Today we drove to the south side of Oahu, and I got to experience something new - the tension between the locals and the haoles. As we rounded the island's curves, I saw how the water became more rough and the land more dramatic with its craggy, volcanic hills and harsh landscape. And in keeping with this, our first stop along the shore at Sandy Beach yielded a harsher terrain in terms of how we were received. The beach was filled with local people, mostly male, and you could see their dark brown skin and black hair bobbing up and down with the waves, striking in contrast to the blue water. In the parking lot, they slapped each other's backs, and spoke in pidgin English. You knew that they were aware of the hierarchy of everyone present. Each one had some sort of tribal tattoo, and bodies that had become weathered with years of living on and in the ocean.
My brother understands this dynamic very well, having lived here before. We were cautious and quiet and kept to ourselves, observing the scene. He told me how you need to be respectful and keep out of their way, as a confrontation with a local would result in the whole beach turning on you.
It's understandable. This is their homeland, not ours. Looking at the amazing beaches, you can see why they would guard it so fiercely. It must feel offensive to have a bunch of amateurs show up with their expensive equipment that they don't know how to use, who have no respect for the water or the people whose ancestors spent generations on it, come in and act like they are entitled to the place.
I feel even more lucky to be able to experience this beautiful place, and humbled to be in the midst of the proud people who once held claim to all of it.
