The Parihaka Woman

by Witi Ihimaera

  That made Erenora remember something she had heard from the traditions of another tribe on the other side of Aotearoa — the east coast. Their waka had just landed after having journeyed from Hawaiki and, while the men went to investigate the strange new country, the women waited in the waka. However, the tide came up and the canoe started to drift towards rocks. By tradition, women were forbidden to be paddlers but this was an emergency. Thus, a woman by the name of Wairaka shouted to the gods, ‘Kia whakatane au i ahau. Let me make myself into a man.’ With that, she grabbed the oars and rowed the waka to safety.

  ‘I shall do the same,’ Erenora said to herself. ‘And I shall call myself Eruera.’

  ACT THREE

  Three Sisters

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The Muru of Parihaka

  1.

  The graphic muru of most of Taranaki and the raupatu without ending describe the holocaust of Taranaki history and the denigration of the founding peoples in a continuum from 1840 to the present.17

  These words come from the conclusion of the 1996 Waitangi Tribunal report on the invasion of Parihaka and the taking of Taranaki land.

  I have the same opinion, although others might think the word ‘holocaust’ to be rhetorically deployed and overstating the case. I do not consider that any comparison was intended with the mass murder of six million Jews less than 100 years later. Rather, the word describes what the survivors of any great injustice and plundering of land, treasures, bodies and souls have had to endure. More important, the crimes in Taranaki were justified for very similar reasons — the superiority of one race over another.

  My ancestors had to live through some relentless attempts at their extinction. The fact that I’m here, however, is evidence that the government didn’t succeed in wiping us out. Administrations began to be dominated by peace lobbies attempting to demilitarise the situation between Maori and Pakeha. Frankly, though, it is my opinion that Pakeha escaped a return to war with Maori only by the skin of their teeth.

  Why didn’t Te Whiti change his tactics and fight Bryce? All I can do is point to the prophet’s own sense of Parihaka’s future. After all, the people of the kainga had experienced only Takahanga and Akarama, and were now undergoing Tupapaku.

  There was still to come, Aranga, the day of resurrection.

  Did not Joseph predict seven years of plenty followed by seven years of famine before the good years of the harvest?

  2.

  Ah well, timata ano. Let’s start again.

  By gender switching, Erenora was only affirming what Te Whiti himself had authorised when he said, ‘Ko tama wa’ine, a woman is a man.’ Indeed, it was this dual strength that he had always admired in her.

  Women fought beside their men during the long war. Sometimes irritated at the long discussions of men when debating the welfare of the tribe, women would often step in to provide the solution. Most times, in good humour, the men would acknowledge their caustic and peremptory tone. Hence the saying, ‘A man unties a knot, but a woman cuts it.’

  I tell you, my darling Josie often acts in this way. You want to hear her when the local school committee has a meeting! Last time she looked at her watch, stood up and said, ‘Enough talk. Time to vote now.’

  ‘I woke early,’ Erenora wrote, ‘wanting to get away from the village before dawn. I lit a candle and dressed quickly in vest and trousers. When I looked at myself in the mirror I was heartened by my appearance; it helped that I had always looked somewhat boyish, with my broad shoulders and narrow hips. I saw, looking back at me, a young man in his mid-twenties.

  ‘However, there was one problem: my hair. Certainly I could roll it up and pin it tightly under a farmer’s hat, but what happened if someone knocked the hat off? I would be exposed. I realised I would have to sacrifice it before I could truly assume my new guise. Although many men had long hair, woman definitely didn’t have short hair, so to avoid any questions as to my gender, it had to go. And I would make that offer because, oh, how I loved Horitana and …

  ‘“Wie bitter sind der Trennung Leiden,” I muttered from memory, words from the German phrasebook. “How bitter are the sorrows of separation.”

  ‘I made a quick decision. “Forgive me, husband,” I said. I picked up a knife and with savage movements cut my hair off as close as I could to the scalp. Oh, and I felt a huge regret, remembering how Horitana loved to braid and wrap it, twining it with his as we made love.

