Kuru Pounamu

Words by Ariana Wanoa (she/her/kuīni; Ngāti Porou)

As a kid, whenever I used to stay over at my mate’s house, my nan would send me over with a random bag of kai. A loaf of $1 bread, a can of spaghetti, tomato sauce, onions, chicken stock, or other random stuff from the pantry. I used to get hella embarrassed. Firstly, because no one else ever did this. Secondly, because it was like $7 worth of kai. And thirdly, because it was clear that we didn’t have much. I even shoved the bag into a bush once on the way. Little did I know then that Nan's bag of kai would now sit in the core of my understanding of Tikanga Māori.

My nan has always been home. Whether it's her swearing at the netball games or blasting the house down with The Chase, she has always been a comforting, constant presence. Our clean whare is a testament to the care and attention she pours into all aspects of our lives. The simple stability of a boiling jug, sunlight through the windows, and an impeccable home all carry a warmth that only she can provide.

As the generations roll through, I’ve noticed shifts in the fabric of our whānau, like my nieces and nephews calling my uncles ‘papa’ and aunties ‘nanny’. I feel a solace when witnessing the echoes of my childhood reverberate through them, yet also a yearning for my own days where an older generation warmed our marae. 

In her prime, my nan was a force to be reckoned with, a gun with anything to do with her hands. At a flick of the wrist, she was in mahi mode, conjuring up a feast fit for a marae full of people. She taught us the fruits of giving unconditionally. Harakeke would bend willingly into perfect threads in her touch. Not a single inch of fabric would escape her eyeballs, sewed and utilised with purpose and precision. All in all, she has probably knitted an overflowing closet full of cardigans, beanies, gloves, and boots for our newborns that she has welcomed warmly to this world.

Blessed with beautiful memories, wherever I am in the world, I feel her love stream out to me. My beautiful Grandma, my hands are yours every time I give. My mind is coloured by the shades of your kōrero. To feel beautiful, to feel golden, to feel treasured was first felt within your arms. I hope the later generations feel you through me as you are the greatest gift I’ve known.