Heat surges up her spine like waves caressing the land then swooshing out again. The waves have tiny tendrils which lick her body like a tongue. Its hot wet warmth moistens her skin, touching every fibre of her body. Koa moans with relief as Irihapeti’s hands and tongue touch every part of her being, bringing life back into this wartorn frame which has suffered for so long after the poisoning of te whenua.
“Thanks, Iri. Your green fingers are not only healing for the plants. You have healed me too.”
Irihapeti grins. “That’s what I’m here for, Koa. To bring the joy back into your body, your soul, your life.”
“You’ve done that better than all the others, from local doctors through to alternative healers. Plus the added bonus of living here at Te Kotuku in an organic nursery. That’s healed all my past experiences of working with plants for city council parks and being poisoned by the chemicals we used as a part of our daily work.”
Iri props up the pillows behind Koa and leans her head on her hands, lying beside her. “You’ve never told me the full story. Just that you were diagnosed with ME but that it was a long saga before that.”
Koa sighs. “I didn’t want to bore you with all the details. Are you sure you want to hear it all?”
“I want to know everything about you, Koa. Everything that you want to share with me.”
“Okay, then get us a fresh brew of manuka tea, ’cos this may be a long talkstory.”
Iri lights the gas stove in their caravan at the side of the nursery and looks into the giant black mamaku ferns towering above them, waving their fronds in the wind. She’s so lucky to be here in this beautiful place with Koa beside her. Lucky to have found a soulmate who shares her love of plants and everything organic, and who nourishes her soul as well as her body. How could this strong woman ever have become so ill? What could possibly break this spirit that soars above the trees and surfs so lusciously into her soul? The kettle bubbles and she breaks off twigs of wild flowering manuka and throws them into the large clay pot she made last summer, then pours over the hot water. The twigs float on the water and she stirs them with another twig, then adds a teaspoon of fresh manuka honey. She reaches for the cups and places them carefully on the tray beside the teapot and carries the steaming taonga to Koa.
“Yum. Thanks, Iri. Now cuddle in here beside me and I will bring you up to date.” She lifts the covers for Iri to climb in and cuddle close. She loves it when Iri does this and calls her a limpet because Iri is able to wrap her long limbs around Koa so she feels totally embraced. Iri fits her like a limpet to a rock, so perfectly the water cannot seep in when the tide rises. And that’s just what Koa needs right now. Iri is always warm – her own walking hot water bottle, Koa claims, and a brilliant talking one at that. Iri pours the tea and nudges Koa to start her story.
“Okay, okay, hang on tight, my little limpet.” Koa nudges in closer. “Once upon a time, there was a wee girl named Koa. And she lived at Ohinemutu Marae near the shores of Lake Rotorua. Life was blissful and safe in those early years. We lived sustainably off the land, then the tourist trade all but spoiled our once beautiful wonderland. My parents then moved south to look after an ailing aunty and I recall the first time I ever felt ill. The local council was spraying Roundup while I was walking to school. They all used Roundup in those days, and never worried about the kids. Every day the man with his backpack would come nearer and nearer and every day we would play on the roadsides where he had sprayed, never thinking it was harmful. People used it to get rid of weeds in their lawns and gorse bushes on farms. I recall the plastic containers all over the show. It was a part of growing up Kiwi. Roundup was as Kiwi as Weetbix, and we ingested about the same amount through our tastebuds or lungs via the food and air without even knowing about it then. It was not until my cat, Wai, became desperately ill that we realised something was very wrong. The vet said she died from a lethal dose of poison – but we could never figure out how she got it. Not until I realised that she always lay in the catnip on the side of the road – the same stuff zapped by the council with herbicides over and over again.”
“So how did it affect you?” Iri takes a sip of Koa’s tea and then snuggles back under the covers.
