Meeting the Maori

Living, laughing and exploring with New Zealand’s indigenous people reveals how hospitality is at the heart of their culture.

BY LIZ FLEMING

Nearly stumbling into one of the hot bubbling mud pits near Rotorua should have been my most exciting New Zealand moment. But it wasn’t. When I arrived at

Tāmaki, the small marae (village) where I would spend three nights living with a Māori tribe, everything I’d experienced previously during my visit paled in comparison to meeting the country’s tangata whenua (indigenous people), whose warm hospitality lies at the heart of their culture.

© Tamaki Māori Village

We were hungry and tired after a long day of hiking, but quickly discovered you don’t just wander into a Māori marae. Our hosts may have been dressed in the same casual campsite-chic as we were, but their welcome was a solemnly orchestrated affair. First, the chief strode to the entrance of the village and laid a taiaha (spear) on the ground and invited our guide to pick it up to show our group came in peace. A woman behind the chief sang a beautiful karanga (call of welcome) to which the women in our group were expected to sing a reply. Ummm…

Our female songsters were Canadian, French and German and had few options in our common songbook, so we warbled “Silent Night” in three languages. Definitely not Grammy-worthy, but good enough to gain us entry into the village. As manuhiri (visitors), we entered in single file, women first. “Remember your ancestors,” the chief said as we passed him. “They walk with you in spirit.”

© Tamaki Māori Village

The wide-open marae was dominated by the Ancestral House, a circular, thatched-roof building. Inside, two rows of chairs faced each other for visitors on one side, hosts on the other. The chief spoke about his pride in showing us his culture and our guide presented him with a koha (gift), leading up to the main event – the hongi.

Created by the gods, the chief told us, the hongi is literally sharing the breath of life. We firmly pressed our foreheads and noses against those of our hosts, one by one, and sharing a long breath with each. Participating in this ritual made us honorary Māoris, according to the chief.

We soon witnessed the Māori Manaakitanga (culture of welcome) being put to the test when a carload of grinning Italian tourists arrived, full of wine and eager for a wild night. The chief didn’t miss a beat. After another round of welcome ceremonies for these latest guests, he explained the sleeping arrangements. Everyone – tribe members and manuhiri – would all be sleeping in the Ancestral House – each with their own mattress, pillows and sleeping bag.

A dinner of fish caught in the nearby river followed the ceremonies, and then came an evening of stories told back in the Ancestral House. Some storytellers talked about their intricate facial tattoos and the tradition of using them to mark important life events. Meanwhile, the chief explained how his tribe was also looking to the future by using online resources to learn new forestry management techniques. I was struck by how ancient traditions and embracing modern life could coexist in harmony.

Later while lying awake in the darkness, I thought about the generosity of the Māori way of life. But then I started to think not-so generous thoughts about our guide, Paul, who was snoring like a buzz saw nearby. When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I aimed a frustrated kick at an empty mattress lying between us and flipped it over onto the human freight train near me. Miraculously, the snoring stopped.

The next morning, I awoke to find the chief standing at the foot of my bed. “Did you do this?” he asked, pointing to Paul, who still had the mattress covering his face. I hung my head sheepishly. “You are truly a Māori woman,” he said with a hint of a smile.

There was more fun ahead. On the first day on the Tāmaki River, Mark, a fellow guest, was led to the long wooden waka (canoe) and helped into it by our hosts. After he told everyone that he had never been near water, he was dubbed the ‘canoe virgin.’ It wasn’t until the rest of us filed down and clambered into the canoe that Mark realized he’d been seated facing the wrong way. The Māori howled with laughter: “Better paddle hard!”

© Fraser Clements

For the next two days, we entertained one another. We hiked and canoed, ate traditionally prepared lamb and fish, as well as a few universal camping delicacies like marshmallows and hotdogs, told stories, laughed, slept (and snored) together (but apart) in the Ancestral House, and steeped ourselves in Māori culture.

We were introduced to a traditional way of life that has survived centuries in the midst of prosperous, progressive New Zealand. I came to realize the secret of the successful preservation of their culture seems to lie neither in assimilation nor in segregation, but in a good-natured blending of old and new.

Just as they welcome all guests who come to their gates, so too do the Māori seem to welcome new ideas for everything from wildlife conservation techniques to new technologies to help them keep step with the rest of the world. Theirs is not a culture tied to the past, but one that evolves every day and with every manuhiri they meet. I was happy to be one of them.