Marae Visits Part 1: Karanga

This post probably wins the "most delayed" award, as my first marae visit was... let me try to remember... at least eight months ago. What is strange about this is that it was a very exciting event, so you'd think that I'd post about it right away, but I didn't. I find the task slightly daunting, because each time I go to a marae, I learn so much and am so amazed by what I experience, and I don't know which bits are best to go in a post or how to communicate them meaningfully.

I have temporarily solved that problem by selecting only one of the many things I could write about for this post: the karanga.

You may recall from earlier posts (or you may not, as they were ages ago) that a marae is the sacred space of a particular iwi (tribe), although there are many marae for each iwi. The actual marae is a grassy area outside where formal greetings and discussions take place, but the word is commonly also used to describe the surrounding buildings as well. The marae is a very special place, where specific rules of tapu (sacred) and noa (common/safe) must be followed, and many rituals of tikanga (culture/customs) are practiced.

As a newcomer to NZ and to tikanga Māori, it is special for me to be able to go onto a marae and to learn about how things are done there. The first time I went on a marae, it was with my Te Reo Māori (Language) course at Puketapu School, and we went to Muru Raupatu Marae. The second time was a weekend course on the history of Taranaki, which was at Owae Marae. Both times have been amazing and educational.

When a group goes onto the marae for a pōwhiri (welcoming ceremony), the first part that happens is the karanga (ceremonial call). There is a kaikaranga (person who does the karanga) for the tangata whenua (hosts) and the manuhiri (visitors), and they call back and forth to each other across the marae, while the manuhiri walk across it to be welcomed into the building. The kaikaranga is always a woman. "Karanga follow a format which includes addressing and greeting each other and the people they are representing and paying tribute to the dead, especially those who have died recently. The purpose of the occasion is also addressed. Skilled kaikaranga are able to use eloquent language and metaphor to encapsulate important information about the group and the purpose of the visit" (Te Aka Māori Dictionary online).

This link is to a youtube video of a woman singing a karanga. Usually she would not be by herself, as she would be representing the tangata whenua (hosts), so others would be there with her, and she would be alternating parts with the kaikaranga of the manuhiri. You can tell that she is tangata whenua because the first thing she says is "Haere mai" which means "Welcome," whereas the manuhiri (guests) say, "Karanga mai (ra)" which means "Call to us."

You can hear the strong voice she uses; in a pōwhiri, she would be calling across the marae, which you will recall is a large grassy area. You have to be loud to be heard across it, and it is also a proud part of the ceremony, and your voice needs to be strong to communicate your mana (prestige/spiritual power).

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gyoEGv8AKr4

When a group goes onto a marae, at least one person needs to be responsible for singing the karanga. In my group of teachers and community members, no one volunteered, and then the teacher asked me if I would be willing to do it. I felt nervous about doing it, as I am not only not Māori, but not even a Kiwi. They assured me that it would be fine, and that I could do a simple karanga simply stating who we were, without all the fanciness they usually include. This also was fitting for the occasion, as we were not coming for an important meeting or family occasion, but rather to experience the marae and continue our te reo (language) course.

Anyway, I fearfully but excitedly accepted the role of kaikaranga. I was surprised that some of the Māori ladies in the course didn't offer to do it, especially since some of them had previously been to the marae, but I figured that they had their reasons.

Due to a miscommunication between the teacher and myself, I didn't get as much guidance before the event as I thought I would, and so I ended up standing that the front of my group at the entrance to the marae, holding a little piece of paper hidden in my hand to make sure I didn't forget the words, and feeling about as nervous as I ever remember feeling.

I didn't take any pictures that day, so I resorted to finding this one online. We started out right under that archway, and then I sang the karanga as we walked toward the tangata whenua, who were standing into front of the white building.

This is the karanga I sang.

Karanga

(to reply to host karanga)

Karanga mai ra, karanga mai ra, karanga mai ra.       

Call to us, call to us, call to us.

Karanga mai ra ki a matou Te Hua o Puketapu e. 
Call to us, the seeds (people) of Puketapu (School/Kindergarten).

Karanga mai ra, karanga mai ra, karanga mai ra. 
Call to us, call to us, call to us.

(sung after the hosts’ 2nd karanga)

Tenei matou Te Hua o Puketapu e karanga nei. 
This is us, the seeds (people) of Puketapu calling back.

Karanga mai, karanga mai, karanga mai. 
Call us, call us, call us.

As you can tell, it is very simple and straightforward, but it didn't feel that way when I had to sing it out in that high-pitched melody like the woman in the video, and make sure that it was plenty loud enough. I was shaking by the end of it, but everyone said that I didn't look as terrified as I felt, so that's good at least.

I had some interesting conversations as a result of singing this karanga. After the ceremony was over, several pākehā (non-Māori Kiwi) women came up to me and said that they respected that I had done that, because they would always be way too scared to do it. They then continued on to say that they thought it was deeply rude and inconsiderate of the Māori ladies present not to do it, and to thereby force someone like me to take up that responsibility. I said that I didn't mind because it was a good experience for me, which is true, but I wondered about their comments.

Just a few minutes later, one of the Māori ladies there came up to me and told me that I'd done a good job. She then explained that in the tikanga (cultural practice) of her whānau (family), that only the kuia (oldest female) can do the karanga. She said that it would be deeply disrespectful and hurtful to her mother and grandmother for her to do a karanga while they were still alive. She said she felt bad sitting by while I did it, but that it was important to her to respect her family. Of course I assured her that I thought that was wonderful and didn't mind doing the karanga anyway, but I could tell that she felt some tension about it.

The sad thing about all of this is that the pākehā women went home feeling that the Māori women were inconsiderate (when in fact it was quite the opposite) and the Māori women went home feeling that they offended someone either way, when if both side had actually understood the way the other was feeling, everyone would have seen that no one needed to be upset. How many instances of cultures coming together are characterized by that kind of unnecessary negative emotion? It's sad, especially when the two cultures have actually been co-existing and often combining for many years, as is the case here. It often seems that everyone understands each other well here, and then events like this remind us that that is not always true.

Not to worry, though. The fact that a group of white pākehā women (almost exclusively) who teach in NZ took time from their busy lives to take a te reo (language) course and to attend a pōwhiri on a marae means that things are getting better. We are learning, and it seems that the most important thing we all need to learn is that other people's way might be different without being wrong.

I feel privilege to have been able to do a karanga, and am glad that I tried it even though I was scared. It was very inspiring and humbling to be part of the ceremony in that way.