Silence and a Christmas carol

We are all wha¯ nau now.

They came in their hundreds, in uniforms and shorts, in jandals and heels and boots, in their sorrow and their grief.

At Whakata¯ne’s Te Ma¯nuka Tu¯ tahi Marae they came to be together, to mourn the loss of so much and so many.

And, after the silence they sang a carol. Because it is nearly Christmas after all.

Yesterday afternoon hundreds of people filed quietly into Nga¯ ti

Awa’s waterfront marae to mark one week since the eruption of Whakaari Island.

Since the tragedy, the marae had been the heart of the community as Nga¯ ti Awa opened its doors to police, the public, and emergency workers who removed their shoes and sought solace inside.

The families of the lost had gone there too and, one week later, some were there again.

They sat at the back, near the door and the hundreds of shoes left outside it.

Earlier, kaumatua Joe Harawera had ushered in the people waiting on the footpath outside the marae gates.

‘‘Haere mai everybody, in you go, don’t worry, we are all wha¯ nau now.’’

When a couple of Pa¯ keha hung back in uncertainty – or awe – Harawera approached them, gently guiding them through the gate and towards the marae.

‘‘Come on, you are OK, we are all one wha¯ nau today.’’

Normally the protocol for firsttime guests would be much more formal but yesterday was different, and the welcomes and karakias had been done in the morning. Inside, the back rows filled up first, leaving aunties to coax people to the front: ‘‘Keep moving wha¯ nau, we won’t make you sing.’’

Iwi members handed out service booklets containing the Ma¯ori words for upcoming prayers and songs.

Decorated with Christmas illustrations the booklets were titled ‘‘Kirihimete’’ [Christmas]. And then there was silence. At 2.11pm – exactly one week after Whakaari roared – everyone in Te Ma¯nuka Tu¯tahi Marae bowed their heads.

Around the country, and the world, people did the same thing but here – so close to the island – it was different.

Outside, a child chattered. Inside, a woman whispered a prayer in reo Pa¯ keha. Someone sobbed quietly. A man cleared his throat. And the carving of Mataatua ancestor Te Mautaranui kept watch.

After the minute was up there were prayers and songs, and then the mourners, the emergency workers, the tourists and the iwi sang Silent Night in reo Ma¯ ori.

‘‘Ki te Kaiwhakaora. Kia Hehu aroha.’’ Sleep in heavenly peace. Sleep in heavenly peace.