IF YOU ARE NEW to our site, "Welcome the Sun" is the latest installment (written and published around each New Moon) of a story being written to keep the spirit of wander and wonder alive and surprising. This is a story inspired by the unfolding life of our family -- Christopher Kawika, Maleka and Carter -- who lives on the windward-side shore of O'ahu in Hawai'i.
Iliahi had his goggles up over his forehead. His head and torso covered with a brand new camo hoodie. His hair was braided and hung down his back. Standing to wait for the sun, the boys let the cold ocean recalibrate their bodies' temperature.
"Whoa, feels kinda cold today. Taking me long time to get ma'a," Iliahi closed his mouth to keep his teeth from chattering. Sam just nodded, silence was easier for him plus Grog leaned into him so close it was like wearing an old wet rug.
Grog was immune to cold. His black coat was thinning but he was a beach dog, born raised and tempered by the ocean. His first home. He looked for the okay from Sam his short legs paddling to keep close as he waited to be unleashed and with a swift sweet ruffle to his head, Grog was unhooked reaching for the sandy shore, then sprinted like a pup.
Sunrise on the windward side was exactly like pulling the huge ball of fire up and out of the ocean with throw net. Well, that was the way the boys talked about their morning ritual. But, in the bigger picture they both knew they were welcoming Ka la, the Sun, and it was the chanting that would do that.
Iliahi's Aunty P. short for Pualani (only Iliahi could get away with calling her "Aunty P.") taught him the chant E Ala E when he was four. Mamo Black did the same with Sam, at the same age. "To welcome the sun you make connection with the sun outside, and the sun inside you. Sun outside. Sun inside. Same same. The heat, the light when Ka la comes and you oli him, you wake up, too." Aunty P. was twice the age of Sam's mother and had been her grandfather's side-kick for many years. Aunty P. was mother to an even dozen. Newly-toddling keiki (two of them at the moment), three almost teens (among them Iliahi), four high schoolers (including twins originally from Seattle) and two young adults who made the twins but weren't strong, healthy or willing to parent.
Pualani Sing's beach house was built in the '50's by her parents Mabel and Kekoa Sing. They were musicians and cooks; both of them did both activities equally well, but it was Mabel who had the touch and her family's recipe for Portuguese sweet bread. The kitchen was built like a well-kitted restaurant. The oven was both gas-powered and ingeniously created to be a wood stoked outside oven for the bread. A single story redwood home with three big bedrooms, bunk-beds in two rooms, two bathrooms inside, an outdoor shower and a wraparound lanai screened and louvered to be extra bedrooms for all comers. The living room was airy and divided from the kitchen by a half-wall making it easy to move food between the two main rooms. An old stand-up piano lovingly tended and tuned for decades held up the wall to Pualani's bedroom. When she was not at the keys, and someone else was Aunty P. loved to feel the vibration of the chords against the strung metal. It didn't matter what music. A stand-up bass held in stand and covered with a fine-mesh breathable cover of deepest almost navy blue was silk-screened in swirls of wind and ao, clouds like smoke. The two, piano and base -- guardians -- to those who slept. Lauhala mats, woven by Aunty P and her gang of weavers covered every floor except for the bathrooms.
Iliahi was a child made for the ocean, and the ocean cared for him. The hour before sunrise was his special time to be with the salty womb of all memories. With Sam, Grog and his goggles, fins and net bag Iliahi was fully at home. The first glow of orange began to puka over the horizon. No clouds to hide the dawn, but streaks of feathery wings of the manu absorbed the light to come. The boys clapped, and began to oli:
E ala e
Ka la i ka hikina
I ka moana
Ka moana hohonu
Pi'i ka lewa
Ka lewa nu'u
I ka hikina
Aia ka la
E ala e
The two boys repeated the oli until Ka la, the sun was fully awake and visible above the horizon. The pace was quick, upbeat, invigorating. There was really nothing like it!
"Whoa, he is big, and look," Sam pointed after a few silent moments. The sound of the oli reached across the top of the morning's ocean just as the brilliance of Ka la reached across the ocean's skin to oli back to the boys.
Bam! Ignition! The two friends hand slapped and hip bumped their signature sunrise moves and Iliahi walked out of the water to pull his hoodie off, and reach for his net bag from the sweatshirt pocket. Short diver's fins dangled off a twist of purple bandana around his neck. The bandana went into the pocket of his nylon shorts, at the water's edge Iliahi pulled the fins onto his feet. He spit into the glass of his goggles and rubbed. The goggles were old, but well-tended. They were wood, and real glass, not plastic so they were heavier than masks sold today.
Making the sign of the cross and asking for protection from Mary, Iliahi waded in and stroked. Sometimes he would gather limu, seaweed or he'e if it was the right moon. He didn't usually use a spear to fish. "No need," was all he'd say if someone asked. But. Mostly people never ask if you going fishing. No need be niele. There was a protocol.
Today, it was limu and that's what would go into the bandana. Small gathering. Enough to season the kukui nut and raw ahi inamona for tonight's dinner. Sam watched as Iliahi swam out to the reef and waited to see that the small bright inflatable orange float marked his spot. He would spend his sunrise swimming within sight of the float, backstroking each way, making it easy to keep an eye out for his friend. "Never dive alone." First rule. Iliahi did not like having someone too close. Sam was a strong swimmer and more than that a loyal friend, though he was that. He could feel Iliahi.
E Ala E. Welcome the Sun. And yes, Ka la welcomed the boys.
Mahalo nui, special mahalo Mapuana, my mo'opuna's (grandson's) Hana, Maui tutu, for permission to include the sunrise photo in this piece of slowly growing story. Two tutuwahine contribute to this mo'olelo inspired by one kupu. 💕 Wow and wow!
