It turns out - I'm not over...

Today has been a super-emotional day. 

Maybe it's partly the Level Four lockdown we find ourselves back in, all of a sudden. Maybe it's the weird limbo of waiting for my Covid test results to come back. Maybe it's being stuck at home with three teenagers and two dogs, unable to leave the house until we get those test results. Maybe it's years of walking with my kids as they face down their giants, and the way lockdown threatens to derail all the hard-won progress, wrought through literal blood, sweat and tears. 

Probably it's a mix of everything, but this morning, all of a sudden I just couldn't.

This post is not about that. But that's the background to this feeling I have right now, this incredible gratitude, a fragile tenderness where tears are just below the surface.

Gratitude because - it turns out -  I'm not over.

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My Journey in Te Ao Maori

Photo Credit: Stephanie Soh

*(kei te haere tonu ahau)*

In 2016 I began working at the Parenting Place, which had been a long-held dream of mine, after writing freelance for the magazine for years.
Unbeknown to me, my new workplace had begun a journey (haerenga) into te ao Māori (the Māori world) and I was swept up in it along with my workmates.
This was no tokenism or surface-level nod, but a wholehearted journey delving into who we are as a nation, our history, where we've come from and what it means to be good Treaty partners.
Along the way, I had the privilege of staying on a number of marae around the country, including Te Tii Marae at Waitangi (where our nation's founding treaty was debated before the signing) and Parihaka (the site of a terrible injustice perpetrated by the British in the 1880's).

The journey began for me as just simply something my work was doing, which I found interesting, but it has become something personal for me now - a personal odyssey and a challenge to discover who I am and where I belong.

In 2018 I had the privilege of beginning to learn te reo Māori with a bunch of my workmates, during work time. I was worried my middle-aged half-speed brain would not cope with the challenge of learning a language, but I did OK, passing all my tests and actually learning stuff. But the main thing I've discovered is that learning te reo isn't just about learning to speak the words - it is about opening myself up to a whole new way of thinking, new ways of looking at the world and finding a deeper sense of belonging and identity in this whenua (land).
I completed a questionnaire sent out to all of us at work to "gauge the bi-cultural journey the Parenting Place has embarked on over the last three years..."

Here are some of my responses...

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The Best Little Country in the World is my Home

Sometimes it takes a fresh perspective to realise what you've got. This summer we have been playing New Zealand tour guides, showing our aunty and uncle from England the glories of our little country. This amazing, beautiful unique country that I can so easily take for granted...

The clean water and stunning scenery. The green grass and warm sunshine. The easy-going friendly Kiwis who just love to welcome newcomers and show them why NZ really is Godzone (i.e. God's Own Country).

Our barefooted children (apparently if kids walked to school in bare feet in England like they do here, social services would be called and it would be neglect, but here we call it FREEDOM).

Our lack of pretension and the way we all dress so casually EVERYWHERE, and how this is normal. And no one looks at you funny for slopping about in shorts and "jangles" (hehe, Aunty Irene, it's "Jandals" i.e. "Japanese Sandals").

The way we can all swim. Everyone. Ever heard of a Kiwi who can't swim? Me neither. Another thing we take for granted.

Our deliciously warm-but-not-too-hot summers. (And this one's been particularly good after a rather shaky start. But we won't mention December).

We have been wanting family from England to come and see our little slice of paradise for years, but it's such a long way, only Grandma was willing to make the journey... until now. 
Hubby's Aunty and Uncle planned what they thought would be a once-in-a-lifetime trip this summer, and we knew we had to pull out all the stops, make them fall in love with the place so they'll go home raving about it and MORE rellies will come visit.

Our plan is working - they are besotted. And even talking about maybe coming back and seeing the South Island next time...

They've been to Waiheke Island, Taupo, Rotorua, Mt Maunganui, Pauanui/Coromandel, Back to Auckland, spent a day on a boat moored off Motutapu and now have headed up to the Bay of Islands/Paihia.

