Kuilima Hula

An Essay by Kīhei de Silva                                                                    << HMI MM preview 2014



Haku mele:  Emily (also known as Emma) Kainanui Blanchard (1887-1984). Huapala and                 Ulelewaihui credit the music to Val Kepilino; Kepilino is also identified there as the holder of the song’s copyright.

Date: c. 1972.

Sources: 1) “Kuilima Hula,” huapala.org.  2) “Kuilima Hula,” ulelewaihui.com. Momi Aarona Kepilino is cited as the source of this website’s transcription of the mele; except for this citation, the two texts are identical.

Discography: “Kuilima Hula,” Peter Ahia (1942-1993), Peter Sings, Genoa Keawe Records 105 (1977).

Our Text: This is our own transcription and translation of the Peter Ahia; the text and translation cited above are problematic.





  1. I was born in the Marconi area on May 10, 1887. My maiden name was Kainanui, and my father was a former chief of the village. The only good swimming area at Kahuku was Kalokoiki, the cove next to the hotel. All of the old-timers went there. The point the hotel is on is called Kuilima Point now, but Kuilima is an inland name for the plains area around the highway bridge that says “Kuilima.” The correct name of the point is Kalaeokaunu. The smaller point on the other side of the cove is Kalaeokamanu. I composed a song entitled “Kuilima” that mentions some of the special places in Kahuku, including Kalokoiki, but it hasn’t been recorded. Kuilima means “to walk hand-in-hand.” – Emily Blanchard, February 9, 1973.1


The oldest stories of Kahuku refer to it as Kahuku Lewa, an ocean-washed, sometimes submerged, but mostly floating island that was finally stabilized by the demi-god Maui when he attached it to O‘ahu at the cave of Ka‘alaenuihuapī with the hooks Polou and Kalou, names later given to deep-water pools on the opposite Keana and Waiale‘e sides of the moku.2 Traditional accounts of Kahuku include the mo‘olelo of Nāwaiūolewa (“the breasts of Lewa [that were] set asway on the brow of the cliff of Kahipa”3), of Punamanō (an inland spring where a baby shark was raised to maturity with unfortunate consequences),4 and of Ka-hohoa-kūkūkapa-kaulana-i-ke-kani (a kapa anvil whose disappearance led to the discovery of an underground waterway between Kahuku and ‘Ewa).5


The Kuokoa Home Rula version of “Ka Moolelo Kaao o Hiiakaikapoliopele” describes Hi‘iaka as walking past “Na U o Lewa” and coming upon “ka waiho kahelahela o ke kula o Kuilima, ua hele a memele pu i ka pua o ka ilima” (the broad expanse of the plain of Kuilima that had become entirely yellow-gold with ‘ilima blossoms).6 Old-timers of late 19th-century Kahuku remember a land of fishponds, fresh-water springs, lo‘i kalo, and hala groves,7 the beauty of which is extolled (and mourned) in a mele composed by the pseudonymous “Kahuku Plantation”:


  1. Ilaila [i ike ai]…

  2. I na u‘i kaulana oi Kahuku lewa,

  3. I ke ala o ka hala e pohai ana,

  4. I ka wai kaulana, wai a Kane,

  5. Aole a he lua elike ai


  6. It was there that one could see

  7. The famous beauty of Kahuku Lewa

  8. Immersed in the fragrance of hala

  9. In the famous fresh water created by Kāne

  10. There is nothing to which it can be compared8


The earliest western accounts of the Kahuku area corroborate the memories of these 19th century informants and nūpepa writers; Clerke and King (1779) of the HMS Resolution described the area of Kahuku Point as fine and fertile and occupied by a large village.9 King (1788) comments on its “verdure…variety…and rich cultivated valleys,” Vancouver (1801) and Hall (1838) observe a slow decline in “fertility” and taro cultivation because of a diminishing native population, and Chamberlain (1828) notes that “this tract is beautified with lauhala and other trees, and is the only scenery of the kind we have met with on the West and Northern part of the island….”10


