THE FAR HORIZON

When you’re on the open ocean for days on end without instruments or landmarks, you need a wayfinder who can at least read signs like sunrise, which way swells are running in relation to that, kei hea ngā tāwake, ngā whetu, me ngā mea.  The very best wayfinders are those who, even blind, can sense the different swell patterns moving under the waka and always know the direction they’re moving in. 

Although most of us will never know how to navigate a waka, the principles that get it and its crew from one point to another are the same ones that get us and our whānau through life.  And for that we do have the necessary knowledge, either as individuals, whānau or hapū.

When my grampa was young his mother launched him towards a horizon in which Prime Ministerial office figured.  But instead he met my nanna and set his own course elsewhere.  Even though his destination was not the one she had in sight, his mother had shown him the horizon existed, and he did the rest.  Teaching tamāriki that the horizon exists and giving them the goods to get there is the job of whānau.  Let us do it.

When the kaka hits the kōwhiuwhiu, depending on what skills, knowledge and qualities are needed, my whānau know who turn to.  If it’s diplomacy, then it wouldn’t be me – but there is always someone.  And even when we do have to go outside ourselves, e.g. to a lawyer to navigate the complexities of probate, we hang onto the hoe tere and add the knowledge to our navigation chart.  Knowledge of what’s needed to get to a particular point on the horizon belongs to whānau.  Let us use it.

At age two my kōtiro had a fall that left her looking like a ngāngara.  When he saw her, one of my uncles demanded to know if she’d been hit and, if not, please explain!  I was blown away with gratitude that he was watching and willing to intervene in the course of her life. Storms on the horizon of one whānau can be seen by others within the hapū. Let us act on it.

On Saturday morning there was a White Ribbon concert in Kaitāia aimed at curbing family violence.  Awesome.  But unless whānau did the mahi, used their knowledge and acted on what they sensed, the horizon didn’t change for all those who got the bash on Saturday night.  Enjoy the initiatives that come in from outside, but don’t lose sight of the horizon.

In the great uncharted course of life the most desirable destination for us and our whānau is heaven, however we define that.  We won’t always physically see the horizon or the hazards between us and it.  But we can always call on wisdom and te wairua tapu to help us sense what’s going on in our whānau and keep it moving in the right direction.  Haerenga mīharo!

EXPERIENCE, STRENGTH AND HOPE

When I hold my pre-school mokopuna I do not want to believe anyone could ever hit their beautiful little bodies hard enough to rip their inner organs in half. When I look upon my grandsons I do not want to imagine them being groomed and manipulated by an adult they trust and admire for that adult’s sexual gratification.

Even to think or write of such things sickens and saddens me. And yet happen they did to children from this area, and happening they likely still are – to someone somewhere. So, apart from helping me process the unwanted and unimaginable, my emotions aren’t a lot of use. What then can I do or say that is of use? Only share my own experience, strength and hope. That’s all. Take what you can use from it and and leave the rest.

To begin, in my experience the main threats to our children’s safety are the presence of one or more of three things; alcohol and drugs, multiple partners, poor or no tikanga mātua whāngai.

Human beings plus alcohol always struck me as a very unattractive mix. I never saw it improve even the nicest adult, including me. When dak and other drugs came on the scene the mix just got uglier. As a parent, I chose not to bring any of them into the life of my uri. I’ve never regretted that choice.

Nor have I ever regretted the choice I made as a young solo mother to be very picky about who I let into her life.  I saw too many of my mates’ tamariki learn to love a new “uncle” or “daddy” only to have him abuse them or their mum (or both) and then leave for a prison cell or another woman.

In my experience there are more good people than bad ones in this world, but I made sure to teach my girl about “good touch, bad touch”.  And I didn’t pussyfoot around with euphemisms either.  I told it straight and made sure she understood, even though she sometimes blushed. 

Nor did I hesitate if I sensed a threat.  I happily promised to flatten the teacher who took her, without my permission, from her class at one school to a course at another.  He never did it again.  Nor did the church leader I similarly warned for interviewing her without my knowledge. She was embarassed. But so what?  No-one ever died of embarassment.  I apologised to the teacher who later proved to be OK.  I never felt the need to apologise to the church leader.   

I made lots of mistakes as a parent, but I thank God that I never erred on the side of an abuser.

Tēnā ko tēnei, ka he i tētahi tāngata tētahi o ēnei mea nonohi e whakapono nei ki ahau, nui ke te pai ki a ia me i whakawerewerea ki tōna kakī te kōhatu mira kaihe, me i pungaia ia ki te rire o te moana. [Matthew 18:6]

DEFINING SUCCESS

Years ago I took part in a focus group on cultural definitions of success, and shared a bit about growing up in Pawarenga where life followed a loose pattern largely centred round whakapono and whānau, seasons and cycles.  Droning karakia; these bookended all our days.  Thursday fishing, meatless Friday, Saturday on the back of Kaea Samson’s cream truck going to Broadwood for JMB, Sunday singing in church; these marked our weeks.  Tupu beds and pataka stores, garden slavery and bush freedom, black taraire-stained teeth and green river swims, chilblained feet and tapa legs, pet calves and roast beef dinners, bee sting orchards and bottled summerfruits; these bracketed our months and years.  And through it all sounded the eternal roar of the coast.

Our story starts with Thursdays.  That was the day when horses were saddled, split pikau made of sugar bags loaded with takakau, butter, salt and flasks of tea, and off to the coast the riders would go.  Kids who showed promise as divers got taken along.  If kutai was the goal, you hung on while the horse was swum across the Kawhi to the easier pickings from the Whangape side.  If it was crayfish or paua, you faced the thrill of meeting the kaingāra that lurked in the clefts waiting for your paua-seeking hand.  If it was fish off Taupeke, you had the return climb up to the Golden Stairs hanging on to the rider’s waist while the bulk of you dangled off the back of the horse with nothing but the strength in your skinny kid arms to keep you from the rocks below.  In theory, if you did slip, you had two last chances to grab on to before saying haere ra to this cruel world – the crupper and the horse’s tail.  Noone I knew ever died.  What fun. 

Caught fish were kept in rock pools till home time.  Hunger was satisfied with slices off one of them swished in saltwater, layered on buttered takakau with maybe a bit more salt and some kutai, raw or steamed on a piece of iron.  When washed down with strong tea to the accompaniment of our puku pākehā sister’s moaning that we were worse than cannibals, nothing ever tasted sweeter!

The homeward trip always started with bulging pikau sacks that slowly deflated at the kainga of any kuia, kaumātua, pouaru or pani and ended when every kainga in both valleys had enough kaimoana for Friday’s meals. 

Those olden days weren’t all good and golden but they taught us that wherever we go and whatever we do, we’ve got to bring back enough to drop off a feed to those in need. 

That tikanga still happens in Pawarenga today and it has helped us survive much worse dangers than marauding morays or falling off horses.  It is now also used around the world as a cultural metaphor for success when evaluating research projects.