lives. “Oh, Auntie, I got chosen May Day Queen at school,” one might say, and talk turns to May Days past and present. Sitting together over food, she said, “We become an ‘ohana, not just a class. We function like a family.” And she tells them, “This is not just for class. This is for your life. It is your kuleana to invite people to
Paredes recalled that, when he was a student of the late O’Brian Eselu and Thaddius Wilson of Nā Wai ʻEhā ʻO Puna, the haumāna observed more rigid pre-competition kapu: no slimy things, for example, like squid or octopus (“we don’t want the dance to slip away from us”). Sometimes food-related songs used in hula perfor- mances provide a teaching opportunity. The
join in, to give back what you have been given.” She recalls childhood days when anyone strolling by the house was invited in — “Even if it’s just Ha- waiian salt and a little poi, you give what you have. That is the Hawaiian tradition. ” Kumu Hula Sallie Lehua- makamae Yoza of Hālau ʻO Nāpualaʻikauikaʻiu (Hoʻaeʻae, Waipahu), too, turns shared food into shared tradition. Her hula classes often include lessons on various aspects of life represented in the songs and chants the students are learning. One Saturday earlier this summer, she gathered her girls to dis- cuss a portion of the epic creation story, the Kumulipo. It tells of the first human child born to the gods Papa and Wākea, Hāloa, a still-
week we sat down with Auntie Carolee Nishi, Kumu Hula with her daughter,
Robyn Kuraoka, of Hula Hui o Ka- punahala (Nuʻuanu), her students were planning to go fishing for halalū. These young akule (bigeye scad), are the subject of Frank K. Hewitt’s classic mele by the
same name, about catching fish with his beloved auntie, massaging them with salt and limu kohu until they “slide right down your throat.” Said Nishi: “When they do that hula, they’ll know what they’re dancing about, they know what it looks like, how it moves, and how ‘ono it is.” Perhaps the key role of food in operating a successful hālau is attracting the involvement
of students’ families, said Kumu Hula Darcey Moniz of Halau Hula ʻO Pukaʻikapuaokalani (Mililani and Kailua). She started in hula at a stricter and more secretive time when most parents just dropped their kids off at hula; Kumu (and often Kumu’s extended ‘ohana) did the rest. Today, however, “we couldn’t do it without the families.” Most Kumu Hula have other jobs — often demanding, full- time jobs (Moniz is a buyer, Paredes is a district attorney, Yoza is a preschool teacher). The cost of costumes and adornments has risen. Free flowers and homemade lei are largely a thing of the past. Many hands are needed. All the more reason to make hula time family time, Moniz said. She and other kumu encourage parents — and even older students who have “aged out” of keiki classes — to sit on the sidelines during class or rehearsals, making friends, helping with tasks from lei-making to tailoring costumes. “They get to know (the kumu) as a person, and they realize what the hula does for their child’s development; that it is important,” said Moniz. “They know it’s not just the kumu alone that makes it work.” Where hālau meet in parks or public activity centers, it’s not unusual for parents to show up with all the kids — not just the hula students — and dinner in a picnic basket. As with families of kids in sports leagues, she said, “It becomes a life- style, not just a drop-and-go. I love to see that.” And when there’s food, Nishi said, “Everybody has fun, everybody talks story, the ‘ukulele come out, nobody goes home.”
born infant who, in the traditional oli (chant), is buried in a field, watered by the tears of its mother, and becomes kalo (the taro plant), the central food of the Hawaiians. Gesturing to a taro plant watered by the morning’s light rain, Kumu Sallie invited the students to talk about how taro relates to hula. “How does it help you as a dancer?,” she asked. “Kalo leaves dance gracefully in the wind, and we dance gracefully, too,” said Bella Bratton.” “Kalo represents life,” said Kaylee Lapot—”we breathe life into the dance.” “Kalo is the soul of our ancestors, helping us to dance,” said Hana Baclaan. “Kalo is our first brother; we are like hula sis- ters to kalo,” said Maya Nakasone. “Yes!,” said their teacher. “Kalo nourishes the body, and hula nourishes the soul.” The group went on then, giggling and chattering, to learn a modern-day approach to the making of a beloved, ka- lo-based dish, laulau. “We’re always eating,” said ‘Iliahi Paredes, Kumu Hula, with his wife, Haunani, of Hālau Kekuaokalāʻauʻalaʻiliahi (Wailu- ku, Maui). Shared meals punctuate the competition season, starting with a potluck with families before “hula camp,” a re- treat during which students prepare for festival performanc- es, and ending with a post-performance feast in a fancier setting. Kapu during competition prep are candy, soda, and “drive-through” foods. “The parents love it,” Paredes said. “Everyone eats healthier, and they save money.”
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2024 QUEEN LILIʻUOKALANI KEIKI HULA COMPETITION
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