All of this changed quickly in 1850-51 when Charles Hopkins purchased 8,000 acres of land in the district, cleared the native forest, and allowed the sheep and cattle of his Kahuku Ranch to range freely over what remained. Julius Richardson bought the ranch in 1874 and sold it in 1876 to James Campbell who increased its holdings to 25,000 acres, 3,000 head of cattle, and additional “herds of sheep and horses.” In 1889, Campbell leased Kahuku Ranch to Benjamin Dillingham and the OR&L. Dillingham then subleased it to James Castle who, in 1890, chartered the Kahuku Sugar Plantation. Kahuku remained in agriculture (mostly sugar with some later pineapple ventures) for the next seventy years. When the industry sputtered to halt in the late 1960s, the Campbell Trustees and INSON (Del Webb and the Prudential Insurance Company’s Realty division) came to an agreement over the construction of the Kuilima Hotel, Townhouses, and Golf Course. That development, the first rendition of what is now the expansion-minded Hilton Turtle Bay Resort, was completed in 1972.11


There is no way that this summary of events can speak for the kupa ‘āina who were displaced and disenfranchised by these latter-day land sharks of Punamanō and Punaho‘olapa. The voices of Kahuku Lewa, however, found their way into the Hawaiian language newspapers of the late 19th and early 20th centuries.


  1. Konaaihele compares his desolation over the loss of his wife to the desolation of the kula lands of Kuilima: “Kuu wahine ma ka luna o Puuala / Mai ke kula mehameha kanaka ole o Kuilima / Aloha ia kula a kaua e hele ai.”12


  1. Joel K. Apuakehau bathes us in old epithets for vanishing and altered landscapes: “Ke oni nei o Kahuku, ke lewa mai la o Nawaiuolewa, ua ku ke ko‘a kai iuka o Punamano i ka holu a Punahoolapa i ka Pukaulua a Kane.”13


  1. George Pooloa walks us from sugar mill to train station to plantation village, from Kalou to Ki‘i to Punaho‘olapa. At each stop, he reminds us of the old names (“o ka halewiliko o Keana ia, i keia wa ua loli ae ka inoa o ka aina a o Kahuku ka inoa i keia manawa”14), opens our eyes to what is now barely visible (“e ike ana kaua i ka loko, oia o Kalou, ua hoopuni ia e ke ko i keia manawa”15), catalogs the mutilation of storied places (“e ike aku ana kaua he hale paumawai, o Punahoolapa ia…a mauka mai o keia wahi, aia maanei na uwea kelekalapa a Marconi me na pou hao e manamana ana ka uwea mao a maanei”16), worries that so much will be forgotten (“E huli aku oe e nana i kai o ka aina, e ike ana oe he kula me ko lakou inoa i poina i na poe o keia manawa; oia o Kuilima, Punamano, Kalehuawai, Waiakaole, o Kahuku no nae ka aina”17), and then tells, at length, the story of the disappearance of “Ka Hoho[a] Kukukapa kaulana i ke kani,” in hopes, perhaps, that its recovery will serve as inspiration for the recovery of the Kahuku he loves.18


  1. J. A. Kahiona disguises, with mock epithets and exaggerated comparisons, his outrage over the apparent high quality of life in plantation-town Kahuku: “oili pulelo aku ana ke kiheipili o Keaeloa i ka Helu 4004 o na apahu pou uwila o Kahuku aina e kuku laina like ana me he mau koa kiai naue ole.”19 He pretends to praise the bright green houses of Kahuku, the “mana hoonee” (the power to move things/people) of the sugar industry that has brought so many immigrant laborers to his kulāiwi, and the “ulu paina” (the pine tree forest) of light poles bobbing everywhere in the Ko‘olauwahine wind, but he takes a breath, steps out of character, and admits that his real love is for “na keiki hanau o ka aina nei, a hala aku mao, a koe kakaikahi o ua mau Koolau-wahine.”20 Kahiona’s sarcasm resurfaces in a lengthy mock-paean to progress:


  2. Nolaila, nani o Kahuku aina i keia la. Ua hiki i na kalaiwa otomobile ke holo a pii iluna o kahi e ku nei ka pahuwai nui helu ekahi apuni o Oahu nei, a nana i ka pua malalo mai ka haukipila ame ko ke kauka kopaa, ame ko na kupako, a malalo iho ko na luna lehulehu, ame ko ka poe wahine ole, malalo hou mai ko na wiliki, malalo mai na hale paani, haleaina, malalo mai ka hale oihana o kamahiko a me ko. A. Adam.


