I'm a star!

Well, interesting thing happened today.  I was in the main street using the internet cafe (hey- why is it a called a cafe - the guy in charge wouldn't make me a hot chocolate!), and as I was waiting for the Maori with the hardly-anything car to pick me up, a group of Thai men exited a shop near me, and started taking photos of me.  I mean, I had no other choice - I posed with them, signed their cards that they had - smiled and waved at them as I drove off - but I will never know, who on earth they thought I was.  Ronnie said i was 'more than naughty' - but I felt like a superstar, deserving my 15 seconds of fame, so buggrit I reckon.  I can imagine them going home and telling people they met...um. yeah, got no idea who they thought they were meeting...I wonder if they'll be there tomorrow?

We visited Mum again today - it was the first time I have seen her looking sad.  It must be hard for proud independent Maori to have to be dependent on strangers, even if they are nice, caring nurse-type strangers.

Here is a photo...

strike me roan!

I am sick of being sick.  I am sick and tired of being sick and tired.  If the Americans can build a space station, how come no one can stop my cough?  Did I say 'strike me roan', cos if I didn't, I meant to.
Nonetheless, the beat goes on!

I talked to my supervisor and big boss - they are happy with my work so far, and so that makes my happy.  If you ever get the chance to meet A/Prof Te Kahautu Maxwell, well, you need to grab it.  I am not sure, but I suspect he has ESP. 

Oh, and you really HAVE a bath in Rotorua- even if you are chicken like me and wear your clothes.  I wonder why it is so nice to float in a mineral spa - I could almost hear a koauau and was looking around for Hinemoa.  At least here, there are no jelly blubbers, sharks, poisonous fish - the only thing to worry about is eels, and they avoid the spa bath areas anyway. Oh, and Maoris who think it is funny to sneak up behind you...it's so not!

Papa had to go and visit a young girl who was not well, so I went with him.  There were 3 teenage girls and so they had to sing for us- they were so cute.  They were really good too.  Natural born- the 3 of them. Check out my toy-boy- he's the one in the middle of this photos! This is the group from WA, and his nephews...you can see where they get their good looks from eh!

God bless whoever made paracetamol!

Well, we are back from Hamilton.  We saw some really cool people.  I reckon that dignity is something we are born with, but needs to get ‘polished’ eh.  Like, there was this old Maori lady, and she was so humble and had an air of kotahitanga- roughly translated, it means to be about the business of creating unity in community.  No real English equivalent – I suppose because Maori is a collectivist society and survival is a group effort?

A lot of Maori are very religious.  I really am impressed with the way they are their word.  For example, when they say they believe in caring for people, then they care for people, even the smelly ugly ones.  I am so touched and smile a lot (but not in public- that brave I am not) when those HUGE biker gang members cry on my hubby’s shoulder at a funeral.  I wanted to take a photo to show you, but as above, that brave I’m not either!

There have been 2 funerals this week.  One was an older man, but the other was a middle-aged woman.  The entire village went.  I think if we lived here full time, then Papa would be at ceremony every day.  They love to have him here; he is strong and knows his culture.  He is not frightened of anything and I guess it’s because he has so much experience at sorry business.

(But- while he’s not looking-let me tell you about his ‘new hobby’.  I dunno what Maoris eat here, but he has been doing the most amazing, um, well, they are amazing.  I thought he was going to be able to play 3 octaves via his, um, well.  He thinks it is hilarious, and calls it duck hunting.  I think it is disgusting, yet can’t help laughing about it when he, um, well, you know. He tells me I bring out the best in him!)

I was talking to Kelly about the need for counsellors here, and she asked if they are culturally-appropriate.  I think the ones here probly  are, but I reckon they are overwhelmed.  I also wonder how they are educated- we sometimes think that as nurses we are not skilled enough, but I reckon nurses would do a whole world of good – I wish I could have Hilda and her mob for just a week – I reckon it would instil hope into some of this mob.  See, the health team are also community members – so they have to deal with their own grief and loss, and then everyone else’s.

Papa is going to see our ‘naughty boys’ tomorrow and see if they have converted to not naughty.  He is patient with them- and he growls them in such a way that they feel sheepish, and it looks more effective than anger.  They are so funny.  When I am around, they are tough as bro, and wear those sunglasses and pull their hats down-one even wears a bandana like a mask- how cool is he do you reckon?  But, when my little hubby is there, they are like little puppies trying to make him happy.  Come to think on it, Maori population stats mirror my mob’s- so they don’t have a whole lot of men over 50, and over 60s are treated like royalty.  And Papa is from the chiefly line, so I guess it’s like trying to make your daddy proud of you.

Still, hard on your heart here.  Yesterday, the church had 4 cars, and the pub had 40.  It’s a standing joke that the pub has the biggest congregation.  We cooked for the half-way house, and Papa took it down to them (6 young men).  Junior (that’s his name – honest) answered the door, and said ‘What’s that?’  Papa told him – prawn curry and rice.  I don’t think he was convinced, but at the moment, they are the only ones who eat my cooking, so I love them-they can do no wrong in my eyes. 

Oh dear- there’s my husband duck hunting again.  I wonder if it’s possible to die from methane asphyxiation????

