‘Weeping from the urupā ’ drives a mission of aroha
The marae itself is layered in a thick bed of silt, and volunteers are working to restore it. But, writes Shannon Redstall, some taonga are yet to be rescued.
Technically the road to Tangoio Marae is closed, but after the week these communities have had, a road sign isn’t stopping anyone.
Half an hour north of Napier, past flooded fields, slash, and cornfields turned silt, the community is coming together, many for the first time, banding together to clean their urupā .
‘‘Look at them . . . No questions asked. Just grabbing tools, grabbing shovels, and obviously cleaning our loved ones,’’ says Tangoio Marae chairperson Hori Reti.
‘‘It’s bringing the best out of our people . . . The biggest asset that we have is our people.’’
Reti is so grateful his tı¯puna are okay.
‘‘The spiritual connection that we hold with these places . . . You can’t measure’’.
It’s only been two days since this community made contact with the outside world.
‘‘[We] brought out diggers, brought out loaders, tractors and we just made do. We cleared the roads ourselves.
‘‘We all felt helpless. So we had to just do the best we could until the access was regained, and emergency services were able to get to us.’’
They weren’t waiting to be rescued.
‘‘We’re working from the inside out as opposed to from the outside in.’’
The marae itself is layered in a thick bed of silt. There are gaping holes in the side of one building, while a water tank and a container are smashed against another.
Reti is waiting for structural engineers to assess the building, before they can go in and collect the taonga from inside.
‘‘All the carvings, all the tukutuku panels will need to be carefully removed from the whare.
‘‘It will be damaged so there will be some restoration that does need to take place. But the majority of those taonga, we’re confident that we will be able to salvage fully.’’
But for now, the focus isn’t so much on the buildings, but the people.
The hapā of Ngā ti
Marangatā hetaua extends to many smaller communities that are still largely inaccessible, like Tā tira, Aropaoanui, Waipatiki and Waikoau.
Reti explains that while emergency services have been able to check on those groups, it’s important to get kanohi ki te kanohi with their people.
‘‘We have our own families going up to Aropaoanui now
with four-wheel drives and RTVs to just get that face to face contact with each other.
‘‘We know that we need to help each other through this, as a people, as a hapu, as an iwi.’’
Matua ‘Uncle’ Joe Taylor is also hurting. ‘‘I can hear the weeping from the urupā ... That’s why I’m very emotional’’.
In the 1980s he helped to carve the now muck-ridden panels on the front of the whare tipuna, and it’s those who carved alongside him that Uncle Joe is thinking of today. ‘‘All the aroha was used, this is why I’m so sad.’’
Before we leave, Hoani Taurima emerges from a building with a Tino Rangatiratanga flag.
‘‘We are still here!’’ Reti cheers triumphantly. We are not going anywhere.’’