Ka Wai Ola - Office of Hawaiian Affairs, Volume 28, Number 9, 1 September 2011 — A personal story of Kawaiahaʻo [ARTICLE]

A personal story of Kawaiahaʻo

Editor's note: Thefollowing account was written by Gabriel Man. Puakea Nogelemier wrote the introduction. Man is a writer, fibnmaker and a docwnentarian cf Hawaiian culture; Nogelmeier is a ĪJniversity of Hawai'i Professor cf Hawaiian language and serves as a community resource. They provide this account 011 behalf of Jen Gonsalves, describing her experience regarding iwi that have been dug up at Kawaiaha 'o Church in preparationfor constructing a multipurpose building. This is thefirst ofa two-part kūkākūkā. The views expressed in this communityforum are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the views ofthe Ojfice cfHawaiian Ajfairs.

By Gabriel Man and Puakea Nogelmeier I'm never quite sure how to react to people who deal with 'uhane. I don't see spirits myself but there have been a mix offolks in my past and present who really do. Some have impressed me with their ealm acceptance and integration of this extra sense, and those few keep me wondering ifmyfive senses are not quite afull package. Talking with Jen was like that. A loeal mom of two pre-teens, she balances work, home and family. Perfectly good-natured about life, not needing to be special, she was tasked with an important message about Kawaiaha 'o Church. Not a member of Kawaiaha'o's congregation, she sees herself as a bridge, not a source; a messenger, not a doer. She shared her story with us, talking for about an hour, explaining what happened in the course ofafew days. have not been connected with my Hawaiian roots until recently, even though I'm from Pauoa Valley. When I was 5 we moved to the mainland, so I grew up half in San Francisco and half with my Chinese grandma in Honolulu. My grandpa was the Hawaiian one, but he passed away when my father was very young. So every summer and Christmas holiday I'd live with my grandma here in Pauoa, until my sophomore year in high school when I moved back here to stay. It was around that time that I started to see and hear things. I tended to just blow it off and pretend they weren't there, but as I got older it happened more and more. I've always had a struggle with this gift of so-called second sight. I never asked to be able to communicate with 'uhane, or spirits, but at some point I realized it wasn't going

away, so I accepted it as part of my life and began to actively nurture it. I don't tell many people about it, and some of my closest friends don't even know. It's not that I am ashamed or fearful about what they would say, it's just that I know that some people aren't ready to hear about it. We all know that there are people who are uncomfortable talking about spiritual or so-called extrasensory matters, and I don't feel it is necessarily my job to change them. Fast forward to 2009. By then, I was married with two kids, both of whom were attending the Kawaiaha'o Church School. My son had been enrolled since 2003, my daughter since 2005. Well, right around the time they were digging the iwi (bones) out of the ground to make way for construction, I pulled my kids out of the school and enrolled them elsewhere, for reasons beyond what was going on with the iwi. I did however continue to attend an 'ōlelo Hawai'i class for mākua that is offered there one night a week. On Sept. 17, 2009, several months after the iwi were excavated, I am at this class when something unexpected happens. We are out in the fire lane between Pūnana Leo and Kawaiaha'o Church School, I am facing the playground behind Pūnana Leo, and I see this old Hawaiian man, an 'uhane, in dark vest and slacks and a blousy white shirt like folks used to wear back in the day, standing barefoot on the playground. Fve seen this man twice before in the church, mostly leaning on the upstairs balcony, checking people out. Before this night I had tried to talk to him, but he had never given me the time of day. So this time, I'm sitting in class and there he is again, so I try talking to him again in my head. And this time, he responds.