“I was dizzy and very nauseous. My muscles would contract in the night and I would wake up with strange spasms. There was a terrible burning in my eyes. My gums and mouth would bleed. Other kids were having similar sensations. They thought it was some kind of flu at first, then Wai died and slowly they began to put one and one together. Dad was furious and he went to see the council, but they just said heaps of tests had been done on Roundup and it was proven overseas to be safe. The government would not let it be used so widely if not, now would they? They made him feel like a stunned mullet, so Dad thought it must have been something else. At that time the council sprayed the kerbs every month. It was a never-ending process. Once they had finished our neighbourhood, they would start on another, and so it went on all over this clean green land of ours. Imagine how much Roundup was consumed on that basis. The pesticide companies must’ve been laughing all the way to the bank.”
“Yeah, the bastards.”
“Anyway, nobody took any notice of our complaints and we’d get the same official replies that it was authorised by the government and the government knew best. That’s how they all thought back then. And people actually believed it. Unreal. Anyway, that’s when the poisoning began. After I left school, as you know, I got a job in the botanical gardens and I never dreamed the sprays we used were so harmful. Nobody wore any protective clothing or masks and we regularly zapped the plants, the lawn, in fact everything in sight. It had to look beautiful for the public.”
“I wish more people would appreciate natural gardens and bush without having to have everything like an English garden. It’s a real colonial mentality, eh?”
“Sure – but we never thought like that then. I especially loved working with the subtropical and exotic plants. But even they got zapped with poisons. The entire botanical gardens were aerially sprayed with 2,4-D twice a year. The glasshouses were the worst. They were regularly sprayed with pesticides, and the poisons stayed in the air for days because they could not escape. It was very difficult for us as we had to do all the debudding and grafting by hand and it was too intricate for gloves, not that any were given to us, and we were constantly handling sprayed plants. After four years of this, our hands started to come up in blisters and bleed and get very irritated. By then, our eyes and noses were a mess and I was bringing up blood in my vomit. I had to leave the job, yet I loved my work. I was devastated.” Koa sips her tea, tears welling in her eyes as she speaks. Iri hugs her closely.
“I went to doctor after doctor until I found one who diagnosed paraquat poisoning and after several tests, we worked with herbalists to try to cure the condition. I was diagnosed with ME first and treated as if it was all in my head. It took twelve years for the truth to be told, and I was so exhausted after that struggle that if I did not have ME at the beginning, I sure had it by the end.”
Irihapeti strokes her hand tenderly. “Thanks for telling me all this, Koa. It is not the first time I have heard an ME diagnosis for paraquat and Roundup poisoning – in fact for pesticides and chemicals that they do not want to name. Much easier to put it all back on the sufferer. It’s disgusting.”
“I spent a fortune on doctors, acupuncturists, all kinds of healers, but falling in love with you and coming here to the organic nursery at Te Kotuku marae has been the best treatment ever for me. Now I can still work in a nursery but feel safe doing so and rest when I need to. For the first time in ages, I feel I may fully recover from this poisoning. But I still worry about all the other kids who played on the roadsides over that time, and also anyone who has ever worked in a traditional nursery or with plants.”
“Yeah – it’s so strange that we like to work with plants and trees because they are healing and it makes us feel deeply in tune with nature. Yet the colonial view of gardening has trie
d to tame and commodify the plants and land so that great profits are made but at the expense of human health. The whole reason why we might garden in the first place is not only lost, but infected.” Iri lies back on her pillow and sips her tea thoughtfully.
“Even now, Iri. Look at all those who follow TV programmes like Maggie’s Garden Show and still zap their plants with pesticides under fancy and harmless names, little knowing what a terrible nightmare legacy they are leaving for their kids by poisoning the very land they hope to pass on to them.”
“You’re right, Koa. We need to educate people more carefully. Not just in how to grow organically – but how to avoid being sucked into the commercialisation of gardening so that it feeds into corporate profits rather than hungry mouths. And also how to recognise and handle poisoning when they encounter it. Thank Tane Mahuta most of the kids are safe living on the marae since we became organic.”