  ‘The huge hanks fell to the floor. When I looked again at my reflection, I hid myself from my eyes. I’d never been beautiful but now …

  ‘Keeping my emotions in check, I finished the job with a razor. When I looked again, I saw Eruera, with unkempt hair, standing before me.

  ‘No time to waste on self-pity. It was time to go.’

  Erenora pulled on some boots and put on her hat. She put the large knife in her belt. Then she grabbed a shoulder sack, filled it with some food and went to blow out the candle. Before she could do that, Meri and Ripeka came in. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Ripeka asked.

  ‘I told you Erenora was up to something,’ Meri said.

  The two sisters had been watching Erenora like hawks. They pushed her back and glared at her. ‘You think we don’t know what you’re planning to do?’ Ripeka continued. ‘Well, you’re not doing it without us! Trying to sneak away, no wonder Meri got suspicious. We’ve got husbands too, and neither of us can cope any longer with having our hopes raised whenever prisoners are returned only to have them dashed when Paora and Riki are not among them. We’re coming with you.’

  Erenora was extremely sympathetic, but more to the point she was irritated that they had found her out. Not only that, however, they were all ready to go: coats on, scarves around their necks, knapsacks slung over their shoulders, and Meri had brought some poi with her. Did she think Erenora was going somewhere you could sing and dance?

  ‘What are we waiting for?’ they asked.

  Erenora folded her arms. ‘You two will only hold me up,’ she answered, ‘and it could be dangerous.’

  ‘Not with a young man to look after us,’ Ripeka sniggered, ‘and don’t think I didn’t consider cutting my hair off too.’

  ‘That would have been a sacrifice for nothing,’ Erenora answered sarcastically, referring to Ripeka’s overflowing beauty. ‘Get out of my way, both of you.’

  She was shocked when Ripeka and Meri pushed her back … again. ‘Either we go with you,’ Ripeka began, ‘or we’ll raise the alarm and you won’t have only us in tow. There are lots of other wives who would want to come with us.’

  ‘Are you trying to blackmail me?’

  ‘You’re not the only one with brains, sister.’

  Erenora glared at Meri, hoping to intimidate her. ‘You, Meri … you should know better than to abandon Kawa.’

  ‘He’s already gone to our mother,’ Meri answered smugly.

  What could Erenora do? ‘It won’t be easy or straightforward,’ she argued. ‘I was planning to go to Wellington first to follow Horitana’s trail to wherever it might lead …’

  ‘Well, you’ll just have to include us, and our search for Paora and Riki, in your plans,’ Ripeka interrupted her.

  Oh, this was infuriating! Erenora realised that if she kept arguing, other women would indeed be attracted by the raised voices and decide to tag along. She gave up. ‘If you lag behind, either of you, don’t expect me to wait for you.’

  They stepped outside the house. The darkness was shapeshifting with swirling light.

  ‘Let me button your coat for you,’ Meri said. ‘It’s cold.’ When she had done the task, she touched Erenora’s hair gingerly. ‘You always did look like a boy,’ she continued, ‘but your voice should be lower.’

  ‘Like this?’ Erenora asked, demonstrating.

  Meri grinned. ‘That’s a bit better.’

  At the last moment, Erenora remembered she had left the candle still glowing. She returned quickly, cupped the flame and blew it out.
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br />   Dawn rose over the horizon.

  17 Waitangi Tribunal, Taranaki Report, 1996, p. 312, cited in Buchanan, Parihaka Album, p. 176.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The Quest Begins

  1.

  Let’s look at a map of colonial New Zealand.

  We know that Erenora, Ripeka and Meri left Parihaka on or around 15 November 1881. They stole past the sentries and the cordon of constabulary and soon made their way to the coast. They were all carrying food supplies, and Meri was in charge of their money.

  The morning wind was blowing into their faces as they turned southward. ‘The sea,’ Erenora sighed when they reached it, ‘so far so good, sisters.’ But when they were passing Piharo’s palatial homestead, his foreman saw them and woke his master.

  Piharo called for his telescope. ‘They are trying to escape,’ he shouted.

  The sisters made good time to Opunake.

