2014 Year of the Horse Read online

  Mira accepted it with both hands and smiled her thanks as she kissed Pania on the cheek.

  “Bring your bag and come inside. Rawiri and Ngaio are waiting to meet you.” Lowering her voice apologetically she added. “Try not to mention your work. Around here the cops are not welcome. Sorry, cuz. You know how it is?”

  Pania felt a chill on her neck. She nodded with a wry half smile and followed Mira into the house. She knew exactly what Mira meant. Towns in this area had their own ways. Police were called in only rarely and then only when there was a death. Not even child abuse was reported unless it resulted in death and then it was too late. She shrugged to herself as she stepped onto the porch. She was on holiday and anyway she wasn’t really a police woman these days. Still, she wondered, why the warning?

  “Pania meet Rawiri, Rawiri my cousin Pania.”

  They hongied and then Pania turned to the baby staring up wide eyed from her high chair. She knelt down so that their heads were level and smiled.

  “Tēnō koe Ngaio, aren’t you just the cutest?”

  The baby looked into her eyes for a long unblinking minute then glanced at her mother before the smallest of smiles flashed across her face. Immediately she lowered her gaze in shyness and they all laughed. Indeed she was very cute.

  “Come let me take you to your room. I’ll show you where things are and you can get settled.” Pania followed Mira into the hall listening to her chatter and noted the layout, bedrooms one, two, a third at the end for Pania and on the other side, the bathroom, a separate toilet and a shower room.

  “We all take turns. Rawiri is first then when he’s left for the day Ngaio and I can take our time. We’ll try to be quiet so you can sleep-in. I’m sure you’ve been working your butt off and haven’t had a holiday in ages. Now I’ll leave you to unpack. Just come out when you’re organized. Dinner’s ready anytime.” She paused as Pania dumped her bag onto the bed. “It’s so good to see you cuz.” She turned and closed the door softly.

  The room was neat and freshly redecorated. Pania tested the bed and was pleased to find that it was firm, not hard or saggy. She wouldn’t get a sore back in that bed. A lamp perched beside a clock on the bedside table and a vase filled with yellow and orange daisies sat on top of a chest of drawers. She pulled open an empty drawer. The scent of lavender escaped into the room. Pania picked up the flower sachet and took a deep breath.

  It was the smell of childhood.

  Her mother used to put drops of lavender essence on the ironing board. As she smoothed out the wrinkles and sang, the scent would fill the room. Mostly she sang popular tunes but sometimes when she was feeling blue she sang in Mãori, old hymns or sweet plaintive melodies of her ancestors. Then her silent tears dropped onto the fresh ironing and sizzled on the hot iron. Pania’s eyes filled with tears as she remembered and she blinked hard then returned the lavender, closed the drawer and turned to examine the photos on the wall. Mira had mounted several snapshots of her family together in one large frame. One in particular made her smile; three bright-eyed, sandy girls with cheeky grins and hair stiff with salt. They were all family; Mira, Pania and Cheryl; three summer-time cousins without a care in the world.

  From the window she could see the garden overrun with pumpkins and the brown and black feathery chooks clucking softly as they wandered around the section looking for grubs and insects. A low hedge separated the house from its neighbour and beyond, the bush clad ranges towered over the village.

  Pania could hear the murmur of conversation coming from the living room. She unpacked quickly. In the bathroom she splashed water over her face, squirted some perfume behind her ears and raked a comb through her hair. She was ready for dinner.

  That first evening they sat together talking, catching up on what had happened since they’d last been together. Mira showed her wedding album and Ngaio’s baby photos. There was no doubting, she was a proud mother. Rawiri talked about the Ngati Whare schools and the people, about the challenges of isolation and the hopes he had for the community.

  “You know Minginui was originally a model town.”

  “It still is by the look of the streets I saw,” Pania interrupted with a smile.

