Ocean Safety Division lifeguard Kawehi Namuo checks out the water at Ala Moana beach.
On a recent day at the Army Recreation Center at Poka'i Bay in Wai'anae, Kawehi Namuo plucks a pair of gasping, struggling kids from the ocean and delivers them safely to shore.
It's the sort of moment Namuo lives for.
"I love to save lives, and I love the ocean," she says. "This is what I want to do for as long as possible."
As a part-time, on-call lifeguard for both the federal government and the City and County of Honolulu, Namuo, 24, says she sometimes does her chosen work seven days a week. For the federal government, she's ready on Saturdays, Sundays and Tuesdays. For the city and county, she's available for work on Mondays, Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays.
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| Namuo makes sure emergency equipment at the lifeguard stand she works at the beach is in good order and uses binoculars to help scan for trouble. |
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"But for the city and county, as first responder, we go more into the medical conditions and more detailed analysis," she says.
Namuo is one of a handful of women who are part of Honolulu's 12 dozen lifeguards. She has been drawn to the water for most of her life. At age 9 she taught herself to swim by plunging into the deep end of her auntie's swimming pool in 'Aiea.
By 1998 she was teaching others to swim at Mililani Recreation Center. After she became a certified lifeguard, she worked at Hawaiian Waters Adventure Park.
Her career goal is to work full time for the city’s Ocean Safety Division. Usually she’s stationed at one of the world's busiest fun spots — Waikiki Beach.
"I’m very busy," she says. "Usually I'm scheduled in Waikiki on Mondays and Wednesdays. But on days I don't work there, I'm allowed to call other locations on O'ahu to see if they need me there."
Waikiki poses special challenges because there are so many more people than at other beaches, she says. She keeps a special eye on old folks and kids, who are more at risk.
A panic-stricken tourist comes over to tell her he’s lost his 6-year-old son. The father is anxious because the child is autistic and doesn't know how to swim. That bothers Namuo as well. She questions the father and learns that the boy is wearing gray swimming trunks and carrying a red-and-orange inner tube.
Namuo tells the man to go back to where he had been and to wait in case the boy should return. She then scans the beach from her tower. Within moments she spots a young boy wandering along the water's edge wearing gray trunks and toting a brightly colored inner tube.
"He was OK," she says with a smile after father and son are reunited. "He wasn't scared. He wasn't even thinking he was lost."
Another potential tragedy averted. It's all in a day’s work for Namuo.