And oh what fun we've had trying to teach our aunty how to say the Maori words!
Mt Maunganui = Mt Monnagooey/Mt moowagonny. Pauanui = Pannanooey/Poowarney. Waihi = Wee-eye. The lists goes on. Hehe. So cute, these tourists.

As I've driven around the place, telling stories, explaining the meaning of names, talking about the history, it's made me realise (a) how much I know about my country and how many Maori words I've absorbed in my lifetime and (b) how much MORE I want to know and understand. I've even (just quietly) considered finding a wee course in Te Reo.

I've begun to realise just how much our laid-back, friendly Kiwi culture owes it's thanks to our tangata whenua - our Maori people. Maori have a graciousness, a warmth, a generosity of spirit; they traditionally value people more than things and family above all. When you meet a Maori person, the first question is "Who are your people/where are you from?" not "what job do you do?" like us Pakeha.

Sure things have gotten messed up and Maori feature too heavily in all the wrong statistics, but it's my impression that this happens when they lose their sense of where they belong, their land, and their people.

Sometimes we Pakeha can feel awkward and vaguely guilty around Waitangi Day. It's meant to be our national day, but usually any celebrations are overshadowed by protests and shouts of "honour the Treaty!"

This year after playing tour guide all summer, I've found myself yearning to understand my country and my history better. The more I've talked about New Zealand to our beloved tourists, the more I've wanted to really know.

I recorded Mike King's series "Lost in Translation" (on Maori TV, Waitangi Day) and spent the last day or so watching every episode back-to-back. It was a beautiful thing.

Did you know that there wasn't just one Treaty signing? There were nine sheets sent out all around New Zealand. I didn't know that.

There was a lot I didn't know, but watching Mike King's (most excellent) programme I learned a lot. It gave me a sense that as country we have a truly unique and special history, which I want to learn more about.

Yes mistakes have been made, but as the programme showed, the spirit of the Treaty was well intended. I can be proud of our country's foundations. And I want to understand and honour the people who were here in this beautiful place first.

My ancestors came here fleeing poverty and repression in Ireland way way back in the 1840's. I am grateful they found a place here.

One of my ancestors on my dad's side was a nurse called Charlotte Speedy, and I'm told she nursed a Maori chief back to health from his death-bed and was made an honorary member of the tribe. I'm now on a mission to find out which chief, and which tribe. I would love to think that my little family could have ties to the "people of the land" ... honorary or not.

It's a stunning country. And in my humble opinion? The best little country in the world. (And I think our tourists would agree with me).

........

BEST KIWI SONG EVER: "WELCOME HOME"
Dave Dobbyn's song sums it all up perfectly...



Kiwis: What do YOU love most about Enzed?
You other poor buggers: When are you coming over?

Camp Mother Faces Her Fear

Grown ups are meant to be brave. Mothers especially. We are meant to be the ones who instil confidence, face difficulties stoically and be the rock upon which our little people lean, the safe place for them to land when they fall.

But sometimes mummies get scared too.
Sometimes we are the ones who are curled up in a fetal position, sniffing and wailing, I don't want to gooooo...!
Oh, not you? Fine, just me then.

OK I may have exaggerated slightly, it may not have been the fetal position or the wailing, but on Monday morning as I faced the prospect of going away with Miss Fab as Parent Help on her Marae* Camp, I was overwhelmed and terrified.
It wasn't the prospect of meeting and mixing with the other parents when I have been feeling less-than-confident socially, lately.
It wasn't even the prospect of sleeping on a mattress in the Wharenui with sixty boisterous children.
It was Fear of the Powhiri.
Protocol HeebieJeebies.
Culture Terror.

[the Wharenui]

I haven't always been this way.
Going onto a marae used to be no big deal for me. I've lost count of the number of trips and camps we took in my youth work days where we slept "Marae-style" under one big roof in the Wharenui.
I knew the basics of the protocol.
Shoes off at the door. No sitting on tables. Ladies at the back for the powhiri. Hongi the men, kiss the women.

Sweet. No losing sleep over the prospect of a marae trip back then.
Until the fateful day it all changed.
The day of my Humiliation.
The day I ran weeping from the building never to sit through another powhiri again... until now.