  Erenora was hoping to pass by the redoubt and other fortified positions undetected. Aue, the morning was very bright and they had no choice but to go to ground for the day or to chance it. ‘The sooner we clear the district the better,’ Erenora decided. She waited until the changing of the guard was under way and, while the constabulary were occupied in their drills, she ordered her sisters, ‘Run for it!’

  Just in time. Safe and laughing, the three women continued along the beach.

  ‘That’s when I heard the sound of pursuit. I thought it must be the constabulary but, no, it was Piharo’s foreman and three Maori farm workers coming after us on horseback. They were brutish men and, when they caught up with us, they belaboured us with sticks.

  ‘But my sisters and I had learnt a trick from the tataraki’i. We flapped our scarves at the horses and added shrill karanga, “’aere atu!” The horses reared, unseating the men. Cursing, our assailants took after us on foot. They had not reckoned, however, on my strength or that of my sisters. Although we were soon battling for our lives, we managed to fend off their attack. When they saw the flash of my butcher’s knife, they kept their distance.’

  ‘Ripeka,’ Erenora screamed to her sister, ‘get Meri away now.’ She lashed out at the men and, as soon as she reckoned her sisters had cleared the beach, made her own escape.

  The ruffians were closing in again and, in desperation, Meri threw half of the money she was carrying at them. ‘Take it!’ she yelled. The ploy worked; the men began to fight among themselves for the coins and, by the time they had lifted their heads, the women had disappeared. ‘Let the bitches go,’ they laughed.

  Safe, the women dropped to the ground. ‘I’m sorry, sisters,’ Meri said. ‘Throwing the money away like that was the only thing I could think of.’ Really, Meri was so childlike you could forgive her.

  ‘Don’t weep, Meri,’ Erenora consoled her. ‘Money is only money. At least we have escaped with our lives.’

  ‘Those men could have made vicious sport with us, Erenora.’ Meri was shivering.

  ‘Yes,’ Erenora nodded. ‘It’s going to be dangerous all the way to Wellington. Are you sure you both want to come with me?’

  Ripeka and Meri saw right through her. ‘You can’t get rid of us that easily,’ Ripeka said, ‘and we’ll be safer with you.’

  ‘All right,’ Erenora answered. ‘However, Meri,’ she added grumpily, ‘I will take charge of the money.’ It wasn’t a reprimand, but the incident taught the three sisters a lesson — to avoid the Pakeha as much as they could — and if anything happened to their money again, Erenora wanted to be the one at fault.

  Meanwhile, the foreman and his three Maori labourers returned to Piharo empty-handed. They may have gained some coins but Piharo saw through their fabrications and lies.

  ‘I had plans for the wah-hee-nee Erenora,’ he said regretfully. ‘Never mind, one of these days she’ll return.’

  2.

  The three sisters had never been out of Taranaki. Can you credit the courage it must have taken for them to make that terrifying journey on foot?

  ‘Originally I had planned to make my way to Patea where I hoped to take passage on a ship to Wellington. With my two sisters in tow, and half our money gone, that idea was no longer possible. “We’ll have to walk,” I told Ripeka and Meri.

  ‘“Not all the way?” Meri asked.

  ‘I ignored her dismay. “We’ll keep to the coast,” I continued. “We’d better stay off the roads.” Ripeka agreed, “Me ’aere tatou,” she said, “let’s go.”

  ‘I walked ahead, setting the pace. I was surprised at how strong and fit my sisters were. “We’ve been in training,” Ripeka said in a droll manner.

  ‘We soon arrived at Ohawe. Near this kainga, steeped in history, moa hunters had once pursued the fabled bird. We took shelter at the pa and then moved on to Patea. That kainga was one of greater importance to us, marking the place where our ancestral waka, Aotea, had landed in Aotearoa, bringing our forebears. The people there were kin and we rested among them for a couple of days. Like many other villagers in Taranaki, they were now living by leave of the Pakeha. Their eyes grew as wide as saucers when we told them where we were heading. “You’re going where? Who will look after you when you leave your homeland?” We may as well have been heading to the edge of the world and over.

