Hula hoop: In the loop
Confessions of a hula flunky turned junkie
By KAREN WELSH
Tribune-Herald staff writer
Everyone has a love language — a need to receive words of affirmation,
gifts, quality time, acts of service and physical touch.
Hula encompasses them all.
At least that’s what I recently experienced after becoming an honorary
member of Hula Halau O’ Kawananakoa in Keaukaha.
Except for one hula performed during an elementary school May Day
program and a couple of early childhood lessons where the instructor
kept hitting the back of my calves with a stick because I couldn’t keep
my heels on the floor, I never dreamed of being more than an eager
spectator of this beautiful sport.
There’s always been a sadness deep within my being because hula is so
incredibly communicative.
And that’s me.
The talker of talk.
The writer of words.
To be left out of something so profoundly a part of the culture, so
loving an expression and, under the right circumstances an adoring gift
of worship to ke Akua, has been excruciatingly painful.
To tell the truth, this feeling has become more acute since I became
Mama Kahu of a Hawaiian church.
But no more.
After two sessions with the “tutus” at Kawananakoa Gym, I’ve found a
place go belong, a place to become — a sisterhood so tight that it
defines the term “ohana.”
These women tenderly aloha each other, touching, kissing, affirming each
other’s very existence and being.
This tight-knit sisterhood genuinely care about each other.
And me.
The halau members open every session with pule, a prayer to ke Akua,
before dancing.
Then it begins.
The hula.
It’s surprising that a novice, such as myself, can begin to pick up on
the meaning after only one time through a song.
The first mele is “Ke Anu O Waimea,” by B. Kuana Torres of Na Palapalai,
tells of the beauty of Waimea, the skin piercing wind in the shivering
cold.“I ka poli o ka ua, e honihoni ana e — In the bosom of the rain we
embrace,” the melodic song recalls. “I ke kakahiaka e moani ke ‘ala o ka
‘awapuhi ho’i e — The scent of ginger wafting in the morning.”
Each movement is precise and means something, the poetic motions telling
a story, serving a utilitarian purpose to pass on a story, a way of life.
“It’s important to study the piece,” Kumu Hula Alberta “Birdie” Nicolas
says. “You need to do your homework and have a connection to it. The
important thing is, all hula is not the same. I can be done in different
versions. Each halau can dance a different rendition to the music.”
Many special movements are gleaned throughout the songs. “Makani ‘Olu
‘Olu,” “Moku O Keawe” and “Nani Venuse” highlight the uwehi, left step,
right step, both knees flashed outward; the kaholo, three step vamp; the
Kalakaua, step, then sway forward and back; the lele, swaying back; the
ami, rotation of hips; the ami kuku, really fast rotation of hips and
the hela, a step back with one foot, then point with the other.
Not one step or move for this newbie hula dancer was possible without
the patience and instruction of Alaka’i, or assistant, Jo Ann Loa.
“Twinkle, the twinkle’s not out, the twinkle is in,” she instructs.
“Sassy, around the world, ami, front, back, double cross, up the road,
luna, pick the flowers, plenty. When you come up, no look grumpy.
“Ha’ina. One, two, three, four, back, pua malama, twinkle,” Jo Ann
guides. “Around the island, touch, face, shoulder, kapu, shoulder, kapu,
kapu, kapu, winding road, forward, crooked road, in the heavens, double
cross, plenty, twinkle, sassy.”
One lesson gleaned throughout the practice is there is a variety of
hula. A mele can be fast or slow. Gentle or tough. It can speak about
certain places in Hawaii, the weather, a battle waged or, my favorite,
the romance often expressed between two lovers.
Every verse, each idea, is always conveyed twice, probably because the
message is worth repeating.
As one song melds into another, one this is easily deduced — hula is
hard work. It’s also great exercise. Sweat pours from the back of my
neck and trickles down my back. I’m happy to make it through the dance
without collapsing, but the wahine, all older than I, are eager to
practice it “one more time.”
Right about now I’m short of breath and not keeping up with the aunties
is quite embarrassing.