  3. Therefore, the land of Kahuku is beautiful today. Drivers of automobiles can motor up to the place where the best water tanks of all O‘ahu are standing, and they can see below them the unfolding landscape that includes the hospital, the sugar doctor’s residence, the homes of the sugar “natives,” and below that, those of the overseers, the unmarried workers, and again further on, those of the engineers, and then the play houses and cafeteria, and then the sugar company office and that of A. Adam.21


Kahiona concludes with the promise that he will be back soon with a real story of old Kahuku so that we not stand and gaze all about, dumbfounded in the middle of the sugar plantation: “oiai he aina i noho ia e ke kupaianaha…ma ka pule hope o keia mahina e hoopukaia aku ai ka moolelo ponoi o Kahuku aina lewa, ame ka wahine kau pali o Kalaeokahipa Nawaiuolewa, e lewa nei i ka makani Kuniho o ke kaha huli akau komohana.”22


  1. “Kahuku Plantation” – our previously cited and otherwise unidentified poet – offers an astonishing mele wahi pana that begins with an apology for the “insignificance” of Kahuku Lewa; its story, if told, won’t even fill an anahulu of nights: “He iki wale no o Kahuku lewa / Aole e puni i ke anahulu po.” But in the 43 lines that follow, K. P. manages to weave place, legend, praise, protest, and aloha ‘āina into a poem that completely contravenes his initial, tongue-in-cheek humility. He alludes to the demigod Maui and the legendary chief Olopana as ancient stability-givers to the Kahuku that once swayed above and below. And he honors Polou, one of the two places at which Kahuku Lewa was hooked to O‘ahu:

   

  1. A Polou au, louia a paa              

  2. I ole e oni o Kahuku lewa           

  3. O ka lua o ka lou hukaia a paa  

  4. I ole e panee ka holo ohope.       


  5. I was at Polou, hooked and made fast

  6. So that Kahuku-lewa would not shift loose

  7. It is the pit where the land was secured

  8. So that it would not slide back into the sea.


But when he arrives at the fresh-water pool of Punamanō, he recognizes a new threat to his land: where it was once held fast to O‘ahu, it is now punctured by the “pou olelo me ka uwila” – the electrified “voice poles” of the Marconi Wireless Station.23 Where a pet shark grew into a man-eater in the days of old, a new shark has now emerged, run by machines, cutting through air and land, taking over the once thriving wetlands of Punaho‘olapa:


  1. A Punamano au ‘ike i ka u‘i       

  2. Na pou olelo me ka uwila           

  3. O ke amio aku ia o ka mano      

  4. O na misini e hoohana nei           

  5. O Punahoolapa he naele aku ia  


  6. At Punamanō I saw the “beauty”

  7. The electric communication towers

  8. It is the shark’s moving through the narrows

  9. The machines are running it

  10. It is Punaho‘olapa that is (now) a bog.


The mele then advances a similar opposition of old and new in the form of “wai a Kane, ” but K. P.’s allusions to the awa of Hakipu‘u and the ulua of Kapukaulua are more than a little over our heads. He concludes, however, with a reference that is all too recognizable, and painful:

       

  1. I ke ana kipapa o Paumalu      

  2. Wakinekona ku i ka pali      

  3. A ke kenelala nui o na kaha      

  4. E–o mai oe i kou inoa          

  5. I lei ho‘oheno no Kahuku lewa.  


  6. At the walled-in cave at Paumalū

  7. Washington stands on the cliff

  8. The great general of these kaha lands

  9. Answer to your name chant

  10. As an adorning lei for Kahuku Lewa.24


“Wakinekona kū i ka pali” is the natural rock formation on the bluff above ‘Ehukai Beach Park that has come to be called the George Washington Statue because of its supposed resemblance to the founding father of the United States.25 An older eye will recognize it as Kahikilani, the surfer-chief who was turned to stone (before he could recognize it happening, hence: pau malū) when he broke an oath of fidelity to his mo‘o-wahine lover.26 There can be no doubting the bitter and ironic intent of a mele for the ancient guardians of Kahuku when it concludes with this call to the symbolic leader of those who have altered that land almost beyond recognition. Nor can we doubt the subtle allusion to the “pau malū” that can result from breaking old relationships and taking up with new lovers.


Emily Kaina Blanchard was a contemporary of Po‘oloa, Kahiona, and K.P. (“Kahuku Plantation”). She was born on May 10, 1887, to Kainanui near the same Puamanō Marconi Station that bothered Po‘oloa and offended K.P.  These and other writers of her generation directed their attention to the altered landscapes of the 1920s. But we have no record of Blanchard’s participation in their nūpepa efforts to name and remember; she was, as far as we can tell, a late bloomer. A half-century after they lapsed into silence, she found something of her own to say. She turned her eyes, as George Po‘oloa had earlier advised, to “nānā i kai o ka ‘āina,” and she focused on those beloved shoreline places whose names were being lost to the new hotel that had supplanted the older plantation and earlier ranch. She composed “Kuilima Hula” to remember, celebrate, and correct.


