Why Everybody Trick-or-Treat Olopua All the Time?

Written by Sharmaine Mae Elan and Anthony Kaauamo with additional reporting by Meyah Fujie

Over the last decade, Lāna‘i’s Halloween traditions have shifted. Where trick-or-treaters once roamed the streets of Lalakoa, today most head to Olopua, leaving one to wonder: why the change? This article captures the 2023 Halloween festivities, but since our publication date coincided with Halloween that year, we felt it was a better fit for release in this issue. 

MISSION BRIEFING: “DOWN-CITY” by Sharmaine Mae Elan 

Halloween, October 31, 2023 — My phone jiggled, it was a text from my great boss, Mr. Kaauamo, the Lāna‘i Today managing editor, “Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to investigate the Halloween scene in Lalakoa.” He wanted to do a story about why most trick-or-treaters were going to Olopua instead of Lalakoa or anyplace else. He had observed the trend’s shift over the past decade and wanted to gather more intel. 

But there was one problem. I hesitated, then asked, “At the risk of sounding uncultured, what exactly is a Lalakoa or Olopua?” He rolled his eyes, , then explained that Lalakoa was the name of the southern subdivision of Lāna‘i City and that Olopua was the northern subdivision. To me, and everyone around my age, the Lalakoa area has always been called “Down-City” and the Olopua area, “Up-City.” Interestingly, pre-1990s, the Lalakoa side, before it was built, was called “Down Camp,” and the Olopua side, before it was built, was known as “Up Camp” — but that’s a story from and for another time. 

Armed with my phone’s voice memo app and dressed in the signature black suit and tie, like a true agent of “Men in Black,” I was ready to investigate why trick-or-treaters had seemingly disappeared from Lalakoa and migrated to Olopua. The difference between me and everyone else on this mission? I make this look good. 

After being picked up by my “volunteer” chauffeur, Mrs. Michelle Fujie-Kaauamo, we were en route to the target area, Lalakoa. The breeze flowing into the car window was nice and light. 

LALAKOA - 5:12 P.M. 

The streets were desolate and dead quiet; it felt eerie, like some sort of ghost town. Majority of the yards around Lalakoa weren’t decorated and for the few that were, the most you could see was a simple sheet ghost or carved pumpkin. 

6:48 P.M. 

It was darker now but there were finally a few trick-or-treaters on the streets. Only a handful of houses scattered around the subdivision had their lights on, so these kids must have either been very tenacious or knowledgeable about the area to know who was giving out candy. Luckily, some homes had left bowls of candy on stools in their driveway for trick-or-treaters to fend for themselves. 

As my trusty chauffeur drove on, we passed an emerald-colored home with two pumpkins on its front railing. The outdoor lights were on, and an uncle was standing on the porch, arms crossed as he watched the street. We pulled over, and I introduced myself. 

“Uncle, can I ask you some questions?” I asked, pressing record on my phone’s voice memo app. “Your name, please?” 

He nodded and chuckled, “Uncle Richard Batoon.” 

I asked him how many trick-or-treaters had come by his house that night and how long he had been passing out candy. 

“Since I was married, I guess from 1986,” Uncle Richard said. “We got this house in ‘87 or ‘88. Been passing out candy since then. Used to get plenty kids, but after a while, they get less and less. I’m not saying it’s good or bad — it’s just because everything moved.” 

He continued, “Used to be like 200 kids or more. But now, I probably might have only about 20 kids come stop by. The kids, they all go Olopua now. Plus, they get all those parties over there. And the kids, they like that.” 

I nodded, reaching for a handful of candy from the bowl Uncle Richard had set out. 

“People over here, no more as much candy now,” he said. “They turn off the light on this block. Only get me, maybe this neighbor, maybe two more over there, and that’s it.” 

Curious about the shift, I asked if he had noticed any major changes over the years. 

“Olopua, after it was built, changed all the more older subdivisions,” Uncle Richard explained. “When Lalakoa built up from one, two, and three — everybody used to come this side. But after they made Olopua and Hawaiian Homes — everybody go that side.” The development of Olopua, followed by Hawaiian Homes, came after Lalakoa’s three subdivisions. “I mean, the kids that live in this neighborhood come by, but then they all go Up-City. That’s where all the candy stay,” he said. 

After thanking Uncle Richard, I returned to the car and demanded my chauffeur to drive deeper into Lalakoa to find more answers to our mission. 

7:01 P.M. 

