Working the Lo'i

A few weeks ago I volunteered for a few hours at a Native Hawaiian "Lo'i" or taro-patch on a farm that was dedicated to resurrecting the practice of ancient Hawaiian agriculture. It was amazing to see so many different faces that day. There were visiting students from California bringing their mixed latin-caucasian features to the more commonly seen asian and local fusion, as well as many people of Hawaiian descent-- entire families, in fact. I just kind of showed up, signed my name and the time on a make-shift email list and trotted down a hill, crossed a small river by balancing across a wooden plank, and then attempted to walk along the built walls of other Lo'i without sinking into the mud. I saw 50 or so others at the far end of the farm, digging, chest-deep through the mud, trying to remove "California Grass" and loosen up the mud. I set my camera and water bottle down in the grass and dove in. Well, not literally, but I didn't waste any time, as the mud was clearly beckoning me in. I found the person who had invited me and we spent a good hour uprooting bricks of grass and muck and passing them down the line to the person who dumped them onto the "walls" of the Lo'i.

Everyone was brown, sweating and smiling. In a way it was beautiful because you couldn't actually tell the color of anyone's skin, so personalities were revealed and judgements dropped. As much as we think we've evolved into an open-minded and non segregational society, we are still plagued by racism. We may have moved out of the century of slavery and black/white water fountains, but people are still discriminatory. As a "white person"--albeit one with a tan-- I do often feel the sting of being labeled as "Haole." It's sometimes difficult to interact with people here, because they aren't as open as many of us wish.

 Having traveled and moved around so much I've experienced racism in many shapes and sizes and directed at a wide variety of people. In Germany, to some I looked like a Turk, and therefore often looked down upon. In Paris I was told that I looked Iraqi. Some people think I'm part Asian. Here I am often recognized as white (this depends highly on how often I make it to the beach.) I've also experienced the racism that other exude toward so-called-minorities. In Sweden I felt the nastiness as the dolled-up, heel-clad and powdered fashionistas look down their petite noses at the colored/ dark haired people on the subway (god only knows what they though of us dirty farmers as we rode into town!) In Germany I frequently heard the older generations' fears of foreigners, especially coming from Africa or the East. I overhead old ladies on the bus complaining about how many people on the bus were wearing head-covers (little did they know that those exchange students from Yemen spoke perfect German and understood every word of their racist comments.) The list goes on...

In any case, it was refreshing to find myself in a pool of mud with a broad spectrum of people--some of whom probably carried a certain amount of racism or pre-judgement--and to know that discriminations were futile because nobody could tell the color of another person's skin. Everyone became "sista" or "Aunty," even I did. I had never before been called "sista"--not in earnest. We all had one main goal, and that was to haul muddy chunks of grass and roots out of the patch to make room for planting Taro. I still wonder though, how the Hawaiians feel about "Haole" people engaging in Native Hawaiian restoration. Does it feel like a strange imposition to them, that the "Haoles" shouldn't be meddling in their affairs in the first place? I suppose those who carry the true Aloha would welcome anyone to help. I would hope so.

I wish I had more time to do this kind of work in Hawaii. I really should set more time aside. It's been difficult with my job and so many family obligations. About four days ago at the cafe, we received a vegetable delivery from the farmers that take our compost. I was washing dishes when all of a sudden I noticed a sandy-haired head protruding from behind an enormous bushel of radish greens, that was so big it filled the entire doorway, "Delivery!" I couldn't contain myself and announced how gorgeous I thought those radishes were. We exchanged a handshake and I inquired about volunteering/wwoofing at their organic farm in the back of Palolo Valley. That evening I received a "welcome to our farm" email, saying that I'm a perfect fit for them and that they'd love to have me work. I was--am--overjoyed. Finally I've found an organic farm that's not too far away from where I live and work, where the people carry a beautiful spirit, not to mention grow amazing vegetables. I'm excited to see where this goes...