  “I can assure you that in-between it was a dump. More than sixty years ago, it was built by the government to house forestry workers. When logging was stopped they had no use for the town and so it was deemed surplus to requirements. Not only was the town surplus to requirements, but so were the workers living here. Our people cast aside, treated like dross. The government no longer wanted to own these houses which were in need of renovation and maintenance …”

  “It’s the same old story,” added Mira. “It doesn’t matter which party’s in government no-one who’s anyone cares for those at the bottom.”

  “Those in power shrewdly handed ownership to the iwi and washed their hands of any responsibility. The Ngati Whare Trust was established and took over management of Minginui. It was the end of government liability for the town or its infrastructure, but not the end of Minginui although at the time many thought it was … So what happened? … You can imagine … A town full of unemployed workers, isolated in the heart of a forest they’re forbidden to log. No community structure … no money … no facilities … It mouldered and decayed. Morale sunk along with hope and anyone who had any sense made their getaway.”

  “But something must have happened to change things?”

  “Yeah it did but change came slowly. A few of the residents determined to fight for a better deal. They started to look back to their history, their roots and to older ways of understanding the world. They realised the forest growing, vibrant and healthy, might after all be better than a forest logged, cut down and without a heart. It was hard work and often there was little reward. The Kaitiakitanga program was a start. In 2003 David Bellamy agreed to be the patron and his mana inspired them. In 2009 he returned to see the progress made and so slowly over many years they reached a turning point. That was the same year that the elders started a community garden in Minginui and workshops for our youth. Those efforts, little things one on another, helped to foster a deeper community spirit.”

  “I can understand how people’s attitude might be changed but you need more than attitude you need money.”

  “You’re right cuz. At last the authorities listened.”

  Rawiri continued. “Some dosh came from Treaty Settlements. You know my tribe never signed the Treaty of Waitangi so there were plenty of grievances to correct. Then at last we got official acceptance of responsibility for infrastructure at Minginui. I think the best part, the thing which made the most difference, was that it was ultimately up to us, and not the government, to fix things. Money helped but we did it. We were in charge and we made the decisions. People learnt new skills and put them into practice. The locals called a Hui and debated endlessly. Once the talking was done and they got off their backsides, everything was possible. Now we’re into tourism and hospitality and the national cycle way extension project has almost finished.”

  “The cycleway’s a government sponsored project isn’t it? Do you think it will open new business opportunities for your people?”

  “Opportunities? We make our own. You know the room you’re using Pania? Sometimes trampers or cyclists stay overnight. We’re like a B&B, give them a bed, breakfast in the morning and they can buy a packed lunch. We tell them about our land and culture. We aren’t the only ones. All over town people take pride in their homes and are keen to earn a bit extra. Old skills have been dusted down. The elders remember how to tend gardens in the old way and to make jams and preserves. It’s not always that simple of course. We have to get off their butts and face some scary challenges but it’s very exciting for me to watch.”

  “Are people starting up their own businesses and coming off the dole?”

  “Um … not yet … but it’s a good question. Most locals are still on benefits, although there seems to be a bit more money about recently. Gradually it’ll cha
nge as things become more viable.” He changed the subject. “Did you know that we were selected as one of the pilot projects for CM-”

  “CM? I don’t think I’ve heard of them.”

  “It’s short for Change Makers. They’re new around here but they’ve made a difference already. They focus on youth work and our tamariki are dead keen. In some ways it’s like boy scouts or girl guides. The kids attend weekly meetings where they start to build self-esteem and learn to respect the environment and each other. These are all values our iwi cherish. They go on tramping and camping trips and learn about the bush and how to survive from the forest. The younger kids are mentored and protected by the older ones. Together they become CC’s Creators of Change ... it works like a charm!”

  “Sounds a bit like M&Ms. Sugar coating but underneath it’s still a nut.” Pania noticed Rawiri’s frown. “Sorry sometimes my jokes are not funny. I take it this is the real deal?”

  “It’s wonderful. You should see our tamariki find their identity and sense of purpose. It’s a great alternative to joining a gang. Surprisingly … even … patched members let their children join and there’s been a noticeable change in the playground culture at our schools.”

