Week One- Oahu

Monday, January 18th, 2010

I flew into Honolulu yesterday after a short but eventful week in Los Angeles. My time there was pent escorting my four Swedes around the city, and shoving in as much visiting time as possible. By now I have explained my trip plans 100 times, and am reluctant to do so anymore. It seems as I may jinx it. The first thing I felt when I stepped off the plane was that this isn't Hawaii. Oahu feels more like Los Angeles or any other generic big city than a tropical island paradise. The landscape isn't dictated by rolling mountains and lush greenery, but by highways and skyscrapers. Today, after meting up with a few of the girls who were also in my hostel, we went to the University to meet up with everybody for the first time in about a month. And so begins our Hawaiian adventure with a few hours spent relaxing on the beach, followed by a warm night sleeping with the windows open and no blanket.

Tuesday, January 19th, 2010

Today our program here officially began. I woke up to a newly risen sun at about 7:30 this morning. After spending some time reading, showering and eating, I still had about 2 hours until our 11:30 meeting time. Those two hours were spent staring out over the balcony of the 12th floor absorbing all the sights and sounds of our campus, the University of Hawaii at Manoa. A college in Hawaii nestled a green valley, at the foot of the mountains formed by millennia of the Earth's heart and soul coming to the surface, Staring out over Waikiki beach, which I am sure was at one time a beautiful view, my field of vision was blocked by a dozen huge monstrosities of accommodation. When the time came, we all met on the grass outside our building for Ulla, our UH teacher and director of Ethnic Studies. I came from LA to go to Sweden, to travel to Hawaii, to be taught by a Danish ex-pat. I suppose those sorts of things don't affect me much anymore. We took a 10-15 minute walk through campus to get to the Ethnic Studies building, in which our classroom is located. The classroom is more like a closet/library than a classroom. The walls and desks are adorned with books and three tables are crammed in the center facing the whiteboard. Our own little cave of knowledge. Ulla introduced herself and told us how she started teaching here, and we followed suit with our names, where we came from, where we are doing our fieldwork, and why we are taking the class. Us, consists of 13 Folkhögskola students, plus Mats, 5 students from Lund University, and a Swede from N.Y, who is taking the course online. Ulla then started talking about what our time here will consist of, and it couldn't sound better. Volunteering at a local homeless shelter and school, several hours of lectures a week, a myriad of extra activities we can do, and a good portion of free time, to undoubtedly spend on the beach. Later in the day I took a hike up part of the mountain with Linda and her roommate Pauline, and my roommate Reza. Apparently I am not suited for hiking, because before we even started climbing I got a nosebleed, which I wasn't able to live down easily. The trail wasn't too bad, but the heat and humidity increases the difficulty exponentially. AS we headed back down, the sun was setting, and we were able to see the coast from Diamond Head all the way down Waikiki. When Reza and I got back we made dinner in a borrowed pan with borrowed forks and borrowed glasses. We are still waiting to receive kitchen supplies. Luckily, the people in our corridor are really nice and welcoming, that’s not what we are hearing from the 6th floor.

Wednesday, January 20th, 2010

Today was a really nice day, a combination of relaxation and contemplation. The first part of the day was spent at the beach, as many more days to follow shall surely be spent. Lying on the beach reading a book is more relaxing than most things I can imagine. People watching is also a very entertaining thing to do at the beach, we asked each other questions like: should someone that big be really wearing a Speedo, or for that matter should anyone really be wearing a Speedo? Are her breasts real? Does he know what sunscreen is? Why is he wearing a shirt on the beach? Oh, wait, that's his body hair. Later, at about 2:45, the whole class met to take a trip down to H-5, a Hawaiian homeless shelter, and a place we can possibly do our service learning. Of course, Mats got a little distracted talking about something, so we got lost and a little late. We were welcomed with open arms and a big smile by Kapua, the director, and the man who created it a big Tongan man named Tito. We listened to the story of how this place came to be, a larger than life story of serendipity, protest, and jail time. Native Hawaiians make up the largest percentage of those who live on the streets, but homelessness isn't the right word, houselessness is much better. Tradition is that during the hot months your whole family moves down and live on the beach, and with ridiculously high land prices and good weather year round, many Native Hawaiians have taken up squatting on the beach. (Many have jobs, even cars, and their children go to school, they just don't have a house.) Next, we got a tour of the place, an old abandoned warehouse converted into a shelter that is now home to 200 people. The only thing separating us from the lives of these people is a thin cloth hanging over each of their respective plots. (A maybe 6 ft x 6 ft, three-walled box.) We stayed for a few hours and helped served dinner. On the way home is was quite windy, and it started to drizzle, and all the Swedes were complaining it was cold. It was approximately 75º outside. People change quickly; maybe it comes with the tan that had already started creeping up.

