Brittany Lyte, Honolulu Civil Beat

Lahaina fire survivors test Maui County’s rules on living in the burn zone

This story was originally published by Honolulu Civil Beat. You can sign up for Civil Beat's newsletter here and support the nonprofit newsroom here.

With the trailer on a barge en route to Hawaii, two business partners plan to set up a makeshift home on the now-cleared property.

For three weeks, heaping piles of gravel sat untouched on the dirt lot where Mario Siatris’ house once stood.

The gravel, a form of erosion control, needed to be spread out over the dirt, the final step in an intricate process overseen by the federal government to clear fire-ravaged Lahaina properties of hazards and toxic waste.

Mario’s property had undergone rigorous soil sampling, which revealed that the dirt that hadn’t already been scraped and hauled off to the landfill was clear of contaminants.

With his property deemed safe, he and his business partner U‘i Kahue-Cabanting planned to construct a makeshift shelter on the lot by enclosing a trio of Costco gazebos with plywood. Mario had already assembled a shed to house building tools and materials.

For weeks Mario Siatris has been monitoring and documenting government-sponsored cleanup activities on his fire-ravaged lot on Mela Street in the heart of Lahaina. (Courtesy: Mario Siatris/2024)

But the gravel piles were holding up any further progress. And Mario’s days in government-sponsored emergency housing were numbered.

Mario was supposed to move out of his government-funded condo at the Aston Kaanapali Shores by June 10 as the government worked to end its pricey resort housing program for displaced fire survivors.

U‘i, who had already been kicked out of the Federal Emergency Management Agency’s short-term emergency housing program, was now bunking at Kaanapali Shores with Mario, so if he were to lose his housing, they both would be out of a place to live.

Ultimately, Mario and U‘i plan to live in a 26-foot trailer. But it will be several more weeks until the trailer arrives on Maui from the mainland.

In the meantime, Mario was eager to move out of the resort condominium where he’d lived since shortly after the Aug. 8 fires and start “glamping” on his own property.

But to do that, he needed the gravel to be spread.

“We would have done it ourselves, only it’s freaking hot and it’s three tons of gravel,” U‘i explained.

Despite the total loss of his century-old plantation house, Mario Siatris says his property in the heart of Lahaina near the old Pioneer Mill smokestack still feels like home. (Courtesy: U‘i Kahue-Cabanting/2024)

The gravel was finally spread at Mario’s property.

And this week, the business partners plan to start constructing their makeshift shelter on Mario’s lot. They had been told they had been given an extension to stay in the government-funded condo but then found out the extension had been revoked.

Luckily, the owner of the condo who learned of their plight offered to put down his own money to cover the fees to keep them housed at Kaanapali Shores through Saturday.

“We’re OK,” U‘i explained. “We’re going to figure this out. But these are 11th-hour decisions, the extending and reneging of contracts, and it’s really stressing everybody out.”

Mario Siatris plans to construct a makeshift living structure on his Mela Street property. To cope with the lack of working water and sewer lines in his devastated Lahaina neighborhood, he’s hoping to purchase a water buffalo and an on-demand hot water heater, rent a portable toilet and rig up a couple of generators. (Courtesy: U‘i Kahue-Cabanting/2024)

Mario and U‘i now have a matter of days to build and move into a makeshift shelter on Mario’s property. On Friday, they plan to rally a group of friends to help them meet the deadline.

Still, the county government has forbidden the owners of property in the burn zone to reinhabit their land just yet. U‘i said she and Mario know what they’re proposing to do will be controversial.

“I’m prepared for somebody of authority to tell us we have to get out,” U‘i said. “And we will say, ‘Why? Is this or is this not our property?’ The soil has been sampled, it’s been cleared, it’s safe. There’s a housing shortage. In fact, there’s zero housing. I am prepared to test the limits, to fight for our rights. And I think Mario is, too.”

The Maui County Council is considering legislation that would allow fire victims to build temporary homes in the burn zone for up to five years. The proposal aims in part to help residents like Mario who don’t have the capital to rebuild a home in today’s market but wish to reoccupy their land as soon as possible.

Mario Siatris and U‘i Kahue-Cabanting are in the process of shipping a custom-made trailer from California to Maui to serve as a temporary housing solution. The trailer left the port in Oakland, California, on a Matson barge on Wednesday. The $13,000 cost to transport the trailer across the Pacific has been covered by Matson’s community giving program. (Courtesy: U‘i Kahue-Cabanting/2024)

On Wednesday, the 26-foot custom trailer that Mario and U‘i eventually plan to use as a temporary housing solution set sail from Oakland, California, on a Matson barge. The $13,000 cost to ship the rig across the Pacific is being covered by Matson’s community giving program.

