Whatever we had, we had to use it all," she says. "That's what brought us here, because we were a one-income family."

There is no firm count on the number of homeless people in Hawaii, but there are probably fewer than 10,000, said Kaulana Park, who was appointed by Gov. Linda Lingle in July to head plans to end homelessness.

The islands' homeless problem reached a crisis in March when Honolulu officials cleared hundreds of homeless people from a city beach park, leading the state to convert a dockside warehouse into a temporary shelter.

A new 200-person shelter is expected to open in November in Kalaeloa which will provide education, job training and other services in addition to beds, he said. It is unclear when other shelters will be ready and how many will be needed.

"There's no one thing that causes homelessness, that's for sure," Park said. "It goes from domestic situations to job losses to high rent costs. There are drug issues and mental health issues and on and on."

The camps along the Waianae Coast are like a small village in a Third World country, where a basketball goal hangs from the side of a tree and grills substitute for ovens. Children weave secondhand bicycles through an obstacle course of park benches and old trucks to meet up with their friends.

Nearby residents have complained to the governor and mayor, saying they want their beaches to be safe and open to the public.

"Leaving them homeless and letting them live on the beaches isn't going to improve their situation," said Victor Rapoza, a Waianae resident for 48 years. "Get them in a rehabilitation center."

But the tent dwellers will not leave, saying this is about as good as it is going to get for people without homes. Every Friday, they load up into cars and head to a city hall annex to renew their camping permits.

"They think we're all criminals because we live on the beach. It's a vicious cycle. I'm just trying to survive, make it to the next day," says 19-year-old Josh Andrus, who is disabled from a car accident and has lived on the beach for four months. "The only thing you can do is keep your chin up and remember you are in paradise."

The youngest children wear life vests instead of shirts so they can safely play in the water. The older kids go to school, and people in the community bring them to church some weeknights while the adults wonder how they are going to make ends meet.

"I like living on the beaches. We're like three seconds from the ocean, so any time we want, we can jump in the water and have a good time," says 11-year-old George Orpilla. "What I don't like about being on the beach is that there's no electricity, there's no hot water, there's no TV. I really miss TV."

Advocates for the homeless help the Waianae group find jobs, enter rehab or seek psychological help, but the housing that is available is beyond the reach of people who earn minimum wage, says Kanani Kaaiawahia Bulawan, executive director of the Waianae Community Outreach Center.

Sometimes, life on the beach is the best option for families who have nowhere else to go.

"Those who are homeless, who have beach and park areas, are much safer than those who are in the alleys and between buildings," Bulawan says. "These people ... cannot access sanitation. They cannot access food as readily as those that are on the beaches."

A few of the beach homeless do not want to leave. They enjoy a simple life, where they are answerable to no one and their only needs are basic.

"I love it. I don't want to go home," says Joanne "Pikake" Enaena, who moved to the Waianae beach in February because of problems with her family. "I'm here when people need comfort or need someone to cry on."

Bustamante says he wants off the beach, but he does not know how that will happen -- not without a job, someone to keep track of the kids and a place to call home.

In the meantime, he is stuck in this impoverished version of paradise.

"If somebody would come out here and take my family to somewhere we could afford it, I would take that opportunity," he says. "Life is good out here, but I still don't want to be here. I don't belong here."