“Nancy” Iwasaki Saiki: Building Community at Camp 5 Sugar Plantation

By Krislen Mariko Kanase

Many Americans know about the Japanese American experience during World War II: the valor of the 442nd Regimental Combat Team, racial discrimination and the forced removal from their West Coast homes to remote incarceration camps.

But before World War II, many immigrants from Japan and their families lived in a different kind of camp – those built up around Hawaii’s sugar plantations. Nancy Iwasaki Saiki grew up in one, known as Camp 5’s Sugar Plantation on Maui. There, she discovered that the key to surviving and thriving in life was her tight-knit community.

This is her story. It is told through her written memoir and my own recollections of the tales she would tell me – her granddaughter -- over the years until she passed in 2018. I would spend weekends intently listening to her childhood memories as she recounted them with animated facial expressions, voice inflections and body movements. I would beg her to tell and retell the stories, and we would laugh uncontrollably until we cried.

The story begins with Saiki’s parents, my grandparents, who were among the thousands who immigrated to Hawaii from Japan in the early 1900s. Saiki, formerly known as Masae Iwasaki, was born on May 17, 1929 in Maui. She was the eighth born out of nine siblings. Her parents immigrated from Yamaguchi Prefecture to work at the Hawaiian Commercial & Sugar Company (HC&S) in Pu’unene, Maui.

By the late 1800s, the U.S. territory of Hawaii hosted 27 sugar plantations. HC&S was the largest sugar mill in the world. The company employed about 3,500 immigrant workers from Japan, China, Korea, the Philippines and Portugal, providing them rent-free housing in 17 camps, along with water, electricity and complimentary medical care. The U.S. sugar companies promised these immigrant dreamers higher pay, decent living conditions and a new life.

That pitch lured thousands of Japanese workers to Hawaii with the expectation that they would return to Japan with sizable savings within two years. In reality, most immigrants could not save enough to make the trip back to Japan so Hawaii became their permanent residence.

Saiki often shared memories of her childhood upbringing sipping on hot sencha (green tea) and savoring her favorite snack, ohagi (sweet red bean rice cake). She would sit on her wooden chair carved with intricate anthurium designs in her screened-in patio with plantation-green colored wooden beams. The afternoon sunset would illuminate her face, which was framed by the short black bob she wore throughout her life and often animated with a radiant smile.

In her memoir, Saiki introduced her community this way:

“Pu’unene, a plantation community located adjacent to Kahului, Maui. A mile of majestic monkey pod trees lined both sides of Pu’unene Avenue and bid you welcome to my nostalgic hometown. Today, Pu’unene is only a shadow of its former glory, but the memories remain of hard work and loved ones. Memories blurred by the passing of time, but too precious to forget!”

Japanese immigrants predominantly made up the Camp 5 population. Saiki fondly looked back on the camp as a small American town with a tropical twist: plantation style homes, schools and churches nestled amid mango trees, hanging vines and fields of billowing sugar canes. Camp 5 also housed a general store, parks, theater, bakery, post office and meat market. This vibrant, small Japanese community forged unforgettable memories for all who lived and worked within its borders.

The community was the lifeblood of the sugar plantation, she recalled.

“Anyone who spent their early days in a plantation camp was smack dab in the middle of what today is called an extended family,” she wrote in her memoir. “People were close, people cared and people shared. The early times were tough, but our laughter and love for one another carried us through the hardships.”

Saiki’s family lived in a modest plantation home built on low stilts. Typical plantation homes displayed plantation-green colored exteriors with weathered tin roofs. Her father built an additional two bedrooms, back porch, outside bath house with a tub and extended the living room. Every morning, one of the children swept the porch with a straw broom to remove dirt, leaves and insects.

Saiki’s family carried on the Japanese tradition of removing their shoes before entering their home. Her mother always shuddered when the visitors who were not aware of Japanese traditions entered their home with shoes. Those occasions warranted extra duty cleaning for the children. Saiki explained that Japanese culture discouraged people to be direct and encouraged harmony.

“Telling someone to take their shoes off prior to entering a home may be seen as aggressive and uncomfortable for both parties,” she wrote.  

Saiki’s family kept a well-manicured yard. A pathway lined with various fruit trees and vegetable beds led to their wooden porch steps. The family utilized every square inch of the yard to plant mango, papaya, fig, star fruit, guava and avocado trees. They also raised chickens and rabbits as pets and food. The family used an outhouse. The 10-year-old Saiki vividly remembered using the outhouse at night with all her sisters. She made sure her older sisters removed the insects and toads before it was her turn.

“Being the youngest girl had its perks!” she wrote.

During a sugar cane strike, the plantation allotted families a small plot of sugar cane land to plant vegetables. Japanese families planted carrots, lettuce, string beans, beets, tomatoes, cucumbers, cabbage, eggplant, squash and lima beans. Many Filipino families planted pumpkins and watermelons. Both cultures shared their harvests with one another. Japanese custom dictated that the receiver returns the favor with a plate of goodies as an expression of gratitude. Often, a small match box replaced much anticipated goodies. Most families could not afford sweets. Saiki recalled how she scavenged fallen sugar cane stalks that fell along the railroad tracks. If she felt extra mischievous, she sneaked into the sugar cane mill and swiped the best sugar cane stocks. She chewed the stocks until they reached the inner sweet, juicy fibers.

Each week various salesmen came through their neighborhood to sell ice, medicine and tofu. Families placed blocks of ice wrapped in a rice bag, which then went into large wooden boxes to keep food cold. The term “ice box” originated from this practice. People in Hawaii still commonly refer to refrigerators as “ice boxes.” Salesmen sold and distributed medicine packets, which came in bitter powdered form. Tofu was a staple ingredient in every meal. Life in Camp 5 was simple because all supplies and entertainment were within walking distance or delivered to one’s front porch. The Caucasian plantation supervisors had the only vehicles in the camps.

