Dedicated to my mother, Huhana
Mero is our Pouako based in Te Tairāwhiti | Gisborne, as well as Curriculum Advisor Māori | Kaitohutohu Marautanga Māori.
My mother was born in Te Teko to a single mother who spent her time working at the marae. Mum’s father, who would be discovered later in life, was a teacher who came from Tokomaru Bay doing a short stint at the local school. The relevance of all of this will become apparent later in this article, but for now, it is important to note the strong whakapapa links to the two places mentioned — Ko Ngāti Awa me Ngāti Porou ngā iwi.
My journey to te reo Māori follows a lineage of events that date back to the birth of my grandmother (Nan). I consider my grandmother to be my link to te ao kohatu — to a time where tikanga was authentic and unblemished. Her name was Marcia Hunia and she was also born in Te Teko. The community, back then, was fully immersed and fully functioning in te reo and tikanga Māori. She was fluent in both. But as time went on, Nan’s life would follow the typical narrative used to describe the decline of the Māori language. There was a culture shift, and Nan was forced to assimilate. So, she saved her interactions in te reo for the only places she felt safe to do so—at home, or on the marae. By the time my mother was born, English was the more favoured language, and so Nan chose that path instead for my mother. This would be the first glitch in the whakapapa of my reo.
Mum would often hear the language being spoken on the marae, but it was the aunties playing cards in the kitchen that really planted the seed. “I was fluent, but I didn’t know it,” were her words. There were no aspirations to korero, and it would eventually become just that language that the old people spoke. This attitude continued even through boarding school where, I believe, Mum first got a hint of her disadvantage after meeting and becoming friends with a girl from Ruatahuna, and whose reo, as Mum describes it, was untouched and pure, with no influence from te ao Pākehā. These sentiments were echoed in a report by Smith (1982) who, in the seventies, discovered only three communities still speaking their native dialect — pure and untouched. They included the iwi residing in Ruatahuna—Tuhoe.
Mum would again be confronted by her lack of reo at the birth of my tuakana, Tia. The name Tamakui was bestowed upon her by a significant elder and when Mum rejected the name, the koroua withdrew all of his koha. Tā Hēmi Henare refers to the language as the very essence of the culture, and that without it, one cannot fully grasp Māori concepts. Ko te reo te mauri o te mana Māori: Language is the lifeblood of Māori culture (Ka’ai & Higgins, 2012). Mum’s understanding of tikanga Māori, during that time, can be linked to her knowledge of te reo, because being raised on the marae and in a predominantly Māori community was not enough for her to understand the true meaning behind whakapapa and the significance of a child’s name.
My mother was a Kindergarten teacher by trade. In the eighties, a combination of events led to her joining the kōhanga reo movement — a drastic change to the more mainstream life she was living. Soon after the birth of my tuakana, Nan died and Mum discovered her father, Hapi Potae, and her links to Ngāti Porou. It was around this time, also, that Mum became hapū again. “Exciting times,” she recalls of the kōhanga reo movement — the hype, the kotahitanga, the pride. In the thirty years since Mum’s birth never had te reo been placed in such a prestigious position. So, with regards to everything that had taken place, Mum was triggered to finish the job that had started in a house in Te Teko by a group of aunties playing cards.
While at kōhanga, Mum would share her knowledge of child development in exchange for te reo Māori. There, she was surrounded by beautiful reo speakers who had a deep understanding of kaupapa Māori, including her friend from Ruatahuna—the one with the untouched reo, and an Aunty from Ngāti Porou, Nanny Biddy, who would later become a pillar for Mum to learn about that side of her whakapapa. Kōhanga reo became her home, and she ended up raising all of us there — immersed in the kaupapa, reo and tikanga. The synergies between te ao Māori and early learning created a powerful tool for human development, or as Mum would call it — raising rangatira. We were privileged, and our link to our language, while slightly hindered, was saved and nurtured, right through to adulthood where we now pass it all on to our own tamariki.
So, what are the struggles today? You may ask. The challenges we face are the sacrifices we make to build the lifestyle that supports our world. My whānau are at a point now where we cannot function without te reo Māori; however, venturing out of our four walls is often daunting for our tamariki who are learning about the world and where they stand as Māori, and as Māori speakers. When organisations are encouraged to be bilingual; this is why.
They are only small experiences, but they all add up. A defining moment was when my son, three years old at the time, was at the emergency room with a suspected broken leg. The staff were professional and compassionate—but only in English. My Māori speaking child, however, was not comforted, and he rejected their assistance even with my translating. The language barrier made for a very traumatic experience and in the end, we had to progress without his permission—removing his autonomy. This made me aware of the struggles our tamariki are facing today.
I have been told that I am one of the lucky ones. When Nan was stripped of her right to speak Māori, Mum still managed to maintain the passion through her early experiences, and for that I truly do believe that I am privileged, but only in comparison to the whānau who did not overcome that trauma. That same passion is what fuels me today to continue the legacy, to raise rangatira. But while the landscape today has changed, the struggle still exists. It is much different, however, to what Mum and Nan experienced. Today our tamariki speak fluently and they stand confidently in their ao Māori. But their ao Māori continues to be isolated to the home and to their kura. Their story is yet to be told, but I believe that it will involve another shift, and together we can direct that shift toward a true bilingual world that we are rightfully entitled to.
The whakapapa of my reo is a story of evolution. It illustrates the relationship between the past and the present, and acknowledges the struggle faced by my tūpuna that allowed me to acquire this taonga so easily. But it is a story that cannot be told without acknowledging its whakapapa, which continues to branch out through our tamariki and their stories.
Kotahi te kākano, he nui ngā hua o te rākau
A tree comes from one seed but bears many fruit
You can find more of these stories in our free downloadable book Tōku Anō Reo Māori: My Very Own Language.
Rārangi Pukapuka | Reference List
- Ka’ai, T. M., & Higgins, R. (2003). Te Ao Māori: Māori world-view. In T. M. Ka’ai, J. C. Moorfield, M P. J. Reilly, & S. Mosely (Eds.), Ki te whaiao: An introduction to Māori culture and society (pp. 13–25). Pearson New Zealand. ISBN: 9780582545724
- Ministry of Education. (2017). Te Whāriki. He whāriki mātauranga mō ngā mokopuna o Aotearoa. Early childhood curriculum.
- Smith, L. (1982). Te tirohanga i te kōrerotanga o te reo rangatira i roto i ngā kāinga Māori me ngā rohe. Survey of language use in Māori households and communities. Pānui whakamōhio, He pūrongorongo whakamōhio mā ngā kaiuru ki te toronga tuatahi, 1973–1978. A report to participants in the initial investigation, 1973– 1978. Information bulletin 14. NZCER.