U‘i said it’s difficult to overstate the impact of that kind of savings on her and Mario’s recovery.

“This is about us trying to be self-sufficient as much as we can, finding our own housing solution and moving forward with recovery,” U‘i said. “It’s about Mario getting back to his land.”

Civil Beat’s coverage of Maui County is supported in part by a grant from the Nuestro Futuro Foundation. If you are among the 99% of Civil Beat readers who haven’t made a donation before in support of our independent local journalism, you can change that today. A small donation makes a big impact.

Santa Claus returns to scorched Maui for ‘the most important year of all’

This story was originally published by Honolulu Civil Beat. You can sign up for Civil Beat's newsletter here and support the nonprofit newsroom here.

KIHEI, Hawaii — Ron Proctor donned the red suit for the first time in 1996.

He was a waiter at a Napa Valley restaurant in need of a fair weather Santa for an employee Christmas party. No one else on staff could be coaxed to plop the children of chefs and food runners onto his lap. But Proctor figured what the heck.

It was uncomfortably hot underneath the scraggly, false beard and fur-trimmed velvet rental suit. It was also strangely transformative.

“It’s kids experiencing magic and there’s not a lot of magic in the world,” said Proctor, a 70-year-old Army veteran who moved from his native California to a subsidized apartment in Lahaina, Hawaii, in 2011. “That magic rubs off on you.”

Proctor reprised the role of Old Saint Nick for several more years, adding private parties and hotel gigs to his repertoire. Then he decided to ditch the rental suit. Buying up yards of velvet, fur and silk, he handed the materials off to his daughter, who sewed the custom suit he would wear for the next 23 years.

Without a car, Proctor had no way to get to his Santa gigs. But like a Christmas miracle, a Red Cross worker who befriended him in the aftermath of the fire handed him a $1,000 check and told him to rent a car. He contacted a locally owned rental company and the owner cut him a deal: In exchange for a FaceTime call as Santa Claus with her grandchildren, he got a reduced rate on a scratched-up vehicle for the month of December. (Kevin Fujii/Civil Beat/2023)

One Fourth of July weekend, Proctor further sealed his commitment: He stopped shaving his beard. By the time he relocated to Lahaina to ride out his sunset years, he was a real-bearded Santa Claus with a $125 insurance liability policy for handling babies.

“I suffer with a little bit of depression and it always gets to me around Christmas,” he said. “But being Santa always helps me because you can’t be depressed when you’re Santa. When you put on the suit, it changes you.”

On Maui, Proctor discovered the business of Santa Claus could be lucrative. He took the starring role on a series of catamaran boat cruises out of Maalaea Harbor. He morphed into tropical Santa for photo ops with children at the Shops at Wailea. On Christmas morning, he landed in a double-hulled canoe powered by eight paddlers at the beach fronting The Westin resort. He also busied himself with an array of private parties and corporate gigs. Apart from the occasional charitable church gig, Proctor set his rate at $150 an hour.

In the sprint between Thanksgiving and Christmas, Proctor usually earns $9,000, a sum that supplements his year-round Social Security payments.

“I tell people you don’t pay me to be Santa, you pay me to wear this beard on Maui in July and August when I’m trying to play golf and I’m trying to putt and sweat is literally dripping out of my beard,” Proctor said. “It’s like having a cat on your face.”

As he returns to his Santa Claus duties on Black Friday, Proctor waves from his ride at The Shops at Wailea. Santa was the grand marshal of the Santa Parade. He rode in style in a 1936 Oldsmobile with the Maui Classic Cruisers and Street Bikers United Hawaii. (Kevin Fujii/Civil Beat/2023)

This year was supposed to be Proctor’s last playing Santa. He longed for his own family Christmas, something he’d had to forgo since assuming the role of Kris Kringle so many years ago.

Then, on Aug. 8, a fast-moving blaze set the heart of Lahaina on fire. The deadliest American wildfire in more than a century incinerated Proctor’s one-bedroom unit at the Front Street Apartments, along with his car and most of his belongings, including his bespoke Santa suit.