Blanchard’s gracious push-back against “progress” is probably a reflection of the hope shared in the 70s by many of Kahuku’s people that Del Webb’s Kuilima Hotel would provide a moderate boost to the district’s economy. Enough so that its people could continue to work and live in their kulāiwi, not so much that they would be pushed out by an influx of ona miliona. Her opening verse invokes a double ‘ike: the beauty of Kuilima Hotel as it is visible today, and the beauty of Kuilima plain as she sees it in her mind’s eye. These Kuilima, she implies, have always welcomed the malihini, for better or worse, from Hi‘iaka and Wahine‘ōma‘o, to the OR&L sightseers, to the immigrant cane workers, to the tourists of Del Webb’s new venture. Is there not a way, she implies, that we can strike a balance between the needs of host and visitor?


The next three verses of Blachard’s “Kuilima Hula” provide us with gentle instruction in the names that she would like us to remember and revive, names that had already faded from use in the ‘70s and that are virtually unknown today. The first of these is Niukolu (perhaps “Three Coconut Trees”); it is mentioned in an 1891 Kuokoa article as the land on which the residence of N.H. Bill, the manager of Kahuku Ranch, could be found,27 and it is mentioned again in a 1905 Ke Aloha Aina article as the land adjacent to the OR&L line at Kahuku Ranch Station.28 A pair of kanikau for Ane Kaeleele Kahai (“Aloha Niukolu i ka leo o ka haole”29) and Nakialele Kalaikini “Niukolu / Oia hale inea a kaua i noho ai”30) also serve to confirm our impression of Niukolu as that area on the Kuilima Plain, between the north and south cane fields, where the train stopped and where the luna and employees of Kahuku Ranch resided. Loebenstein’s 1890 map of Kahuku Plantation depicts the Kahuku Ranch buildings and walls as lying immediately to the west of Punaho‘olapa Marsh and slightly inland of the OR&L’s Kahuku Depot.31 These vestiges of Niukolu are now swallowed up in the central portion of the Turtle Bay Resort property, but in Tūtū Blanchard’s mind, Niukolu must have been the gateway through which “ka nui malihini” accessed the old Kuilima Plain and the point, beach, and bay that lay beyond.


Blanchard’s Niukolu may now be lost to us as a specific location, but the Laeokaunu and Kokoiki of her third and fourth verses are place-names that, with a little dusting off, can still be attached to more obvious and permanent topographic features. Laeokaunu (perhaps “point of love/love-making/fascination” or “point of the altar”) is the finger of land on which the Kuilima Hotel was built. It has since been renamed “Kuilima Point” and “Turtle Bay Point,”32 but in the memory of a kupa ‘āina whose connections to her land are unbroken over the course of at least two centuries, it is Laeokaunu. And that is authority enough for us.


So, too, with Kalokoiki (perhaps “the little pond/pool”). Blanchard identifies it as the swimming cove next to the hotel, bordered one side by Kalaeokaunu and on the other by Kalaeokamanu. John Clark offers much the same explanation, but he also describes a now-lost feature of Kalokoiki that reminds us of how impermanent the seemingly permanent landscape can be: “‘Ō‘io Stream formerly emptied into the cove but was rerouted to the east during the construction of the hotel in the 1970s. The stream probably helped to shape the cove and the channel to the open ocean.”33 Clark notes that the cove is also known as “Keyhole”; other re-namings include: “Kuilima Cove,” “Snorkel Cove,” and “Bayview Beach.”


We find the last of these names to be especially bothersome because it has become a media favorite and appears regularly in electronic publications that promote the resort, including the Turtle Bay’s own turtlebayresort.com/resort/. Nowhere in this media shower is Kalokoiki itself named. This raises a yellow flag, or worse; it warns us about the  credibility of a company that purports to have embarked on “a new era of honoring island culture…on O‘ahu’s fabled North Shore.”


Perhaps this warning is implicit in Blanchard’s “ke kai kūono e kaulana nei” – Kalokoiki and its Kuilima surroundings are becoming well-known; be careful of the changes that such popularity can bring. But Blanchard as a haku mele was considerably less prone to polemics than we are as analysts and interpreters of her mele. She holds, in “Kuilima Hula” to a sweet and unflappable course. She delivers her three place-name lessons with warm affection – be refreshed at Niukolu, be pleasantly thrilled at Kalaeokaunu, enjoy your swim at soon-to-famed Kalokoiki – and she concludes with a celebration of her beautiful Kuilima home: its name has been spoken and heard; may love now return to sooth and restore.


