Kaholo forward, right, left, right, left.
Aloha motion. Tap the left heel to the right, Left hand extended forward, palm facing up. Cover the left palm with the right. Kaholo, back and lift the right hand in a half rainbow motion. Right kaholo, left kaholo. Kai motion right, one (sand) motion left.Mahalo piha. mō'ī 'o Enelani
ku'i kou kaulana 'āina pau
na kai ākau, na one hema
ike a kou 'ihi mana nui
That's all they practiced for the next hour: just those steps and those motions, until it was seamless. With those motions and steps came the positioning of the head, the shoulders, and the chest; always full, always filled with pride. At some point, during hula, my hula brother quietly slipped in and sat himself at the back of the room unnoticed. He stayed for the entire two hours, and when it was time to join hands and send everyone home with a pule, there he was. Standing in the circle, holding hands with the haumana. He sat on the side after, waiting as everyone departed with hugs and aloha.
"Aloha e Ki'i," I greeted him with honi. "What brings you out of hiding?"
"Kumu passed away this morning," he sighed. "I was elected to be the one to let you know."
"Elected, huh?" I laughed.
"Everybody's afraid of you, that's why," he patted me on the shoulder. "You were always intense, Kawelo, but I noticed not so much with your haumana."
"We're in sync," I replied. "When are the services?"
"A month from now, hope you can make it." Ki'i gave me a hug and departed.
***
A month later, I sat at the very back of the funeral home in the far left-hand corner, trying to stay as anonymous as possible. Everyone who is anyone in the hula and Hawaiian music community was there. Even those who talked a lot of shit about my kumu when he was alive were standing in the reception line. Former Ms. Aloha hulas, known and not-so-well-known musicians, tour industry people, and the list goes on. Since kumu had no living family members, it was those of us from his first 'uniki class that made up the ohana reception line. There was an obvious empty space between the six of them reserved for me, but I was fine where I sat. I didn't need the handshakes and tearful hugs, or the obvious comments about carrying on his legacy and that of his kumu, and so on and so forth. When the time came for the program to begin, I excused myself and sat in my car, which I had strategically parked so I could see into the hall without leaving my vehicle. Each of my hula brothers and sisters went up to give brief remarks about our kumu. It was apparent that my turn was coming up after Ki'i.
"Has anyone seen Kawelo? Is he here? Can someone get him and tell him he's next?"
No one found me, because no one saw me. The program went on with oli, hula kahiko, and hula 'auana, and a slide show. Afterward, people were invited to the dining hall for food, while others were asked to remain to offer condolences or spend time with kumu. An hour later, at the conclusion of the program, the pallbearers carried kumu's casket to the hearse, where it was driven to his final resting place at Hawaiian Memorial at the top of the hill, where kumu would have a beautiful view of the bay and of the Ko'olau mountains. I watched the graveside services from the bottom of the military side of the cemetery. It was a massive crowd of people that covered most of the hillside. Gentle winds swept the rains from the ko'olau, offering the gathering much-needed relief from the sun overhead. When it was all said and done, the people began to disperse, while others stayed back to watch as kumu's casket was lowered into the earth.
I canceled hula for this coming Wednesday because I knew my hula brothers and sisters would show up and want to relive old times. This gave me enough of a stretch to find another location for my hula classes. I found a lovely studio off of Young Street on the second floor above a Hawaiian food place. It was a sizeable space for only fifteen students, but it worked.
On the night of our first papa hula in that space, we blessed it with pule, greenery, which we placed in the right corner on a makeshift table. Then we blessed it with our hula practice, and at its conclusion, we did pule again. The owners of the Hawaiian food place brought up some Hawaiian food for all of us, sat down together, and began to eat.
"When I first came to hula," I began. "I was right out of high school and instead of going to find a job, I spent the summer with my friends going Kalalau and making anykine. One day, we were hanging out at the gym in Waipahu, and I heard a funny kind of sound, like music, but not quite. I followed the sound, which led me to the second floor of the rec room. That was the first time I saw and heard hula. It was my kumu teaching a hula class. I guess my kumu must have seen the look on my face, because he stopped the class and he told me, "You! What you like? What you looking at?"
"What is this?" I asked him. "What are you guys doing?"
"This is hula," he answered. "You never saw a hula class before?"
"No," I shook my head.
"Well, then get in line so you can learn," he said.
"I jumped in line, and my life changed right there and then. My parents must have seen the difference because they never discouraged me from hula. Then, after all that time, during one class, kumu tells us we're going to begin our training for 'uniki, to become kumu hula like him. The training was what it was.
