Great Tribe of Fifteen Nations

We spent most of the next day in the hostel escaping the rain, me getting irritated by a group of Irish girls who seemed to be so addicted to television that they required it for background noise. They kept walking away leaving the confounded machine on, so I kept getting up to switch it off. Then, a few minutes later, they would return, immediately switch it back on, then sit down and start chatting away, completely ignoring it. Trying to concentrate on my book, I wished I could ignore it so easily. I suppose the background noise must just remind them of their family homes.

Later on we were off for our evening of Maori culture. A minibus going round all the hotels and hostels picked us up and took us to Mitai, the “Maori village” not far out of town. I hadn't really been looking forward to this event, expecting it to make me cringe agonisingly. I was expecting something similar to a “Zulu village” I'd been to in South Africa. They were living in mud huts, wearing animal skins, carrying spears, doing traditional dances for the whites, and the women were all topless. After we left, outside, we saw the same people, wearing jeans and tee-shirts, get into their cars and drive off. Fair enough, but they had presented it as if they were all living in this Zulu enclosure, as if it was real life. Luckily Mitai was nothing like that.

We filed in, paid, and sat at our allotted tables. A Maori MC with a microphone started to welcome us. He kept referring to us as “Tribe of the Four Winds” and Great Tribe of Many Nations and said he would deal with each nation individually, welcoming them in their own language. Quite a bold claim! He almost succeeded, but he was stumped by Guam and the slightly dubious Cornwall, but both of the natives from these places could say only hello and nothing else anyway. For the other thirteen countries, he was able to engage in a little banter. When I said Scotland he said to me “How's it goin'?” then said an Englishman had told him to say “There's a moose loose aboot this hoose”. But he managed Welsh, Irish, Japanese, Portuguese, Maori of course, French, Dutch, Afrikaans, and colloquial English greetings from the US, Canada, and Australia. There must have one or two others I've forgotten (Spanish or Italian maybe), but it was really quite impressive. The young boy who said he was from Guam informed him that hello is haffadai (don't know the spelling) in whatever the official language is there and the host clearly filed it away: he turned to an older Maori guy sitting behind him and said “not a whole day, but half-a-day – that should be easy to remember”. After that we were “Great Tribe of Fifteen Nations”. An Irish chief was chosen from our great tribe after the young Guamese boy was told he was too young to be a chief.

The hangi waiting to be revealed

Next we were encouraged to don some traditional blankets and plastic ponchos that were hanging up ready for us, and venture out into the cold and rain to see where our dinner was being prepared. I was already relieved that this was tongue-in-cheek enough that we would not be expected to believe any nonsense like the Zulu village. We all huddled round while he exposed his hangi to us. Hangi is the traditional Maori way of preparing food: you light a fire and put rocks in it, meanwhile digging a pit. Then you put the very hot rocks at the bottom of the pit and pile up all the food you want to cook: meat and kumara. Then you put a wet blanket on top to retain all the steam.

The hangi revealed

Traditionally there would have been fresh mussels as the first layer on top of the rocks, releasing a nice seafood steam when they open, but ours didn't have this; it was lamb and chicken, neither of which the Maoris would have had before the Pakeha arrived, as well as potatoes, again brought by the Pakeha, and kumara, maybe the only authentic ingredient. Having gathered round to see the food uncovered, we were taken away to see Maori warriors arrive by canoe. Apparently the costumes and canoe were authentic reproductions. We were all freezing, wrapped up in warm clothes, blankets, and waterproof ponchos, but these poor guys were just wearing some skins.

Maori "warriors" paddling down the river

Maori show underway

We followed the “warriors” up to the tribal building, where our chief was ritually challenged by a spear-wielding warrior and offered a gift, which he had to accept or else do battle. He was then required to address their chief and offer our thanks which he cunningly did in Irish. The formalities over, we were then treated to a short Maori concert of traditional singing and dancing, after which the chief made a speech in Maori. When he finished he said “OK you can clap now... and I can speak English”. The next thing he said was that as Maoris, they no longer live like this; they live in the Western world, but they still like to remember their traditions and like to be Maori. Thank goodness: definitely not a repeat of the Zulus. They proceeded to a display of Maori martial arts, various instruments, some legends, and then a brief explanation of the moko: it represent the four “birds” important to Maoris.

Maoris near the end of their show

The bat is represented on the forehead, the kiwi on the cheeks, the parrot on the nose, and the owl on the chin. Women also have the owl, only, which represents protection because they protect the children. He went on to say that traditionally the moko is earned over a lifetime, and literally chiselled into the face then the wounds filled with soot. Nowadays, he added, I can get mine in just five minutes with the help of paint and a brush. More relief! One of the demonstrations incorporated both martial arts and music: poi. The men used a rope with a weight on the end as an exercise to strengthen their wrists for battle, but the women soon adopted them and turned it into a game then a percussion instrument. We had seen poi in the museum in Auckland, where I had already wondered how on earth a traditional Maori art came to be ubiquitous on the beaches of Thailand, albeit on fire, and at any hippie or trance event on the planet. The finished their performance with their haka. Each tribe has their own, the bulging eyes and sticking out tongue apparently conveying that your enemy's flesh looks delicious. “But we're no longer cannibals”, the chief assured us.

Finally it was time to eat. On the way back to the food hall someone said to the MC that the “warriors” must be cold in their loin cloths and he responded “that's why I drive the bus”. The food was delicious, and the first time we'd eaten lamb in New Zealand. It was a buffet, which I normally try to avoid, due to my propensity to overconsume, but since we had paid so much money for the evening, overconsumption was mandatory. The hangi cooking method certainly seemed to leave make the meat succulent. At the end we were invited to re-don our traditional plastic ponchos and come into the forest to see some glow worms. Some people seemed to be too afraid to turn off their provided torches, so much of the time we could see nothing but, when we managed to get away from those people we could see that there were thousands of little dots of light all round the forest. At the start of the walk he had shone his torch directly on what seemed to be beetles. Apparently those we the glow worms.

It was a great evening and, although it was totally artificial, at least it was all done with a sense of humour and they were honest about it. It seemed to be the only opportunity we would have to experience maoritanga.

written by

The Happy Couple on August 19, 2009 from Rotorua, New Zealand

from the travel blog: Michael's Round-the-World honeymoon

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