For years, we have half-listened to “Kuilima Hula” and half-thought about it as a kind of North Shore “Royal Hawaiian Hotel” – a nice song as far as hotel songs go, but hardly an expression of aloha ‘āina. Now we discover that it is, in fact, very much in keeping with our kūpa‘a sentiments.  The mele has opened, for us, a doorway into appreciating Kahuku Lewa and its many loyal voices. It delivers, with great and almost deceptive grace, a lesson in names and a refusal to surrender them. Although we are big fans of K. P. and Kahiona’s multiple layers of sarcasm-laced knowledge, we can also appreciate the less abrasive tools that Mrs. Blanchard has chosen. Our own “Hanohano Wailea” follows her example in hopes that children will take up the old names the land and, without bitterness, breathe into them new life. Mrs. Blanchard chose the “e ho‘i ke aloha” path; as a Tūtū of ours was fond of saying – sometimes the best way to deal with the opposition is to “kill ‘em with kindness.”



Kuilima Hula


He nani Kuilima ua ‘ike ‘ia          

Ku‘u home ho‘okipa (i) ka nui malihini  


Kipa ho‘onanea me ke aloha          

Pili mai Niukolu ‘olu‘olu ‘oe          


Walea i ka la‘i Laeokaunu          

Kaunu mālia nā malihini          


‘Au‘au i ke kai a‘o Kalokoiki           

Ke kai kūono (e) kaulana nei          


Ha‘ina ka inoa ua lohe ‘ia           

Aia i Kuilima ku‘u home nani      


Ha‘ina hou ‘ia mai ka puana          

Ho‘i ke aloha a i Kuilima.           



Kuilima is a beautiful place, this is known

My home that welcomes the many visitors


Visit and relax with affection

Be refreshed in the presence of Niukolu


At ease in the serenity of Laeokaunu

The visitors are quietly thrilled


Swim in the sea at Kalokoiki

The cove that is becoming famous


The name is told, it has been heard

There at Kuilima is my beautiful home


Sing again the summary

May love return to Kuilima.



Notes


1 John R. K. Clark, Hawai‘i Place Names: Shores, Beaches, and Surf Sites, University of Hawai‘i Press, 2002, 201.

2 Levi Chamberlain, “Trip Around Oahu in 1826,” in Sterling and Summers, Sites of O‘ahu, 149. J.A. Kahiona, “Ua Hooniia Nei Na Pauma Uwila Hoopii Wai o Kahuku Aina Lewa,” Kuokoa, April 28, 1922. Kahuku Plantation [a pen name], “E Kuiia Ana A Lawa Pono Na Wahi Pana Lei Kau A-i No Kahuku Lewa,” Kuokoa, Sept. 7, 1922.

3 For various accounts see Sterling and Summers, “Kahipa Ridge,” Sites of O‘ahu, 151-152.

4 S. Kuapuu, “He Wahi Moolelo,” Ka Hae Hawaii, March 20, 1861.

5 George Po‘oloa, “Na Pana Kaulana O Na Inoa O Ka Mokupuni O Oahu,” Ke Aloha Aina, February 28 to August 22, 1919. The hohoa is lost at Waiaka‘ole [also called Waiaka‘ohe], Kahuku, and later recovered at Kapukanāwaiokahuku in Waikele, ‘Ewa.

6 “Ka Moolelo Kaao o Hiiakaikapoliopele,” Kuokoa Home Rula, Aug. 13, 1909; our translation.

7 E. C. Handy, The Hawaiian Planter, 88; John A. Cummins, Mid-Pacific Magazine, September 1913 p. 241; and J.K. Apuakehau, Kuokoa, June 29, 1922 – all cited by Sterling and Summers, 148-9. Also J.A. Kahiona, “Ua Hooniia Nei Na Pauma Uwila …” Kuokoa, April 28, 1922: “O Kahuku aina mua ua uhiiia e ka ulu hala, he nui kanaka, nani ke nana aku” (“Kahuku was formerly covered in hala groves, well-populated by kanaka, and beautiful to see” – our translation.)