The months since have been nightmarish for Proctor, who spent weeks sleeping on an air mattress at the War Memorial gymnasium in Wailuku before FEMA moved him to a room at the Royal Lahaina Resort, which has become a temporary home to hundreds of displaced Lahaina residents while it undergoes noisy renovation work. His search for a more permanent home on Maui has not been successful. In Lahaina, he paid a subsidized monthly rent of $1,175. The cheapest rent he’s seen for a one-bedroom is $2,200 — a rate far outside his retirement budget.

Proctor doesn’t know where he’ll live when the federal government’s emergency shelter program expires in March or if he’ll be able to stay on Maui. But in October, when his phone started ringing with requests for Santa bookings, he decided he wasn’t ready to hang up the fabled role yet. He went on Amazon and ordered a red suit, boots, gloves, eyeglasses and jingle bells.

Proctor as Santa reads a book to passengers aboard the Alii Nui Santa cruise. One of the most difficult parts of the job is wearing a traditional velvet and fur Santa suit in tropical weather. Occasionally he’ll work a gig that calls for him to dress more comfortably in a festive aloha shirt as tropical Santa. (Kevin Fujii/Civil Beat/2023)

When he dons the costume, despite so many losses this year, he can’t be sad.

“This is the most important year of all of them,” he said.

Civil Beat’s coverage of Maui County is supported in part by grants from the Nuestro Futuro Foundation.

Maui fire survivors weave their way through ‘the healing process’

This story was originally published by Honolulu Civil Beat. You can sign up for Civil Beat's newsletter here and support the nonprofit newsroom here.

PORTLAND, Ore. — On an autumn-chilled Saturday seven weeks after the fire, U‘i Kahue-Cabanting awoke under crisp, white hotel sheets in the shadow of a snow-capped Mount Hood. Thousands of miles from her FEMA-funded room at the Westin on Maui, she found herself nevertheless surrounded by generic stand-ins for the basic things she’d lost: bath towels, her bed, bar soap.

Kahue-Cabanting had flown to Portland during the rainy tail of September to teach Hawaii expats how to weave coconut fronds into durable hats and baskets. More than half of all Native Hawaiians reside outside of Hawaii, according to the U.S. Census, many of them driven away by the astronomical cost of island living. It was her third trip to the mainland this year to share the ancient craft as a balm for identity loss.

Pouring herself a weak cup of complimentary coffee in the Oregon hotel lobby, Kahue-Cabanting blunted her exhaustion from the six-hour flight across the Pacific and scrolled social media. She stopped short at an Instagram photo of soft, smiling faces she recognized instantly. “In loving memory of a Lahaina family of 4,” the caption read. “From left, Daughter Angelica Baclig (31), Father Joel Villegas (55), Mother Adela Villegas (53) and son Junmark Quijano (30).”

She hadn’t known her neighbors died in the fire.

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Later that day Kahue-Cabanting demonstrated how to braid coconut leaflets into baskets in a hula practice room on the third floor of an urban office building where a couple dozen students had gathered. But a sudden crack in her demeanor betrayed the pain of survivor’s guilt.

“This morning I’m a little PTSD,” she said, tears brimming into her eyes. “I just found out a family of four right across from us didn’t make it. We didn’t realize. It’s very surreal. Very apocalyptic.”

The room fell silent. Kahue-Cabanting watched a tear streak down the face of a woman from Maui, a human-resources specialist who couldn’t afford to own a home or treat her family to nice restaurant dinners until she left the island.

Now Kahue-Cabanting was the one caught up in the throes of displacement. In the weeks since the fire torched the house she shared with her business partner Mario Siatris, her life had become an endless hotel stay.

“However, Mario and I, we are alive and well,” she said. “We are doing what we love. This is part of the healing process.”

‘There is still the ground’

On their first morning in Portland, Kahue-Cabanting and Siatris visited Camping World, an RV retailer. With the government’s eventual go-ahead, Siatris planned to park a trailer in place of the burned-down house where he had raised his kids. An RV imported from the mainland seemed to him a better bet than idling on a local contractor’s waitlist. There were thousands of uprooted Lahaina homeowners like himself impatient to rebuild. If he could figure out the overseas shipping logistics, he’d slash his wait time and bypass the competition.

The 19-foot trailer Siatris liked best had a price tag around $40,000. A heavier, 24-foot trailer was half that price, but some of the savings would be negated by steeper freight costs. The lighter the rig, the cheaper the trans-Pacific shipping rate. “You pay now or you pay later,” Siatris said. He didn’t buy anything at Camping World that day, but he emerged in good spirits.

