OHANA

“…and in this existence I’ll stay persistent and I’ll make a difference…”

(”Aloha Ke Akua” by Nahko and Medicine for the People)

This past week an incident happened that had a far greater impact on our small community in Hawaïi than one might first have imagined. In order to avoid passing on misinformation, I will simply say that a shark attacked two swimmers who, thankfully, survived the incident without permanent physical damage. Mentally and emotionally it may be a different story. Understandably. No one else was hurt, but the incident left a close-knit community reeling, rumors flying, and messages of concern pouring in from far-flung friends and family, as news (and misinformation, my own included) circulated via the internet.

While it is not uncommon for sharks to ply the waters on the west coast of the Big Island, instances of actual shark attacks on humans are rare. And of course as ocean-lovers, we have to weigh the risks and rewards of sharing space with those myriad creatures whose home is the ocean.

The reality is, we humans take our chances when entering an apex predator’s domain. (Not to mention a large body of water whose power has wrecked ships many times larger than our humble swimmers). As one observer commented: “Would you go into the jungle on safari without a Jeep, a guide, and a weapon for protection?” When you put it that way, probably not. But by that same token, I wouldn’t dare ride my bike on the highway, either, with tons of metal hurtling past me while I cling to the belief that they can see my flashing red light. And me. As they roar down the highway. Texting. Talking. Or half-asleep from the monotony. Maybe even inebriated.

Let’s face it, as Forrest Gump would say: “shit happens”.

Am I willing to give up the activities I love, with the people I love, for the relative safety of a “sheltered” life? A life lived in progressively greater physical, mental and emotional isolation as my fears dictate the extent of my range?

What compels me to venture out of my comfort zone in the first place? My Ohana. A group that meets my need for belonging; a community with whom I have important things in common. Wherever I happen to be, “ohana” is the foundation of my relationships. Though my ohana is currently in Hawaïi, I strive to create this sense of extended family, of deep connectedness, wherever I happen to be. While here on the Big Island, I thrive on the camaraderie (and competition, to be honest) between myself and my fellow cyclists, paddlers or swimmers. And I share a sense of responsibility as fellow stewards of “mauka and makai”, land and ocean.

A Hawaiian dictionary articulates the meaning of “ohana” as follows:

“Everyone related by blood is part of an ohana, not just the strict nuclear family, and so are close family friends. However, the concept of ohana can go beyond blood relatives to describe family that’s not formally related, but who are nevertheless bound by circumstances or inclination. Churches, schools, places of work, and recreational activities can all be the basis for developing ohana, referred to as one’s work ohana, school ohana, and so forth.

 “In addition to describing relationship networks, ohana carries a certain responsibility. When you’re part of an ohana, you have an obligation to take care of those in your circles, and they have an obligation to take care of you. In the context of a family, this can mean respecting your elders or caring for children within the family. In a work ohana, colleagues share obligations. More generally, a member of any type of ohana is expected to behave honorably and avoid bringing shame to the group.”

In this part of Hawaïi, ohana is embedded in the culture and embodied by its people. A few days after the incident, the community of swimmers, paddlers, canoeists, and those working to instruct and protect us, gathered at the beach with a distinct purpose. To honor and show support for our fellow swimmers who were injured and/or traumatized by their shark encounter. And we gathered for each other, as members of a community that is tacitly bound by the ideals of ohana. We generated, through this “strength-in-numbers”, the power to conquer our collective fear of returning to the water. We were encouraged by each other’s presence, and inspired by our injured swimmers’ examples, to wrestle down individual memories of past traumas that fed our fear in the present moment. Residual emotions and future forebodings that can cripple our minds and circumscribe our lives. We each in our own way took a step in the right direction. Out of our protective shells, our individual comfort zones. Pushing away an instinctive need for security, for guarantees. Past whatever was holding us back. And always, with our ohana dispelling the illusion that we are isolated and alone with our struggles and hopes. That’s what I mean by community.

P.S. If you are reading this blog, whether you know it or not, you are an important part of my ohana. Geography no object.

Aloha ke akua. (You can look it up.)