The Caucasian supervisors lived in separate living quarters, segregated from their workers. Their homes showcased spacious porches, high ceilings, large rooms, walk-in closets and maids’ quarters. The plantation supervisors’ communities held exclusive clubhouses, swimming pools and bowling alleys. The first time she entered a supervisor’s home, she recalled, was to take care of his sick 3-year-old, blonde-haired, blue-eyed son. Her hard work paid off when the supervisor hired her to help the maids prep and cook dinner for their elaborate celebrity-styled party. Saiki marveled at the guests’ gowns and tuxedos through the kitchen doors as a live band played ballroom music and dreamed of hosting similar gatherings in the future. 

A Community Away from Home

Families in Camp 5 banded together in times of hardship and celebration. Families not only shared their harvests, but also helped others out financially through a feudal Japanese system known as “tanomoshi.”  Families regularly invested to create a large sum of money to provide financial assistance. Members met quarterly at someone’s home and bid against each other to borrow up to $1,000 without additional fees, which equates to more than $16,000 today. Tanomoshi required mutual trust among its members because these loans did not have collateral. Families in Camp 5 trusted one another that loans would be paid back and acted in the best interest of the community.

Mutual trust among Camp 5 families boosted the morale of their celebrations. The community annually gathered to celebrate the New Year and Japanese prefecture reunions. Saiki vividly recalled their New Year’s mochi pounding tradition, which her family shared with four others. Each family washed and soaked rice for a couple of days. The women divided the rice into small batches. The rice cooked in a pot hung over an outdoor fire pit. The families gathered in their front yard to pound the cooked rice with wooden hammers into a sticky, smooth consistency. The women threw flour on a large wooden table. Everyone took turns molding the sweet confection into round, flat balls. The children fought over the ones filled with azuki beans (sweet red bean paste). Many Japanese families still practice this New Year’s tradition.

Since Saiki’s family immigrated from Yamaguchi prefecture, she took part in an annual prefectural reunion picnic held at a nearby beach, Kamaole Beach or Kalama Beach. Families from Yamaguchi gathered from across the island to reminisce about their homeland and to create memories in their new home. Most families immigrated with only their spouses and left their extended families in Japan. The immigrants became their extended family. The picnic fare usually consisted of musubi (rice balls) with ume (pickled plums), takuan (pickled radishes) and barbequed meats. Athletic festivities involved tug-of-war and various races. Other Japanese prefectures also held annual picnics that strengthened community ties.

Prior to World War II, during a Yamaguchi Prefecture picnic, an elder gathered the children and told them that the U.S. was their home. He explained that each child must integrate into Western culture and adopt an American name. Saiki’s birth name was Masae and everyone called her Maa-chan. The elder declared that her new name was “Nancy.” Decades after this informal ceremony, Saiki officially changed her name from Masae Iwasaki to Nancy Iwasaki Saiki. As she grew up and had a child of her own, she said, her friends, family, and colleagues only knew her as Nancy.

A Lesson for Life

Camp 5 inculcated the importance of a strong community to its members, a value that Saiki embraced when she started her own family after moving to Honolulu with her husband, Arthur Junichi Saiki, in the early 1950s. Although she moved away from her parents and siblings, she immediately cultivated several communities in her new location.

Saiki had a lifelong career as an administrative assistant with the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA), which provides weather forecasts and public warnings about hurricanes, tsunamis, tropical storms and other weather hazards. Her favorite memory working at NOAA happened during a tsunami warning. The sirens on Oahu rang loudly and public service announcements declared a tsunami was approaching landfall. Her co-worker panicked and yelled that the “tsunamis” were coming – then asked Saiki who the tsunamis were. Saiki burst into laughter, realizing her colleague had no idea that “tsunami” was the Japanese term for “tidal wave.” From that moment, she made an extra effort to translate commonly used Japanese phrases for her co-workers.

In the early 1990s, upon retirement at the age of 62, she joined the National Active and Retired Federal Employees (NARFE). Saiki participated in an administrative capacity. NARFE met monthly to inform and improve federal benefits for its members and family members. She cultivated and cherished her lifelong friendships from NOAA and NARFE.

Besides being an active member of NARFE, Saiki felt an additional need to connect with her neighborhood community. She met daily with a group of women and men to exercise. Although she interacted with her exercise group daily, she craved a deeper sense of community. When she was 63, Saiki formed a group in her neighborhood called, “The Golden Girls.” The Golden Girls met at a local restaurant once a month to share stories and tell jokes. Her two rules strictly stated that everyone in attendance must smile and laugh.

Their laughter was infectious and quickly became the talk of the town.

In 2008, Saiki’s husband of 60 years unexpectedly passed away from an aortic aneurism. This tremendous loss left a gaping hole in her heart. She realized the need to form yet another community, “The Bereaved Widows’ Club.” The club also met once a month and shared stories of loss, love and memories. The club grew each month with new members seeking solace and connection. Camp 5 taught Saiki the need for human connection and community to build one another.

As I look back on my grandmother’s life, I see that she was the glue that held her communities together. The little girl who once peeked through the doors of her Camp 5 supervisor’s kitchen doors to a fabulous party grew up to create the warmest family gatherings and a vibrant community. Saiki felt comforted by her childhood home in Camp 5 and consequently painted her Oahu home in the same shade of plantation green, where she lived for more than 60 years.

I am indebted to her for giving our family a treasure of priceless memories. The greatest generation has left us with invaluable stories and experiences of our families’ pasts. By sharing them, we can preserve their legacies.

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