The Whale Rider

by Witi Ihimaera

  From Paikea great chiefs descended, including Porourangi; and it was from Porourangi that my mother’s tribe, Ngati Porou, takes its name. Porourangi’s brother, Tahu, moved to the South Island and is regarded by many as their founding ancestor. As for me, I have always been very proud to be a member of Ngati Porou and to be able to trace my genealogy back to Paikea. He is what we call the tahuhu, the ridgepole, of Te Tairawhiti, the migrant voyager and originating ancestor of the tribe of the Eastern Tides, also binding other tribes of the East Coast, Hawke’s Bay and the South Island together by blood ancestry.

  This is one of the many versions of the whale rider story. Another version describes Kahutia Te Rangi as not only a royal son of Hawaiki but also a man who, by mystical powers, could transform himself into a taniwha, a tipua, a whale even — operating fluidly between his human form and his ocean form. And why should we not believe this? After all, Hawaiki was a paradisiacal land, a Polynesian Eden half real, half unreal, where man walked with the gods and communed with beasts, birds, forests and all animate and inanimate things. In this version, the murderous Ruatapu pursued Kahutia Te Rangi to Aotearoa; it must have been a thrilling sea chase. Ruatapu summoned up a series of five tidal waves and sent them ahead of him, but Kahutia Te Rangi managed to get ashore and change back into his human form before they were able to swamp him. The waves then recoiled, returning to their source, where they overwhelmed he who had sent them — and so Ruatapu went to his watery grave. The local people say that if you come to Whangara in September you can still see these tidal waves breaking on the shore.

  There are many variants to the story. Some say that Kahutia Te Rangi and Paikea were two different people; and the narrative concerning Paikea and his brother, Ruatapu, is still disputed. Leo Fowler, for instance, wrote in Te Mana o Turanga (1944) that there was another brother, Ira Kaiputahi; and he gives further information about the canoe that was scuttled: it was called Tutepewakarangi and it was a war canoe on its ceremonial first voyage. Fowler explains that the reason Kahutia Te Rangi changed his name was that Paikea is also the name given by Maori to a proper species of whale that is very long with a sharpish, V-shaped head, a pike-nose and a white underbelly fluted longitudinally. And the reason Kahutia Te Rangi was able to call on a whale to rescue him, or even to change into a whale, was because his genealogy connected him to beasts of the sea — to the porpoise and Portuguese man-of-war and, in particular, to large whales, including pike-nosed whales.

  Another variation tells that Kahutia Te Rangi had to leave a wife and a son, Rongomai Tuaho, in Hawaiki when he eluded Ruatapu. Many years later, pining for his father, Rongomai Tuaho sent a magic bailer to Aotearoa to ascertain if his father was still alive. Another strand of the whale rider story is that the island you see close by the beach at Whangara, Te Ana a Paikea, is the whale itself, transformed into a rock. You can reach the island at low tide, but at high tide in winter a stormy channel separates it from the mainland.

  I am telling you this to indicate that Maori mythology is very rich. All the narratives are multilayered, complex, extraordinary and transcendent. They occupy a place between the real and the unreal, the natural and the supernatural — the world you can believe in and the world you are told not to believe in. This is why Maori mythology is so prevalent in my work: Maori and Polynesian stories come from a different source, a different inventory than western tradition, and I am writing from within that different tradition. Accompanying my work as an indigenous writer is a whole thrilling mythology and history that encompasses all of Polynesia and the Pacific.

  The novel

  I’m not sure how old I was when I first gazed upon that sculpture of the whale rider at Whangara and heard the saga of his epic voyage accomplished by fantastic means.

  By 1956, however, when I was twelve, the story had become a magnificent compulsion for me. Occasionally at weekends I would cycle twenty-seven kilometres to Whangara. It was a long way, especially if there was a headwind; and if I was lucky somebody would pick me up in their truck. People knew who I was because of my father, Tom, who was a well known shearer and sportsman. One of them was Rangi Haenga, also a shearer. ‘Off to Whangara again, eh?’ he asked. He threw my bike in the back, gave me a lift up the East Coast highway and let me off at the turnoff to Whangara. A short pedal later and I was there, on the rise above the village, church, wooden houses, marae … and Paikea, an eternal sentinel gazing out across the sea.

  I would eat my lunch and just stare and stare at that sculpture. I would ask boyish questions, like: ‘Do you kick a whale like a horse to make it go? How do you stay on a whale when it dives? Don’t whales dive miles deep? How do you keep your breath for so long? How did you speak to your whale? Did you know whale talk? Maybe whales speak Maori!’ I gathered as much information as I could about Hawaiki, too. With great awe I realised that the distance was huge — over 3000 miles.

  And so I would sit crosslegged, looking up at the sculpture of Paikea, dazzled by that phenomenal voyage. Sometimes I stayed so long that Moni Taumaunu would ring Mum and Dad in Gisborne and tell them, ‘If you’re looking for Witi, he’s out here at Whangara. He can sleep with us tonight, or else maybe somebody is coming into town and can bring him back.’

