Faith Nālani Kanakaʻole
March 19, 1946 – Jan. 3, 2026
mina.mina
- nvt. To grieve for something that is lost; regret, sorrow.
- To prize greatly, value greatly, especially of something in danger of being lost; to value, place great value on; value, worth.
Beloved Kumu Hula Nālani Kanakaʻole was born into an extraordinary hula lineage and ʻohana. The youngest of Luka and Edith Kanakaʻole’s six children, she was raised in Keaukaha on Moku o Keawe. She was brought up in the old way, immersed in nā mea Hawaiʻi and, like others in her prominent ‘ohana, she worked her entire life to preserve and perpetuate ‘ike Hawaiʻi.
At the tender age of 3, Nālani began rigorous hula training, initially under her grandmother, Mary Kekuewa Ahiena Kanaele Fujii, and later under her mother. By the age of 14 she was teaching.
Her mother founded Hālau o Kekuhi in 1953. Nālani always knew she would be a teacher and she eventually took on the kuleana as a kumu of Hālau o Kekuhi along with her sister, Pualani Kanakaʻole Kanahele, and later, with her niece Huihui Kanahele-Mossman.
Over the decades, Hālau o Kekuhi has staunchly protected traditional, pre-contact forms of hula, garnering international acclaim and helping to elevate respect and appreciation for ʻai haʻa (a vigorous, ancient style of hula performed close to the ground).
For a time in the 1970s, Nālani studied art history at UH Hilo. But it was through hālau that she met and later married artist Sig Zane. Their son, Kūhaʻoimaikalani, was born in 1983, and in 1985, the pair founded the eponymous Sig Zane Designs, known for its elegant clothing and inspired designs. Nālani later resumed her studies and graduated from UH Hilo with a bachelor’s degree in art in 2001.
In 1993, Nālani and her sister, Pualani, were named National Heritage Fellows by the National Endowment for the Arts and last November, the sisters were honored with lifetime achievement awards by the Hawaiʻi Academy of Recording Arts. Nālani also served for decades as a Merrie Monarch judge.
All of this serves as a prelude and backdrop to my own personal, unique remembrances of Nālani Kanakaʻole.
I first encountered Nālani when she was her motherʻs kākoʻo in my ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi class at Hilo College 52 years ago. More than half a century past.
Her mother, Aunty Edith, was a gem who welcomed any and all into her warm embrace. No matter age, ethnicity, or social standing. Her father, Uncle Luka, was also patient as he shared the how-to construction instructions to fashion ʻulīʻulī and pūʻili. We were all expected, it was assumed, that we would practice what they preached.
And then there was Nālani. Much more circumspect and to many, intimidating. She was her own woman. Thought-filled, grounded in that inimitable ʻai haʻa way, she didn’t cut much slack for anyone.
When asked a question in conversation, there was that inevitable pause. Sometimes short, often unnervingly long. One might think to one’s self, “OMG, does she hate me? Does she think I’m stupid?”
But no. She was thinking and forming an appropriate response. Mayhaps calculating one’s level of knowledge or degree of competence before saying anything.
We became close and sometimes went holoholo to Kīlauea or Pāpaʻi. Lots of lively talk story in the moonlight with our group of friends. And then one night I worked up the courage: “I can come hula?” Pause. “Yeah.”
I was a skinny Portuguese boy with thick glasses and a muʻumuʻu (paralyzed) arm. But I went, and sweated, and got scolded. Same like everybody else. For a season I immersed myself, worked hard, played hard. After a few years I moved on from hula. But she remained, always one of my kumu. Always accessible.
Much later in life, a good friend told me, “Get hula with Nālani! Come! Going be ‘Hula-Lite’ for us mākua and kūpuna types.” Again I worked up the courage, this time for ʻauana. “Can?” Smile. Nod. Still the commitment, carpooling to hula and learning new words every week.
Of course it wasn’t “lite” but we were hooked. “Secret” practices so we wouldn’t disappoint her. Older brains and bodies, but always with obedience to Kumu Nālani. We figured it out, using medical appliances for our wasted knees and ankles.
We were inspired to do our best because of our collective awe of, and aloha for, Kumu Nālani. Her voice, her intellect, her rigor, her absolutely incomparable choreography. She was unequaled.
We’d chuckle at the kāholo to the right, kāholo to the left styles, understanding, as she shared with us, that hula motions are based on life: swimming, digging, planting, paddling, surfing. “Move fluidly like that. Get outside and do it so you know how. But you folks know already. The young kids need help. Too many computers.”
The best, the very best thing, was just being in hālau and listening to Kumu Nālani inimitably strum and sing our old favorites. Her old favorites.
Ever-curious, always exploring and selflessly sharing. Making art, writing, composing, always busy, always inspiring, and always demanding excellence.
Those who lived times with Nālani truly lived them with enthusiasm, and that continued even when beers on the beach segued to white peach bellinis at restaurants, and outfits fashioned from Indian tapestry morphed into designer wear accented with pearls and jade. How exquisite are all our memories. Almost like a dream.
On the minds of many, each with their own very personal relationship with Kumu Nālani, we collectively grieve as, again, another fount of kūpuna knowledge is lost. Auē. . .
Kumu Hula Nālani Kanakaʻole is survived by her husband Sigmund Zane; son Kūhaʻoimaikalani Zane (Shaelene Kamakaʻala); grandchildren Loliʻi Kamakaʻala Barron and Naholowaʻa Zane; sister Pualani Kanakaʻole Kanahele; the extended Kanakaʻole, Kanahele, and Zane ʻohana; and the many haumāna and cultural practitioners who have learned from her. Her hoʻolewa and celebration of life was held on February 21 at Edith Kanakaʻole Stadium in Hilo.
