Now, with Toiroa’s foretelling in mind, it may appear contradictory that the Endeavour was strenuously opposed by Maohi when it attempted first landing. Tupaea, however, wouldn’t have been surprised by this! Even in his own homeland of Tahiti, this was how the people traditionally responded to strange visitors.
What were the circumstances? A fifty-strong warrior group attacked Cook’s landing party. The aggressive warriors did all they could to repel the floating island. A Maori warrior was killed during the beach encounter.
Tupaea, in fact, stopped further bloodshed. He spoke in the language of the Maohi to the attackers. It was the first korero between Maohi priest and Maohi iwi of Aotearoa for more than three centuries. And they understood!
This only confirmed his status as captain and, therefore, it was to Tupaea that all questions were directed:
‘Is the floating island yours?
‘Have you come to re-establish the Fa’atau Aroha and the sacred seaway to Hawaiki? If so, welcome, we have long awaited your arrival!
‘But who are these red and white strangers who have arrived with you? Why are they so transgressive of Maori custom, not responding to our challenge by acknowledging our rangatiratanga, and, instead, coming onto the land without our permission? We will leave you, o great priest, to punish your goblins and tricksters.’
From that moment, the news spread throughout Aotearoa that the Arikirangi had truly arrived.
During all the initial, and tense, encounters that followed — for, oh, the actions of the red and white strangers were sometimes sacrilegious, belligerent and hostile — it was with Tupaea that we wished to korero, talk. Indeed, Tupaea was so desirable that one of the tribes tried to steal away Taiata, presuming that if they did so Arikirangi would be compelled to stay among them!
Tupaea captained the Endeavour onward, and he arrived at Anaura on 20 October 1769. There he was invited by the paramount chief, Whakata Te Aoterangi, to his palisaded kainga. He was offered hospitality and he begat the dynasty that takes his surname in Anaura.
Ko Arikirangi tenei ra te haere nei!
E mokopuna, three days later, on 23 October, Tupaea arrived in Uawa on the Endeavour.
A welcoming party called him from the shore, ‘Haere mai, e Arikirangi, nau mai, kua tae mai! Come among us, great lord, you the physical manifestation of ’Oro, come under the cloak of love!’ War canoes were sent out to his waka, and he was garlanded with flowers. When he set foot on the land, over a thousand men and women greeted him with song and haka.
For six days, we of Uawa were determined to show our greatest hospitality. Great feasts were organised for Tupaea, together with marvellous entertainments, reaching far into the night. Of course, his goblins and tricksters were sometimes like irritating children, but we put up with them for the privilege of having Tupaea in our midst.
He was the guest of honour at Te Rawheoro, the great Maori house of learning in Uawa. Can you imagine the scene, Little Tu? Great crowds gathered to greet him, some having travelled from other tribes to the north and to the south. Sometimes, sessions were limited as tohunga and other sacred priests met him in whare wananga to try to close that gap of three hundred years. We invited Tupaea to travel throughout Uawa, and he consented. We were moved by his ancient tales of Hawaiki and of the current politics and culture of the homeland we had left many centuries before. He thrilled us with his stories of Mahaiatea and his queen, Purea. Wherever he went he was treated with great reverence. Valuable cloaks and ancient ornaments were given to him to take back as tribute to ’Oro’s marae and its sovereign lady.
Why? We knew it was not his destiny to stay.
There was one inspiring event when Tupaea escaped the rain by talking to us within a high-arched cavern. Thenceforward, the cave has always been known as Te Ana no Tupaea. Even today, when you visit it, people say that if you put your ear to the walls you can still catch past echoes of the liturgies of ’Oro which he intoned and the blessings that he gave to the people.
It is written that during the farewell arose the sound of acclamation, a thunderous haka and women in karanga.
‘Haere atu ra e te rangatira!’ the women called. ‘Hoki atu koe ki a Hawaiki nui, Hawaiki roa, Hawaiki pamamao! Return safely to our ancient homeland, Hawaiki, the proud land, the long land, the land far away.’
Children were named after Tupaea. Places were called after him.
Mokopuna, he begat our dynasty in Uawa.
Ka haruru te moana!
The sea mounted, the tides rolled
Ka haruru te whenua
Thunder roared across the land
Hail to thee, Arioi, hail!
ACT THREE
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE THRILL OF FALLING
I turned seventeen and, one day, when I was taking Koro to catch his plane to Gisborne, he gave me a quizzical look.
‘You once asked me, when you were a boy, what our ancestor looked like.’ We were standing at the gate before he boarded. ‘Looked in the mirror lately?’
I should have been more self-aware but, yes, I realised what he meant. I’d now reached my adult height and for some time had wondered why everyone around me had shrunk: Koro, Mum and even Dad; I’d filled out too. I was in my final year at Wellington High where, wonder of wonders, something clicked into place: from being a trier I’d come through to the A team and my grades had improved as well. If only things were like that at home.
Koro was a mindreader. ‘Be kinder to your parents,’ he said.
‘Dad’s all right,’ I answered. ‘It’s Mum who’s a pain in the arse.’
‘I won’t have you using that kind of language,’ he reprimanded. ‘And you mustn’t say those kinds of things about May. She’s worried about you all these years and, now that you’re becoming an adult, she finds it hard to let go. We all do. You may have grown up, but to us you’re still that little baby in the incubator struggling to breathe.’
‘Could you tell her to cut me some slack?’
‘Well, maybe she would if you weren’t so secretive. Where do you go when you sneak out the window at nights?’
Uh oh, so Mum knew. And was I about to tell Koro, with his old-fashioned morality and attitudes towards modesty and … everything?
‘Perhaps if you asked her nicely,’ Koro said, ‘and told her where you were going, she might say okay.’
I did; she didn’t.
One thing was for sure: the dream that I go to university seemed possible after all. I wasn’t unenthusiastic and, as Dad used to say, ‘It beats working on the buses.’
Mum started to give me a lot of unsubtle hints. ‘I was speaking to Mrs Samasoni in community services and she says that your mate Alapati [alias Bilbo] and some of the other boys at Wellington High are going to Victoria University next year.’ Or, ‘One of the medics, Dr Granger, you know him, he tells me there’s an open day at the university next weekend. Do you want to hop along and take a look?’