ABOVE: Breeze Ann Kalehuaonalani Vidinha Pavao dances at an ancient heiau on Kauai as part of her preparation for the Miss Aloha Hula competition at last year's Merrie Monarch Festival.
She rises to follow the sun. These last rituals mark the end of an eight-month journey to compete for the title of Miss Aloha Hula at the world's most prestigious hula competition, the Merrie Monarch Festival. Breeze Ann Kalehuaonalani Vidinha Pavao arrives just before dawn at a sacred heiau (temple) dedicated to hula on the north shore of Kauai. With her is her mother, kumu hula (hula teacher) Leinaala Pavao Jardin, and seventeen of her hula sisters, who will compete in the group categories at Merrie Monarch this year, too. Barefaced and rubber-slippered, the women follow a rocky trail above Kee Beach to the kuahu (altar) of Laka, the hula goddess. The heiau's highest platform, cut into the cliff, is all that remains of a renowned ancient hula seminary, where thousands of haumana (pupils) have danced.
The wahine of Halau ka Lei Mokihana o Leinaala walk in silence, listening to the rhythm of the waves, the wind fanning the coconut palm fronds, the crunch of leaves on the forest floor. They brush lauae ferns as they pass, releasing a sweet fragrance. At the entrance to the heiau, Kumu Jardin chants an oli asking permission to enter a wahi pana (sacred place) that remains kapu (forbidden) to those who do not dance.
Pavao hand-printed the pau (skirt) she wears for her hula kahiko (traditional hula) performance with a design representing woven grass mats, a traditional art of the people of Niihau.
The wahine of Halau ka Lei Mokihana o Leinaala hike through the forest on Kauai to make offerings at the altar of the hula goddess Laka.
Breeze has come to offer her kahiko (ancient hula) to Laka before performing it at the 2023 Merrie Monarch Festival—her ninth trip to Hilo for the festival but her first time competing as a soloist. At 23, Breeze already knows what it means to give yourself to hula; she has been dancing since she was three. "I don't think I've seen a day without hula," says Breeze, who might one day become the kumu of this halau (troupe). A dancer doesn't ask or volunteer to compete for Miss Aloha Hula; she is chosen by her kumu when and if she is deemed ready. "When it was Breeze's turn it was going to be really special because we were going to dig very deep into her lineage from Niihau," says her mother, referring to the island west of Kauai, where olelo Hawaii (the Hawaiian language) is still spoken and visitors are rarely permitted. Kumu Jardin had her own turn on the Miss Aloha Hula stage as a contestant thirty years earlier as part of Halau Hula o Kahikilaulani under the direction of the late Rae Fonseca. "The minutes you are on stage sharing your hula are huge, but the journey to get there is so much more."
What the audience sees is two seven-minute presentations by a beautiful, smiling dancer adorned with colorful lei. They'll delight in the grace of her steps, the sway of her hips, the power of her oli. What they don't see is the year of preparation, the visits to sacred places, the historical deep dives, sitting with kupuna (elders) to hear unwritten stories and practicing traditions mostly forgotten today. Breeze must submit a forty-five-page document detailing each aspect of her performance—from the mele (song) choice and the oli she wrote herself to the costuming and lei—to the judges. "We don't just put on lole [clothes] and go dance a hula," says Kumu Jardin. "We spent time on Niihau. Everything we share is with the blessings of the people of Niihau. Head to toe, everything is purposeful."
Halau (hula troupe) members embrace after the ceremony.
At Salt Pond Beach on the south shore of Kauai, the halau gathers for a hiuwai (water purification ceremony), their final ritual before leaving Kauai for Merrie Monarch.
The hiuwai renews the dancer's mind and spirit. It is a time for contemplation and honoring one's kupuna (ancestors), those who have come before them. They leave the water reborn, never looking back.
There are hand-carved ohe kapala (bamboo stamps); it took Breeze four days to imprint her pau (hula skirt) with a design representing moena pawehe makaloa (makaloa fiber mats), once an honored tradition of the people of Niihau, who wove large, intricately patterned mats of dried makaloa grass. These moena were treasured, considered as precious as Niihau shell lei, but today the art is no longer practiced. Breeze studied old weaving techniques, scoured Kauai for makaloa and spent two months plaiting the belt for her costume under the guidance of an experienced lauhala weaver on Kauai. Then there were the hours upon hours of intensive hula practice, seven days a week, until her feet ached. Last came the season of kapu (prohibition)—more than a month of restrictions, with no alcohol, no sex and a limited diet, meant to purify the mind, body and soul so that Breeze would step on the stage prepared to embody the spirit of hula. Without these sacrifices, without building her connection to the land and her lineage, the dancer cannot tell her story completely. This is what excellence in hula demands. "Our goal when we go to Merrie Monarch is to take everyone back to the place we are dancing about," says Kumu Jardin. "Kapu provides the clarity for that."