[sleeping "marae-style"]

What happened, Simoney? you may be asking.
What turned your love and fascination for Maori culture into stomach churning, knee-knocking fear?

It happened like this.
It was February 2000. I was handing over the reigns of CLS, the education programme I started back in the Nineties. I had started my new job, and all that remained was that final official farewell.
It was being hosted at our Centre out in Otara and the centre leader at the time had decided to hold a Powhiri. She had invited local Maori elders and dignitaries to come and take part; there would be the usual karanga, speeches, waiata... and then it would be my turn to speak, I was told.
As the founder of the programme, this was my swansong, my farewell. My Goodbye.

[weaving a cord for the poi]

I wasn't seated with the dignitaries even though I was the founder of the programme; I can't speak Maori. I am a woman.

I sat listening, thinking of all the things I would say.
Karanga. Speech. Waiata. Speech. Waiata. Pause.
Ahhh, that must be my turn to speak now.
I stood, and made to go and stand at the front when a harsh voice rang out through the room.
"SIT DOWN, GIRL."
I froze. Heat rushed to my face.
She was talking to me.
This woman who had absolutely nothing to do with the founding of the programme. No blood sweat and tears of hers had been shed. Yet here she was, calling me "GIRL" and shouting at me to sit down.
I sat.
I tried my best to hold back the tears.
I had breached protocol somehow, and paid the price with my humiliation.
Finally the incomprehensible speeches were over and the harsh woman was addressing me again.
"Girl, if you want to say something, now you can."

[making rewana bread]

I walked up to the front on unsteady legs. My stomach was a knot. My face was on fire.
I was a girl.
Not the person whose dream to help struggling kids had made it possible for all those people to be there in their pride of place.
Just a girl.
No name. No honour.
I opened my mouth. No words came out.
I stood there looking around the room and all I could think was, "This is IT???"
I gulped and blurted, "Be good, do your best, I'll miss you all..." and then turned and ran from the room, tears streaming.

Thirteen years later the prospect of returning to a marae, to sitting through a powhiri, to stumbling my way over culture and protocol... it undid me.

But I had to go.
My girlie was so excited that her mama was going to be camp help.
She had no idea how afraid I was, how sick to my stomach.
I had to pull myself up by my bootzips and just get on with it.
Go. Stay at the back. Where a long skirt. Keep your head down.

Oh. Am I glad I went.
I faced my terror, I pushed through the memory of my humiliation... and on the other side I found...
Gracious hospitality. Warmth and humour and a kiss on the cheek.
Smiles, and bare feet, cutoff jeans.
Our Maori hosts were nothing like the people from That Day.
They asked us, "Did you understand what we were doing just then? Do you know what we were talking about?"
They explained things, interpreted things and made us feel at home.
No being afraid of doing the wrong thing.
We belonged there now. We were part of their family.

[Poi making]

It was.... healing.
I sat there with a huge smile on my face.
And I enjoyed every minute.
From the poi making, to the potato peeling, to the late-night card game to mattress sleeping.
Nothing to be afraid of.
This is a true Marae. A place with open arms and hori kitchen equipment.
A place where kids can fly kites and if you forget to place the koha, no worries.
A place where they love to welcome people and let them taste the richness of their heritage (and rewana bread).
A place connected to the community, where the people have big hearts.
A place where nobody called me girl.

...................

You can read about how I started CLS here: The CLS Story

MY LITTLE MAORI DICTIONARY

• Maori: New Zealand's indiginous people
• Marae: A Maori centre of family and community
• Wharenui: The Sleeping House, with everyone sleeping under one roof on mattresses. Also used as the Meeting House. Literally, "Big House"
• Powhiri: Welcoming ceremony where visitors are called onto the marae
• Karanga: The call to strangers to come, "Haere Mai", or prayer
• Poi: A soft ball attached to a cord; Used by women in traditional Maori dances
• Waiata: Song (in a powhiri, a waiata is sung after a speech; each side takes turns making speeches and singing waita)
• Koha: a gift, (placed by the visitors at the feet of the hosts during the powhiri)