Another Day with the Foreigners

A story told by the Kōlea bird.

By Māhie Wilhelm

I woke up this morning to the sound of the pū. There they are again, standing in a line facing the sun as it climbs from the horizon. The first rays that penetrate the cloud barrier paint vibrant colors onto the bleached sandy shores and low lying shrubs of my home. Lalo. An atoll that sits below the sea surface accompanied by its brothers and sisters of Papahānaumokuākea. I watch them greet our faithful Lā, the same as they have done for the past seven days. These foreign creatures never fail to spark my curiosity. Their arrival onto my ʻāina was startling and unfamiliar. The voice of Lalo, howling makani and roaring Naki, has been masked by their wood and metal cutting machines ever since they approached our shores from the moana. These foreign creatures are always on the move. From sunrise to sunset they fill mountainous white bags with materials that don’t belong here. At first, I was unsure what to make of their work, scared their intentions were hewa and they would bring more destruction to my already broken and hurting home. But now I know their work here is pono. They have removed hazardous entrapments and re-homed many of my cousins who nest on human pollution. These foreigners I have come to know as friends, joining them every evening where they seem to have made their own nests. I hustle beneath their steps waiting to see if fresh water might spill from their meals, sustaining me through another thirsty day.

I follow a small group of them to the sea wall to observe their work, hoping a snack will surface from the debris they pick up. Hesitantly I shadow their every move, snatching spiders as they move heavy objects. From the most recent storms Lalo has endured, this seawall has been washed over by sand. Five of my honu friends were lost to this seawall. Maybe the foreigners will fix this wall to prevent my honu friends from getting trapped again. I can only hope.

My stomach is full. I look up to see them starting at me. What are they saying? What do they think of me? They seem tired, their skin darkened by the sun. These foreigners have put in another day of back breaking labor. With a sense of satisfaction after gazing upon what they have accomplished, they begin to leave the sea wall. It seems they are anticipating the sun sinking to the horizon. I follow them to where they will once again stand in a line, finishing off their day by saying goodbye to our faithful Lā.