The soft notes of the nose flute floated through the night air, gently prodding me awake. Only two hours of rest after a long evening gathered around the `awa bowl, talking story, weaving lei po`o -- head leis -- and preparing ho`okupu -- ritual offerings -- for the first Makahiki -- the traditional Hawaiian celebration of the time of peace -- to be celebrated at Makua in generations.
Around me, tent doors unzipped as fellow Makahiki participants assembled. Teachers, students, doctors, office workers, farmers, lawyers by day, we had met at night for months to learn chants and practice hula, all in preparation for today. I grabbed a beach towel and joined them. The towering ridges of Makua, Ko`iahi, and Kahanahaiki valleys, silhouetted against the starry sky, bore witness.
Beginning at the onset of the rainy season, the Makahiki marks the start of the harvest and is a time for spiritual and cultural renewal. In the days before western contact, all wars and battles ceased during the months-long Makahiki celebration, sporting competitions and contests between villages were organized, and festive events were held. Pursuant to a settlement agreement between Earthjustice, Malama Makua, and the Army resolving disputes about the Army’s failure to comply with the National Environmental Policy Act, we had come to Makua Military Reservation to re-establish these traditions.
We started toward the ocean for the ritual cleansing of the hi`uwai. As we approached the military reservation’s gate, a soldier -- detailed to keep an eye on the first civilians allowed to sleep within the installation’s perimeter -- leapt from his Humvee, unlocked the gate, and pulled it aside. He was no doubt wondering what we were doing up, hours before dawn.
But orders were orders, and, under the terms of the settlement, his job was to accommodate the community’s cultural access. Two days a month and two overnights a year. He watched us pass in silence.
We left the military reservation and reached the beach, re-establishing the link between mauka and makai, between the uplands and the sea, that 60 years of Army occupation of Makua had severed.
The ocean was calm and inviting, and the ritual cleansing quickly turned into a celebration, with whoops of joy and laughter filling the air. After being denied access to Makua for so long, the community finally had the chance to bring Hawaiian culture, and, with it, life, back to the valley. Amazing, the power of a lawsuit.
Back inside the military reservation’s gates, we traded swimsuits for traditional Hawaiian clothing. A malo -- loincloth -- and kihei -- cape -- for men, a kikepa -- sarong -- and kihei for women.
By now, the sky had turned light. Facing the back of the valley, we chanted to the sun, “E ala e, e ala e,” “rise up, rise up.” The sun’s rays broke free of the clouds hanging on the ridge tops, warming our shoulders. It promised to be a beautiful day, this first Makua Makahiki. And hot.
Ua wela i ka la o Makua.
(Postscript: Malama Makua is preparing for its 8th annual Makahiki celebration under the Settlement Agreement, with opening ceremonies on Nov. 21-22, 2008.)
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