Day 14, Part III

The Maori dinner began with a bus ride. Our driver was introduced to us as Dennys the Menace, and he spent the fifteen-minute drive making one terrible joke after another, making fun of himself as much as his passengers. He set us all at ease and set the tone for a fun, enjoyable evening.

The purpose of the evening was to get a glimpse into Maori culture. Our bus was referred to as a waka, which was originally the Maori word for canoe, but has since come to be used for any form of transportation (boats, planes, cars, etc.). Each waka needed to elect someone to act as chief; this person would participate in the opening ceremony, known as the Challenge. As our bus driver informed us, the chief needed to meet three requirements: being male, knowing rugby, and knowing cricket. One of my classmates volunteered (or was volunteered by the rest of us—some of both, really), so we all got to spend the evening following around Chief Al, as our driver decided to call him.

The Challenge was an intense ceremony in which a male member of the Maori tribe offers a peace offering to the chief(s) of the visiting tribe(s). If the offering is accepted, the visiting tribe is welcomed into the village. If not, they go to war. In this case, there were four different visiting chiefs; one was chosen to accept the offering on behalf of all four. The ceremony itself consisted of various men of the Maori tribe performing a war song and dance. Most notable was the [thing], where they bulged their eyes and stuck out their tongues as far as they could. The idea is to intimidate, and honestly, it does a good job of it. It’s the kind of expression that we Americans would make when we’re trying to be goofy or silly, but to them it is very serious. I find it fascinating that the same facial expression can mean two such very different things on either side of the world.

Once the peace offering was accepted, a woman stepped forward and sang a song of welcome. (If you remember me describing the song that our Te Papa tour guide sang, it was the same one.) We were then welcomed into the village, and introduced to a variety of traditional activities, even given an opportunity to take part in some of them. First was the haka, the posture dance, which the chiefs were invited to partake in; it was a simple version of the kind of dance that was used in the Challenge, meant to demonstrate strength and prowess as a warrior. (Chief Al is on the far right in the below photo.)

Next was a gentler dance, one that women were allowed to partake in, that used the poi, which is a light ball on a string. They explained that it was originally used by men to develop hand-eye coordination which would then translate over into fighting skills, but in recent times women have picked it up to help the tradition survive. They asked for some volunteers, and I got to try it out. Turns out I am rather lacking in hand-eye coordination.

One of the coolest things we saw was a game. Everyone playing got a stick that was about 4’ tall. They stood in a circle, holding their stick. One person would call out directions (left or right, though using the Maori words), and they would leave their stick and run to the next one. If the stick fell before they reached it, they were out. This was also intended to practice agility and coordination, more warrior skills. That was a pretty common theme. For those members of SMAS reading this blog, I intend to bring this game back and use it at fight practice at some point, by the way.

We were shown some of the materials they used for weaving, and some of the things they made out of them. Traditionally, they primarily used flax, and feathers were added for decoration and warmth. Garments took a very, very long time to make; most people only had a few, and would only wear them on special occasions. For general wear, they had loincloths for both the men and the women. Now they wear more modern clothes, and follow a more modern sense of modesty, but they continue using traditional weaving methods in order to keep the art alive, and to sell them to tourists.

Side note: the flax-and-feather cloaks, which traditionally could take over a year to make, sell for 300-500 New Zealand Dollars. That’s 250-420 American Dollars, which is a not-unheard of price for cloaks at renaissance faires and the like, which take a fraction of the time and effort to make. I find that interesting.

 

The last thing we were able to see was a station on carving. They explained to us that traditionally, women and children would not be allowed to witness this art—in fact, only high-ranking men such as priests and chiefs would be able to. Carving was considered to be incredibly spiritual, a way to commune with the gods. It referred to the carving of wood as well as carving of flesh; tattoos are a large part of Maori culture. There is no written Maori history, as it is all oral, but that oral history is recorded in the carved house beams and statues throughout the village, and in the facial tattoos worn by most. Each tattoo is unique, recording the geneology of the bearer. In recent times they have lifted the ban on women and children viewing the acts, in order to promote learning and, again, preserve knowledge of the practice. I felt honored to be permitted.

The highlight of the evening was a series of performances by the villagers. They sang and danced, everything from war dances to love stories. Once again there was an overarching theme of developing agility, coordination, and other warrior-related skills. There were dances that incorporated a game where they each held two short sticks and tossed them back and forth; dances that used a longer stick in a way reminiscent of a color guard spinning rifles, only more fluid; and dances using spear-like weapons.

Every performer was completely invested, and seemed to truly enjoy being part of it. It was clear they were doing something they loved, something they wanted to share. That feeling persisted through the whole evening. This wasn’t just a way to make money off tourists; they weren’t even just teaching, they were making us part of it. They were letting us feel the depth of their culture, the strength behind it. I honestly didn’t feel like an outsider looking in. I felt as though I was being welcomed as one of them.

And then we got to eat. The traditional Maori method of cooking is called Hangi. Basically, they dig a pit, and line the bottom with white-hot rocks. Then they put all the food in the pit, stacked in layers, everything from the meat to the vegetables to the dessert. Then they covered it with more hot stones and filled in the gaps with dirt, and left it there for a while. When they unbury it, everything is cooked.

There was so much food, it was ridiculous. The meal was buffet-style. There were carrots, potatos, kumara (a potato that is sweet, but not your standard orange sweet potato), chicken, fish, lamb, mussels, stuffing, and some of the best bread I’ve ever had. Dessert consisted of bread pudding, custard, and this meringue pie with a kiwifruit covering which is apparently a New Zealand classic, though I’ve forgotten the name.

The night ended with the Maori leading the room in song. They sang a Maori song first, but then they sang You Are My Sunshine and a few other songs. For the final one, a song that was originally sung to bid farewell to soldiers going off to fight in World War One, they had everyone in the room hold hands and sing along. It confirmed something that I’ve long believed to be true (as well as cliché): music is universal, and it binds people together. You cannot get a room full of people all singing or humming the same song and not feel a sense of belonging, of commonality.

There was more singing on the bus ride home. Dennys made more bad jokes and lead us in a singalong. There were songs from all around the world: Waltzing Matilda, Loch Lomond, Que Serra Serra (no idea if that’s actually the name of the song, by the way), alouette…. I was surprised and pleased by how many of them I knew, many thanks to my days at girl scout camp. Like I said. Music is universal. It makes people belong.

Hobbiton was amazing, and much anticipated. But this evening, this experience…. This is what I will remember for my entire life, pictures or no.