Today’s Hawaiian word of the day is one, or sand.

One kind of black sand, specifically that created from ʻaʻā lava (the rocky, slow-moving variety), is called one ʻā. The phrase can also refer to volcanic cinder as well as gunpowder.  Recounting the fiery power of Pele, the famous traditional hula “Puʻu Onioni” speaks of one ʻā in its third verse:

Lauahi Pele i kai o Puna

One ʻā kai o Malama

(Pele destroys by fire towards the sea of Puna /The black cinder seaward of Malama)

Here Kumu Hula Kawaikapuokalani Hewett performs “Puʻu Onioni” standing, maile lei in hand:

One is the base of an especially beautiful Hawaiian expression, one hānau. Literally mean “birth sands”, one hānau means birthplace or homeland, especially referring to Hawaiʻi. When I was living far away from home, the expression would always come to my mind. Hawaiʻi has been and always be my one hānau.

One hānau makes a noteworthy appearance in Rev. Lorenzo Lyons’ famous song “Hawaiʻi Aloha”, which is often sung at the end of many different gatherings and community events. However,  I find very often that, when people sing the song, the mood is usually very somber. But the lyrics are joyful, inspiring us with the love for our one hānau, our lāhui, Hawaiʻi. It’s the one song that usually gets me every time I hear it, much more so than “Hawaiʻi Ponoʻī”. Hereʻs the first verse and chorus

E Hawaiʻi, e kuʻu one hānau ē

Kuʻu home kulāiwi nei

ʻOli au i nā pono lani ou

E Hawaiʻi aloha ē

Hui

E hauʻoli nā ʻōpio o Hawaiʻi nei

ʻOli ē! ʻOli ē!

Mai nā aheahe makani e pā mai nei

Mau ke aloha, no Hawaiʻi…

(Hawaiʻi sands of my birth/ My homeland / I rejoice in the blessings from the heavens / Beloved Hawaiʻi..

CHORUS: Be happy youth of Hawaiʻi / Rejoice, rejoice! / From the breezes that are blowing / Forever is my love for Hawaiʻi)

This clip from the late Israel Kamakawiwoʻole is sure to give you the gist of it.

The above photos are used through the Creative Commons license. Credit below:

First photo information here. Second photo at:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/lacylouwho/ / CC BY-NC 2.0

Today’s Hawaiian word of the day is ‘iwa, or the frigate bird, one of the most famed birds of Hawai‘i.

The ʻiwa appears in the kaʻi, or entrance hula, “Hoʻopuka ka lā i ka hikina” (The Sun Rises in the East”):

Haʻa mai nā ʻiwa me Hiʻiaka.

The ʻiwa dance forth with the Goddess Hiʻiaka.

Graceful in its flight,  an ‘iwa may represent an attractive or elegant person that draws the admiration of others. This attribute is captured by the ʻōlelo noʻeau (traditional saying):

Kīkaha ka ʻiwa  i ka pali.

The ʻiwa soars to the cliff.

This is the perfect kind of thing when someone good looking catches your eye while passing by.

As the ‘iwa takes the food of other birds, the word may also refer to a thief. But this kind of metaphor isn’t solely negative. Kamehameha the First was referred honorifcally as Ka’iwakīloumoku, the Frigate Bird that Hooks the Islands Together.

The word ʻiwa also reminds of the mirroring of land, sea, and air: the ʻiwa is also a species of native Hawaiian fern.

Sources:

• Kaʻiwakīloumoku Hawaiian Cultural Center
• Pukui, ʻŌlelo Noʻeau
• Pukui and Elbert, Hawaiian Dictionary

Please note photo above is from the link below, under the Creative Commons license.

One integral part to the crafting process was the mindset one has when making the skirt. Thought and emotions are carried directly into the garment that will be worn. Despite the few hours of sleep I had after cleaning the leaves, I was ready to go the following morning. The freshness of the morning, I’ve realized, is the best time for me to do this kind of work. By the time night comes, my thoughts are too scattered to do anything this concentrated.

As someone who’s accustomed to doing modern Western-style work—reading, writing, etc.—taking on these traditional tasks tends to be nerve-wracking, honestly. My hands aren’t using to working with delicate leaves and often break and shread them. But with this lā‘ī skirt, the process eventually became meditative, after the initial shock to the system. Of course, dancing with an additional twenty pounds was not at all easy, especially when it came time to lift my heels with each ‘uwehe step. Then there was the entirely ephemeral moment of wearing the skirt. Hours of preparation (just like the hours of rehearsing the dances) just for a few minutes beneath the stage lights. A brief glimmer of fresh green before vanishing into the shadows, just as the ho‘i goes….

Ho‘i ē ho‘i lā

Ho‘i ē ka ‘ohu e

I ka uka lehua

A‘o kula manu ē …

 

Returning, returning

The mists return

To the uplands of the lehua

The home of the birds …

Following the end of the competition, we were instructed to keep all of our adornments that we wore. Instead of merely discarding them, the skirt and lei are now drying in the wind. Once any final moisture has dissipated, they will all be burned and turn into ash for dying for hula garments to be created in the future. Hours of labor and effort, of song and dance and memory, reduced into one singular, concentrated color.