Keali`i Reichel: Voice of an Angel: Chapter 3: A Walk in the Park

He Holo ma ka Pâka
A Walk in the Park

We hurry over to Lâ 'Ohana (Family Day) in Kapi`olani Park (named for Queen Kapi`olani, wife of King Kalâkaua), a Hawaiian festival of song, food, crafts, storytelling, dance, and music, supporting the Hawaiian Language Immersion Program. Pôloli nui! ((We are) starved!) But first we unceremoniously quaff down bottled Hawaiian water. It delights me that OUR own wai (water) has replaced Evian. Way mo' `ono (delicious), dis watah!

We join a long, congenial line for kâlua (roasted) pig plate. People in Hawai`i are uniquely warm and friendly; perfect strangers smile and "talk story" with each other. We are friends even before we meet.

When we finally reach the booth, a congenial lady hands us plates piled high with macaroni salad, two scoops rice, kim chee, and kâlua pig and cabbage, dessert plates with huge pieces of haupia (coconut pudding) cake, and cans of soda. Dis mo' stuffs den we get hands fo'! (This is more stuff than we have hands for!) We turn down the cakes and sodas.

"Take 'em, take 'em," she implores, "Come wid da plate." She smiles warmly. "Da cake real `ono, you know," she cajoles, charmingly.

Laden with a lunch plate in one hand and a dessert plate in the other, with a water bottle tucked under one arm and a can of soda under the other, we trot off to a shady spot on the vast expanse of Kapi'olani Park.

Everything is `ono. The lady is right. The cake was REAL `ono. Nary a crumb is left. Blue Hawaiian skies above, gently pounding surf across the way, and full ôpû (stomachs), we lie on the cool grass, sun on our faces, listening to live Hawaiian music from the bandstand, and feeling right at home.

The MOST thrilling sound in the park, this day, is not the music; it is the sound of children fluently speaking Hawaiian to their parents and to one another. So these are the hard-earned pua (blossoms, fig., children) of the Pûnana Leo (lit. nest voice), a pre-school Hawaiian language immersion program), and Kula Kaiapuni Hawai`i (lit. school sea water immersion, an elementary to high school Hawaiian language immersion program).

Many years have passed since I last heard fluent Hawaiian. I grew up in a remote corner of the Big Island, next to a rainforest. At the fringe of that forest, an elderly couple lived in the house next door. They were manaleo (native speakers). Now long departed, they must be thrilled on the other side, as their beautiful, expressive language lives on with pride and dignity. Spoken Hawaiian, out of the mouths of keiki (children), is balm to my ears.

Once, ka `ôlelo Hawai`i (the Hawaiian language) was part of my milieu. A voracious reader, I sat for hours in my favorite tree, reading biographies, classics, and comic books. I snacked on sweet waiawî (strawberry guava) plucked right off the tree, slapped at makika (mosquitoes), and eavesdropped on my Hawaiian-speaking neighbors, comprehending occasional words and phrases.

I close my eyes and I can still hear their voices. I remember the kûpuna (elders) next door and my Aunty `Âlana, with much Aloha (love and affection).

"Though I know I'll never-ever lose affection, for people and things that went before, I know I'll often stop and think about them..."

I am beginning to understand and feel Keali`i's passion to preserve this beautiful language, be it with oli (chant), or mele (song). Not only does the language keep us connected to our island heritage and culture; it keeps us connected to loved ones who have gone before.

We get up to wander about the vendor stalls. The breadth of the spoken Hawaiian usage, including business being transacted, greetings being exchanged, casual conversation, and ha`i mo`olelo (storytelling), impress me. Like any language neglected, Hawaiian has faded for me. And like any language, I know it can be revived. Hearing Hawaiian again, my pump is primed; soon, I'll regain precious words that have almost been forgotten.

A woman stands next to me, admiring a lei wiliwili (lei made of oblong red seeds of the wiliwili, a leguminous tree). "Miki`oi (Excellently/Neatly made)," she comments admiringly. I remember that word! Teaching me lauhala (leaves of the pandanus tree) weaving or kukui nut (candlenut) polishing, Aunty `Âlana used this encouraging word often, in spite of my fumbling, less than miki`oi, attempts at Hawaiian crafts.

The words are returning. Da words stay come back! E ho`i mai!

It's 3:00 p.m. Time to get back to the hotel. As we stroll into the elevator, are we surprised that Keali`i's voice sings to us all the way up?

"I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me. To see the beauty in the world. Through my own eyes..."

I draw my bath. I slip into my version of a hi`uwai (purifying, cleansing bath), a tubful of Hawaiian wai, bubbled with Victoria's Secrets "Peach & Hyacinth" and sprinkled with pa`akai (Hawaiian sea salt).

Eyes closed, I am immersed in Hawaiian wai, just before the 'aha mele (concert) of many lifetimes. I thank those who have unfailingly guided me well.

"Mahalo nui loa, me ke aloha"
(Thank you so very much, with love).

`A`ole i pau

>> Ua ho`omau ka mo`olelo…The saga continues