Back on the North Shore of Kauai, Breeze recites the oli she composed, detailing the journey to trace her family roots. "O au Kalehua, he pua lei o Kaunuakala Pua a Kaaneikawahaale a, Kui ia e na makani o Niihau." ("I am Kalehua, the flower and child of Kaunuakala at Lehua Island. Child of Kaaneikawahaale. Strung together into a lei by the winds of Niihau.")
Lilia Merrin, Kailana Kanahele and Meiya Ramos fix their hula sister's lei poo (head lei) before their presentation at Kalopa.
Kumu (teacher) Leinaala Pavao Jardin offers an oli (chant) to the forest and to her own kumu hula, the late Rae Fonseca, before entering the wahi pana (sacred area) at Kalopa.
This day of rituals starts mauka (in the mountains) and ends makai (at the sea) as the sun sets. The wahine of Halau ka Lei Mokihana o Leinaala gather together at Salt Pond Beach Park for a hiuwai (water purification ceremony) in the clear, calm waters inside the reef. The dancers first chant their oli to the four directions, singing into the wind while beachgoers watch. Breeze's toes dig into the brick-colored sand, tinged with red clay. This area is a wetland known for the only natural salt beds on Kauai, a kapu area where generations of Hawaiian families farm salt using ancient techniques. When the oli is finished, the group walks hand in hand into the ocean. "I spent a lot of time here as a kid," recalls Breeze. "I feel like I'm more connected to this place now through hula. This is our safe space. We submerge ourselves in the ocean, leaving behind everything we don't want to take with us to Merrie Monarch." When the group exits the water, they don't look back.
Gray Hilo skies silhouette the dancers of Halau ka Lei Mokihana o Leinaala during practice a few days before the start of competition.
Pavao practices her hula kahiko one last time with the halau in the cramped dressing room at Merrie Monarch.
The final stop before Merrie Monarch is Kalopa State Recreation Area on Hawaii Island, where Kumu Jardin would go with her kumu hula, Rae Fonseca, and her hula sisters and brothers to gather foliage for hula events. Fonseca's ashes were spread here, dropped from a helicopter, but fell straight down into an individual tree that the halau now calls the "kumu tree." Breeze gives one final presentation of her hula for Kumu Rae. When she finishes, she falls to her knees and cries. "I was so uncertain of what was to come when I started this journey, but there, in that moment, I felt like I made it ... and I felt like Kumu Rae was there guiding me the whole time," says Breeze.
After their final auana (modern hula) performance at Merrie Monarch, dancers return to their dressing room quiet and composed. Once the doors close, though, they erupt in celebration. Here, Kanahele and Ramos embrace a fellow hula sister.
Pavao gets centered before her turn on the Miss Aloha Hula stage. Her rare, twenty-strand lei pupu kahelelani (Niihau shell lei) was a gift from her uncle, Charlie Baker, who flew to Hilo to place the priceless heirloom on Pavao himself.
At Merrie Monarch the dancers are back on Kauai in spirit. “I tell them to take everything in when we are at the heiau because those sounds are what I want them to hear at Merrie Monarch,” says Kumu Jardin. "You don't see a crowd, you don't hear a crowd, you don't feel a crowd. Instead, you see a mist, you feel a breeze, you smell lauae." Breeze stepped off the stage that night and wondered, "Did I do OK? Did I make you proud?" Because she knew her performance came with a kuleana, a responsibility to share the story of her family and of Niihau so that the history of its people won't be lost.
The window for a dancer to compete for Miss Aloha Hula is brief: age 18 to 25 (group competition age restrictions are 13 to 55). After all her preparations, Breeze went on to place second last year (you can watch her performance on YouTube). "This is my life. And this is my daughter's life," says Kumu Jardin. "So while this chapter of Miss Aloha Hula comes to a close, her journey of hula will continue until she leaves this realm. This is just a glimpse into her life of hula."