  At the time, my sister Caroline and I belonged to the Comet Swimming Club at the municipal Macrae Baths. After practice I liked to take a deep breath and see how long I could stay underwater. ‘Where’s Witi!’ the instructors would say, panicking. ‘Oh, he’s all right. There he is, as usual, sitting at the bottom of the pool.’ But every time I surfaced I would check the time on my watch and get very cross: four minutes, not good enough. And down I would go again.

  It never crossed my mind that the story might be a fantasy. As far as I was concerned, Paikea really existed; a whale did rescue him and he rode on it. Nobody could persuade me otherwise. Indeed, when I saw the film Moby Dick (1956), starring Gregory Peck and directed by John Huston, at the local theatre, I was annoyed at the way the big white whale was demonised: he was only trying to save himself from Captain Ahab.

  Well, I grew into adulthood, and I didn’t achieve anything as spectacular as Paikea did. But in many ways, his story became the symbol of what I should do in my life — always look to the horizon, pursue my dreams, and not let anybody or anything stop me from fulfilling my destiny.

  One of those dreams was to become a writer. It wasn’t high on my list but, as the years went by and I didn’t become a fighter pilot, All Black, film star or astronaut, writing moved more into the zone of possibilities. Another dream was to see the world. It was not unexpected, therefore, that thirty years later, in 1986, I had turned myself into both a writer and a diplomat for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs (that had never been on the list) in the United States. At that time I was forty-two, working in New York and residing in apartment 33G at 67th Street and Broadway. From the apartment there was a view down the Hudson River towards New York harbour. By then I had two daughters, Jessica and Olivia, aged nine and seven, who lived in New Zealand but came to stay with me for the holidays. On one of those vacations, over Christmas–New Year, the weather was freezing and the best place to go to keep warm was a nice heated movie theatre. We saw lots of movies on that particular vacation — including An American Tail, Explorers, The Ewoks: Caravan of Courage and Flight of the Navigator — but they had a curious effect on Jessica. One afternoon, she stamped her foot on the pavement and asked me, ‘Daddy, why are the boys always the heroes and the girls so hopeless? All they do is yell, “Save me, save me, I’m so helpless!”’ Her comment made me double up with laughter, but I knew what she was talking about. My daughters have a marvellous mother, Jane, who has always had very strong views about the equality of women.

  I haven’t got my calendar with me, but it must have been after Jessica and Olivia returned to New Zealand and spring arrived in New York that an astounding event occurred: a whale came swimming up the Hudson River to Pier 86 at 12th Avenue and West 46th Street. I can recall watching the e
vent on local television; and today it has become part of the city’s folklore: ‘Yeah, that whale, what a thing to do, right?’ You see, the Hudson River at the time was very dirty, what Maori call pango — a word that is often translated as ‘black’ but that has more distasteful connotations. Some people thought the whale had lost its way. As for me, I was really overwhelmed with aroha, love: that whale had come to say hello. It had come through all that pango stuff to tell me that although I was living on the other side of the world I was not forgotten. Filled with gratitude and inspired by both events — the visit of my daughters and the whale — I wrote the novel, which takes place in New Zealand, on the other side of the world. Indeed, I was able to write the book at astonishing speed; that’s what inspiration does to you. Visitors turned up during the writing, but fortunately they understood — well, I hope they understood — when I couldn’t go out on the town with them. By the end of six weeks the book was finished. Win Cochrane, my boss, cast a benevolent eye over me when I snatched the occasional half-hour at the consulate to complete the second draft. Sometimes he would come out of the office to find his secretary, Vivienne Troy, typing the manuscript.

  I called the book The Whale Rider, and I presented the manuscript to Jessica and Olivia the next time they came to visit. I had written it for them. Then I sent a copy to my publisher, David Heap, in New Zealand; and the first edition was published in hardback in 1987. I was still in New York, so I arranged for David to take the book to Whangara where it could be blessed and launched. The kaumatua of the marae committee was Jack Haapu, and he and Nohoroa Haapu organised the hui. My parents and sister went out to Whangara, and later they told me how stunning the evening had been: the moon came out, shining full upon the carving of Paikea, and far out to sea a large whale leapt into the air.

  I wish I could say the book had a rapturous reception, but it didn’t. There were very few reviews: none in the New Zealand Listener, Landfall or any of the other literary magazines. The University of Auckland Library database lists only two, including one by Michael King in Metro, but I am sure there must have been a few in regional newspapers, too. However, from 1987 to 1994 the book had a popular audience; it went through three different editions and was published in a Maori edition in 1995.

  Some very fine people worked on the book, including well known Maori artists John Hovell and John Walsh, who illustrated covers, and Timoti Karetu, who provided the Maori translation. The only place you could buy the book was in New Zealand, but somehow people around the world got hold of it, and they would write me letters. Not until the film, Whale Rider, was released internationally in 2002, however, was the novel successful in securing overseas publishing interest — in particular, an American edition (2003), in the very country in which it was written. For that edition I reversioned the novel; and I also took the opportunity to make one simple but profound change to something that had always bothered me. In the first edition of 1987 I had given the final blessing on the girl hero to the ancient bull whale to say. In the second version, I gave the words to the elderly female whale: ‘Child, your people await you. Return to the kingdom of Tane and fulfil your destiny.’ The Whale Rider now fully affirms the role of the female throughout the natural world as well as the human one.

