Day Two - Manele Garden

Mahalo for thought-provoking posts on Le‘ahi.

Todays activity will take us to Kāwikaʻs garden at the Mālama Center. Your blog challenge is take a photo or stop to draw a sketch of one plant or one place in the garden that best represents what you do with students and then share your thoughts.
We have cameras should you need one and if you need help scanning your image, let me know.

What Was Once Invisible

I have walked and jogged (more like semi-crawled) around Le`ahi many times. I have paddled in front of and past Le`ahi many times. Over the years, whenever I look at Le‘ahi, I have seen racers on bicycles, people walking their dogs, construction workers sitting on the rock wall having lunch, lovers holding on to one another mezmerized by the ocean, tourists posing for cameras. Le‘ahi is iconic. It is probably the most recognizable and most photographed landmark on our island, and yet, what do we really see when we look at Le‘ahi? Before yesterday, I was convinced I knew Le‘ahi until we made the stop to learn the second line of the chant - Kani Kapahu o Maui, Kaneloa, Papa‘ena‘ena. The eyeʻs lens changed focus.
So many different levels of "seeing" took place for me on the our walk. It was like looking at a painting without the image. What we think is familiar, really is not. What I really saw was familiarity, a learned image -- not the thing. Like the story of the aliʻi surfer -- someone thought to blowup the reef, and now the surf break is gone, but hearing the story made that break "visible."
So how do I "see" a student? Another faculty member? Am I looking at the person? Or am I simply seeing what I think I know? ‘āewa. Everything has a lineage -- people, landmarks, texts, ideas. Lineage is often made up of what we cannot see. Perhaps this is what I want most to remember in a classroom. Make was seems invisible, visible.

Reflection

On our walk yesterday, Kawika shared a story: when the alii went surfing the Hawaiian people were not allowed to be on the waves, but one afternoon a chieftess was surfing and a man on the beach caught her eye, and when she came in from surfing she gave him her special lei so he could go surf even though there were still some alii in the water.

I don't why, but I thought a lot about the chieftess. I was struck by her empathy and her lokomaika'i (generosity) and her ola kiho maikai (goodheartedness). For me, empathy (I'm not sure what it means in Hawaiian), the ability to put yourself in the shoes of another, is so important especially as counselors and teachers since our students come in with such a variety of past experiences, and starting college is such a transitional point in their lives. I hope I am attuned to what our kahikoluamea students are feeling and that I can be there to offer that symbolic lei to them.

Ho'omana'o i Holomua (Remembering so that we can move forward)

As we walked around Le'ahi today I couldnt help but remember all the mo'olelo that we shared in the morning about where we come from.  It reminded me that we are all indigenous people whether from Hawaiʻi, England, Scotland, Japan, Trinidad, North America, China, Philipines, etc.  

The sound of shoes and slippers on the pavement, stories of past events leaving our mouths became the pū (conch shell) that announced our arrival to the homes of Kaʻalāwai, Kuilei, Ka Pahu o Māui, Kupalaha, Kahaloa, Ke'au'au, Papa'ena'ena, Kapua and other individuals that we met on our path.  Our Wahī Paʻakai (gift) to these people were ourselves and our chant.  

Āewa was one of the values which was evident in that we aroused our ancestral memory and for each story we told we pulled our ancestors to the forefront which in turn allowed others into knowing a different facet of who we are.  

It was truly an honor to be in the presence of fellow colleagues who make up the lineage of Kapi'olani Community College.  

Kawika

Values: Malama and Aloha

In 1980 I entered my first Honolulu Marathon when my father, an avid runner, encouraged me to run it with him. At the start-line, I told him, "Dad, just run ahead. Don't slow down for me. I'll see you at the finish-line." As he raced forward, my eyes followed him until he disappeared from my sight.

Five and a half hours later, I found myself struggling up the long gradual incline of Kahala Avenue, with finish-line and father still out of sight. I was totally exhausted and I still had to get up and over Diamond Head, aka "Heartbreak Hill."

When I finally reached the Triangle Park, (at the very same spot our CTE group stopped to chant), I saw my Dad, smiling and waiting for me. Tired and out of breath, I gasped, "Don't stop! Go! Cross the finish-line!" My Dad calmly replied that that was what he had already done, but sensing that I might need some support, he had run back up Diamond Head to find me and help me finish. OMG...that's so Malama!

As my Dad proceeded to accompany me up my last hill, I complained, "It's so hot! This sun is killing me!" Without saying a word, he adjusted his position, allowing me to complete my run in the comforting shade of his shadow. Now, that's Aloha.

In my teaching, I will challenge my students, but when they struggle, I will remember to malama with aloha.

So what does it mean?

