Krisya Ohana

Krisya Ohana is a singular word with several different meanings, each syllable is made up of things that inspire the original creator of this blog, Devon J Hall – Aka Siddha Lee Saint James.

  • Kris
  • Cree
  • Ya
  • Oh
  • Ohana
  • Na


Has several different meanings and definitions. Starting with the word “Chris“, my little brother, named after Saint Christopher, who is the Patron saint of lost souls….clearly the God’s were laughing when my mother named my brother – who to this day claims his name comes from Christmas, which is hilarious since the little shit was born on New Years Eve. He was making a statement, and it inspired me my entire life.

Kris also stands for Christmas, because that is the day that Jesus was supposedly, allegedly, born. I don’t know if he was or not, but I always figured if there was a female word for the word Christ, it would probably start with a K. Hence, Kris, for Christmas, and the female version of Christ. Whom to this day I truly believe is Saint Mary Magdalena, of Nazareth, his wife, or perhaps sister, but for the purposes of this website, she was his wife. She is also the Patron Saint of the Sisterhood of Bacchanal, which is basically “Sisterhood of writers who drink or smoke weed and yell BACCHANAL when they write a successful page or section and then get to go shop at Chanel. Woot..


I grew up in Alberta, among the smallest population of Cree Descendants known to man kind, which is a fucking damned shame, a disgusting shame, considering the land I grew up on, walked on, prayed and cried upon belonged to the Cree people long before I existed. This version of the word “Kris” is in honor of the lessons I learned from spending so much time in the Alberta nature that I called home.


Ya Ya Sisterhood – which I somehow knew about way back when I was about thirteen when I first created the word. I think, and I can’t be sure, but I’m almost certain that it was because when in the creation of the word, I was laying on the bright green grass. I was looking up wishing I could see the Angels dancing in the clouds. (Fun fact, they don’t actually dance on clouds.) I wanted more than anything to create a powerful word that had never been heard before, a word with lots of meaning, when I was finished, I danced around that same yard yelling “ya ya” at the top of my lungs, before jumping on a piece of glass that had been broken in my fucking kitchen. Happy thirteenth birthday in deed, I still have that fucking scar, and it’s the coolest one I have.


Oh fucking Christ, that shit hurts, do not ever, if you have the chance, leave a piece of glass in the center of the kitchen because you’re thirteen and trying to make a point about how you’re the only one who cleans any fucking thing in the house. That shit is a fucking painful reminder that no one cares if they’re lazy, until you damned near slice your fucking foot off.


My grandfather was convinced, (I mean this genuinely) that one day I was going to grow up and marry Jason Mamoa. I had no idea what the time who this person was, just that apparently somewhere in some dusty book somewhere, some ass hat from the past, said  I was supposed to grow up and marry the King of the fucking Seas. This of course translated to my disgraced Romanian Grandfather that I was going to marry Jason Mamoa, specifically.

First off, my grandpa was a lunatic, of like monumental proportions, but the one thing he said that made sense was that the Samoan people were Warriors, proud strong people who created the word “Ohana,” which means Family. As I had such a chaotically messed up one, I admit I stole this word, because I have always wanted what the Samoan’s are born knowing. “Ohana” is in honor of the legacy of amazing pro WWE Superstars that I loved watching growing up and the amazing strong Powerful Somoan women who are proving that they can have a family, and beat the crap out of each other too. Just like the boys. I still have zero interest in marrying Jason, Lisa, so sorry…he’s all yours…for like ever.


Nah, as in, no one will ever believe I made up a word when I was three, and didn’t define it until I was thirteen years old because it took me that long to remember I’d created the fucking word without having any idea what the fuck it was supposed to mean, because no one would ever believe I was that smart.

No, seriously, that’s the entire fucking definition, and I’ve been trying to define it for thirty-three years, because I’ve been too busy trying to be a writer, to understand how to put what I was thinking into words.

Krisya Ohana is devoted to all of the people who helped me to flesh out the story I’ve spent too many years living to worry about writing, but more than that, it’s to the idiot librarian who told me in sixth grade that my words didn’t matter, because I was black and one day that would be enough to make me a rich woman.

Being Black is not a guarantee to having a story worth telling, it’s the lives we choose to live that make our lives worth telling, and so I say to that idiot librarian, who was indeed fired in disgrace: You can tell me that my life doesn’t matter, you can tell me that I should kill myself, but don’t you dare tell me that my words don’t matter. One day this word is going to be more famous than Harry Potter.

Welcome to the world of Siddha Lee Saint James, Bitches,