Thursday, January 21st, 2010

I was awoken several times during the night, by wind crashing against my window, but aside from those several hours of wind, the weather has been absolutely wonderful. Warm, light breeze, tropical paradise. After having some oatmeal from a borrowed pan with loaned sugar, eaten out of a glass with a fork, I spent the morning reading. Luckily for me, there is a small bookshelf downstairs with books you can borrow, because I am already on my 3rd book. That’s three books in 5 days, and if this weren’t a school trip it would probably be more like 5. I think I have a problem. Isn't that the first step? Admitting you addiction. Of course, reading and alcoholism are not on the same level on the scale. At 12:45 we all met up to go to the Palolo Learning Center and Palolo Elementary School. Two more places we could choose to do our service learning hours. It was a 15-minute walk to the bus, with another 10 minutes waiting. When the bus did come, Mats and I got on first, with our pre-paid passes, and found delight in watching the precession of Swedes coming onto the bus, paying in coins, much to the dismay of the bus driver. The bus took us into a valley more known for drugs and robberies that for the lush green hillsides surrounding it. The people we would be working with here are the poorest and, statistically, least educated on the whole island. As we were walking past the project housing with dying lawns and trash strewn stoops, I couldn't help but feel like we were being taken on the tour of a zoo. A team of anthropologists studying their subjects in the wild. The learning center was part of a community revamping and outreach program to improve the lives of the residents, especially the children. We were escorted up to the second floor of the building to a state of the art community center. A large space with over a dozen ceiling fans, a fully stocked computer lab, a new kitchen, music room, and play area. After our fill of notably unhealthy, and typically American snacks, we watched a short film talking about the fight the community put up for change. Then we walked up the steep hill to the Elementary School. Originally, I wanted to volunteer someplace where I could "talk story" with native people and hear the stories of their lives, but after seeing how much help these kids need it seemed my time would be put to better use tutoring here. When it was time to go home, we walked on the other side of the street we came in on, assuming we would find a bus stop going the opposite way, but after 30 minutes we were already back at the bus stop we took to get there, so we just walked all the way back to the university. Later that night we all met at the "Fat Greek" restaurant for a celebratory welcome dinner. After my fill of lamb souvlaki and good conversation, Linda, Pauline and I, took a little drive with Nick, a Hawaiian friend of Mats. He seemed to know everything about everything that had to do with Hawaii, and had many interesting and exciting stories about his island experiences. He drove us up to a look out point, where we saw the shining lights of Honolulu illuminating the sky. Like with LA, for all the ugliness the place has during the day, there is a beauty about it at night when its lights dance under the stars.

Friday, January 22nd, 2010

What happened today was a good signal for me that I just need to roll with the punches and not try to be so controlling with my life. My irritations with some people were beginning to get the best of me. While I was trying to stay organized and get as much ready as possible for Borneo, the arrangements I made kept falling through. A meeting here, a group look at tickets, a planning session, trip to Indonesian consulate, nothing came through. I tried not to get angry and annoyed, so instead Reza and I were going to take the bus to Foodland and go shopping. After maybe 45 minutes in the store we paid. Now, I was overcome with even more stress. My share of the groceries was $60, so on top of stressing out about Borneo I was now worrying about money. I started running numbers through my head calculating how much less I thought Hawaii would cost. I was in a daze and I am sure I had negative energy pulsing off my body. We got on the number 6 bus to get home, but after about 20 minutes, we began to wonder why the bus was going the wrong way. My immediate thought was this was just one more thing to pile onto my already overloaded stress meter. But as if by divine intervention, I began to see this extra time as a sign from the universe for me to slow down, take a breath, stop worrying and just be. So two hours later, one almost ruined pack of chicken, and a whole lot of energy later we were back. When I got into the room, I collapsed on my bed and just began laughing. Money, the future, almost spoiled chicken, it all disappeared from my mind as I sunk into my bed and dove into my book. I hope this Zen will last.