However their encouragement brings a smile to my face.
“We cannot shake it,” Birdie jokes. “We just put WD40 here and oil there
and keep moving.”
Birdie also reminds me that many of them have been dancing together
since they were seven years old.
That’s a long time.
“For me, hula is a part of our culture,” Birdie says. “We’ve learned it
from small. It’s our communication. We are expressing our love for the art.”
I’m hanging in there, still in the groove, soaking in the hula like a
dry sponge.
Then they go to a “hapa haole” song called “Surfing With The Dolphins.”
This auana, or modern-day hula mixes traditional hula moves with country
line dancing.
Halfway through the song I collapse on the cold linoleum floor — to
tired to shake another step out of my weary, aching body.
Luckily it’s time for a break anyway. The halau has some business to
attend. Birthdays to celebrate. Competitions for Aloha Week and the
Hawaii Kupuna festivals to plan. Crafts to make. Service projects to finish.
They do everything together. It’s as if one heart is beating for them,
the heart of hula.
That’s probably why the halau members keep coming back for more.
“I love everything about this halau,” said dancer Lorraine Veincent.
“Over here everybody helps everybody. No one is better than the other.
We are all just one.”
That’s what makes hula special.
“A halau is typically known as a family activity,” Birdie says. “It’s
close-knit. Everyone participates. It’s a bond.
It’s not just one thing,” Birdie reminds. “It’s a culture. We have a lot
of skills and abilities that we share with other. We have a lot of
talent to offer each other. We’re not stagnant.”
The practice is over and, auwe, the pain sets in with shin splints and
cramps. I’m glad Birdie took the time to teach me one final step — the
massage technique to relieve aching arm and leg muscles.
“And they say hula is easy,” she laughs. “Not!”
Reflecting back, it’s nice to be in the hula hoop. After all, they speak
my language and I’m loving every moment of it.
I just wish my feet felt the same way.
Confessions of a hula flunky turned junkie
By KAREN WELSH
Tribune-Herald staff writer
Everyone has a love language — a need to receive words of affirmation,
gifts, quality time, acts of service and physical touch.
Hula encompasses them all.
At least that’s what I recently experienced after becoming an honorary
member of Hula Halau O’ Kawananakoa in Keaukaha.
Except for one hula performed during an elementary school May Day
program and a couple of early childhood lessons where the instructor
kept hitting the back of my calves with a stick because I couldn’t keep
my heels on the floor, I never dreamed of being more than an eager
spectator of this beautiful sport.
There’s always been a sadness deep within my being because hula is so
incredibly communicative.
And that’s me.
The talker of talk.
The writer of words.
To be left out of something so profoundly a part of the culture, so
loving an expression and, under the right circumstances an adoring gift
of worship to ke Akua, has been excruciatingly painful.
To tell the truth, this feeling has become more acute since I became
Mama Kahu of a Hawaiian church.
But no more.
After two sessions with the “tutus” at Kawananakoa Gym, I’ve found a
place go belong, a place to become — a sisterhood so tight that it
defines the term “ohana.”
These women tenderly aloha each other, touching, kissing, affirming each
other’s very existence and being.
This tight-knit sisterhood genuinely care about each other.
And me.
The halau members open every session with pule, a prayer to ke Akua,
before dancing.
Then it begins.
The hula.
It’s surprising that a novice, such as myself, can begin to pick up on
the meaning after only one time through a song.
The first mele is “Ke Anu O Waimea,” by B. Kuana Torres of Na Palapalai,
tells of the beauty of Waimea, the skin piercing wind in the shivering
cold.“I ka poli o ka ua, e honihoni ana e — In the bosom of the rain we
embrace,” the melodic song recalls. “I ke kakahiaka e moani ke ‘ala o ka
‘awapuhi ho’i e — The scent of ginger wafting in the morning.”
Each movement is precise and means something, the poetic motions telling
a story, serving a utilitarian purpose to pass on a story, a way of life.
