I’m fearful this virus will tip more Kiwi kids into poverty
Karena Tamehana is the principal of Rawene Primary School in the Far North. As schools prepare for tomorrow’s return under level 2, she writes about her fear of the pandemic’s implications for children and communities already grappling with poverty.
Ican’t wait to see our tamariki again. They are the wee heroes of this coronavirus lockdown. All the things they love – like sports, school, being with friends – taken away. During level 4 I gatecrashed a video meeting with my seniors. I was blown away. They were all there, lying on their bed, at the kitchen table, sprawled on the floor, all in their uniforms! Well, I could only see the tops. Smiles, waving, touching the screen. Beautiful, in my eyes! They just want their normality.
For some, lockdown will have been rough. We’re a little rural school. On a bad day, I’d say 80 per cent of them would be hungry if they weren’t fed at school. Initially I was worried: What’s going to happen to our babies? Are they going to have enough to eat? Thankfully our community rallied to provide food parcels and health packs.
I’m fearful that this virus will tip more Kiwi kids into poverty. I know what that will mean for them. We grew up in Tokoroa in the ’70s, a family of eight kids. People thought my twin sister and I went home from school for lunch. We’d walk home, knowing the cupboards were bare, turn around, and walk back to school. It was better than the shame of watching everyone else having lunch and having nothing.
We all shared one room and at night we used to lie in bed. I’d hear my older sisters talking, saying, ‘‘I can’t wait to get out of here.’’ We created stories of imaginary holidays going here and there. We went nowhere. I didn’t want to have nothing. That wasn’t going to be my life.
But poverty takes away opportunities. We had no shoes until we got to intermediate – those hard, shiny, leather ones. We wore them everywhere. We never played sport, we couldn’t afford sports shoes. I guess that turned us all into nerds. We never had the stationery others had. We’d hand in projects written and illustrated in pencil, without colour. We knew they were the best but we were always graded down. I can still hear my teacher’s crackly voice, ‘‘This project lacks presentation,’’ and feel the humiliation of getting 0/50 for presentation.
When I eventually became a teacher I declared that no child was ever going to sit in front of me without a big fat pencil case loaded with goodies. I would use my own money to buy buckets of felt pens, pencils, glue sticks, rulers, erasers, all the fancy stuff. I would share my story of being without when I was their age. My staff and I give from our hearts daily as we have all come from backgrounds of underprivilege. I’ll never forget where I’ve come from.
At our school, no one has to fake it if they don’t have lunch. Thanks to KidsCan, food is always available for our tamariki. Our amazing teacher aide gets breakfast: baked beans on toast, warmed milk, fruit. We don’t make a big deal out of it, the tamariki just know it’s there for them. It’s the best thing in the world in my eyes, and one less thing we have to worry about.
We can just get on with the business of teaching, making sure we’re giving them the best opportunities.
It’s heartbreaking to think that this pandemic means more kids will struggle. When our tamariki come back tomorrow, we’re not going to get straight into the routine of reading, writing and math. We’re focussing on wellbeing, rebuilding and strengthening our relationships, getting them back to feeling happy with their friends and appreciating what they have even more. The hardest thing for me is not being able to hug them.
KidsCan provides food, raincoats, shoes and health essentials to 787 schools and 57 early childhood centres nationwide. To donate, visit kidscan.org.nz