#tikitour

Months before leaving for New Zealand, I’d happened upon an upcoming event there that was right up my street! : The annual Tūrangawaewae Regatta – a rare chance to see traditional intricately-carved Waka Taua (war canoes) take to the Waikato River as a display to honour the mana of the Kīngitanga (the Māori King movement).

The date was engrained into my memory, with the first section of my trip scheduled around it, but, to my deepest regret, due to bad planning I couldn’t get there until the last hour, missing the final river show and paddle salute to the King. Absolutely gutted and needing comfort, I made a beeline for the food tent, clearly almost packed down with a few loiterers taking shelter from the heat.  One stall holder took pity and offered me what has now become one of my fave dishes here: raw fish marinated in coconut cream with spring onions and bell peppers.  I sat down at the only remaining table, feeling shy but kinda hoping that my strange hair and appearance might bring someone over and chat. It worked!

A late-middle-aged man pulled up a chair: “So…what’s your name and where are you from?” It was my very good fortune to be talking to a Kaumātua (Māori elder), held in high esteem in the community and recognised for their life experiences and knowledge. An hour and a half later I’d been given a informative outline about the history of the Kīngitanga, starting from the migration of Tahitian Islanders to Aotearoa (NZ), to land wars with Colonial occupiers, the unification of Māori tribes, to modern day race relations and the role of the King today plus the related history and importance of the Tūrangawaewae Marae House.  On my enquiring about other events happening there, Te Rongapai cordially invited me to a Poukai happening two days from then: One of an annual series of visits by the Māori king to Kīngitanga marae, a tradition that dates back to the 19th century, instituted to “feed the widowed, the bereaved and the destitute”. Kawe Mate (grieving families) can attend as a tribute to their loved ones who have died recently, and the gathering also serves as a platform for community discussion. 

So...mixed first thoughts: honour at being invited but fear of this unknown, presumably emotional and private community affair.  But what were the odds that I could be so thouroughly disappointed by missing the waka event only to be invited to a this? There was no question about saying yes.. despite much nervousness about going on my own, with no way to contact my one tenuous connection there and not even being sure it was actually alright to attend.....

.....I’d asked about dress code and been vehemently assured that there was none, and to wear anything I wanted. So, come Monday morning, there I was, stepping out of my car, wearing an odd pick-n-mix of clean travel-clothes -- a nice, but multi-coloured dress, turquoise sweater and a shiny gold leopard print scarf…quickly realising that every other person in sight was dressed head to toe in black!

Expecting there to be a gaggle of guests waiting by the main arch, I saw two young woman looking similarly apprehensive.  In fact, they worked for a company that managed tribal assets and their uniform logo instantly was recognised by everyone there.  So… I really was the only random pakeha (non-Maori / white European) in the 200-strong turnout. Tall, blonde-dreadlocked, in brightly coloured clashing clothing – feeling conspicuous much?? Wanting to shrink into my (thankfully) black shoes, I took a deep breathe, put on my best polite smile and pretended not to be totally mortified.  Everything became instantly better when a woman stepped off a bus with a beaming smile that was constantly on the verge of laughter.  Nanny Mary was there to look after the other two ladies, but, after the initial surprise finding out I was a random who’d come from the other side of the world, Mary took me under her wing for the rest of the day, guiding me through three hours of singing and speeches, a 30-40 person line-up for the hongi (The traditional Māori greeting pressing noses together), followed by a gigantic feast held inside the Marae, every table overflowing with traditional dishes of all kinds. She even let me take her picture outside of the main entrance showing me the iwi’s (tribe) insignia on her scarf  – ALL other photography was strictly forbidden.  Throughout, Mary’s bubbly, genuine, warm and kind persona made me feel entirely welcome, her laughter infectious and by the time I left, with numbers swapped, felt like I’d gained a much-appreciated new friend at the beginning of my journey in this Land of the Long White Cloud.

Moral of the blog: If I’d gone to the regatta in full swing as planned and been in the big crowds watching the war canoes, I never would have met an talked with Te Rongapai, nor had the very special honour of experiencing the Poukai and not met Nanny Mary..and experienced such kindness from strangers.

If you made it all the way through…thanks for reading.  I recorded this story most importantly because for once I have practically no photos to remember by…only words and thoughts.