“It’s important to study the piece,” Kumu Hula Alberta “Birdie” Nicolas
says. “You need to do your homework and have a connection to it. The
important thing is, all hula is not the same. I can be done in different
versions. Each halau can dance a different rendition to the music.”
Many special movements are gleaned throughout the songs. “Makani ‘Olu
‘Olu,” “Moku O Keawe” and “Nani Venuse” highlight the uwehi, left step,
right step, both knees flashed outward; the kaholo, three step vamp; the
Kalakaua, step, then sway forward and back; the lele, swaying back; the
ami, rotation of hips; the ami kuku, really fast rotation of hips and
the hela, a step back with one foot, then point with the other.
Not one step or move for this newbie hula dancer was possible without
the patience and instruction of Alaka’i, or assistant, Jo Ann Loa.
“Twinkle, the twinkle’s not out, the twinkle is in,” she instructs.
“Sassy, around the world, ami, front, back, double cross, up the road,
luna, pick the flowers, plenty. When you come up, no look grumpy.
“Ha’ina. One, two, three, four, back, pua malama, twinkle,” Jo Ann
guides. “Around the island, touch, face, shoulder, kapu, shoulder, kapu,
kapu, kapu, winding road, forward, crooked road, in the heavens, double
cross, plenty, twinkle, sassy.”
One lesson gleaned throughout the practice is there is a variety of
hula. A mele can be fast or slow. Gentle or tough. It can speak about
certain places in Hawaii, the weather, a battle waged or, my favorite,
the romance often expressed between two lovers.
Every verse, each idea, is always conveyed twice, probably because the
message is worth repeating.
As one song melds into another, one this is easily deduced — hula is
hard work. It’s also great exercise. Sweat pours from the back of my
neck and trickles down my back. I’m happy to make it through the dance
without collapsing, but the wahine, all older than I, are eager to
practice it “one more time.”
Right about now I’m short of breath and not keeping up with the aunties
is quite embarrassing.
However their encouragement brings a smile to my face.
“We cannot shake it,” Birdie jokes. “We just put WD40 here and oil there
and keep moving.”
Birdie also reminds me that many of them have been dancing together
since they were seven years old.
That’s a long time.
“For me, hula is a part of our culture,” Birdie says. “We’ve learned it
from small. It’s our communication. We are expressing our love for the art.”
I’m hanging in there, still in the groove, soaking in the hula like a
dry sponge.
Then they go to a “hapa haole” song called “Surfing With The Dolphins.”
This auana, or modern-day hula mixes traditional hula moves with country
line dancing.
Halfway through the song I collapse on the cold linoleum floor — to
tired to shake another step out of my weary, aching body.
Luckily it’s time for a break anyway. The halau has some business to
attend. Birthdays to celebrate. Competitions for Aloha Week and the
Hawaii Kupuna festivals to plan. Crafts to make. Service projects to finish.
They do everything together. It’s as if one heart is beating for them,
the heart of hula.
That’s probably why the halau members keep coming back for more.
“I love everything about this halau,” said dancer Lorraine Veincent.
“Over here everybody helps everybody. No one is better than the other.
We are all just one.”
That’s what makes hula special.
“A halau is typically known as a family activity,” Birdie says. “It’s
close-knit. Everyone participates. It’s a bond.
It’s not just one thing,” Birdie reminds. “It’s a culture. We have a lot
of skills and abilities that we share with other. We have a lot of
talent to offer each other. We’re not stagnant.”
The practice is over and, auwe, the pain sets in with shin splints and
cramps. I’m glad Birdie took the time to teach me one final step — the
massage technique to relieve aching arm and leg muscles.
“And they say hula is easy,” she laughs. “Not!”
Reflecting back, it’s nice to be in the hula hoop. After all, they speak
my language and I’m loving every moment of it.
I just wish my feet felt the same way.
Thanks for writing this post. I really enjoyed it. Being from Indiana, I had very little appreciation for or understanding of hula until I moved to Kona and saw a halau worship through dance at church. What a powerful way to communicate love for God.
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