Go Home, Ha'ole...

"Na, Na, I like ha'oles, but. You ha'oles are alright. You are welcome to come. Come! Come! Just don't forget to go back home!"
- Bu La'ia

I do love Hawaii. It is a wonderful place. Granted, paradise has a price. It's expensive. The bugs are everywhere. I miss air conditioning. You usually have poorly built housing. Local TV is deplorable. Your family is far away. And worst for most new people to the islands, you don't fit in.

See, the locals call the while folk that come here "Ha'ole" which literally interpreted means "Without the breath of God." It originally was used to mean a foreigner to this land. With time (and given the fact that the white man was the one that came and conquered) the phrase has now been adapted to mean all white folk crackers such as myself.

I came here knowing none of that. I had no clue about Hawaii was at all. Considering that my dad served here and lived here after, you'd think that I'd know more. All I knew was that the Big Island was called "Hawaii" and that Honolulu was on the Main Island (I forgot Oahu). I even got Malibu and Maui mixed up all the time. To quickly alieve me of this burden of ignorance the Lord in his infinite wisdom sent me to Pahoa Hawaii south of the bigger city Hilo. It was in the sticks. Pahoa means "Dagger" and that was fitting that the small dirty town had plenty of knife fights. It was also smack dab in the center of Pokololo country. That, for my ha'ole friends is Marijuana. "Poko" is cigarette and "lolo" is crazy. Cute name, eh?

None the less, I loved it. Our plumbing was not like you know. We had a big pool in the backyard. It was full of rain water. We had to shower in it, brush out teeth with it, wash our dishes in it and do our laundry in it. The water ran down from the roof's gutters into it. After it sat long enough, the water would flow through and around a spool of yarn as the water filter. Everything with time had a blue tint to match the color of the slowly decaying blue plastic liner of the catchment tank. We had to go the public water hole to get drinking water. I loved it.

Pahoa Plumbing

It didn't take long of living there and with the most local of locals to pick up the pigeon dialect and basic Hawaiian words. Due to constant reinforcement, I took a fondness of the food with me as well.

This beats any oven you'll see today

The more I talked the talk and walked the walk, I felt more and more like I belonged. In no time, Hawaii became a second home to me. Nothing has ever changed.

I then left for a period of time. I had a family to get back to and a wife to meet (well, I was more optimistic then). I had my run of Arizona. I was used to new things, green lands and fun new cultures. I wanted out of my work-a-day grind and had yet to meet a girl worth my ire. I prayed and felt good about returning to my aina away from my aina.

I came back to Hawaii as a stranger. I moved to Laie, one place I had almost never been in two years of traveling the islands. The only person I knew there was my old bishop and then current teacher, Bishop Furuto. I had to start almost from scratch.

Luckily for me, I did not have the same problem as most newbies to the island. I knew what it meant when someone called me a mahu (not that it was common). I knew that Lomi Salmon was not just salsa. I knew that you don't disrespect Braddah IZ around locals bigger than you. I knew that just because Eddie would go, I probably shouldn't walk around Wahiawa alone at night. In a way, I still felt like a local to some degree. But I wasn't.

It didn't take long to realize that my old tricks were not cute any more. If I was to try to speak some Hawaiian word and practice using it in context the members of the ward laughed, corrected me and were glad to have me as person interested in their culture. If I made a taboo statement in ignorance, I was politely corrected and quickly forgiven. As a missionary, I was a welcomed guest and pleasant company.

When I returned I was merely a ha'ole. Last semester I was talking some of the pigeon that I knew (I get da kine words, I just need fo work on da accent, but.) I discovered that a local who was listening was a bit upset at me. He felt like I was a poser. Also, a friend's boyfriend who is a local spoke quite disparaging words behind my back for my attempts at fitting in. The bottom line is, when I came back, I was just another ha'ole who was welcomed to spend my money and go. I wasn't cute, I was insulting.

I was talking with my friends the other day. JD and Scott who served in Hong Kong spend some good time with the Hong Kong gang. The RM's who were in Korea all join the Korean club or date a Korean girl or never miss an opportunity to eat with them in the much applauded caf. But for some reason, I don't sit at the "local table" or chill that much with locals. Well, to be fair, I have some local friends. Carrera, Kiapo, Lehua, Niki, Nicole and others I know pretty well like Hi'ilei whom I knew from my first area, Pahoa. But I don't make too many new friends and I know these locals because they hang out with my other mainland friends.

I feel like I understand and can relate to the people here. I also feel that with many of them, they can't understand or relate to me. If not that, they don't try to. I admit, I am the visitor to their aina (land) but I have migrated. I came to live here, not to just go to school here. BYU-Hawaii was the idea I had to afford living here, I would have come with or without school. I may never be a true local, I may never really want to be a genuine one. I may be considered a Ha'ole forever, even if I live out the rest of my days here. This is my home. I love it here. It has it’s ups and downs. I look forward to leaving once in a while for better TV commercials, good Mexican food and the fun of my family, but this is my home too. And I will live here. I belong here. I’m new, and I’m learning, but this is my home too now. This ha’ole didn’t forget to go home, this ha’ole is home.