Hawaiian 101

Hanalei taro fields

Reversing my truck into the last slice of shade in the parking lot at Port Alan, I came nose to nose with two toddler boys in the truck parked next to mine. They beamed from the rear seat through an open window, their grandfather standing by the driver’s side door bouncing a third boy on his hip.
“'Ilio,” each boy parroted in turn as I stepped out of the truck.
I was there to pick up my husband. Wes had paddled from Po’ipu down to the harbor on his surfski.
“‘Ilio,” they repeated, gesturing toward my dogs in the bed of the truck.
“Dogs,” I said, as I stood between our vehicles, looking slightly up at them in their full-size rig. The rear passenger side window framed their radiant faces. I flirted shamelessly with them as they expanded their observant narrative.
“'Elua 'ilio,” they told me.
By now, their tutu had returned and climbed into the backseat with them.
“Oh, they are speaking only Hawaiian with you,” she noted. "'Elua means two."
I told her I loved it; we were in class and they were my language teachers. She told me they were twins. The boy nearest the window was honey-skinned and lean with an almost scholarly intensity and his brother was a darker, curly-haired boy whose smile filled his juicy cheeks, turning his eyes into crescents.
When Wes slid his boat into the saddles on the truck the lesson continued.
“Moku,” they alternated saying. Then they added a second word I don’t recall.
Tutu told me both words were for “boat.”
I repeated after them, but the leaner of the two boys kept looking more intensely into my eyes saying each word.
I would repeat it and he’d say it again slower, separating syllables more emphatically. I realized then that I was mispronouncing the two words. I started looking at his cheeks and lips for clues on how to form the sounds correctly; annunciating with more intent. By now he was leaning out the window toward me.
On my tenth attempt I succeeded at placing the proper weight on the correct syllable. My teacher was clearly pleased. Pooching out his lips as far as they’d go, he leaned out of the truck to plant a kiss right on my lips. There in the shade, on a hot October day at Port Alan Harbor in Ele’ele, I received one of the most unforgettable kisses of my life. It was delicious.
Adding to the magic of the moment was the fact I’d spent all morning sketching taro with the intent to paint a series on clay. I drew three leaves: two big and one small, with stems reaching up from the bulb.
As I stood between our trucks in the lot I realized I was meeting my drawing right there – three new sprouts attached to their roots. It gave me a sense of place and belonging.
Later in the week I heard about a Malie Foundation lecture on kuleana (responsibility) being given from 10 to noon tomorrow (Saturday) at the Hyatt. All year Malie Foundation has been hosting events with the theme “Year of ‘Olelo Hawai’i,” in celebration of Hawaiian language. Perpetuating Hawaiian language preserves the culture and after ten years living here, maybe it’s time for me to take my education further than my parking lot tutorial by enrolling in a class.