He turns around, looks at me, waves his anns in front of him indicating the ground and says, "Mālama." I say back to him, "Oh, you mean the iwi?" " 'Ae," he responds. "Oh, I'm so sorry," I tell him. "I feel bad about that too, but I can't do anything about it. I'm just a parent here." My friend who was with me at the class notices I'm not paying attention and asks what's going on. As I'm sharing with her what I'm seeing, all of a sudden I just start crying, uncontrollably. The sadness is too mueh. My friend asks if I'm OK. I say "No!" and I run inside and go upstairs to try and gain composure in private. From the upstairs window I ean see the 'uhane, and he's looking up at me. At that point I started to pray. So I'm praying to God to break the connection and have the man leave me alone, because what I realized is that the man was making me feel what he felt. Gradually, I gain my composure. The rest of the class comes inside, sits on the floor, and I join them. By now it is dark out and the class is about to end. I look behind me and the man is there at the door, telling me to eome outside. I tell him no, I already interrupted class onee for him and am not going to do it again, so he'll have to wait. He becomes very insistent, and since I won't eome, he makes me cry uncontrollably again. So now, as I am disrupting class for the second time, I have no ehoiee but to leave. I get up, I walk outside and follow him down the walkway to the back of the stairs that overlook the cemetery and the construction site. The man waves his anns in front of him indicating the entire area and says onee again, "Mālama."

I'm having this conversation in my head with him. I ean see his thoughts and I ean feel his feelings, and his message to me is, "You have to put the iwi back." "Yes, I know," I tell him. "But you're talking to the wrong person. I have no power or authority to make that decision." Then I ask him, hypothetically, "If they were to put the iwi back, ean they build their building?" And he replies, "Yes. But on top the ground, no digging." More in feeling than in words, he lets me know that he doesn't care what my problem is, that the situation is a mess, and I just need to make it right. So I ask him, "Are you one of the iwi that have been disturbed?" And he replies: "No, I'm not even buried here. I take care of this plaee." Up to that point, I had never sought to contact any 'uhane; they had always just appeared to me, unbidden. But shortly after that episode at the church, myself and three members of the O'ahu Island Burial Council returned with just that intention: to take up the conversation again with "Unele George" - the name I chose for the spirit since he wouldn't tell me his actual name - and ask him what should be done to solve the problem of the iwi. He had instructed me briefly that first night that the iwi should be returned to the ground and a building constructed that required no digging, but besides exhorting me " 'Eleu, 'eleu," - to get to it and look lively - that was it. We needed more to go on. In the days in between, I had nightly dreams of Kawaiaha'o Church and Lunalilo's tomb and Pauoa cemetery, whieh is a block from my house. On the eve of the big night, I awoke to the voice that I assumed to be Unele George's saying: "In order to have a peaceful solution to this problem, you must first have forgiveness. The mindset has to change from a modern, legal and logistical one to a spiritual one." The Burial Council folks were excited that a guiding voice had emerged, and I shared their excitement. But I also saw the great

challenge that would lie ahead no matter what, because as we all know, forgiveness and a disavowal of our "modern, legal and logistical" mindset is a thing more easily said than done. In addition to this last message, Unele George advised that when I go to Kawaiaha'o with my folks, I should bring ho'okupu of 'uala, 'ōlena and pa'akai. When we got to the plaza that Monday in September at around 5:30, with the ho'okupu gathered and bundled in ti leaf, it was completely overcast, no breeze, very hot and sticky. It felt like it was going to stonn. One of us led a prayer on the steps of the church, and while this was happening I briefly saw Unele George standing over by the bookstore. After that, the group of us went over to the walled off construction site. One of us who was so inclined tore away one of the nailed down wood panels and we went inside the excavation area. Right in the middle of the dirt there, we joined hands in prayer onee again. Our eloquent companion's oli went on for several minutes. Beautiful and heartfelt, the prayer was a request for guidance and forgiveness in this time of indecision and crisis. During the oli, Unele George appeared again, this time on the stairs leading down from the sanctuary of the church. He had his head lowered and was wailing and crying into his hands. Toward the end of the oli, he stood up and went off toward Lunalilo's tomb, saying, "When you pau, meet me over there." He also kept repeating the words, "What they say and what they do are two different things," and I knew the "they" meant the Church. After the oli was completed, I told the others what was up. And as we were making our way toward the tomb, he did it to me again. I break down wailing and sobbing just as I saw him doing on the stairs. I had a hard time breathing and could not compose myself. I prayed to God for help, and I asked Unele George to please stop, telling him, "I am here to help, and I cannot help you when I'm like this, crying my eyes out." So he did. He let me go, and I gradually eame to myself again. ■

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