  “That’s great news Rawiri. I mean it! Let’s hope that CM can spread and work its magic in other places.”

  “Perhaps you’d like to visit one of my schools? Later this week, we’re running a sports development program. We have representatives from different sports coming to encourage and teach our kids. It will start with a pōwhiri and hāngi which the children will prepare. Each year has responsibility for a different part of the welcome program; then the following two days will be taken by our sporting guests. The children have been preparing for weeks and are very excited. We have some great names coming.”

  Pania was about to accept when they heard Ngaio crying and Mira rose.

  “Its time for Ngaio’s last feed and then she usually sleeps till morning. I’ll go straight to bed after I’ve fed her and she’s settled again. Goodnight Pania - sleep well.”

  Pania yawned and got up. “Goodnight cuz. I think I’ll head for bed too. I’ve really enjoyed our evening. Thank you for your welcome and Rawiri, I’d be delighted to visit your school. I think the children are lucky to have such a dedicated director. ’Night Rawiri.”

  She lay in the dark listening as the house settled into sleep. The hum of the city was missing, replaced by the lullaby breeze singing amongst the trees and the night birds. She heard ruru call close by and then, further in the bush, a kiwi. Her breathing slowed and she fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

  At six she heard Ngaio cry. She must have drifted off again because she woke with a start when the backdoor closed and the silence was suddenly filled with the sound of Rawiri’s motorbike spluttering into life. Not long after, there was a light knock on the door and Mira poked her head around. Seeing Pania was awake she came in with Ngaio balanced on her hip and pulled open the curtains. Light streamed into the room.

  “Time to get up cuz, breakfast’s ready.”

  They chatted over toast and tea, catching up on news. Crumbs fell unnoticed as they attacked the food and conversation with equal enthusiasm. Ngaio played happily in her highchair dropping toys to the ground just to watch Pania pick them up again and again. It was a wonderful game. She had an irrepressible twinkle in her big eyes. Once the tea pot was drained they cleared the table and the rest of the morning was filled with everyday tasks. Pania took pleasure in the novelty of the slower rhythms of Mira’s life.

  That afternoon Rawiri rang. He asked Mira a few questions then she hesitantly passed the phone to Pania, fine tukutuku lines weaving across her forehead.

  “Hi Pania, I’ve got a small problem. One of our coaches has had to pull out. You used to play netball didn’t you? Mira said you were very good ... said you were a rep! I know you’re on holiday and I probably shouldn’t even ask, but perhaps you’d like to volunteer … as a coach … for our kids?”

  Pania smiled at Mira who was watching, her face anxious.

  “I’d love that. It can be my koha.”

  She could hear the relief in Rawiri’s voice.

  “That’s great. You must come to the pōwhiri and meet the others. It’ll be fun, you’ll see. Thanks Pania ... see you tonight.”

  She replaced the handset.

  “I don’t mind at all,” she reassured Mira.

  That evening she asked Rawiri about the program.

  “This is the second year we’ve held these workshops. The Bay of Plenty Schools’ Development Program helps us and sponsors three professional coaches to attend. We also get funding from CM. That’s another advantage of having been a successful pilot. It all helps with the running costs. Local sports personalities volunteer their time and skills. Tutors stay at the marae and we enjoy sharing our history and culture. There are six different sports and it would have disappointed heaps of kids, especially the girls, if we’d had to drop netball. I’m really grateful Pania.