“Even though the house isn’t there,” he said, “there is still the ground.”

Back at the hotel, Kahue-Cabanting and Siatris prepared for another coconut weaving workshop, this one at Pacific University, where a fifth of the study body is from Hawaii. A few students from Lahaina lost their homes in the Aug. 8 wildfire.

The Portland workshops weren’t about making money. The $20 ticket fees Kahue-Cabanting and Siatris charged their students were just enough to cover their travel expenses. But Maui Grown 808 was not just a business, it was a mission, a way to help people deepen their connection to Hawaiian culture.

ALSO READ: Many Maui fire survivors are struggling to find aid even as it pours in

Siatris rifled through a surfboard bag packed with coconut palms, pulled out some of the browning leaflets and started wiping them down with Clorox, a defense against the first stages of decomposition.

Kahue-Cabanting picked out an aloha shirt for Siatris to wear to match her army green print pants. As she smoothed out the wrinkles in the fabric, she talked on the phone with an American Red Cross worker, who was still trying to use a third-party online verification tool to qualify her as a legitimate Lahaina fire survivor.

Kahue-Cabanting had been left without a case number after one of her housemates applied for aid on behalf of the entire household, then split off as an individual claimant. That move made in the chaotic first days after the fire has made it harder for Kahue-Cabanting to establish her own case number — the key to accessing relief funds.

U‘i Kahue-Cabanting weaves a ti leaf lei in her Oregon hotel room as she talks on speaker phone with an American Red Cross worker, who, seven weeks after the fire, is still trying to verify her as a genuine Lahaina fire survivor. Brittany Lyte / Honolulu Civil Beat

“They see me every day working at the hotel, so they know who I am,” Kahue-Cabanting said of the Red Cross workers who occupy a booth near hers in the Westin lobby.

But the bureaucratic machine that powers the federal government’s disaster response did not. So once again, she recited her name, birthdate and the address of her burned-down home.

Over five days in Portland, Kahue-Cabanting and Siatris taught six weaving workshops. They dined on Chinese food and local Dungeness crab. They toured Oregon State University, where Kahue’s youngest daughter hoped to study next year as a college freshman. And they made a second trip to Camping World, where Siatris sharpened his plan to park a rig where his house once stood.

Siatris was giddy to resume living on his property, even if that meant relying on a generator for electricity or cooking over a campfire. The sewer, electric and water utilities were mostly destroyed by the fire and could take years to rebuild.

He was also increasingly desperate to draw a thicker boundary between his work and his personal life. Living at the same condominium complex that employs him as its landscape manager was starting to weigh on him.

But before he could buy the trailer, he had to wait for the government to restore his right to return to his neighborhood.

The government has divided the five-mile-wide scar of the fire into dozens of zones and each week the county announces the reopening of several of those sections to residents as the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency progresses its cleanup effort. Siatris’ home on Mela Street is closer to the heart of town, and the heart of the burn zone, so it could take longer for him to regain access to his property — something he considers fundamental to achieving a measure of closure.

‘A little bit beyond awkward’

When Kahue-Cabanting and Siatris returned to West Maui, a shift was well underway.

Government officials had decided to start to reopen the resort area north of Lahaina to tourism, an attempt to stave off an estimated $13 million a day in lost visitor spending since the day of the fire. The hospitality industry — Maui’s economic engine — was revving up, hiring back staff and assembling new day trip itineraries for vacationers, who usually patronized the restaurants, shops, museums and boat charters that burned down in Lahaina.

Tourists weren’t slated to return to the Westin property where Kahue-Cabanting was living until Nov. 1. But from her coconut-weaving booth in the hotel lobby, she couldn’t help but notice that some visitors had already started to arrive weeks before the resort officially opened its doors to tourists again.

“These people don’t look like they’re here to volunteer their vacation away,” Kahue-Cabanting observed. “They look like they’re ready to wine and dine and have fun and be entertained.”

Vacationers strolled through the lobby looking for the beach as fire survivors, dressed in donated clothes, tried to figure out where they would live once FEMA stopped footing the bill for their hotel room.

“It’s a little bit beyond awkward,” Kahue-Cabanting said.

Civil Beat’s coverage of Maui County is supported in part by grants from the Nuestro Futuro Foundation.