“Don’t be fooled, Iri. Some of the kids at kohanga come from land that is still being heavily sprayed, and all of them shop in town where Roundup is used as a herbicide. Look at little Mattiu, for instance. He’s been down with colds and flu and had rashes and irritated eyes for over a year now. His mother has taken him to doctors who diagnose the flu. But I have suspected his father is spraying the land with Roundup, or worse, and once he told us so at the nursery. Their favourite outing is to go spraying with Dad. What kind of a legacy is that?”
Iri sits bolt upright. “Koa, I think you’re onto something here. Mattiu and his bros have all been very sick. So have Kiri and Eruera’s kids. And the tamariki from the outlying farms. Maybe we need to get someone like Matt Tizard up here to test them for herbicide poisoning? He’s the best alternative medical expert in this field.”
“It’s a good idea. But we need to do so carefully. Many ofthe parents will be against it. Most people seem to think it is all a communist plot if you dare suggest that toxic chemicals sold to them as harmless weedkillers, like Roundup, could possibly harm them or their children.”
“Right. We need to make this into a school science experience – until we get the results anyway. The kids will find it fascinating, and there’s no harm if we are proved wrong, eh?”
“Glad I chose to tell you this today, Iri. I must admit, it has been in the back of my mind. But I am so used to being laughed at by professionals while enduring this long journey to discover what was wrong with me, that I hardly dared speak it.”
Iri hugs her. “Well, you must never hold back from such things with me, Koa. We need to feel comfortable talking about the difficult things. And we will never ever laugh or make fun of another. Okay?”
Tears of relief run over Koa’s wide cheeks and run down into the ridge between her brown shining breasts, just visible above her lavalava. “Thanks, Iri. Kia ora.”
“You look exhausted, my love. Have a good rest and I’ll take away the tea and have a wee walk and come back a bit later.” Iri kisses her gently on her nose.
“Ka pae. I will.” Koa snuggles back into the sheets and Iri cannot resist looking at her face as she drifts into sleep. Her eyebrows soar out from her eyes like the wings of an albatross in flight, her beautiful wide nose slopes down to her broad, high cheekbones and her dark tattooed lips. She recalls the strong women painted by Robin Kahukiwa in Wahina Toa. She strokes the side of Koa’s face. Her wahine toa. She has been through so much, yet emerged from the ashes so powerfully. Her body is like the land, has been poisoned and yet still offers itself up for healing. Its hidden power gleams in the moonlight like the white bones of Muriranga-whenua, who told Maui to take her jawbone as a symbol of strength when seeking the new land. She is the land. And like her, te whenua will heal and become strong again. Koa is living proof that this is possible.
“Welcome to our first Rongoa Maori hui.” Mere bends forward to hongi each of the women as they enter the workshop. They gather around the table in a ring and hold hands to do karakia to bless their ancestors and the kai steaming from a large woven flax kete which has been placed on banana leaves in the centre. After the prayers, waiata are sung to thank Mere for her blessing and to open the hui. Enticing and earthy aromas are wafting from the basket, and Cowrie is delighted that such a ritual hui will begin with food. What a blessing! Mere carefully opens the flax bag brought over from the hangi and extracts several parcels wrapped in banana and taro leaves from their garden. The steaming leaves are laid down in front of each of the women.
Mere continues. “I want you to open these taonga one by one, and each person must identify the plant that gave herself up for this feast by holding a leaf of that plant and naming it, thanking her, and sharing the contents around, so that by the end, you have all tasted the fruits of this bountiful land we have been gifted. This way, you will recognise each of the plants and be able to greet them as friends any time you walk into the bush. You will feel connected to them and thus will always appreciate what they have to offer us, as kai and as medicine. It has struck me very forcefully since Cowrie, Irihapeti, Koa and all of you working for an organic future for our land have been very vocal on these issues, that in fact this is exactly what our ancestors would have wanted us to do, and what they themselves knew. We may do this in different ways now, but the ancient knowledge made us intimately connected with the food we ate – and this is what we must once again do, and teach others to do. Ours will be a long and patient journey. This taonga was gathered over many years and it cannot be taught in one day. It is more a matter of learning to trust your instincts and rely on your inner knowledge.”