8 Kahuku Plantation, “E Kuiia Ana A Lawa Pono Na Wahi Pana Lei Kau A-i No Kahuku Lewa,” Kuokoa, Sept. 7, 1922; our translation.

9 Beaglehole, 1967. Cited in Lee Sichter LLC, Turtle Bay Resort: Draft Supplemental Environmental Impact Statement, November 2012, 1-12.

10 Cited by Sterling and Summers, 148-149.

11 Sichter, 2-3, 4.

12 Konaaihele, “He Kanikau,” Kuokoa, April 19, 1862. “My wife of the uplands of Pu‘u‘ala / From the desolate, abandoned plain of Kuilima / Beloved is that plain on which we walked.” Our translation.

13 J.K. Apuakehau, Kuokoa, Feb. 1, 1923. “Kahuku juts into the sea, Nāwaiūolewa is floating, the coral shrine of Punamanō stands inland at the swaying of Punaho‘olapa in the Ulua-hole of Kāne.” Our translation.

14 This is the Keana Sugar Mill; today the name of this land has changed to Kahuku; Kahuku [Sugar Mill] is now its name.” Our translation.

15 “We will see the fishpond, namely that of Kalou; it is now surrounded by sugarcane.” Our translation.

16 “We will see the pump-house; it is Punaho‘olapa [of old]…and just inland of this place are the telegraph wires of Marconi and the iron poles that carry those wires everywhere.” Our translation.

17 “Turn and take notice of those lands by the sea; you will see a plain whose names have been forgotten by the people of this time; these names are Kuilima, Punamanō, Kalehuawai, and Waiaka‘ole, but Kahuku is the name of the [entire] land.” Our translation.

18 Po‘oloa, Ke Aloha Aina, Feb. 28, 1919.

19 “Streaming in the wind is the kīheipili of Kaaeloa with the news of Kahuku’s 4,004 squared-off electric poles standing in line like unmoving sentries.” Our translation.

20 “The children born of this land who have been lost to distant places, except for those few who are still held by these Ko‘olauwahine winds.” Our translation.

21 Translation ours.v

22 “Since this is a land in which wonder and mystery reside, there will be published in the last week of this month the true story of Kahuku ‘Āina Lewa, and the cliff-dwelling woman of Kaleaokahipa Nāwaiūolewa, who sways in the Kūniho wind of these northwest lands.” Our translation. J.A. Kahiona, “Ua Hooniia Nei Na Pauma Uwila …” Kuokoa, April 28, 1922.

23 “This wireless communication facility was established by the Marconi Company in 1914, and its operation was taken over by Radio Corporation of America (RCA) by the 1930s.” Marconi Station was located just east of the current Turtle Bay Resort property at Punamanō Marsh. The Resort’s 2011 Supplemental Archaelogical Inventory Survey documents three concrete structures that are thought to have “supported the station’s extensive antenna array” – it was not, from all accounts, a small and light-footed facility. Sichter, 2-99.

24 Kahuku Plantation, “E Kuiia Ana A Lawa Pono Na Wahi Pana Lei Kau A-i No Kahuku Lewa” Kuokoa, September 7, 1922. We suspect that J. A. Kahiona is the haku mele; his Kuokoa letters and articles of the same period display the same knowledge of Kahuku, the same penchant for riddling and sarcasm, the same mock heroic tone, the same heaping-up of praise that isn’t really praise, and the same dexterous manipulation of language.

25 Edward B. Scott, The Saga of the Sandwich Islands, Haywood Publishing, 1968, 56.

26 Ben R. Finney, Surfing: A History of the Ancient Hawaiian Sport, Pomegranate, 1966, 35-36.

27 J. L. Pahukula, “Ahuwale na Iwi o Hua i ka La,” Kuokoa, August 1, 1891.

28 “Hala Ia Demokalaka Oiaio,” Ke Aloha Aina, Sept. 9, 1905.

29 S.W.K Wahineheleloa, Ko Hawaii Pae Aina, Sept. 14, 1878.

30 H. Kalaikini, “Make i Aloha Nui Ia,” Kuokoa, Feb. 15, 1879.

31 Sichter, 2-98 and figure 2-37.

32 It is also referred to in Sichter (2-98) as “Kaleokaunui,” but the provenance of this sound-alike is unclear.

33 Clark, 154.




© Kīhei de Silva 2014. All rights reserved.
This essay was first published in Hālau Mōhala ‘Ilimaʻs 2014 Merrie Monarch Fact Sheet. 

It is offered here in slightly revised form.