Ao Toa

by Cathie Dunsford

  “That’d be right, Koa, and so typical that often our tamariki only realise our ancient wisdom after they have left home and seen it in other parts of the world. But we must now learn to harvest this knowledge and share it among all tribes for the healing of our planet.”

  “But surely that does not mean giving the knowledge over to the multinationals to buy the rights and misuse it?” comments Cowrie.

  “Certainly not. This knowledge cannot be bought or sold. Like the land, it does not belong to anyone. We are the guardians of this knowledge and must look after it and use it well for the benefit of all. If we keep it to ourselves alone, or sell it for gross profits and do not use it wisely, then we are no better than those greedy corporates.”

  “What about our intellectual property rights?” asks Irihapeti.

  “We have those by our sovereign rights as tangata whenua. And we do now need this enshrined in the law of the land. But that does not give us permission to misuse that knowledge. It’s up to each of us to be ethical in this respect.”

  “Kia ora, Mere. And this is what we must teach our tamariki,” Iri adds.

  Little by little, each of the wahine opens her parcel, delighted at the contents, and they sample the kai one by one. Some of the leaves and fronds and roots seem bitter by today’s tastes, but Mere explains to them that such tastes have altered since the sugar companies started bribing food manufacturers to put sugar into everything – even staples like tomato sauce – to get the tamariki hooked on sweet flavours which would then lead to their other sweetened products. “We must get used to these flavours again. Most of you like rocket in your salad – yet many thought that bitter when first tasting it. Now you would not be without it.”

  “True. And nasturtium flowers and borage flowers. We’d never have dreamed of eating them as kids and yet now even I, the queen of kai moana, adore them,” admits Cowrie, grinning and biting into the delicious fiddlehead of a kiekie fern.

  “Now you should work in pairs and identify the leaves and flowers of the plants you have just eaten and continue the process, noting any further memories you may have of them. We’ve begun today with eating certain parts of the plants our ancestors ate, and we will gradually move on to their medicinal uses as the weeks go by.” Mere helps herself to some more spring water as the wahine gather up the parcels and retreat to their favourite places. Moana and Koa choose the table near the open window, which looks out over the black mamuku forest.

  “We’re so lucky to live here, Moana. It’s such a restful place. I give thanks for this each day when I wake up.”

  “Yes. It’s great to be back here at last.” Moana sighs.

  “You lived on a farm nearby, didn’t you?”

  “True. But it began to be a nightmare.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “My husband, Tony, felt he needed to control the weeds all the time and he got obsessed with it. He was given cheap pesticides from that helicopter lot. Said they ‘fell off the back of a chopper’. In other words, they were either stolen or dumped or sold cheaply. I worried a lot about our boys.”

  Koa stiffens. “And for good reason, Moana. When the government bans pesticides, then the suppliers seek to dump it anywhere rather than bear the costs of return. They prefer to hock it off cheaply rather than burn or bury or return the stuff. The same with big countries. The United States dumps its banned pesticides in the Pacific and other developing or Third World countries, who only ever needed them in the first place because their ecosystems were destroyed by the colonial farmers doing their slash and burn routine to make more farms for McDonald’s and Co. Don’t get me started on this.”

  Moana looks alarmed. “So what kind of stuff do they ban?”

  “Stuff that they have found so toxic that they can no longer afford the cost of court cases against its use. It has to get that bad, usually.”

  “Sounds like the tobacco industry tactics.”

  “Very similar lack of ethics.”

  “So Tony is really playing into their hands, then? He thinks he’s onto a good deal, but he’s just a pawn to them, right?”

  “Afraid so, Moana. And you need to tell him this, if you can.”

  “I need some distance from him at present. He’s been harassing the kids.”

  And you, by the looks, thinks Koa, noticing the faded bruise on her cheeks. “Maybe Cowrie, Iri and I could pay him a visit?”

  “I don’t think he’d take any notice. See if you can send Piripi and the boys up to talk to him, eh?”

  “Shall do. Thanks, Moana. But what about your kids? Have they been showing any signs of poisoning?”

  “What should I look for?”

  “Vomiting, diarrhoea, skin rashes, drowsiness, depends on what’s been sprayed and how close they are to it.”

