Ka Wai Ola - Office of Hawaiian Affairs, Volume 21, Number 8, 1 August 2004 — Ka ʻŌlelo [ARTICLE]

Ka ʻŌlelo

by Brandy Nalani McDougall 'O ke alelo ka hoe uli o ka 'ōlelo a ka waha. The tongue is the steering paāāle ofthe words uttered by the mouth. 1. 'ekahi Think of all the lost words, still unspoken, waiting to be given use, again, claimed, or for newly born words to unburden them of their meanings. There are winds and rains who have lost their names, descending the slopes of every mountain, eaeh lush valley's mouth, and the songs of birds and mo'o, that eope with our years of slow unknowing, somehow. It was not long ago that 'ōlelo was silenced, along with its dying race, who lived, then thrived, reverting to the old knowing words. English could never replace the land's unfolding song, nor the ocean's ancient oli, giving us use again. 2. 'elua Like the sea urchin leaves, pimpling its shell as its many spines let go, turn to sand, my great-grandfather's Hawaiian words fell silent, while his cildren grew, their skin tanned and too thin to withstand the teacher's stick, reprimands demanding English only. The ban lasted until 1986, after three generations of family swallowed our 'ōlelo like pōhaku, learned to live with the cold, dark fruit under our tongues. This is our legacy - words strewn among wana spines in the long record the sand has kept within its grains, closer to reclaiming our shells, now grown thicker. 3. 'ekolu Ka 'Ōlelo has a lilting rhythm arising from the coastal mountains' moans

as they loosen their salted earth, succumb to the oeean and its hunger for stone. It carries the cadence of nā waihī, born from the fresh rain in nā waipuna and flowing past the fruiting 'ulu trees, wiliwili, kukui and koa. It holds the song my grandfather longs for most, as he remembers his father's voice, and regrets not asking him to speak more Hawaiian, so that he may have the ehoiee to offer words in his inheritance, knowing his 'ohā will not be silenced. 4. 'ehā Think of all the old words that have succumbed, their kaona thrown oceanward for English words we use like nets to catch the full sum of our being, finding too little fish caught in the mesh, even as we adjust the gauge, reshaping them to suit our mouths. I must admit I love the brittle crust my only tongue's foreignness forms; it crowns the dark, churning pith of prenatal earth rising in the volcano's throat, unspoken for now, founding my wide island of words. And kaona, a ho'okele's current, circles during my wa'a's slow turn inward, steering my tongue through eaeh old word learned. 5. 'elima As the 'ape shoot, whose delicate shoots shoot forth their young sprouts, and spread, and bring forth in their birth, many branches find their roots in the dark, wet 'ōlelo the earth bore. My unripe tongue taps my palate, my teeth, like a blind ko'e that must feel its way through the liquids, mutes and aspirates of speech, the threading of breath and blood into lei: "E aloha. 'O wai kou inoa?" I ask, after the language CD's voice. "'O Kekauoha ko'u inoa," my grandfather answers, "Pehea 'oe?" So, we slowly begin, with what 'ōlelo we know; E ulu ana kākou. ■