Kia Ora! Or, for English speakers, Hello and good health! Those words were what was said to me immediately by our Maori contact when she picked us up. I was confused, clearly I am not a fluent speaker, and I was so used to Bula! that hearing a language other than Fijian or English was a bit mystifying. But I soon got used to it, as we arrived in the village, broad smiles spilling the words “Kia Ora!” was everywhere, and I believed them, I would love a happy greeting other than hello in America. As we arrived, we were set up in a line and we walked single file to a little bleacher type area, and seated, Robbie in front and the ladies in the back. This was entirely traditional, and I didn’t really mind, it was their custom. Soon, an elderly looking man stepped up. His skin was dark, but with warmer tones instead of cooler ones, his skin was weathered but his eyes were as bright as a clear night sky. And it seemed like I could talk with him, until he opened his mouth. Rivers of Maori spilled out and he paced across the field in front of us speaking to the sky, speaking to the ground, past us, above us, but I feel like he never looked at us. He moved his hands wildly and would talk with short impassioned bursts then suddenly divert his eyes to the ground, not saying anything, before picking up again.
And this went on for almost twenty minutes. At the end, he looked straight at us, and the Maori man sitting with us turned to Robbie, and said that he would sing now. Suppressing a smile, I waited for him to sing to us. And sing he did, with all of the little elders backing him up. it was a short song, and afterwards Robbie stood up, gave a speech and beckoned the six of us to stand with him and sing the song we prepared. And it went well! We sang “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” by Bob Marley. And since that song, I have been snapping, whistling, and singing ever since.
I was surprised to discover that Maori people are all about singing. They sing all the time, believe me, all the time. We sang at dinner, we sang every night, we sang while we worked and talked and learned. I’m not even nervous to sing anymore, definitely not as nervous as I was the first day. After the speeches we had to introduce ourselves individually, and when we were done, sing a song. I was already embarrassed, the Maori people have such a strong sense of heritage and family that me hardly knowing anything about my own, left me with a sort of empty feeling introduction. But hey, they know green is my favorite color. At the end, I sang American Pie, and was backed up, my group sang, the Maori sang, one of the guys picked up a guitar. It was a mini concert of the small chorus I know of American Pie. And it was great.
The next day, Kortuku, the same man that did the speech, showed us the extravagant wood carving outside of the hall we were sleeping in.
“In Maori, everything means something” he said. And it was true. Carvings of harsh creatures danced around the edges of the wood symbolizing the “mermaids” that protected the sailors at sea. A man with a rope around the sun symbolized a Maori hero that pulled the sun slower that the days could be longer for work. A weaved pattern symbolized the Stairway to Heaven, yes very similar to the Led Zeppelin song. After about two hours, we still didn’t know what the entire carving was, there was so much dedication put into it, harmoniously curving lines that blended into new patterns every time you looked, different characters that jumped off the wall and each cut of the knife holding something specific.
We gardened and played games the rest of the day.
The next day we woke up bright and early to the Maori Iron lady. She led us to a bike rental and got us some bikes and we hopped on. It was entirely flat but I felt my legs tiring, and being pretty fit myself, I was having a hard time keeping up with her! She was stern and tough, but she still held a radiant smile but a air of challenge about her. So of course, I had to keep pace. At the halfway point the Iron Lady, her name is Waiora, showed us one of the Maori style boats. To this day I am not sure if I was allowed to jump onto it, but I did anyways. It looked traditionally styled, with the same characteristic curving lines and figures with their tongues sticking out and faces tattooed. It looked intimidating, but serene at the same time. We biked back and when I asked how long the bike ride was, she said around 20 miles! Which is a ton. No wonder we were all sore.
Later that day we hiked up a fairly steep hill (me still fighting to keep up with Waiora) and looked off the top of a mountain where Maori people used to yell from. The story goes that a giant wanted the attention of a girl, so the girl said that if he swallowed something whole, she would be with him. She he agreed but upon swallowing it, he fell and choked. And now, that mountain range is called “The Sleeping Giant” based on that tale. And we got to a point on top of the Sleeping Giant, and screamed off of it. The view was breathtaking, and more than enough to make up for the aching legs. We could see all of Hastings, as well as the town next to it. It is safe to say we all slept well that night.
The next morning we went to a strictly Maori school, and were greeted quite traditionally. The school’s boys came out with sticks and stomped the ground, yelling, widening their eyes and sticking their tongues out. It was intimidating to say the least, but it was supposed to be. One of the guys approached us, screaming and contorting his face to impossible looking expressions, and put a leaf on the ground, for Robbie to pick up. Robbie went forward and got it and after we were escorted into the gym, to the entire school lined up singing, stomping, and screaming at us. It was wild, loud, and impressive. One girls eyes were open so wide I was convinced they were going to roll out of her head. But the welcoming did it’s job. We were stupefied. And then, guess what, we sang. And as a group, singing You Are My Sunshine seemed a bit out of place after such a rumpus of a welcome. Still, I loved it. This welcome was extremely traditional, and I am so thankful to have seen it, it is a big part of Maori culture today as a performing art. Later that day, we toured around the school, which taught students from kindie all the way to grade 13.
The last few days of our Maori homestay, we learned to make flowers out of flax leaves, make a fire and cook tantalizing food in it (burned my arm but I was just being careless), learned more Maori legends, and of course, sang.
At the end of this homestay I learned to be much more appreciative of my family and ancestors, after all, what are you without what made you? I learned that singing is always appropriate, you just have to find the right song, and that a community can have ties strong enough to withstand giant. Especially a sleeping one.
Until another time!
Tera.
