Aloha, Hala STORY BY ANU YAGI
ART BY JUSTIN “SCRAPPERS” MORRISON
I
AM NOT A HALA EXPERT. I neither cultivate the tree nor weave its lovely leaf. However, hala is entwined broadly with my identity as a Hawaiian, my love of country, and our aesthetic.
SACRED IMPRINT The Hawaiian ‘awa ceremony is uncomfortable. You must sit still on the floor for what feels like forever, everybody politely shifting and squirming to stave off pins and needles. You must speak only when it is your turn — and you have only one turn — and what you say is written on the winds of eternity. While the ‘awa drink is the focus of the ceremony, there are other plant helpers — delineating the boundaries of the ceremony are woven lauhala mats, made from the dried yet supple leaves of the hala tree. These mats are unrolled, used, coiled, and kept with great care — because when done right, they can outlive many owners. With the earthy numb of ‘awa still rich on your tongue, when all is done, you must step carefully back and away from the perimeter of the mats. You then stretch and feel the sum of your years in your bones. When you look at where the bare of your legs bent to meet the earth, you might find your flesh imprinted with the checkered weave of the mats. Red and white ridges that make it look as if your skin itself is woven of lauhala. When I think of hala, I think of this imprint. I think of being branded by it in ceremony, or from lounging on mats in everyday home space. I think of the bracelets made by my mom, my mother-in-law, my aunties, my friends: adornments that, when pushed high on my arm when I’m hard at work, also imbue
that imprint. Using hala fills me with a sense of place and belonging. Some Pacific Islanders even tattoo this pattern as a symbol of family and connectedness. Touching lauhala — or being impressed by it — I feel what my ancestors felt, and I feel what my descendants will feel. It’s a tangible reminder to marvel at every sensation that keeps those crosstime connections.
FORM & FUNCTION Hala trees are shaped like a bunch of big bursts fixed in time. Flora fireworks from all ends, bluff aerial roots splay with rare bend and pierce the earth like a heap of spears. Large foliage clusters spiral out from branch bases into great green flares. Each blade-shaped leaf is about six feet long, armored on each edge and midrib with formidable spines. The hala tree has magic powers. Most parts make fine craft material. Some parts are edible, some aphrodisiac. It can heal our bodies and fully furnish our lives (and deaths). And when wielding its wonders upon the right winds, it can even propel us from our pasts and into our futures.
COMING TO ‘ESOTERICA More than two millennia ago, our ancestors were the astronauts
of the ocean. They voyaged the vast Pacific using a map of stars. They sailed with keen purpose — as evidenced by their having packed potted plants and breeding animals — and became the first Hawaiians in the islands we still call home. Their epic ships were hewn double-hulled canoes, crowned with giant crab claw-shaped sails. They wove these sails from the lau (leaves) of the hala tree, called lauhala, and hooked the sky into their tomorrows, our todays.
BIRDS AND BEES AND FLOWERS AND TREES Male hala flowers look like creamy lily bouquets arranged à la dragon scales. Inside they hide thick pollen that is a powerful aphrodisiac on the aromatic order of love potion. The female hala fruit is globose, sunset-colored, and ridged in a way that tourists often mistake for pineapple. The fruit orb is made up of fibrous segments that break off into wedge-shaped seeds that are buoyant (think distribution) and about the size of your big toe. When left to dry, the wide nub is a woody base for a tapered tip of perfect paintbrush bristles. The growing ends of the aerial roots are sometimes referred to as ule (same word for male genitals), are rich in vitamin B, and used medicinally both internally and externally.
@ANUHEAYAGI // @SCRAPPERS
MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH Weaving is a craft that’s typically passed on generation to generation. And lauhala makes much more than massive canoe sails. Experts slice slender strips with which they create delicate jewelry and other adornments, like pāpale (hats), ties, and belts. Then there are ornate floor mats, baskets, and boxes in addition to infinite variations to make myriad toys and tools like pillows, lamps, kites and coasters. These artisan works are pricey, precious and — if cared for correctly — can last for generations. There is even an old burial practice of rendering the flesh from a loved one’s body, carefully wrapping their sacred bones in kapa cloth (that’s a whole other plant story), and placing them in lauhala baskets. In fact hala, in the Hawaiian language, can be a verb intransitive that means, “to pass, elapse, as time; to pass by; to miss; to pass away, die.”
WOVE TOGETHER From root to fruit, hala is striking in shape and endless in use. When we respect its qualities, we can live, love, die, and ride upon ancient winds into our futures. And by it, may we ever be reminded of what wild wonder grows in our world.
