Kanoa has been an ʻāina warrior at Hoʻoulu ʻĀina for 10 years.

“To me, the ʻāina is your kūpuna,” he pauses as he gathers his thoughts. “So get your hands dirty, practice listening to her and the wind and the way the sun feels on your face. Learn as many names as you can and the stories that go with those names. Let her feed you. And then learn how to feed her.”

Kanoa O’Connor

The familiar sound of work boots trudging up worn stairs and landing on the paint-chipped lanai marks his arrival before Kanoa exclaims, “Huuuuiiii!” Kanoa enters his family’s hale after putting in a solid workday at Hoʻoulu ʻĀina. His sturdy frame slides through the screen door as he sets down his ʻukana and heads for the shower.
As we sit at the kitchen island, Kanoa squeezes a brew bag partially filled with ʻawa as dark, thick liquid flows from it. He shifts his weight on the wooden stool as he continues to twist and press the linen bag through large rough hands, sharing his thoughts. “For me an ʻāina warrior is someone protecting the land, protecting our water, protecting our oceans from development and misuse,” he says ladling the amber liquid into an ʻapu (coconut shell) and handing it to me. “Someone who has a really deep profound relationship with the land.”