  “Of course rugby and netball are the favourites. Cross country athletics was quite popular last year so we are repeating that and this year we are introducing cricket, BMX and mountain biking, canoeing and kayaking. The children from all three schools are divided into six groups or teams of roughly the same age. Each school hosts two sports and for two days the teams stay together and travel between the venues. Each group has an adult leader either a teacher or parent volunteer. It’s a way of bringing and retaining new skills within our school community. Everyone has a chance to try a new sport. Afterwards we structure our lesson program around their experiences. It works really well for us and the kids love it.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Under the watchful eyes of their elders, the senior children welcomed their parents and the visiting VIPs. They’d been practising the karanga, whaikōrero and the waiata for weeks. The younger children had helped to prepare the food and to dig the hāngi pits for the hãkari. Potatoes, kumara and pumpkin came from the community gardens, wild deer and pork from the forest, the rest of the meat store-bought from Murupara. While the buried food cooked on the hot stones, they presented the traditional Pōwhiri ceremony with enthusiasm and pride. The guests and VIP’s enjoyed the traditional ritual and Rawiri’s quiet pride was plain to see.

  Once the pits were opened and the fragrant steam of kai reminded people the banquet was about to be served, the courtyard hummed with conversations, children’s voices shouted high with excitement and here and there, like boiling mud in a thermal pool, laughter erupted above the hubbub. As she queued in the slowly moving line, Pania found herself beside the Cricket Coach and when they exchanged names, Pania guessed Sheila was Irish.

  Her stunning red-gold hair gleamed brightly. It was impossible to ignore and it framed a pale complexion spattered with freckles. She had a pleasing cheerful face with clear blue eyes but it was her soft Irish lilt which most charmed all those who heard it.

  “I didn’t know the Irish played cricket, at least not seriously. I thought it was a British game,” Pania said as they queued.

  “I’d be exaggerating if I described cricket as our national game but cricket clubs have been around for over a hundred years especially in Dublin ... probably a British plot to distract the enemy.” Sheila giggled and winked. “The profile of the game has improved, helped I guess by the ceasefire which ended The Troubles. Then the barriers between Catholic and Protestant slowly eased. I was in my late teens when I played my first game. At first I was a bit of a round peg in a square hole but I played well and eventually the others realised I didn’t have horns or a tail.” She shrugged. “Our players are not professionals so it’s a hobby not a career; that is except for a handful of us who get by as coaches. I was one of the lucky few. When I started coaching, my teams did really well and so I was offered more opportunities, then I got a coaching job in South Africa and from there I moved to New Zealand. To think I’d get so much satisfaction and get paid I still pinch myself. I just love my life.
”

  Her enthusiasm was infectious. Pania had never warmed to cricket but she could identify with the sentiment. She’d been an amateur too and had once dreamed of a future dominated only by netball. Now she played in a social team and enjoyed the company even more than the game and she too loved her job. Sheila chatted on.

  “When I first arrived in New Zealand and I saw all those Mãori carvings I thought they were very spooky and sinister. I really felt their power and it reminded me of my father’s tales. He’d been in the Congo and could never forget the savage horror of that place. Now I understand better what your carvings represent and I no longer fear them. I love that they represent your ancestors. I think it’s a wonderful way to keep memories alive.”

  Pania nodded. “When I was little we used to spend our holidays at the marae. My family … all my whãnau gathered there and we kids ran wild. The marae was built above the beach and each day at low tide we would go with the older women, the kuia, and gather kaimoana. Mostly we played around in the water and got in their way while they did the hard work. We had a whale of a time. At night we would all sleep on the floor of the meeting house. There was no set bedtime and we would just lie there talking quietly until we dropped off. Our parents would be sitting nearby retelling the old stories and debating. In those days kids were not expected to take part in a pōwhiri; that was adult business. We just had to be quiet and respectful or we’d get a cuff around the head or a boot up our backsides. My cousin Mira and I used to disappear when it was time to peel the spuds and return just as the hāngi was being opened.” She laughed. “We always ended up doing dishes. The aunties saw to that! I’m still good at cleaning up and hate all that dreary washing and peeling and cutting so I must have learnt something.”

  “You’re so fortunate to have a big family. I do envy you. I really think it is time for us to change the way our world works. We should focus on people not on wealth and power. That’s Change Makers’ focus too. Did you know that they helped sponsor me to take part in the Sports Workshops?”