Eric Strout sits in the predawn stillness, adjusting the tension on the coconut drum he finished the night before. By his side are his wife and a dozen new friends. They’d spent the last week under the direction of kumu hula Kapono‘ai Molitau–sanding coconut shells, cutting lacings, soaking rawhide in the ocean to stretch the skin tight, and chanting ancient Hawaiian words over and over until they could recite them flawlessly.

As he waited for a signal to begin, he thought of the first time he and his wife had come to Hawai‘i. That was back in 1994, and he was none too happy about it.

“My fiancé really wanted to get married on the Big Island, so I reluctantly agreed. But all I could think about was Hawai‘i 5-0, sunburned tourists and tiki bars. I figured it was all tourist trap hell, and I wanted no part of it.”

But a side trip to Pu‘u Koholoa Heiau changed his attitude. “It knocked me off my feet. The culture that created it was so exotic–very old, very deep, and connected to the earth. I had to learn more.”

That brought him to the Aloha Music Camp. “There I met Aunty Nona Beamer, a legendary Hawaiian educator. She told me the Hawaiian word for teacher is kumu–the source. Hawaiian learning is very different from how we do it on the mainland. We are taught to question everything, to challenge our teachers. In Hawai‘i, they say: “E nana, e ho‘olohe–Sit quietly and listen. There is really no better way to learn about another culture. What I learned by listening was worlds away from anything I thought I knew about Hawaii."

The kumu raises his arm; Eric’s voice joins the others welcoming the sun. Just as Kapono‘ai has done every morning since he learned the chant from his kumu; who learned it from his kumu before him–spiraling back through the generations to the depths of time.

Nervously, Richard Wasserman moves towards the traditionally dressed man with the large wooden staff. Behind him waits Aki and Rick Creelman along with the rest of the group; some carry small bundles of food wrapped in leaves. Like Richard, they spent the week learning about Hawaiian culture at a secluded eco-resort far from the usual tourist haunts. Now they have been invited to a place few get to visit.

They listen as the man intones a welcome, and the nervousness subsides. He answers in kind–a Hawaiian greeting as old as the Halawa Valley they are about to enter. Anakala Pilipo Solatorio smiles and the Akl places her bundles reverently on a pile of stones. Thus begins their hike into the oldest settlement on the island. Above, a helicopter drones, ferrying tourists for another quick overflight.

Uncle Pilipo grew up in this valley. He knows its secrets–forgotten heiau (temples), house sites, lohi (taro fields.) Rock walls snake in every direction across the uneven ground, but he steps with a speed and agility belying his years. He tells the group, “Because you have taken the time to learn about my culture, I am going to show you things even the archeologists don’t know about.” He leads them to a clearing and begins a story…

Although Aki had studied at the University of Hawai‘i, the experience was nothing like being with Anakala here in this place. “No matter how many books you read, nothing beats learning history from someone who has lived it! This is where Anakala’s ancestors lived, where he learned that every rock has a tale, where he once heard his native Hawaiian spoken daily.”

The story finished, Anakala leads the group to the pool at the base of two large waterfalls. He drops a stalk of ti into the churning water–if the stalk floats, the resident mo‘o is sleeping so it is safe to swim. High above, another helicopter circles. Richard glances up, “I wonder what they can possibly see from way up there?” he says to the wind.

Aunty Nona Beamer positively beams as she strums her ‘ukulele, singing the words to the song she first crafted so many years ago:

“Kahuli aku, kahuli mai
Kahuli lei ‘ula, lei ‘akolea”

Behind her, young children manipulate puppets they built using coconuts and seashells. They dance a hula ki‘i  (a doll hula) about the Hawaiian land snails and their friends the kolea birds. Their parents watch with wonder and joy.

“Kolea, kolea, ki‘i I ka wai
Wai ‘akolea, wai ‘akolea.”

Aunty Nona joins in the applause. “Maika‘i no,” she says. “Maika’i no. Very good, very good! And to think when I was young no one was interested in our culture. We couldn’t even give it away! Now look at all of you. You honor us by being here.”

When she was the age of the children in front of her, her Hawaiian culture was banned from the schools. She tells a how she was scolded for attempting to dance a hula at Kamehameha School for Native Hawaiian Children. Years later she returned to start the Hawaiian studies program there. “If culture isn’t shared, it dries up,” she says.

As she speaks, Anakala Pilipo guides Annie Dempsey’s hands in the domestic art of pounding poi, the Hawaiian staple made from the tubers of the taro plant. It is harder than it looks, and she struggles a little to find the rhythm. “OK, now you know what my ancestors did every single day!” laughs Uncle. “This is the best poi, it comes from Halawa Valley.”

He’s right, it is delicious; nothing like the bland paste served at tourist luaus. There is enough to share with everyone here.

Why fly 2,500 miles across the wide Pacific Ocean to experience a different culture?

Eric Strout: “I’m not sure I can express how much it has changed my life. I’ve been in a field at three AM under a full moon with a kahuna and pulsing red energetics up to the stars. I’ve studied language, music, lomi (massage), history and traveled to many of the most sacred places in the islands. Planted niu (coconut) to help Kalapana return after Pele took it. And, every chance I get, I return to the heiau just to check in, and listen.”

For Aki and Rick Creelman, it’s about living more fully back on the Mainland. “Aki is studying hula and I’m playing ukulele with the local group every Friday. I never did that before!” say Rick. “It is something we can do together and we have met many wonderful new friends. You can say it has enriched our life.”

Richard Wasserman found a new way of thinking, which has helped him become a better listener, crucial to his work as an attorney in Oregon. “You try not to be judgmental; to think of the value of what others have to say, instead of how to respond and refute it. These days, I spend a lot more time asking people questions rather than trying to give people answers.”

For Annie Dempsey, it’s a reaffirmation of how closely we are all connected. “Hawaiian values are universal truths. It is good to be reminded of the simple things, to greet each person with aloha.”

The benefits travel back, too.

“I’ve worked my whole life for this,” says Aunty Nona. “Our chants go back hundreds of years, and contain our lineages, our medicine, and our navigation skills.” But she sees it slipping away, “Maybe if the visitors to Hawaii value our culture, more of our children will, too.”

Aunty Nona and Anakala Pilipo embody aloha–the essence of Hawai‘i. Take the time to listen and you will discover wellsprings of wisdom. That’s why they say “Nana I Ke Kumu – Look to the Source.” You will never see the Islands–or yourself–the same way again.