I have to admit that I wasn't necessarily awestruck by the power of story (mo'olelo) today. The storyteller and story are both powerful, I agree. But the true power is in the meaning(s). Is the storyteller creating meaning with the words, or is the listener constructing meaning while the story is being told? It's an age old English question. I think it's both, sometimes. Today, I instead wondered about my own method of creating meaning. What do I do every day that either creates meaning or that is meaningful? (not that much) And then why does walking with everyone and hearing stories produce meaning? Is it because it's the most meaningful thing I've done all semester? And I'm not referring to anything philosophically or spiritually deep in that Depak Chopra way. And then I started to think about my students.























Amidst Kawika's stories about places, I couldn't help but watch the cars pass by. I know that the road is such a cliche' symbol, Jack Kerouak ya ya ya..progress, success blah blah I don't like the road as a metaphor personally, but I'm going to run with it. You don't really learn anything on a road, unless you're learning to drive. It's the places that the road takes you to that are important and full of meaning. That's what Kawika helped to create for us today. And really you have to get off the damn road to really experience anything and to produce meaning from the place. That's why us locals laugh at people on tourist buses. But then again, the road and sometimes the lost driver are excellent metaphors for our student's past educational experiences, and it's also a great metaphor for how they learn and how they operate. They just travel, yeah? They no get off. They don't really think "about." They just go (or in my case no go class). Maybe that's what we have to teach them. I'm not Hawai'ian, so I don't have an opinion of blowing the road up and sending all that is American back to the mainland, but I do think that the Hawai'ian value of making meaning from what you do is the way to go. And I think that's what we really need to infuse in the classroom. We have to surround them with tools that produce meaning from what they do, and then we have to put them back on the road. But hopefully, after we're all done, they not lost in the end.

Tanks eh!

Walking around Le`ahi, looking at the kiawe trees against the dry grass of the hillside, reminded me of being back in Kawaihae on the Big Island.  I fondly remember our summer fun camps where we’d sleep at the pavilion near the beach, take walks to the heiau and the shark’s cove where we were told Kamehameha would sit on the rock and feed the sharks and sting rays as they circled in and out.  True?  Not sure, but pretty cool stuff nonetheless for a kid in elementary school.  Experiences like these are the ones that I carry with me and help to define who I am today.

 

Many stories were shared with me by my grandma, aunties and uncles, and parents around the kitchen table about their life experiences.  “You know we had to pick and carry 100 pound bags of coffee?  Your mom was so strong!”  “Your grandpa was taken to an internment camp during WWII (because, as an architect, he was seen as a person of influence in the community.)  They just took him away.  When grandpa came back he never talked about it.”  These stories and these people helped to shape my values of hard work, loyalty, the importance of family, the love for good friends, the importance of education, and the desire to want more for the next generation. 

 

The art of mo`olelo seems so simple and yet can have such a profound impact in a very lasting way.  I sometimes share my own personal stories when working with students as the self-disclosure helps to illustrate that I understand what they’re going through – and give some ideas on how to deal with a situation.  Other times it’s to make connections – or just for fun!  Isn’t that why we’re still here?  Eh, where you from?!

Reflection

Diamond Head has been in my back yard for years, and I’ve known it as this crater that can get brown and dry in the hot dry months, or lusciously enriched with green on wet and rainy days.

But today’s experience led me to see Diamond Head as the great “Le’ahi”, a live goddess who continues to attract many visitors from around the world to her feet. Mahalo to Kawika’s wisdom, I was humbled by this awareness and could feel her overall presence as I walked the road at the foot of the crater. I was so impressed with spiritual aspects of this experience that during my quiet reflection, I had a vision of humbling myself at Le’ahi’s feet, apologizing for my lack of awareness of who SHE really was.

I learned that it is not just the mountain, (or the crater), but the spirit that moves within, that is alive and free, that inspires all learning and teaching….a’oloko. The challenge for me is to help students be inspired by who they already are, and what is already within them. Can we ignite their spirits so they become the fire of their own lives and light up the world?

Thank you for a wonderful day of learning and fun!

Susan's reflection on the Leahi walk

The value that I feel most strongly during our walk was mo`olelo - story telling. Kawika broke our journey at several key locations, teaching us one line of the 'oli holo at each place. While I had heard and memorized the 'oli before, it was inside a classroom, focusing on the words written on a chalkboard. The 'oli had much more meaning, and its story was much more richly illustrated, as we matched each line with its physical location. "Kani ka pahu o Maui" now has a vision - steep plunging green hillside spotted with tufts of purple bouganvillea - and a scent - sea salt air - and a physicality - heat beating down on our heads and shoulders - that made the 'oli, for me, tell a story, not just name long-ago locations on a dusty map. I wish I had a photo of Kawika bending and swaying like an olaniu while we sat by the shoreline and memorized the third line of the chant. It makes me smile just to remember it.

While the 'oli itself might not be intended to be a story, because Kawika illustrated its words so compellingly, it became a story to me as we chanted it. Being in the location made it memorable.

The subject matter of what I teach in LAW 101 is very far from a Hawaiian place chant. If there is a kernel I can take away from this experience, though, it is the value of an immersive experience in fixing a teaching experience into a student's experience and from there into his or her memory.

'Oli Holo