Arapera Card is the Pouhere Kaupapa Māori for Te Rito Maioha Early Childhood New Zealand (ECNZ). She is currently based in Te Whanganui A Tara | Wellington.
Growing up in a whānau where te reo Māori was the dominant language spoken in our home had an enormous impact on me. I am the youngest of a family of 11 children and I grew up not wanting to speak te reo Māori, and actually never speaking it to my parents. They both passed away having never heard me speak te reo Māori. While in my younger years I did not appreciate just how beautiful te reo Māori was, I was fortunate enough later in life to realise that because te reo Māori was spoken daily in our home it had been embedded deep into my whatumanawa, into my ngākau. This is where it remained until as a new mother, I yearned for it. For the first time in a very long time, I wanted to speak my reo. I especially wanted my newborn baby to have her reo, the reo of her tupuna. They are the reason that I love my reo; my parents are why I have te reo Māori and why it is my world today.
I am embarrassed to say that when I started school at five years old, I stopped speaking te reo Māori. We moved to live in Mangere Central, South Auckland, where I faced my first challenge of questioning who I was as Māori. I was teased at school because my teachers couldn’t say my name right, Arapera. I remember crying to my mum and asking her to give me a flash Pākeha name. From then on, I was known as Bella—the English translation for Arapera is Arabella but Bella sounded better. So, while we were now living in the big smoke of Auckland, most weekends and school holidays we would drive three and a half hours back north to the ngahere of Matawaia, our tūrangawaewae, where te reo Māori is still spoken freely and naturally.
My cousin once described us as ‘being very Māori, as living the old Māori style’. Ip (2008) writes about this. At the time I wondered what my cousin meant and could only determine that it was because we always visited our marae, we always visited whānau, we always cooked enough kai for everyone that would just drop in unannounced, and we respected our ngahere, our moana, our awa to never take more than we needed when we went gathering food, because we were taught that there was another day tomorrow. We helped our mother gather roots, plants, and leaves to make rongoa. There were many tikanga that we were taught, and as kids, we never asked ‘why’; we just knew it was the right thing to do. Was this the old Māori style that my cousin referred to? If it was, it was the best upbringing that I could ever have wanted as I was embraced in the warmth and safety of my language and my culture. Mō taku waimārie.
I completed my Primary, Intermediate and Secondary education in the mainstream sector and Pākeha was the dominant language for me. However, when I was 21 my husband and I were blessed with the birth of our firstborn child, and I suddenly felt a burning urge to speak to my baby in my own mother tongue, as I wanted her to have it. But I couldn’t. It is believed that each newborn child possesses spiritual attributes and that the physical body allows the child to develop its personality and spiritual attributes to learn and grow. If utilised properly this will allow the child to reach their full potential (Te Ataarangi Educational Trust, 2000). So, my journey was about to do a U-turn—I was going back to what I had as a baby, from my tūpuna and my parents—that was my reo, my culture, my taha Māori. I wanted to hand this down to my baby, it was rightfully hers. My baby will reach her full potential.
Not long before my baby’s first birthday, I applied for work at the local Kōhanga Reo because I needed to be immersed in te reo with my baby. I also enrolled in a Te Ataarangi course which was well known for using rākau/cuisenaire rods as a tool for teaching te reo Māori. I had never heard of this methodology of teaching te reo Māori, but I needed to do something. I managed to get an interview to register on to the next course. On my first day, I learned the rules that all students were to adhere to. There were only five rules for the students and the very first rule was:
- Kaua e kōrero Pākeha: Do not speak English
I recall thinking that this was going to be a very quiet course for me and wondering how I would get on in class because I would not be able to answer my tutor or even engage in conversations with my classmates. I questioned if I had done the right thing in enrolling in this course that used coloured cuisenaire rods to teach me how to speak te reo Māori. I soon realised that the rest of the rules were going to support my learning.
- Kaua e poka tikanga: Do not be disrespectful of others’ beliefs
Be respectful of each other’s teachings and understandings. Each of the students come into this class with some knowledge as we respect everyone.
- Kaua e akiaki tētahi i tētahi: Do not prompt one another
Allow your classmates the opportunity to process the new language at their own pace. Do not nudge or hurry them along.
- Kia ahu atu te pātai ki a koe, kātahi anō koe ka ahei ki te whakahoki: Only when a question is directed to you please answer.
This provides each participant the opportunity to process the new language as they speak it themselves.
- Kia ngākau māhaki: Be humble
This rule is the most important of all the 5 rules. Be respectful and humble in your learning, love and kindness towards each other to ensure everyone has a positive experience while learning this new language. This supports the retention and confidence of each participant to use te reo Māori.