  “Tony takes them out with him when he sprays. They love to use the backpacks and sprayers. It’s like Luke Skywalker with his laser gun to them.”

  Koa blanches. “Then you need to get them to a doctor fast.”

  “We’ve been to the local GP and they have had tests at Rawene Hospital. Said it could be a mixture of pollen and the winter flu.”

  “More like pesticides, if you ask me. Hang in there, Moana, as we’re hoping to get a pesticide poisoning expert up to test all the schoolkids. But we do not want to alarm the parents yet. Would you be supportive of this?”

  “I sure would. It’d be a load off my mind. Thanks, Koa. You and Iri are doing marvellous work at the nursery and I’d like to come and help out. I have more time now that I am not cleaning for Tony and since we prepare the food communally here on the marae.”

  “We’d love to have you at the nursery. Bring the boys after school too, ’cos we have a programme going for kids. Once they get involved in planting and harvesting from their own organic gardens, they will never want to use these sprays again.”

  “Thanks, Koa. That’s brilliant. They wouldn’t listen to reason on this – but if you can get them involved in experiencing something for themselves, then they will be open to it. Mattiu will be a starter for sure. Ever since he saw his father spray to death a small sparrow in his way, he never felt the same about him afterwards.”

  Koa grimaces. “I’m not surprised. I’ll talk to Piripi about this tonight.”

  “Be discreet, Koa. Tony has his male pride and all that.”

  “No worries, Moana. That’s a common problem. Nothing that a dose of love won’t fix.”

  “Now I could get into that. Spraying more love about the fields is what we need. Maybe we could convince that Flyworks fella to fill his helicopter sprayers with Aroha, eh?” Moana giggles at the thought.

  “Ka pae, Moana. Now what’s that you have in your hand? We’d better get going or Mere will be back to us soon.”

  Moana pulls a luscious yellow flower with thick leaves like a cactus from the pile in front of them. “Looks like ice plant to me. Grows wild all over the sand dunes.”

  “Hottentot fig.”

  “Strange name.”

  “Carpobrotus edulis, actually. Its fig-like luscious fruits were eaten by the Hottentot tribes of Africa, and they used the leaves to make an excellent pickle.”

  “Yum. I could get into that!” Moana’s eyes light up. “Mere, what’s the local name for this ice plant?”

  “Horokaka. Pig Face. See the snout inside the flower stems. Looks just like a kunekune pig!”

  “So it does. Fascinating.”

  Next they are amazed to taste the rhizomes of the rengarenga rock lily, which grows near the sea and often hangs down from rocky ledges. Mere explains it was found in the early days near Maori whare and plantations. Koa adds that, according to her research, the sprouts of a very similar lily were eaten by tribes in South Africa, and that Aboriginals in Australia ate the roots of another related lily that resembles the rengarenga. Even the young shoots and pollen of the raupo are edible, and quite sweet. These bulrushes were once used in thatching the early whare and for making small canoes and rafts. Cow
rie reckons they are also wonderful for making kites as well. “Edible kites, now that’s a marketable proposition,” she jokes. “The Californians would love that one!” They laugh. The pollen tastes a bit like mustard and they debate whether it could be used as a substitute.

  When it comes to eating the tender shoots of the golden pingao, which grows over their sand dunes, Mere warns them that they are needed for weaving and to be wary when harvesting as this is now a resource that needs to be carefully protected. She shows them a delicately woven pingao bag by Toi te Rito Maihi, who has used the base of the shoots with flair in her design so that they fly out from the elongated kete as if wings. Cowrie imagines a sky full of such winged creatures, golden against the azure blue, shooting their way heavenwards, born of the earth but returning to the sky, as if bringing Rangi and Papatuanuku closer together by their daring act of levitation. She smiles, thinking of how Toi would laugh at the image and how Chagall would have loved to paint such flaxen angels alongside his flying blue violins and heavenly winged creatures.

