Kamaile by Joni Keamoai

Malanai & Hilina'i

Nou Nou

The sun beat down on the trail, golden rays glinting off the leaves, as the men worked with a steady rhythm. They cleared shrubbery and removed fallen branches, sweat dripping down their brows. All moved in silence—except two.

"Man, I'm hungry," Manaleo groaned, staring at the sky as if the clouds might deliver him a feast.

"You're always hungry," Kililau chuckled, shaking his head. "Besides, it's you who got us into this mess."

"I had to clear this trail anyway," Manaleo replied. "It's just that my dad would be impressed that I went ahead and did it—without him bugging me about it." He shrugged.

"Lucky him," Kililau smirked, feeling his own plans for the day dissolve in one swift moment.

"We're almost pau," Mana suggested, his stomach growling again. Motivation came easy with hunger tugging at him. "If we keep working, we can finish faster and head back to Wainiha, maybe even to Kamaile."

"Yeah, I won't hold my breath," Kili sighed, moving on with his chores.

"E Ho'omaha kākou!" Lono announced suddenly, conjuring a gentle swirl of wind that delivered ripe mangoes to their hands. Manaleo grinned, biting into his fruit with delight, juice dribbling down his chin. Kili took a smaller bite, knowing the break would stretch the day.

"Anakala, I'm going to keep clearing the shrubs if you don't mind," he said. "I still have chores at home."

"Ahh oia? Hiki no," Lono nodded, sensing the boy's restlessness but promising protection nonetheless.

Within the hour, the trail gleamed under their labor. The men departed, bidding farewell to Manaleo, who drifted home. Kililau waved, following Lono and the other men toward Wainiha.

⸻

Wainiha

Daylight waned, yet Kililau matched his uncle's pace, each step a reminder of his father's strict expectations. Upon arriving at the chief's hale, the men said their goodbyes, leaving him behind.

"Mahalo, Anakala," Kili said, sharing a Hā with Lono.

"Ae, Mahalo Lono," the chief replied, greeting his cousin.

Ha'ikū nodded, content to see his son returned from hard work. "Let's head to the pond for a dip," he suggested.

"Kalamai Pa... ua luhi au," Kililau admitted. Exhaustion weighed heavy.

"Ae, hiki no," Ha'ikū agreed, letting him rest, while he sought out his wife and daughter to coax them for a pond-side dip.

⸻

Alohi

I wandered along the village road, my heart pounding with excitement and fear. If Tutu Hali'i discovered I was gone, trouble would follow, yet the forest had felt so confining, and I craved the open air.

Laughter drifted across the road. Three boys, around ten, leapt from rocks into a pond, water splashing like tinkling bells. I watched, enchanted by their joy, before continuing along a path to the ocean. Sand kissed my bare feet. The salty air, heavy with the scent of brine and sunlight, carried memories of Nualolo Kai.

Oh, how I miss it, I thought, watching the horizon. Moonlit nights spent with my parents, songs sung under the stars, birthday celebrations by the shore—all returned to me in a pang of longing.

The cool water embraced me as I waded in, salt stinging my tongue and hair sticking to my cheeks. Li'a, Nai'a, Honu—I sighed, thinking of friends far away.