The final resting place of Aunty Muriel “Puni” Ioane's ancestors lies at the Makua Protestant Cemetery, just makai of Mākua Valley on Oʻahu’s leeward coast.
A large yellow gate blocks the road to the cemetery, where a warning sign reads: “Danger. This area is a munitions response site. Munitions may be present.” Beyond the yellow gate is a bridge that collapsed during the Kona low storms earlier this year, making the cemetery inaccessible by car.
Ioane is a direct lineal descendant of Mākua. She grew up on Mākua Ranch, in ʻŌhikilolo, the neighboring valley. Two generations of her family are buried at the cemetery, and for more than two decades, she has been unable to visit the gravesites.
Whether the barrier stems from military restrictions due to the adjacent Mākua Military Reserve, decisions from the private caretaker of the cemetery, or a combination of both has been unclear for Ioane.
HPR reached out to the U.S. Army multiple times for comment, and no one has responded.
While visiting cemeteries is a tradition in many cultures to honor loved ones, place lei, or reminisce, Ioane cannot access the graves of her own ancestors whose ties to Mākua span generations.
In moʻolelo, Mākua, meaning parent, is the site where Papa (the earthmother) and Wākea (the skyfather) meet. Papa and Wākea are said to be the parents of the Hawaiian Islands, making Mākua a place of deep cultural and spiritual significance for Kānaka.
Before the military’s presence in Mākua was established, it was once a village, home to many Hawaiian and immigrant families. Following the attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941, residents were forced by the U.S. military to leave the valley. Although community members were evicted, some who had lived in the valley for generations are buried at the cemetery.
Ioane was born in 1950. Her father, William (Willie) Pali Enos, was born and raised in Mākua, where he grew up with his father, mother and seven siblings.
She remembers stories her dad used to share of him riding a donkey or taking an old truck to get to Waiʻanae Elementary School in the late 1920s.
“On days when the kids wanted to play hooky from school, they would do something to the truck, so no one would have to go,” Ioane laughed.
A memoir titled “The Ushijima Family of Makua Waianae, Hawaii” by Tetsuro Ushijima, recounts a story about families in Mākua working together to buy a second-hand truck for the kids after the Oahu Railway and Land Company revised its train schedule.
Ioane recalled her dad sharing memories of taking the train to Kawaihāpai to visit his grandma and packing food in burlap bags to share with everyone. Back then, there was no electricity, running water, or telephone, she added.
Her father would eventually meet her mother, Miriam Akama Enos, who first noticed him while riding the train through Waiʻanae.
“She said that she never thought she'd meet him,” Ioane recalled. “But back then, all the cowboys used to have a night out and go into a rest camp for dancing. My mom said that's where she saw him again.”
The two married in 1949 and raised their family in Mākua.
Life in Mākua
Growing up on Mākua Ranch in the 1950s, Ioane learned to fish, hunt, ride horses and raise her own pigs.
“My dad taught us how to go up in the forest,” Ioane said. “He was a hunter, and my mom's thing was the ocean. She was brought up from Kauaʻi.”
Her mother made her own throw nets to catch fish, taught Ioane and her siblings how to catch and clean eel, and kept a vegetable garden that helped feed their family.
Ioane's dad was the ranch foreman at McCandless Ranch in Mākua and embodied a true paniolo. He slaughtered cattle and pigs, hunted goats, and even made his own saddles, ropes, and chaps.
The Enos family essentially lived a subsistence lifestyle, growing and gathering what they needed to feed themselves, their family, and even sharing with other families in the village.
When some Hawaiʻi residents began living at Mākua Beach, Ioane said that her parents would always take care of them.
“We don't call them homeless; they were just living on the beach,” she explained. “But they didn’t have food or any place to go, so my dad and mom used to bring them home to the ranch because we had small houses around they could live in.”
They would get their water from wells in Mākua, but still did not have any electricity. Ioane said that they had lanterns and kerosene stoves.
During summers, Ioane and her two sisters would work for 32 cents a week helping with the charcoal holes their dad built.
“Our job was to help with the big rack,” Ioane said. “We'd bring off the charcoal in wheelbarrows and then put them on a rack, crack them, and then put them in a bag that weighed 32 pounds each.”
Ioane and her sisters looked forward to saving their money together so that they could visit a store in Māʻili to buy one can of sardines, one loaf of bread, and one big bottle of strawberry soda.
Military in Mākua
The military first began using parcels of land for training in the 1920s. The U.S. Army seized control of Mākua Valley in 1941, and a year later, the military evicted everyone living in the valley for training U.S. troops.
The Army promised those families that their lands would be returned six months later, but that promise was never fulfilled. In 1964, the Army signed a 65-year lease with the state of Hawaiʻi on Mākua Valley that is set to expire in 2029. It costs the Army $1 for the entire term.
Ioane said her father would speak about how Mākua was taken away and never returned. While some families left for different valleys, others had nowhere to go but into the bushes, she recalled him sharing.
Ioane grew up after the evictions, and she recalled the military's presence in Mākua.
She explained the military had no relationship with the local families. Even as military exercises, live-fire training, and bombing took place in the valley, there was no communication or concern for the damage being inflicted on the land.
Ioane and her family remained on Mākua Ranch; though after her father died in 1966, they stayed four more years and later moved to their relatives' property in Waiʻanae.
Returning home
Friends have tried to help Ioane make arrangements to visit the cemetery, but confusion over who controls access has made the process difficult.
HPR reached out to the Hawaiʻi Department of Land and Natural Resources. "According to state park staff, there is another entrance on the north side of Mākua, but access through this entrance has also been compromised by the storm (damaged culvert),” DLNR Communications Specialist Ryan Aguilar said in an email. “Currently, the only way to gain access is to walk along the beach.”
The Division of State Parks is handling repairs for the damaged bridges, though a start date has yet to be determined. Aguilar said designs and plans are required first.
For kūpuna like Ioane, who is 75, accessing the cemetery on foot via Mākua Beach is not ideal. The route would require going down a steep, rocky drop-off, walking up from the beach, and locating an unmarked path.
HPR attempted to access the cemetery from the beach. The cemetery was located, but remains locked, so HPR did not go inside.
A chain-link fence surrounds the cemetery, with the entrance secured by a dial combination lock. At least 25 burial plots are enclosed. Although access was restricted, the cemetery appeared well maintained. The grass appeared to have been recently cut, and plants growing beside several graves indicate that it is being well cared for.
The caretaker likely keeps the cemetery locked to protect the graves from disturbances and vandalism. However, this also keeps lineal descendants of those buried there, including Ioane, from accessing it.
HPR also observed that the areas outside the beach and cemetery need maintenance. Tall, dry grasses have become overgrown, trees are propped up with cables and braces, and utility poles and wire hang low. It is unknown whether the military, DLNR, or another department is responsible for maintaining it.
The DLNR did not comment on restoration efforts, though they connected the cemetery’s private caretaker with Ioane. She is now one step closer to returning and plans to make arrangements to visit the cemetery.
“The caretaker of the cemetery called me,” Ioane told HPR. “He said anytime I want to visit the cemetery, to give him a call.”
The cemetery's presence still standing today serves as a reminder of the families who once called the valley home. For descendants like Ioane, it is a connection to generations of her family, history, and place.
Ultimately, returning to Mākua and the cemetery means returning to her parents.
“When I see Mākua, I see my dad,” Ioane said.
Aunty Puni will be at Lā Hoʻi Hoʻi Ea Waiʻanae on Aug. 1 to share her family’s story. For event information, click here.
