Island Excursion
Sharing the spirit, the saimin, the night

By Catherine E. Toth
Advertiser Staff Writer

Part cultural tradition, part community event, bon dances in Hawaiëi bring people together. Some dance, like Naomi Kitayama of Wahiawa at Honpa Hongwanji last weekend. Others watch and eat. Eugene Tanner • The Honolulu Advertiser So you wanna dance? Check out a bon dance this weekend Kane'ohe Higashi Hongwanji, 7-10 tonight, 45-520 Kea'ahala Road. 247-2661 Mo'ili'ili Hongwanji Mission, 7:30-10:30 tonight and Saturday, 2535 S. King St. 949-1659 Waialua Hongwanji Mission, 7:30 p.m. Saturday, 67-313 Kealohanui St.; service at 7:30 p.m. today and 6:30 p.m. Saturday. 622-4320 Kohala Hongwanji Mission Bon Dance, 8 p.m. Saturday, on temple grounds in Hala'ula on the Big Island; obon service at 7 p.m. (808) 775-7232

He seemed unaware of his surroundings. He didn't seem to notice the sea of multicolored happi coats and aloha shirts. He didn't seem affected by the luring smells of barbequed meat and andagi. Even the rhythmic beating of taiko drums couldn't break his concentration as he sat there, alone.

Garrett adjusted his yellow Cub Scouts T-shirt as he denounced any interest in dancing. "I'm just going to eat," the fourth-grader said without looking up.

Everyone had different reasons for being there on a sticky Saturday night. Some came to honor the tradition of remembering the dead. Some came to eat. Some came to celebrate their culture, to learn, to experience something new. Others, like Garrett, came because they had to.

The o-bon festival is an equal-opportunity cultural event, no longer restricted to the Japanese community. The faces were as colorful as the yukata, and the night was a celebration of the beauty of diversity. That was evident as a group of middle-aged Japanese women dressed in traditional yukata ate rainbow-flavored shave ice.

Bon dances bring together families, communities, people. Sit and watch. A little pony-tailed girl in her own pink-and-white kimono bounced up and down to the drum beats. A toddler in a matching purple outfit dragged her mom up the stairs to the temple. Two school-aged boys ran around the parking lot with their walkie-talkies. "Air Force One, Air Force One, over."

"It's not strictly religious anymore," said 20-year-old Stacy Onishi, a student at the University of Hawai'i-Manoa, perfectly dressed in a blue yukata with pink and white flowers. "Anyone can do it. It gets the community involved."

"What do yooou want?" asked one of the boys behind the counter in the food tent, pointing directly at his customers. He rattled off the items on the menu — barbeque plate, saimin, fried noodles, soda for a buck — and demanded an order, right now. "So, what?"

Another boy, savoring the last slurps of shave ice, stood on the side. "I'm working," he said with a smirk. "And eating and relaxing. But I'll take your money."

There's something about eating BBQ sticks and instant saimin at a bon dance. Like eating a hot dog at a baseball game or cotton candy at the state fair. The combination of fresh air, taiko drums and smoke from the grills make the $5 dinner a perfect one.

Bon dances in Hawai'i have become distinctly local. "It's more fun — and it's more crowded," commented a 24-year-old student visiting from Japan, watching the throng of people twirling towels and clapping their hands around the yagura.

Hundreds of people moved through the temple grounds that night, many of them spectators such as the Japanese student, sitting on benches or stairs armed with snacks, cell phones or cameras.

But many others got their dancing sekiya on, moving in unison around the tower-like stage platform — together but each distinct in dress, in mannerism, in movement. The regulars came in traditional garb, with matching yukata and obi. Their movements were careful and fluid. Newcomers, easy to spot in street clothes and sheepish grins, laughed at their mistakes but persevered.

You don't have to have a degree in ethnic dance, or even have rhythm, to dance here. Step, step, sweep your hands, clap. Then repeat. Anyone can do it.

Even 9-year-old Charles Yamasato, a fourth-grader at Wai'alae Elementary School. "Yeah, I like bon dances," he said, tugging on his Pokemon T-shirt and swatting away flying termites. "I like to do that thing with the towel."

A few feet away from Charles and his Cub Scout friends sat a small group of twentysomethings, wearing royal blue happi coats over jeans. They sat on the stairs, not noticing the tantrum-throwing toddler or the middle-aged man wearing a happi coat with sushi on it or the persistent termites that crawled up their shoulders and on their backs. They were busy talking, laughing, sharing. The world seemed to fade in the lights of the hanging lanterns. They weren't here because of tradition, because of religion, because of heritage. They wanted to feel a part of something. They wanted something to do on a Saturday night. They wanted to be together, to connect in a place that let them be themselves.

They were not alone.