  Banners spike the air like flying fish. No Frankenfish … Keep Aotearoa Clean and Green … Tino Rangitiratanga … No Field Trials … Keep Aotearoa GE-Free … No Nukes, No Genes … Bio Gro – Not Monsanto! … GE-Free New Zealand … Ours for the Picking … Safe Food, Sure Markets, Treasured Land – Aotearoa … Bring Genoa to Aotearoa: Oppose Globalisation … Save Our Sacred Toanga: Vote Green Now!

  At the sidelines, three lonely pro-GE campaigners. Bright Future or Dark Ages: Vote For GE or Be Doomed … God Knows Best: Trust Him … Jesus for Genes: Our Saviour. Nobody takes much notice of the loony-right God Squad these days. They are left to their own devices and people know there is not much point in even debating the issues with such rigid fundamentalists. A decade ago, they would have been pelted with rotten eggs. Now they even receive a few sympathetic smiles, as if at a wake for their own future.

  Among the marchers, they recognise several other Nga Puhi and Tainui families and even a few kin from as far south as Ngai Tahu country. There are mothers and fathers with their tamariki and mokupuna, doctors and lawyers, farmers and organic growers, students, scientists and even a banner proclaiming “Physicians and Scientists for a GE-Free Future.” Around them are stalls bursting with organic fruit and vegetables as it is their market day, and an atmosphere of celebration and rebellion surrounds tangata whenua and Pakeha alike.

  There are Maori and Dalmatian, Samoan, Rarotongan, Niue Islanders, Aboriginal, English, Scottish, Welsh, Canadian, US, German and Ozzie Kiwis chatting and debating the issues and sharing kai before the marchers rally for the opening of the hikoi. Finally, as everyone is declared to be present, a karanga is called from the local marae. The marchers are welcomed with a blessing and karakia before they begin this long and arduous journey from Tai Tokerau. They will travel through the hills and lakes and shores of Aotearoa until they reach the parliament buildings in Poneke, the capital city of Wellington, where they will be greeted by politicians from all sides of the debate.

  Cowrie, Kuini and several families from Te Kotuku marae are joining the hikoi. Some will go as far as Wellington, some back to the Hokianga because they cannot afford time away from work or their gardens. Iri, Koa and Mere have remained on the marae to keep the energy brewing and the tamariki and food supplies cared for.

  “There is a proud tradition of hikoi in Aotearoa. We have marched as tangata whenua for our land, for our sovereign rights, for our sacred kai moana, and now we march to honour Papatuanuku and keep her free from GE interference.” The crowd roars approval. “Many of us have sick relatives. We say to you all we do not oppose carefully monitored lab trials in order to find cures for these diseases. But we are all opposed to the GE assault on Papatuanuku, just as we opposed her rape and degradation when US and French colonial governments invaded our Pacific Islands and used them to test their nuclear weapons.” Another roar from the crowd and much hooting of approval. “And gradually we got the population of Aotearoa behind us to declare ourselves nuclear-free.” A ripple of “kia ora” from the tangata whenua.

  “Today is no different. We already know that 92 per cent of the submissions by Kiwis to the Royal Commission on Genetic Engineering are emphatically against its use.” Cheers and clapping. “We represent many groups here today, and we are united in our opposition to GE and especially to field trials. We must make the government retain the moratorium on field trials and encourage Aotearoans to become the first entirely organic, GE-free country in the world. We will then be the sacred pearl in the oyster of the Pacific, of the world, and we will convince others to join us. This is our future: an organic GE-free Aotearoa by 2020. Kia ora.”

  Many more speeches by the Greens, Mana Motuhake, the Alliance, organic growers, tangata whenua, Soil and Health, and anyone who wants to have a say are heard between roars of approval and a few cries of doom from the God Squad. After a final farewell feast of kai moana and organic produce, they begin walking, singing waiata as they go, adults and children, scientists and dykes, doctors and gays, feminists and greenies, farmers and ecologists, hand in hand, joined in song. A native wood pigeon with green and brown feathers and a fat white belly flies over and looks down on the crowd, seeing a multi-coloured rainbow making its way magically down the main route to Auckland. She rises up onto a wind surge and then glides down over them, dropping a sacred red puriri berry that lands on the red, black and white tino rangatiratanga flag, held horizontally by the marchers.

