The story
I'm Keoki, and I'm from Waimanalo.
I used to climb starfruit trees on a farm in Punaluu with my baby — not even a year old — strapped to my chest. That's not a metaphor. That was my life. I'd pick the fruit, bring it home, bag it up, and try to sell it on the side of the road. Some days people stopped. Some days they didn't. Either way, I was out there, because my family needed to eat.
I sold mangos every Sunday at the Aloha Market in Waikiki with my two older keiki right beside me, helping bag 1-pound containers while my youngest daughter sat there barely old enough to walk. We made about $200 that day. Ten dollars a bag. My kids watched their dad work and they helped. I want them to remember that.
The aunty who owns the market gave me the spot close to the entrance, where everyone coming to the market would first see me. She had a cane. Her husband was there with her. She didn't owe me anything, and she gave me everything that day. I helped her break down after because that's what you do. You look out for each other. That's how we were raised.
I tried selling starfruit across from the iconic Halawa sign — the grassy spot everyone knows. A cop pulled up and told me I couldn't sell there. Just like that. Pack it up, go home. I stood there with bags of fruit I picked with my own hands, and I had nowhere to go. That feeling doesn't leave you.
I've sold tea at the Aloha Stadium Farmers Market. I've sold at the International Marketplace in Waikiki. Every market, every hustle, every time I loaded up my car not knowing if I'd come home with money or come home with the same bags I left with — it all taught me the same thing: the system isn't built for people like us.
I've been in the forests of Waimanalo, on native Hawaiian lands, at Puuhonua Makeke — a market run by incredible people who are dedicated to Hawaiian culture and Hawaiian products. The same community hosts Aloha Aina Days on that land, where my son and my nephew got their hands in the dirt and cleaned the kalo patch. Watching my boy connect to the land like that — knowing where we come from, knowing our culture — that's the kind of thing that changes you. That's the thing worth protecting.
RootStall is Hawaii's local marketplace and community hub. Any vendor — farmer, baker, crafter, food maker — gets a permanent digital booth that's open 24/7, reaching customers across every island. No transaction fees. No depending on one person's kindness for a good spot. No cop telling you to pack up. Your booth is yours. And any market host or event organizer can post their farmers market, fair, workshop, fundraiser, or community gathering so people can actually find it.
For buyers and attendees, it's free. Browse local produce, honey, coffee, baked goods, handmade crafts — from real people on real farms — and find what's happening near you. Message vendors directly. Show up to events. Support the people who feed Hawaii.
This isn't a tech company pretending to care about local. This is a farmer who learned to code.