As we ventured on, I noticed Mrs. Pimentel, one of the Vice Principals at Lāna‘i High & Elementary School (LHES). We approached her to interrogate her and find answers to our questions. She was accompanied by two kids who seemed thrilled to go trick-or-treating. When we asked to interview her, she dismissed the two young lads so they could scavenge for sugary treats. I believe she was dressed in a Thing 1 & Thing 2 costume, wearing a red shirt and other accessories to resemble the Dr. Seuss character. 

“I live in this area, Upper Lalakoa, so we always trick-or-treat here,” Mrs. Pimentel said, speaking with a calm and composed air, her mannerisms exuding warmth and confidence. “I’ve been doing this since I was little, since I could walk. Back in the day, this side of town was the happening place, with haunted houses and decorations everywhere. It used to be packed with kids, but now things have shifted.” 

When I asked her why Olopua seemed to have more activity now, she explained, still composed and warm, “I think more people trick-or-treat on the other side of town because it’s more festive over there. A lot of the younger generation live in Olopua now, while here in Lalakoa, we have an older generation, and not as many kids.” 

Despite the change, Mrs. Pimentel remains committed to staying connected to the streets she grew up on. “We noticed that because there are fewer trick-or-treaters on this side, the kids who do come by get more candy,” she laughed. “Fewer people are participating now, but we’re trying to bring back the old vibe — bringing back the OG.” 

Her determination to keep the Halloween spirit alive in Lalakoa was clear as the kids she accompanied eagerly darted off to another house, excited for the treats — if any — awaited them. 

Other residents shared additional reasons why fewer trick-or-treaters roam the streets of Lalakoa these days: 

Medigale Badillo, stationed outside her home with a bowl of candy, said, “Actually, it’s our first time to give away candy. My kids are grown up now. We used to go trick-or-treating in Lalakoa, but now everybody goes to Olopua. There used to be plenty people here, but now, not so much. Maybe around 8:00 or 8:30 p.m., some kids pass by, but it’s not like it used to be.” 

Alex Hawkins, who was a senior at LHES at the time of these interviews, said, “When I was younger, this was the spot because that’s where all the kids hang out. But now, people just go up to Olopua. There’s more houses, more candy. Here, it’s more spread out, and you don’t see as many houses giving out candy. Plus, it’s closer to the general area of the city, so people would rather go up there.” 

“Back in the day, Lalakoa side used to be the spot, but nowadays, we see maybe 10 kids at most. Now it’s at Hawaiian Homes, Olopua side,” said Morgan Divina, casually dressed in an oversized brown plaid shirt, possibly part of a costume. Her laid-back style and understated presence added a classy touch of Halloween spirit without overdoing it. “I think a lot of it is because the older families live here now, and they don’t decorate or participate like they used to. Up in Olopua, it’s more fun — there’s deep-fried Oreos, ice cream, everything. That’s where everybody goes now.” 

The older generation’s pullback from Halloween traditions was also shared by a kūpuna who asked to remain anonymous, a master hunter and longtime Lalakoa resident. “I like the candy, but all this monster and devil stuff … We don’t need that. Back in the day, every house had lights on, and we passed out candy. Now, people like me, we turn off the lights. It’s too expensive to buy candy, especially when most of the kids head to Olopua anyway.” 

Monique Bolo, who was outside waiting for her eldest daughter to get into costume, said, “The houses up in Olopua just go all out. Over there, the houses are brighter, people decorate more, and there’s just more going on. When I was younger, Lalakoa had haunted houses and more people were into it. But now, everyone heads to Olopua.” 

There were only an estimated 30 trick-or-treaters roaming the streets that night in total. From what I gathered, while some families remain in Lalakoa, the energy and excitement have moved to Olopua, where younger families, bigger decorations, and treats like deep-fried Oreos and ice cream draw most of the island’s Halloween activity. 

MISSION BRIEFING: “UP-CITY” by Anthony Kaauamo with interviews by Meyah Fujie 

OLOPUA WOODS - 7:33 P.M. 

Sharmaine texted me her interview voice memos, and by 7:30 p.m., I had let her off the hook, free to spend the rest of her night doing whatever teenage girls do with their friends on All Hallow’s Eve. Now it was just me, the night, and the streets of Olopua. 

Fifth Street stretched out in front of me like a half-forgotten memory. From the Maui County courts to Caldwell Avenue, vehicles lined the curbs, choking the sides of the road. It was like the whole island had decided to converge here — mothers, fathers, strollers and kids holding hands, all chasing treats and maybe a playful trick or two. 

