ʻIke Kuʻuna

  Who Am I? Finding My Identity In the warm embrace of the Waiʻanae mountain range I began my dance with life, born into a family where love was abundant, but resources were scarce. My roots sank deep into the soil of a large extended family, each member a branch of the lush tree that my grandmother, the matriarch, had grown. With thirteen siblings of her own, she wove a tapestry of kinship that stretched from Makaha to Nanakuli, a testament to closeness not merely by blood but by the songs of our native hearts. Grandma was a woman of resilience, whose life's symphony was composed of melodies sweet and sorrowful, each note a story, harmonizing into a ballad that echoed the vast depths of her experiences of love, loss, and new beginnings. Our lives, nomadic in their essence, fluttered from one westside valley to another, carried by trails of poverty and familial discord. I come from a family that knows the rhythm of the earth beneath our feet, yet the ground of our lives never stopp...

  A year ago, I came to understand the importance of the Manu o Kū to our community. This bird, which ancient voyagers used as a sign, an hoʻailona, guided our ancestors to the land we now cherish. It was a message from our Akua that a homeland was near. At Honolulu Community College, my colleagues, including Jacob Haʻuoli Lorenzo-Elarco, a Kumu of ʻŌlelo Hawaiʻi, delved into the origins of the Manu o Kū’s name and its connections to Kū, one of our main deities. Kaʻiulani Murphey, a kumu and skilled navigator of the Hokuleʻ a  and Hikianaliʻa, shared how the Manu o Kū was instrumental in traditional voyaging, guiding navigators as they sailed across Moananuiakea, the Pacific Ocean. This practice, which we call “kilo,” showcases the profound knowledge and skill of our ancestors in reading the natural world around them. It was a revelation to me that the Manu o Kū, once endangered, is now thriving, even right here on our campus. My curiosity piqued, I set out to find them. One d...