Marlborough Express - Weekend Express
My online te reo M¯aori journey
OPINION: When I signed up for an online te reo Ma¯ ori course, I was not expecting an overnight marae visit to be included. How would that work in an online course?
Marae visits are always exciting to me, because I know from experience there will be beautiful waiata (songs), inspiring ko¯ rero (speeches) and delicious kai (food).
Maybe there would be ha¯ ngı¯ or fresh seafood. Would I finally get to try kina?
Noho marae, or overnight marae stay, is a great way for a group to learn about tikanga (customs and protocol), with a po¯ whiri, introductions and breaking bread together, along with activities centred on Ma¯ori culture.
But my kaiako (teacher) explained at our Wednesday Zoom class that our noho marae visit would actually take the shape of a Friday night Zoom class, followed by six hours on Saturday.
As my dreams of waiata and kai faded, I thought perhaps it was for the best, given my propensity to snore. Sleeping in the same room as my new classmates may not ingratiate me to the group.
Although, the idea of a sixhour Zoom class with only the kai from my cupboards did not exactly inspire my enthusiasm.
My free course was through Te Wa¯ nanga o Aotearoa, a tertiary provider launched in the 1980s
‘‘My free course was through Te
Wa¯ nanga o Aotearoa, a tertiary provider launched in the 1980s amid a social movement to save the language.’’
amid a social movement to save the language.
A couple of my ancestors would have been among those told off at school for speaking te reo, and somewhere through the generations we lost it.
Te Wa¯ nanga o Aotearoa sought to revitalise Ma¯ ori cultural knowledge, and offer an alternative to mainstream education methods.
That meant our weekly classes involved games, activities, and songs – a relief for me after a long day at work.
There were several classes brought together for the noho marae, with nearly 150 attendees. Some classes were meant to be in person but were forced online because of Covid.
The kaiako introduced themselves, and then we went into online ‘‘breakout rooms’’ to introduce ourselves in small groups, before returning for activities. I had prepared myself to stutter through a pepeha in front of the group, but instead just enjoyed getting to know my classmates.
Returning the next morning, feeling like I wasn’t in a class at all, our teachers pointed out actually Friday went just like a real noho marae.
The kaiako, our hosts, had introduced themselves, and then manuhiri (guests) introduced themselves, and then we had the sort of free discussion that normally flowed over kai.
‘‘Even in the online space, we can still do tikanga.’’
Then we were sorted into groups to share what brought us to the course.
I explained that I was a journalist and I thought it would help my reporting – but also, I was excited to learn about the culture of my tı¯puna (ancestors).
A Scottish expat said she wanted to better understand Kiwi culture, while another woman described going home for a traditional Ma¯ori tangihanga (funeral) only to realise she was unable to understand what her wha¯ nau were saying.
The people I glimpsed through Zoom, on the couch or at the kitchen table, feeding their kids or batting away their pets, were from all across the country.
As we spent the afternoon learning about kapa haka, I felt unexpectedly connected to these strangers on my screen, from our very different backgrounds to learn together about that beautiful culture that makes New Zealand that little bit extra special. Or different from Australia, at least. Aren’t we lucky.