Saturday, January 23rd, 2010

Today was an early start, but it was well worth it. Mats planned for us to volunteer at a Hawaiian nursery focused on the re-introduction and preservation of native flora. Waiting for the bus, I couldn't help but think this early morning temperature was the same a Swedish summer. Warm, but not hot with a steady breeze. The bus ride over I was enchanted by the change from Honolulu skyline to lush green mountainsides. A thick fog hung over the ocean as if to say we had a lot of work ahead of us before the sun would be allowed to shine on us. We hopped of the bus at a gas station in the middle of the sub-burbs, not a likely place to find a farm, but we cold see the roads winding towards the base of the mountains where our adventure was surely nestled. After the bus we were waiting for Ulla's husband Rick to come pick us up in his truck. I knew it was him even before Mats said anything. A big Hawaiian man with a big white beard, sunglasses and a ponytail, not unlike my old memories of Uncle Neil, with a white Chevy pick-up truck. There were too many of us to go at one so we went in two groups. Two people got in and four or five piled on the bed. We, Molly F, Molly S, Madde, and me, were sitting in the bed of the truck with the wind rushing through our hair, winding our way towards the hills. Some things are just joyous occasions. We were smiling and laughing like little kids, closing our eyes as the Hawaiian wind rushed over our heads. Nature was placing her own lei around our necks. The beginning of the day was marked b the blowing of a conch, one in each of the cardinals, like the beginning of a traditional Hawaiian ceremony. Our hosts were a rag tag team of both Hawaiian and non-Hawaiian guys in their 30's, all looked like they just woke up after surfing on the beach. They spoke with real Hawaiian slang that did not give them the air of botanists and biologists. They explained to us the purpose of their organization, reclaiming Hawaii from the invaders, and starting traditional Hawaiian farming again. Our day would be spent removing felled Hau, or "iron" trees, and starting a new lo'i, or taro patch. WE suited up in boots, sunscreen, and bug repellent and were off. We created two long lines across the stream and up the hill, so we could pass along the wood. A human conveyor belt. At that point when we started I already felt like I had accomplished more for nature than I did in Copenhagen during COP 15. Standing with my feet in the stream in the shadow of a tree covered hill I physically changed the environment for the better. The time went by like a flash of lighting. A group of people working together, moving as one. I could have gladly spent the whole day standing there working and talking to the other volunteers. To hear from a Hawaiian why the environment is important and what tradition is lost when it is degraded, filled my heart with hope that one day the world would think like that. Alas, I did not stay there the whole day. After a short break I went on to do what I had been waiting for since I took my first step onto Oahu, Work in the taro field. Standing next to the muddy pit, covered with a sparse cover of grasses, I had a hard time imagining that in a few hours it would look like the deep richly colored squares of fresh earth and water surrounding me. Getting my feet, hands and body in the mud felt like I was being sucked down and grounded into Polynesia itself. My hands were patting down mud that had once been the rocks, dirt and plants the ancient Hawaiians themselves touched. The earth was my link to history. It engulfed my mind, heart, soul and hands in its muddy grasp. I couldn't understand why anyone would find this to be a chore. Putting your energy in and returning it to the universe in the form of new life. The ground was filled with pockets of water bubbling directly out of the holes we dug. The Earth's tears of thanks, my sweat and her tears, becomes our lifeblood. Afterwards we were treated to a nice picnic with stew and homemade brownies. A lovely reward but an unneeded one. The best reward came when we followed the stream into the hills to a waterfall and swimming hole. Cooling off in the crystalline waters, listening to the birds sing, watching the sun shine, and eventually watching the fog roll in. needless to say, I slept well.

Sunday, January 24th, 2010

Today, we took the bus to the other side of the island to visit Cilla, the woman whose house we would take over in Miloli'i, and help her clean up her yard for her granddaughter's 1st birthday party. We stepped off the bus seemingly in the middle of nowhere, an area filled with small bungalow houses and fair few "uglifiers." We approached a pale yellow house with a rusting car sitting in the yard and an older Hawaiian woman smoking on the porch with a toddler on her lap. As we got closer she waved us over, and that is how we met Cilla Spencer. She gave Mats a big hug and invited us in. After our tour around the tiny little broken down bungalow, she took no time putting us to work. With a few shovels, a wheelbarrow, and 3 cracked buckets, we cleared a pile of sand that was as tall as me, spreading it around the house and yard to smooth out the lawn. As the midday sun shone down on us, our final project was waiting. This old, rusty, deteriorating car had to be moved, and we were the ones to do it. With someone holding the steering wheel through the open door, we all gathered round and pushed with all our might. We channeled our Viking ancestors and lifted the car out of the ground, pushed it forward about 10 feet, and then picked it up and turned it around. By the end we were all sweaty and covered in commercial grade oil and lube that dyed our clothes and hands black. With out final task done, Cilla released us from our servitude and sent us to her “private” beach. Only locals go there, but all we had to do if we ran into trouble is give them her name and everything would be cleared up. As we walked down the slightly grown over trail, in-between to deteriorating houses, our path opened up giving us a view of a long stretch of white sand, turquoise waters, and a small green island in the distance. Being both sweaty and hot, we all ran towards the water stripping off our stained clothes as we went and dove into the salty escape of the cool water. We spent the next 2 hours frolicking in the water like little kids, splashing around in the waves and soaking up the sun. When we got back to Cilla’s the BBQ was just starting but she said, “Why don’t you guys go to the store and buy your guys selves some beer.” We hopped into her niece’s car, and in American fashion drove the 3 blocks over to the liquor store. By now, I am used to having someone else buy me beer, and having to make sure the cashier doesn’t see me place my order, but at this place it was clear money proceeds age. No one had to show his or her I.D. We headed back beer in hand and spent the afternoon baking on a picnic blanket, eating great food, and enjoying ourselves. By about 4, Mats said he was heading back but we were free to stay behind, about 8 of us stayed. We took the rest of our beer and headed back down to the beach. As we rolled around in the waves intoxicated by the sun and our drinks, the time seemed to fly by. On the bus ride home we all fell asleep, and I came home and collapsed in bed at 8:30. My otherwise well observed rule of not going to bed before 9 was broken, but I think for good reason.