  ‘From Patea we began the long walk to Putiki, on the Whanganui River. We made good progress along the beach, but I noticed that Ripeka and Meri were always looking back at our beautiful tipuna mountain, Taranaki. “Don’t do that,” I snapped at them one day, because their sentimentality was getting under my skin. “If you’re already homesick, turn back now.”

  ‘That was when Meri cried out, “Wait.” Tears were spilling from her eyes, oh, how they were falling. And I looked back. The mounga had diminished to a triangle between earth and sky. Any further, and we would no longer see it.

  ‘And Meri called a farewell to the mountain. “E tu mai ra, te mounga tapu, e tu mai ra. Farewell, sacred ancestor, farewell.” Taranaki began to shine as Meri turned to me and asked, “Will we ever see our mountain again, Erenora? Our people? And will I ever see my sweet son, Kawa?”

  ‘We had reached the point of no return. “How should I know?” I answered, cross.

  ‘Ripeka reproved me. “You should have a care for our sister,” she said. She took some albatross feathers from her knapsack and threaded three into Meri’s hair. Then she placed three in her own. “From this point onward,” she told Meri, “people will know that we are women of Parihaka and come from Taranaki. And you will see Kawa again.”’

  3.

  Ae, Erenora was correct: the point of no return. What lay ahead?

  This should give you some indication: it’s the 1881 census from which I quoted earlier. Look at the statistics: total population of New Zealand, 533,801 and, of this number, 44,099 Maori. Our population was declining so rapidly that by the turn of the century many commentators considered we were doomed.

  Now think of the impact of the Pakeha population on the landscape. Everywhere saw tumultuous change to Aotearoa. The juggernaut of European settlement had rolled over the country Maori had once possessed and Pakeha were triumphant. Wherever Erenora and her sisters looked, had been farms built on the land, and towns had sprung up like taniw’a’s teeth.

  Fortunately it was now summer, with long days and warm nights. The women could sleep comfortably and supplement their provisions by foraging for shellfish or for edible roots in the bush. Sometimes Erenora was able to catch fish.

  ‘The moko of the Pakeha was everywhere. We crossed his many roads, hurrying over them before we could be seen. However, we were often confronted with signs on fences which proclaimed “Private Property” or “Keep Out” or “Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted”. When we came to such warnings we waited until dark before climbing through. Some of the fences were made of barbed wire, with clusters of metal thorns. One night Ripeka became badly entangled and, in freeing her, I tore some skin off my left hand. “It’s all right, sister,” I told her, but all she could say was,
“Oh, look at my dress!” Meri and I rolled our eyes at our sister’s vanity.

  ‘As we approached Whanganui, we skirted loggers chopping down the huge stands of coastal forests. The ground quaked as the trees fell. It seemed that even Tane, God of Trees, was powerless against the might of the Pakeha. So too was Tangaroa, God of the Sea … My sisters and I were having lunch on the beach when Meri said to me in awe, “Look at all the ships, Erenora!” They were like white-winged moths fluttering at the horizon or smudging it with their smoke.

  ‘Suddenly there was gunfire. Crack! Crack! Crack! A Pakeha settler had decided to use us for target practice.

  ‘“We must move on,” I said.’

  The three sisters arrived at the mouth of the Whanganui River and walked along the bank. Ahead they saw the powerful settler town of Wanganui, one of the first to be founded in Aotearoa. Already, with its busy harbour, town buildings, church spires and fine suburban houses, it dwarfed Putiki, the Maori kainga on the other side of the river.

  A friendly Maori in a canoe took them across to the village, where Erenora sought out the chief Te Rangi Paetahi Mete Kingi. He had been the first member of Parliament for Western Maori, a man of pro-government leanings and a frequent visitor to Parihaka.

  Mete Kingi did not recognise Erenora at first but, when she told him who she was, he greeted her warmly. ‘Why have you dressed like that? And why have you cut your hair?’ Then he added, ‘I still have much love for Taranaki and your iwi.’ They were generous words, considering how he had been humiliated at Parihaka. When Bryce’s army arrived, he tried to persuade his people to leave the settlement before it was sacked; they rebuffed him by choosing to stay.