Many Maui fire survivors are struggling to find aid even as it pours in

This story was originally published by Honolulu Civil Beat. You can sign up for Civil Beat's newsletter here and support the nonprofit newsroom here.

Donated food, clothes, toiletries, bedding and other supplies flooded into Maui to help thousands of people who were uprooted from their homes or left facing major damage due to fast-spreading fires earlier this week.

But an enduring telecommunications blackout hampered government and grassroots efforts to distribute those supplies in the worst-affected neighborhoods, especially for an unknown number of survivors waiting out the aftermath in the few buildings still standing in the historic town of Lahaina and neighborhoods on the outskirts.

With their vehicles burned to a crisp, some sheltering at home have no way to drive to distribution centers miles away, or their cars have run out of gas. Others simply don’t know where to go for help. Toxic fumes and downed power lines with live wires make venturing outdoors dangerous.

Meanwhile in Upcountry, the sound of chainsaws buzzed through the air on Friday as residents began a slow and painful cleanup in the aftermath of a wind and fire storm that ripped through forest, pasture and homes on the rolling slopes of Haleakala volcano.

Parts of Kula still do not have water, electricity, gas or internet. Cellphone coverage is spotty.

Wind downed massive tree branches on the roof of Kula Lodge, but the picturesque restaurant and bar avoided fire damage and planned to open to the public Tuesday.

“Our musician was on the roof, our chef was picking up massive trees,” said Isa Shipley, chief operating officer of the Lodge. “It’s so beautiful seeing everyone coming together.”

Donations have poured in to Maui Preparatory Academy, a supplies distribution center in Lahaina. But volunteers worry residents who need supplies don’t know where to go for assistance amid a communications blackout. Photo: Brittany Lyte/Civil Beat/2023

In addition to hauling out tree branches, the chef served up free pizza, sandwiches and banana bread at a roadside stand. The lodge, which regained water service Friday, also made its restroom available to the public.

Shipley said she canceled visitor bookings through the end of the month in the property’s five chalets to make temporary lodging available to displaced residents.

At Kula Sandalwoods Inn and Cafe a quarter mile away, a historic redwood home burned to the ground but the family that runs the business fended off fire from the property’s perimeter with a power washer and garden hose.

“Our gas line melted,” said Eleanor Worth, who helps run the hillside cottages and eatery. “Things were so hot they exploded. But this rock wall saved the restaurant. It is like a miracle that this structure is still standing.”

In other parts of the island that weren’t impacted by the fires, people frolicked in the surf and barbecued on beaches in an indication of normalcy.

For Lahaina evacuee Erikka Pilgrim, that strange dichotomy — a hellscape of ashen rubble where she lived and a sunny, clear-water vacationland in the area where she fled to safety — was disorienting.

So when authorities briefly opened the main artery for traffic into Lahaina at noon Friday to regional residents with proof of ID, her family joined the weary, two-and-a-half-hour parade of vehicles waiting to enter the disaster zone through the single access point.

Police barricades prevented Pilgrim, an office assistant at Maui Preparatory Academy, from accessing her rental home. But from the highway bypass she could see only rubble and ash where three days earlier she had been playing Uno with her daughter when giant orange flames appeared outside the kitchen window.

There were no police sirens. No cell phone alerts. No warning sirens about the wildfire, which was fanned by strong winds extending from a hurricane churning hundreds of miles to the south.

At least 93 people have been confirmed dead and officials warned that number was likely to rise as the search effort gains momentum with the arrival of federal teams and cadaver-detection dogs on Saturday to help overwhelmed local first responders.

The Maui county government has faced widespread criticism over its response to the fires and the state attorney general has opened a probe into what happened. In addition to the apparent lack of evacuation orders, there was apparently no plan in place despite past reports and other warnings about the intensifying threat of deadly wildfires as climate change exacerbates extreme weather events.

Pilgrim and her family held hands in the car as they raced past burning homes and vehicles, plumes of black smoke, howling winds, flying tree branches and sheets of metal roofing. Over the roar of destruction they heard people screaming.

“Look at me,” Pilgrim recalled telling her terrified, 9-year-old daughter Emma Jaye, who has lived through a pandemic, her mother’s difficult battle with stage three cancer and now the total loss of her family’s home and belongings. “Everything that’s important is in this car. You, me, your dad and your grandma and your animals, we’re OK. Everything that matters is in this car. Everything else can be replaced.”

