Whenever the world gets too loud I come to Koriniti Marae, where the birds welcome me home
Iknow we are almost there when we spot the lone yellow house on the left hand side of the rural and isolated Whanganui River Road, near the central North Island. The quiet thoroughfare winds its way alongside native bush and through valleys that have been carved out by the longest navigable river in Aotearoa. Even as a kid, I knew the little yellow house meant we were just a few bends away from reaching my favourite place in the world, Koriniti Marae.
Marae are sacred communal meeting grounds for the indigenous Māori peoples of Aotearoa – they provide for everything from sleeping and eating to learning. They are the basis of traditional Māori community life, and typically feature one or more wharenui, or meeting houses, usually painted white and deep red and sometimes carved with Māori art. While many marae are no longer the bustling communities they were pre-colonisation, they continue to serve as pillars of Māori cultural identity today.
If you blinked, you would probably miss the turn off to my marae just across from Auntie Lois’s cottage on the hill. Whenever the world gets too loud, I come here. As you drive down the hill, there is a clearing of land revealing Koriniti Marae, a small picturesque settlement that sits on the banks of the river. It has three wharenui, a large hall and kitchen, a church, a Māori language learning nest for children and a few houses that are still occupied.
Ever since I was a baby, my grandmother Wahi would bring me on the one-hour journey here from the city. This place remains raw, still and serene, made all the more grounding by the sound of the powerful river that flows around the base of the marae.
New Zealand boasts the most beautiful native birds, and I am kept company here by a flock of pīwaiwaka (fantails), which dance around me every step that I take. An old friend once told me the birds were doing that because we were loosening up the earth as we walked, making it easier for them to find bugs to eat.
But this is a magical place, and I knew they were guardians welcoming me home.
For my people of the tribes of Whanganui, the river is our ancestor. She is formidable and her current is strong, so we wouldn’t swim down here as children. From the water, huge mountains rise sharply up and stretch into the sky. They are covered in thick dark green trees that roll back into the distance. I am comforted by the familiar shape of these jagged ranges – the backdrop of the marae – that has looked the same for longer than I know.
But change isn’t always bad. Last Christmas, the rocks by the river moved so much that they blocked part of the river from the current, making it calm enough to swim in. I remember how it felt diving in for the first time in years. My mind immediately went to my grandmother Wahi, who had sadly died a month earlier.
Her body rests at the urupā or marae cemetery across from Auntie Lois’s house. I feel her presence when I am in the water and I know I can connect with her under here. A big gasp of breath on my way up and the earthy smell of silt and freshwater covers me. A bittersweet moment as I return to the now. We spend our days basking in the place our ancestors once walked. This is home.
And even when there is no one here, I am not alone.
What’s your favourite wild place? If you would like to contribute to the series tell us about it in 200 words and send it to newzealand@theguardian.com