  Today the first New Zealand hardback edition is worth a lot of money. Heck, I haven’t even got a copy myself, and I’d be pleased if you have one I could buy.

  Glossary

  ae yes

  ahau I, me

  Ahuahu Mercury Island

  ao world

  Aotearoa New Zealand

  aroha love

  arohanui great love

  haere travel

  haka war dance

  hapuku groper Polyprion oxygeneios

  haramai come here

  Hawaiki traditional homeland of the Maori people

  hine form of address to a girl

  Hine Nui Te Po Goddess of Death

  hoa partner, friend

  hokowhitu war party

  hongi press noses in greeting

  huhu beetle grub Prionoplus reticularis

  hui gathering

  hui e, haumi e, taiki e ritual incantation: join everything together, bind it together, let it be done

  ia he, she, him, her

  ihi power

  ika fish

  iwi tribe

  kaha strength

  kahawai fish Arripis trutta

  kai food

  kainga home

  karakia prayer

  karanga call

  karanga mai call (to someone)

  katoa all

  kiwi small flightless bird, native to New Zealand

  ko wai who?

  koe you (one person)

  kohanga nursery

  koro old man (affectionate)

  koroua old man

  koutou you (pl.)

  kowhaiwhai scroll painting on rafter

  kuia old woman

  kuini queen

  mai here, this direction

  mako shark Isurus glaucus

  mana prestige

  manaaki hospitality

  manawanui brave

  manga barracouta Thyrsites atun

  mango ururoa great white shark Carcharodon carcharias

  Maori indigenous people of Aotearoa New Zealand

  marae communal point of settlement

  maua we two

  mauri life principle

  mihimihi introductory speechmaking

  moa large flightless bird, now extinct

  moana sea

  moe doze, sleep

  mokemoke lonely

  moki trumpeter fish Latridopsis spp.

  moko tattoo

  mokopuna grandchild; young generation

  neke shift

  neke neke tighten up

  nga the (pl.)

  Ngati people of …

  noho remain

  nui big

  ope expedition

  ora alive; well, healthy

  pae kare by golly!

  pai quality; good

  paka bugger

  Pakeha non-Maori

  paua shellfish Haliotis spp.

  piki climb

  pito birth cord

  piupiu flax skirt

  pohutukawa red-flowering native tree Metrosideros excelsa

  pounamu greenstone

  poutama steps

  Poututerangi star Altair

  puawaitanga blossoming

  putiputi flower

  ra sun

  rangatira noble

  rangi sky

  Rawheoro site of traditional East Coast carving school

  rawhiti east

  Rehua star Antares

  reo speech

  Rotorua a city in the Bay of Plenty

  runga upwards

  taiaha long club

  taku my (one item)

  tama boy

  tamahine girl

  tamariki children

  tamure fish Pagrasomus auratus

  Tane god of man

  Tangaroa guardian of the sea

  tangata person (either sex)

  tangi mourn

  taniwha water monster

  tapu sacred

  tarawhai stingray

  tatou us (including the one spoken to)

  tautoko to support

  Tawhirimatea god of winds and storm

  tawhiti distance

  te the (sing.)

  te mea te mea yeah, yeah

  Te Pito o te Whenua the Polynesian name for Easter Island

  Te Whiti Te Ra The Pathway of the Sun

  tekoteko carved figure on a house

  tena that (near you)

  tenei this

  tipua guardian spirit

  tipuna ancestor

  titiro look

  toa warrior

  tohora southern right whale Baelena glacialis australis

  tohu emblem, sign

  tohunga specialist, especially artist or priest

  to
ia drag

  tomo enter

  tomo mai join us

  tu stand

  tuahine sister, female cousin (of a male)

  Tuamotu East Polynesian archipelago

  tuatara ancient reptile Sphenodon punctatus

  waenganui in the middle

  wahine woman

  wai water

  waiata song poem

  waka canoe

  wananga seminar

  warehou fish Seriolelle brama

  weka woodhen Gallirallus australis

  whaiaipo sweetheart

  whakapapa genealogy

  whakarongo listen

  whakatane like a man (a woman)

  whanau extended family

  whare kai dining room

  whare house

  Whatonga East Coast ancestor

  wheke octopus O. maorum

  whenua ground

  Whironui ancestor

  About the author

  Witi Ihimaera was born in Gisborne, New Zealand, in 1944. He was a pioneer of Maori writing in English: the short-story collection Pounamu Pounamu (1972) was followed by Tangi (1973), the first novel by a Maori. His works include novels, short-story collections, children’s books, plays and numerous anthologies. The Whale Rider has been made into a successful international film, which won the Toronto Film Festival People’s Choice Award in 2002. Ihimaera is a professor of English at the University of Auckland, teaching creative writing and indigenous literature.