Only a couple of months into the year-long course, I was told by my tutor that one of the assessments that I would need to prepare for was to lead the karakia for the entire Te Ataarangi school. It would be a 5–10 minute oral assessment. There were between 100–150 students who would be attending the karakia on that morning. I had attended karakia every morning so I knew that all our tutors and our kuia would be attending karakia as well. The morning came; I broke out in a sweat but at 9:00am I started my kauwhau. As I spoke, I watched everyone in the room; I made eye contact with as many as I could. I kept talking, I scanned the room looking into my peers’ eyes, and those of my kaiako and our kuia. I was looking to see their expressions. I was expecting to see confusion, expressions of disappointment but there wasn’t. They were nodding their heads at the appropriate times during my kauwhau, which was reassuring as it meant that they could understand my reo; I wasn’t confusing them at all.
Te Whaiti, McCarthy and Durie (1997) say that cultural continuity as shared by tūpuna play an integral part in ensuring and assisting in the development of a Māori child’s knowing who he or she is. I was beginning to understand that while I hadn’t spoken te reo for well over 16 years, my tūpuna played an integral part in what transpired that morning because it had helped me to know ko wai ahau, i ahu mai ahau i hea, he Māori ahau. Who am I? Where did I come from? I am Māori. I completed my assessment and passed.
I was ready to share this taonga with my baby. Durie (2001) stated the importance of demanding a secure identity, which requires authentic and real experiences of tribal traditions to understand and know who you are as Māori. This includes easy access to te ao Māori, especially te reo Māori, whanaungatanga, and customary land. This was my life; this was what I knew as a child. After five years in the Kōhanga Reo and being a tutor for Te Ataarangi, my whānau left the Waikato and moved back to Te Taitokerau.
After working in the Kōhanga Reo and with Te Ataarangi I loved being called Arapera or Pera (for short). I felt a wonderful sense of belonging that I was Māori, but I had lived for 25 plus years being known as Bella. It was usual for me to introduce myself to new friends and acquaintances as Bella; however, not long after my 30th birthday I went for a job interview and as usual I had my CV and qualifications all in my registered birth name. I had the interview and at the end of the interview the Manager said, “Welcome to our team Arapera”. I hadn’t been called that by anyone since my first week in Primary school. I was stunned, I didn’t want to tell him to call me Bella or Pera, as I wanted the job and actually for the first time, Arapera sounded wonderful to me.
Why was it so difficult for my teachers all those years back to call me by my given name? Do our teachers take the time to find out why we were given our names? What is the significance of our names and meanings of our names? Tikanga Māori acknowledges a person’s whānau, a person’s tūpuna, a person’s whakapapa through their names. It saddens me when I hear our teachers not taking the time to learn the correct pronunciation of all of the names of our mokopuna. Take the time to find out what their names mean and maybe even who they were named after. Ministry of Education (2017) express the importance of valuing te reo Māori in all ECE settings, and in using correct pronunciation of Māori words including our Māori names.
I was named after my paternal grandmother Arapera Toone. Sadly, I never got to meet her as she passed away 18 months before I was born. I have always felt it an honour to carry her name and to know that even though I never met her she has been a part of my life. I appreciate it when I have new people in my life taking the time to learn my name and to say it properly. It is respectful not only of me, but also of my grandmother.
I am proud of my language. Pere (1991), explains that language is the lifeline and sustenance of a culture. It is the language that enables a child to be linked up with all that is in his or her world. Language is one of the most important forms of empowerment that you can give a child; it is not only a means of communication; it also helps convey the values, and beliefs of people. My world was prepared for me by my tūpuna and my parents, my whānau and extended whānau.
Ko toku reo, ko toku ao — My language, is my world.
You can find more of these stories in our free downloadable book Tōku Anō Reo Māori: My Very Own Language.
Rārangi Pukapuka | Reference List
- Durie, M. (2001). Mauri ora. The dynamics of Māori health. Oxford University Press.
- Ministry of Education. (2017). Te Whāriki. He whāriki mātauranga mō ngā mokopuna o Aotearoa. Early childhood curriculum. Ministry of Education. Pere, R. T. (1991). Te wheke — A celebration of infinite wisdom. Ao Ako Global Learning Te Ataarangi Incorporated Society. (1982). Te Ataarangi tuatahi — Te tuara o te reo Māori.
- Te Ataarangi Educational Trust. (2000). Te tuakiri o te tangata. Whakapiki Reo (pp.1–6). http://teataarangi.org.nz/about-te-attrangi.html
- Te Whaiti, P. M., McCarthy, M., & Durie, A. (1997). Mai i rangiātea: Māori wellbeing and development. Auckland University Press.