Voices of Fire: Reweaving the Literary Lei of Pele and Hi’iaka

Mokuna / Chapter 5. ‘O ‘Oe ia, e Wailua Iki (It Is You, Wailua Iki): Mana Wahine in the Pele and Hi‘iaka Mo‘olelo

◆Mokuna / Chapter 5 ‘O ‘Oe ia, e Wailua Iki (It Is You, Wailua Iki): Mana Wahine in the Pele and Hi‘iaka Mo‘olelo ‘O ‘oe ia e Wailua iki E ka lāuli pali o Uli Ua hele ‘ia e Li‘awahine E ka wahine kūhea pali Kui pua lei o Hoakalei ē E lei au E lei ho‘i au i nā hala pala ‘īloli o Hanakahi Ua maka ‘ele‘ele wale i ke anu Ua ‘āha‘i ‘ia e ke kīna‘u i‘a o Mahamoku I Wai‘oli ‘O ku‘u makani Lawalawakua Kūpani kapa o Wailua iki Honi pua ‘ala Kaiāulu Kāhea ka luna o Kamae Ē, he malihini mai ka‘u Mai lalo mai ē, no Kona Hō mai he leo ē E uē kāua.1 It is you, Wailua Iki O shaded darkness, cliff of Uli Traversed by Li‘awahine By the woman who beckons from the cliffs String garlands of flowers from Hoakalei I am adorned I wear the lei of specked, ripe hala of Hanakahi With tips gone dark from the cold Carried along by the kīna‘u eel of Mahamoku At Wai‘oli My gusting wind, the Lawalawakua Kapa-buffeting wind of Wailua Iki The Kaiāulu wind bears the scent of fragrant flowers The heights of Kamae call out Ah, I have a guest From the lee side, ah, from Kona Offer up a voice of welcome, ah Let us share our tears.2 130 ◆ ◆IT IS JUNE 2003 AND I AM STANDING on the edge of the pier at Kawaihae Deep Draft Harbor in the ahupua‘a of Kawaihae, South Kohala, staring down into the teal green waters. I am here as a kumu for Ka Ho‘i Wai, a Native Hawaiian education teacher training cohort, a part of the College of Education at the University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa. There are about six other kumu, twenty or so students, and our alaka‘i (leaders) for the next few days, Chad and Pōmaika‘i Paishon. Uncle Chad is the captain and navigator of Makali‘i, a traditionally designed wa‘a kaulua built in 1995 and based at Kawaihae. He is also the executive director of Nā Kālai Wa‘a Moku o Hawai‘i, a nonprofit voyaging and education organization dedicated to protecting and perpetuating Hawaiian culture. We are here for a few days to experience ‘ike ‘āina, learning about the land and from the land, through working on and sailing the canoe. Today we are swimming. Tomorrow we have a “float test.” In order to sail on the wa‘a, everyone must pass the test by floating in the harbor for forty­five minutes without assistance, and without talking. It is a mat­ ter of safety—if we accidentally go overboard while on the open ocean, this training will help us not panic and conserve energy while we wait for the wa‘a or the escort boat to pluck us from the water. I am a good swimmer; in fact, I could swim before I could walk. But I am afraid of the deep water that opens up to the sea near Pu‘ukoholā, Kamehameha’s luakini (large heiau where human sacrifices were offered in times of war), near Hale o Kapuni, an underwater heiau where human sacrifices were laid and offered to ‘aumākua manō (shark guardians), a place known for manō who live and spawn off Pelekane Bay nearby. Our family’s shark ‘aumākua are not from this place, my ‘ohana is not from this place. As if that is not enough, I don’t know how I will pull myself out of the harbor. But as a kumu who believes in the Hawaiian philosophy of ma ka hana ka ‘ike (knowledge is gained through experience), something I am trying to encourage in these young teachers, how can I not get into the water? Uncle Chad senses my fear. I suspect I’m not the first person he’s en­ countered who has faced this dilemma. He comes over and tells me how to climb onto the back of the escort boat, and from there climb back onto the pier. “Can,” he says. Hawaiian leaders don’t need to be verbal. Ma ka hana ka ‘ike—knowledge is in doing, not talking. I take a deep breath and think. I think about the stories my t...