Dogs and cats in their laps, the family did not let go of each other’s hands until they had put miles of distance between themselves and the apocalyptic scene.

Although grateful to sleep and shower in a Kihei home temporarily donated to help her family recuperate, Pilgrim said it was excruciating to be away from Lahaina without any way to get in touch with the community members who stayed behind.

Connectivity improved on Saturday with the arrival of a pair of Wi-Fi trucks equipped with cell phone charging stations parked at Napili and Honokowai parks in West Maui. But the greater area remained disconnected.

Wildfire destroyed an historic redwood home at Kula Sandalwoods Cafe and Inn in Upcountry. Photo: Brittany Lyte/Civil Beat/2023

Hawaiian Electric also said it has restored power to one of three main transmission lines serving West Maui, bringing service back to some 3,700 customers in Napili, Puukolii and Mahinahina, where essential public services such as water pumps, and first responder facilities are located.

The recovery effort has been slow, but officials predicted it would speed up with the arrival of cadaver-detection dogs and other assistance from the mainland.

The school where Pilgrim works survived the fire. In the immediate aftermath, Maui Prep morphed into a shelter, providing meals, showers and toilets to hundreds of displaced people until the septic system nearly overflowed. School buses relocated most evacuees to a better-resourced shelter at the War Memorial Stadium in Wailuku on Wednesday.

The school, which regained power Friday, has since become a mass distribution hub for food and clothing. But even the aid that’s available has been difficult to get into the hands of those who need it.

“See, this is the problem,” Head of School Miguel Solis said, pointing to piles of bottled water, cereal boxes and infant formula. “All of this stuff and no one to pick it up.”

Those who do find their way to the school show up with many needs — bandages, insulin, heart medication, shoes, water, a toothbrush, something to eat or simply someone to talk to. One man turned up in shock after finding his 15-year-old son dead on the ground with his dog in his arms, Solis said.

“We saw a lot of people that were burned, little crying babies,” Solis said. “You could smell the soot. People with red eyes from the smoke. People just traumatized and devastated. We’re picking them up off the street and bringing them here and just giving them everything we have to give.”

Local community groups, international organizations and individuals have mobilized efforts to help people on Maui recover from the tragedy, but the needs are many: Gas generators. Ice. Batteries. Propane. Gasoline. Soap. Blankets. Cots. Towels. Grief and trauma support. Prescription medicine. Portable toilets. Dumpsters. Backpacks and carts to help people on foot bring supplies home.

Hawaii’s National Guard, the Coast Guard and other military forces have been helping the relief effort in many ways, including providing helicopters to help douse the flames and rescuing people who had jumped into the harbor to escape the flames.

The National Guard turned up at Maui Prep to help one day. But then the unit left and never returned, Solis said. The school’s effort to supply evacuees with emergency supplies is run almost entirely by the community.

Some volunteers trying to deliver donated goods complained that authorities barred them from entering Lahaina even though they had truck beds filled with bottled water, gasoline cans, canned goods, coconuts and pet food.

The school keeps a loose attendance list intended to help people who show up desperately searching for a loved one they haven’t heard from since fire incinerated Lahaina town Tuesday night.

Lahaina residents who chose to remain in the fire-scorched region sorted through mountains of clothing donations at Maui Preparatory Academy. Photo: Brittany Lyte/Civil Beat/2023

Officials estimated about 1,000 people remained unaccounted for, although they stressed that included those who were simply unable to make contact.

The private school is also working hard to find living spaces for its faculty and staff with hopes it will be able to reopen soon.

“I’m fearful some teachers are going to leave me and I get it, they’re scared,” said Solis, principal of the private prep school. “But the kids want to return to school. Our students need normalcy.”

People who desperately need supplies have chosen not to evacuate the hardest hit West Maui region for many reasons, including a fear that their home or business might be ransacked if left unattended.

Residents in a cluster of Lahaina homes untouched by the fire said Friday afternoon that no one has come by to check on them, provide information or ask about their needs. One man said he had only enough food to last him one more day.

Youths have taken to the town’s primary streets to flag down pedestrians and cars and direct them to help at a half-dozen food and supplies distribution centers.

“I know for sure that a lot of people are gathering in homes and trying to wait it out and they don’t have cell service and they don’t know that there are truckloads and boatloads of food available two miles away,” said 33-year-old John Kempf, a Haiku resident who is transporting donated goods into Lahaina as part of the grassroots group Hungry Heroes Hawaii.