  The scarlet berry slides from side to side of the flag as they march, unaware they have been so appropriately blessed, until there is a pause and the berry drops down into the waiting kete of a kuia. She notices its arrival and smiles. The hikoi has been blessed. She now knows that, despite all the trials they may endure on the way, they will make it safely to their destination. But even that will only be a beginning. There’s a long hard summer to come. Her dreams told her this and they must be prepared for all eventualities. Yet the berry taonga encourages her, urges her on. Tonight she will share this blessing with the others and sing waiata to the kukupa who flew over them, casting down safe food onto their flag of resistance, their future. A symbol of their potential.

  Moana now spends her afternoons at the nursery, and the boys wander in when school is finished. They have established their own gardens alongside those of the other tamariki, and Moana is delighted that they are so into it. They were reluctant at first – but once they saw how enthusiastic the other kids were and got to sample some of the fruits of their hard labour, they became very keen. Mattiu is entranced by the orange, yellow and red bell peppers and declares he will become a pepper farmer when he grows up. Hemi likes the small bright purple eggplants, though he reckons they look better than they taste. “Wait till you have some of my eggplant parmesan,” Koa tempts him, “then you will want to grow them forever!” Hemi is not yet convinced, but he is hooked by the beauty of the plants and the transformation from bud to flower to fruit. Ropata likes the lettuces and the tiny mesclun mix full of mustards and small magical plants that finally make a salad taste decent. He wants to grow nasturtiums all around his plot as he loves their bright yellow and orange faces cheerily waving in the wind.

  “Look at them, Koa. You’d never believe these tamariki were bedridden most of the winter, eh?”

  “D’ya reckon they have fully healed yet or are there still signs of the poisoning?” Koa drops a large bucket of fruit peelings into the compost heap and covers it with grass clippings and shredded recycled paper.

  “They have not fully recovered. They get tired easily and their mood changes are in flux still. Could be to do with the separation from their dad. The older boys find it hard just seeing him on the weekends, but Mattiu seems relieved not to return to the farm unless he wants to.”

  “Ka pae. But how is Tony coping without you, Moana?”

  “Sounds like he has it sussed, Koa. The boys say he has a girlfriend who stays over there from time to time and does his housework for him. Daughter of tha
t Flyworks fella, actually.”

  “Heaven help him then. I bet he is still taking all their reject poisons.”

  “Dunno. How did it go with Piripi and the boys when they visited him?”

  “They didn’t get far. He took out his .22 and said he’d blow their brown faces to hell if they came any further onto his land. Accused them of stealing his missus and he’d get even.”

  Moana stiffens. “This is what I most feared.”

  “It’s okay. You’re safe here on the marae, Moana. We’ll protect you. He will not get near and we can leave him alone to poison himself and his land. When he finally gives up the land, we’ll buy it back and begin the long process of cleansing it and letting it return to bush. Some of it can be planted eventually, but only after it has healed.”

  “You don’t know Tony. I don’t think he’ll give up that easily. Too bloody stubborn. He’ll hang in there until the end. He’s like the tough Kiwi fellas that Bruno Lawrence plays in our films. I could imagine him barricading himself in and fighting back with over-sized double-barrelled guns, or burning the land so that nobody else can enjoy it.” Moana sighs. “But I am glad I got the kids away from that energy. They are finally beginning to relax again now.”

  “Ka pae, Moana. And you.” Koa heaps up the compost with another layer of cut kikuyu grass.

  “You don’t want to use that stuff, Koa. It is a devil to get rid of when it springs to life in your garden. It spreads like wildfire and runs along under the earth and invades everything else you try to grow.”

  “You’re right, Moana – but it also makes an excellent mulch. It’s an African grass that is actually quite graceful. It’s just that we have come to always think of it as a weed, or an invader. Your Tony would zap it with chemicals, no doubt. But if we manage to understand how it works, we can make good use of it. Most of our compost heaps comprise at least a quarter of shredded kikuyu grass. And look at how rich they are. So long as you keep turning them over and letting the air circulate, you have some of the best compost on earth. The worms love dancing through the kikuyu, and the shredded paper gives them air to breathe. Then they feast on the fruit and vegetable peelings. Not a bad life, really.”