It was easy sometimes, and hard at other times. Toward the end, as we were getting close to our graduation, Kumu began to tell us that we were in a kapu time as we approached the day of our 'uniki and that all the drum chants were particularly sacred, specifically to us. On that day, as we're dancing all of our Kahiko, particularly the drum dances, I see sitting next to my kumu some of the bums, the scrubs, and the drug addicts that hang around the gym playing the pahu. I didn't say anything, I just continued with what we were supposed to do for 'uniki. At the end, we each received our lei po'o and our kihei, and we were made Kumu Hula.
I couldn't hold back my feelings, so I went to my kumu and asked why those scrubs were wearing kihei and playing the pahu when he told us before that everything was sacred to only us who were going through the training? He told me that I was in no position to question his reasons for doing anything. He was the kumu of the halau, and it was not a democracy. I took off my lei po'o and my kihei and gave them back to my kumu. Since then, we never spoke. I mean, a short time later, my hula brother Ki'i showed up with a lauhala basket with my lei po'o and kihei in it, telling me that kumu was giving it back. My kumu passed away last month," my haumana gasped.
"I went to the services, but I made myself scarce," I told them. "It turns out that my kumu and I were the same person. We were both hot-tempered and bull-headed. I moved us here because I did not want my hula brothers and sisters to visit and bring up all that stuff from before. I'm sorry to you guys, you should know your hula genealogy, but because of my stubbornness, you might never know it."
At that moment, I heard a chant coming from outside the halau door.
"Kū ka punohu ula hele i ka moana,
hele ke 'ehu kai uhi ka 'āina
Olapa ka uila noho i kahiki
Uwina na kaholo
Uwā ka pihe
Lau kanaka ka hula
E Laka e...
I ran to the door and saw my hula brother and sisters standing there, stunned and completely in tears, as was I.
"Ua lohe 'oukou kela leo, ea?" I asked. "You heard that voice, yeah?"
"It was Kumu's voice," Ki'i was choked up. "We took a breath right before we were going to do the oli kahea, and kumu's voice took over out of nowhere."
I returned the oli komo to them as they waited, "E komo mai e nā pua o Kalaninuiokamawaelualani! E komo mai e nā mokihana, nā maile o Waimea, nā laua'e o Makana, e komo mai i loko.."
They entered, and we all fell into a tearful embrace, while my haumana watched. I turned to them and waved them over, introducing each of my hula brothers and sisters.
"This is Ki'ilani, hula brother number one, cause he always used to look at pictures of himself, and Koele, hula brother number two. Kumu gave him that name cause he's so dark skinned!" I laughed.
"Koele means brown sugar," he bowed, and everyone burst out with wild laughter even more.
"My hula sisters, Kanoekolo, the number one. Wahinekokuakanoekolo, number two, Lei'ala, number three, and Mali'u, number four," I said with pride and a big smile.
"Tell them why Kumu gave us four those names," Kanoekolo laughed.
"Kanoekolo, crawling mist, because she used to get so drunk she couldn't walk, she could only crawl. Wahinekokuakanoekolo is the woman who helps the crawling mist." More laughter from my hula brothers and sisters and my haumana. "Lei'ala is the fragrant Lei, but Lei is the one who would have waved the stick of ammonia under Kanoe's nose, to wake her up. Last but not least, which should really be the first is Mali'u, seasoned wisdom because she was smart enough not to hang out with the first two!"
At this point, everyone is in tears, laughing, and no one can stand. So literally, we all fall to the floor.
"Wait, wait, wait now," Ki'i waved his hand to me. "Tell your haumana why Kumu gave you your name. Kaweloleimakua..!"
"I got frustrated one day, when we were all making our implements, that I said to myself, but maybe a bit too loud, that I was going to burn all my implements, like Kawelo." I shook my head, remembering that statement.
"Kaweloleimakua was the famous Kauai chief who burned all his war canoes in full view of his enemies to let them know that he was going to win, or he was going to die trying. Kaweloleimakua won that battle," Ki'i told my haumana. "If you haven't noticed, your kumu is very intense."
"How did you guys know where to find me?" I asked.
"We were actually downstairs about to order some food when the owners apologized because they had to take food upstairs for the halau," Koele began. "We asked who the kumu was, and they told us it was you."
"We thought we'd surprise you with an oli kahea, but kumu's voice came out of nowhere," Kanoe said.
"I'm so sorry, all of you, I've been so hard-headed all these years, over something that had nothing to do with me," I said.
"Kumu knew that, he loved you until the end, and apparently, he still does," Mali'u said.
"You guys eat, eat." My hula brothers and sisters got their food, and they joined us as we sat on the floor. "Let me tell you the story of our Kumu Hula, Kalaninuiokamawaelualani..."
@pintrest
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