For most of the past year, Maui resident Kahokule’a Haiku and his dog were living out of hotels and the back of his truck.
“You feel broken down, you feel worn out, and you know, FEMA is not helping,” he said.
Rent was unaffordable even before the fire, Haiku said, and he had been living with friends in Lahaina. He worked as a Hawaiian studies elementary teacher, and previously, as a cultural ambassador at the Montage resort. With his kids already grown, he feels he was in a government assistance category that was overlooked after the fire.
“So you got some of these different categories of human beings where we just slipping through the cracks, honestly.”
He's frustrated with FEMA's applications process.
“Lahaina survivors feel like it's false hope. They dangle a carrot, and you're just one document short. You just don't qualify for this. You know, rejection after rejection.”
Like many, he experienced a dichotomy.
“The Lahaina survivors are caught between two things,” he explained. “You get the weddings and champagne glasses toasting, people laughing, music blasting, people dancing; [and then] kupuna crying with her dog on the curbside, don't know where she is gonna go.”
He said it's critical to prioritize Maui residents.
“We need to make sure we take care of the local people,” he stressed. “Because if the caretakers keep leaving, and then the takers come in, then all they're doing is taking, taking, taking. Then what's going to happen to the caretakers? They're going to give up.”
He's concerned for the island's future.
“There comes a time where we all look at each other, the few of us that are still holding that line strong, and we wonder, what Maui are we trying to save? And then who are we saving it for?”
On Aug. 8, 2023, he survived in a parking garage in Lahaina for 14 hours.
“Thankfully, I had five gallons of water because I had a surf class early that morning, got canceled, so I had five gallons of drinking water in my truck. Thankfully, I had a snorkel mask. After an hour and a half in the fire, I couldn't even pry my eyes open.”
He also managed to save others from the blaze.
Now, after spending months living at a beach park, Haiku became one of the first tenants of Hale ʻO Lāʻie, formerly the Haggai Institute, in Kihei. The state purchased it and converted about 175 rooms into housing for wildfire survivors.
Haiku said he’s grateful for the little things.
“The privacy to, you know, do the simple things like cut your nails and shave. It's kind of hard if you're doing it on one beach park and get tourists walking by, looking at you like you're a crazy person.... Not having to use a porta potty, you know, having a regular toilet — just amazing, just all those simple things.”
He acknowledged it’s not ideal living circumstances, however, especially for families, as Hale ʻO Lāʻie doesn't have kitchens. He likened it to a hotel room.
He’s still worried about others.
“A lot of people who are displaced from the hotels, you know, don't have too many options at all. They’re lucky even if they have a car to sleep in.”
From sleeping in a truck himself, Haiku said he’s still taking things one day at a time.
“I'm kind of in such a shock that I don't want to get too excited, just so used to rejection at this point that you just, you don't want to be too hopeful, just gonna take it day by day still.”