The county basketball courts’ stalls were packed tight and were flanked by cars spilling out over the lawn like candy in a kid’s trick-or-treat bag after a successful night — overflowing and barely contained. Teenagers clung to the shadows, huddled around the picnic tables, too cool to dress up but not too cool to lurk. Middle schoolers rode bikes in tight packs, sporting a lazy excuse for a costume: a smear of face paint here, a Dracula cape over a Hurley shirt there. The air was thick with that teenage mischief, a restless energy that teetered on the cusp of chaos. 

Back when I was a teenager at LHES in the late ‘90s and early 2000s, mayhem wasn’t just a threat — it spilled into the streets. Dye-filled water blasters, paintball guns, toilet paper, water balloons and eggs made up the arsenal. Some kids would bury cartons of eggs the week before Halloween, letting them rot underground until they were perfect for the night’s ambushes. Trick-or-treating came with the risk of a paintball to the back or an egg to the head. Nowadays, these kids are generally well-behaved. They stick to the shadows, but there’s no real trouble behind it. Or maybe the trouble’s just moved somewhere else, hidden from the self-assured eyes of adults. 

Deeper into Olopua Woods were where shadows played tricks on the eyes in Dean Tan’s yard, and bodies clawed their way out of shallow graves at the Bennets’ place. Halloween had swallowed Olopua whole, and it wasn’t spitting anything back. 

House parties sprawled out of garages, folding tables sagging under the weight of homemade food. The smoky scent of grilled meat lingered in the air, twirling to the rhythm of the music — a mix of Jawaiian from one yard and ’80s R&B from another — clashing like a soundtrack nobody asked for but couldn’t avoid. Pop-up tents dotted the lawns, and groups gathered around, eating, drinking and laughing like the night might never end. Over at the Sarme Army’s annual revelry, this year’s theme was Ancient Greece. Columns wrapped in vines and draped fabric set the stage. 

Aaron Ambe, LHES class of 2013, stood there in his cream-colored toga with a gold belt and leaf headband, like a Roman emperor surveying his empire. “We’re seeing over a couple hundred kids here,” he said. “Olopua’s always busier, more kids, and more lights on this side than Down-City.” He wasn’t wrong — Olopua boasted an abundance of bright streetlights and actual sidewalks, a luxury that Lalakoa never enjoyed. 

Candy givers like Shirley Samonte and Anela Sanches, each at their own respective homes, didn’t need convincing. “We get around 450 to 500 kids a night,” Shirley said. “Ever since we’ve lived here, this is where the kids come, and we love it. Even though ours are grown, we still enjoy seeing them.” Over at Anela’s house, she pegged the count at 200 to 300. “Olopua just feels more involved,” she said, brushing Lalakoa off as “more dead.” 

“I live in Lalakoa. When we were younger, it was the place to be. It used to be full of action,” said Nina Medeiros, LHES class of 2000. She was dressed as herself, with nothing more than a wistful expression and memories of Halloweens gone by. “Now? We park near the tennis courts here in Olopua just to trick-or-treat.” Her pause said more than her words. “I’d love to see it come back to Lalakoa.” 

“We probably get around 500 kids here. Over here, it’s just more popping. Family-friendly, better lit.” Cody Patterson, LHES class of 2014, leaned back, letting the whistle around his neck swing like a pendulum in his black-and-white referee stripes. “I used to trick-or-treat in Lalakoa during my middle and high school years,” he said, like he was remembering a different world. “It was good back then, but now? Olopua’s where it’s at — more houses, more candy, more everything.” 

Some of the kids on the street, barely dressed for the occasion, chimed in with the same refrain. “There’s more decorations this side, more candy,” one said, like it was too obvious to even explain. Another flicked a glance toward Lalakoa and shrugged. “Haven’t trick-or-treated there in years.” 

MISSION CLOSURE: A Tale More Than Just a Treat by Anthony Kaauamo 

We initiated this investigation to uncover the reason behind the Halloween crowd’s migration from one neighborhood to another. But sometimes, the clues don’t always reveal a neat narrative. 

The shift from “Down-City” to “Up-City” isn’t written in any town record, but you can read it in the dark porches and quiet streets of Lalakoa. It’s not just a story about Halloween or changing trick-or-treating habits — it’s the story of an ever-changing town. Lāna‘i City’s landscape reveals how communities bend around new developments, how familiar faces fade as new transient ones take their place. Some places get left behind, while others bask in the glow of what’s fresh and exciting. Towns change, people move on, and traditions? Well, they either find their way back or they don’t. I personally hope they do, but maybe that’s just the way things go.