She pauses to sip the fresh spring water. “As you begin to recognise the families of leaves and flowers, and the shapes and designs of the plants, you will understand how they are inter-related. In most cases, if one of that family can be eaten, then many can. If one is poisonous, then so are others in the whanau. You must always only harvest a small and sustainable crop. For instance, if the edible part of the plant is the root, then you must make sure there are many more rooted plants ready to take its place. You always plant more than what you take, so that future generations are provided for. If we had all done this globally, we would still be a sustainable planet, but greed took over as some came to control the production of food and profit from it. Strangely enough, it has been our indigenous ancestors and brothers and sisters globally who have held this ancient knowledge, but who have now been edged out of it by the corporate multinationals. Thus it is vital we learn carefully and hand on our knowledge to our mokopuna and tamariki so they can in turn pass it on to future generations. There has never been a more vital time on this planet than now to listen to the plants and learn from their wisdom. It looks as if those we trusted in politics in Aotearoa may be bought off by the multinationals, like International Seed Corporation, who now control the seeds and control genetic engineering – so we must each listen to our inner wisdom and the voices of our ancestors. Kia ora.” Mere clears her throat. “Irihapeti, as guardian of our organic nursery, would you kindly go first?” Mere hands over the carefully wrapped taonga to Irihapeti and encourages her to open it.
Steam issues from the leaves as they reveal their enticing secrets. Finally, the last banana leaf. Inside is a fern frond, just beginning to curl. It is huge. Beside it sits what looks like the pith of the tree and a part of a frond. Iri knows from its size it must be the giant black treefern. “Is it the mamaku?” Mere nods and smiles. “And this looks like the inner pith and some part of the frond, but I am not sure which.”
Mere grins. “Ka pae, Irihapeti.” She holds up the core of the fern. “This is the koata, the pith of the upper trunk.” Irihapeti smiles, loving that Koa’s name, meaning joy, is hidden inside this strong and beautiful black treefern. “This part is the core of the beginning of the frond – the most tender part – and this is a new shoot. It is best to get this before it unfurls, or it can become too hard and bitter.”
“But it feels so sad to harvest this exquisite spiral new birth,” whispers Moana.
Mere nods. “Yes.
It is. But this is the most nutritious part of the plant and is very high in vitamins and minerals. If we still lived in an Aotearoa covered in plentiful giant mamaku, eating some parts of the tree-ferns would not be a problem. It is simply that the colonial farmers burned and cut and buried millions of these ferns when creating farms for their cattle and sheep, and thus we now have a different level of resource and so each of us must make our own decisions around harvesting this kai. Generally, if you have a good supply and have a medicinal reason or shortage of good nutritious food, then you can harvest. But each time, you must make this decision and never harvest to stockpile or for greed.”
“But there must be plants we can harvest which will not be destroyed by the harvesting too,” suggests Koa.
“You are right – and we will concentrate on these later. Maybe you’d like to go next, Koa?”
Koa lifts her parcel, wrapped like a pyramid in taro leaves. Inside are several smaller curled shoots of the fiddlehead fern. “It’s the hen-and-chicken fern but I can’t remember the Maori name.”
“Mouki. The young shoots were steamed in a hangi and eaten by my parents and theirs, like we might eat asparagus today.” Cowrie licks her lips at the thought of such a ready supply of asparagus in the forests surrounding them. “It was a favourite delicacy of the Tuhoe iwi in the Uruweras and often eaten with potatoes. They also liked the feather fern, pakauroharoha, which was similarly harvested and steamed in a hangi overnight.”
“Isn’t this fern related to the Dryopteris heterocarpa?” asks Koa. They look blankly at her.
“The hetero-what?” asks Cowrie. “You turning into a shape shifter then, eh, Koa?” She laughs.
Koa grins. “No, Cowrie. It’s a very similar shape to the feather fern and eaten by tribes in West Penang. I saw this on a botanical trip there several years ago and was fascinated. But back then I didn’t realise our ancestors ate ferns as well, sad to say.”
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