Still koffin Kerrie!

Another rainy day in Murupara

I am still sick.  I haven’t stopped coughing for a week and if I had internet coverage right now I’d look up the Guinness Book of records to see who holds the current record for lung abuse.  I reckon I’d be in with a Guernsey at the very least.  But today, due to my husband’s holding of his nose, I thought I’d best bathe while he was at Church.

Now, having a bath in Murupara is a bi-weekly experience.  We don’t have an inside shower – the outside shower, as I am reliably informed, is called ‘rain’.  I digress:  the bath here is the original bath from when the house was built in the 1940s.  In those days, Maori must have been, on average, a size S-M, so it is a challenge to fit my XL tero into the bath-tub and then wash my hair.   I had to use Papa’s loofah to scrub off 5 days of Vicks layers as well.  The off-bath days are APC days, as my nanna used to say (armpits and crutch), or desert washes, where we just soap up and sluice off in the laundry, in an effort to have enough hot water to use the bath as above.  For those of you who are already planning to comment on this being ‘too much information’, well, read on....

I was watching TV today – I don’t as a rule put it on, but I was curious to see what NZ does on Sundays.  So lucky I did! They have a young farmer’s TV show, and they were just about to announce the winner of ‘Who’s poo’s whose’. (Some 11 yo boy)  They had 7 different types of animal poo – each sample on a blue & white paper dinner plate on a table – and contestants had to identify the animal responsible.  (I am not sure how they convinced the said animals to poop on a paper plate, but more digression).  Apparently, the samples included chicken and buffalo, dog and deer.  Look- this in an absolute true story.  The 2 young adult presenters took the whole thing very seriously.  My husband refuses to believe me, but it’s TRUE!!!!

He has a trained sparrow.  Apparently it is very rare.  He goes to the kitchen window and as soon as he does, a little sparrow from the burnt-out house two doors over comes swooping over and waits for a feed.  I tried to give it my  left-over  experimental banana cream pie – it was left-over because not even Maori kids would eat it – get the picture- and the birds flew down, did the equivalent of a avian sniff and took off.  Now they will only come to Papa. 

I am hoping I am going to be better overnight-the President came and gave me a blessing – so here’s hoping.  I am now officially 2 weeks behind in my work due to this dang-it-all flu, and there is a tangi tomorrow and Papa wants to go, but I won’t be allowed if I am still koffin Kerrie.

Murupara 8

Well, it is the end of another week.  We had Ananeia and Aroha around for dinner.  He is Papa’s nephew – and one year younger than our son. I asked Papa to get him a card for his birthday- so he got him a postcard – I mean, really.  They had a great time, and Ananeia said it was his first birthday without alcohol, so we were happy with that.  The last thing this village needs is more alcohol.

Tomorrow I am meeting with the probation officer that looks after Murupara and this area.  I am not sure what she wants to see me about, but we’ll see, eh.

We went to Church today – there were 20 people there – so cute.  But it was so lovely to hang around other women – I realise I am a left-over  mission Aboriginal woman who likes the company of other  women.  The lady holding the sisters’ class was asking how she thought we could serve the community more and i realised what a load these good women must bear.  It is fairly typical of Indigenous communities though – the women are the backbone given the loss of mana for many of our men.

on the other side of 4am

Just when I thought I would vote to have some Maori put in the hangi pit (ie, the Maoris from the fracas at the fence), I had an experience at Mum's nursing home.  See, every week, I cook a main meal for about 12 people, and we have lunch with Mum at the home (aged care facilty, whatever, ok).  I make something in my slow cooker, and usually it is me and Papa, Mum, and Linda, Woki and baby.  But Linda is always keen to take the pot home for her family, so I make plenty. 

There is a Maori section (Mai Moa - from the prehistoric times, still funny) and we set up lunch there.  This week, there was a lady in for respite.  She has no hair, and minimal speech.  I don't know what is wrong with her.  But her son was there, and he was feeding her so tenderly.  I told him he had to eat some of my boil-up and he was happy to do so (see, he was my cooking-naieve, probly won't happen again...) We wiped her mouth and gave her a drink from one of those funny cups with a teat.  He rubbed her back when she had finished.  He was tall and looked really fierce, but he really loved his mum.  It was so sweet and tender and my heart melted to see him.
It went a long way to getting over the fencers!

Oh what a night!

Well, where were you when I needed you, eh? 

Yesterday started out as per.  I have caught a filthy phlegmy chesty cough - you know the ones- and sent the Maori down for coff medicine- and he returned with a little bottle of coff stuff that cost $21NZ, and is only a tad better than lolly water - but I have been sucking it down like it is the elixer of life, and by the time the bottle's empty, well, I reckon I'll be better anyway.

But that's not the big story - not just my coffing all night long, and fainting a couple of times due to hypoxia, etc - I mean, that IS exciting for sure, however, read on...

We knew we were in for a rough night, as the party next door that started at 10am, was still going at 10pm, with an exponential increase in noise output.  Of course, I wouldn't mind if the noise consisted of say, Tui Teka, or even 9 out of the 10 tenors, but you instantly can guess it was the head-banging kill bill type of thing.  (I am increasingly grateful for my C&W/light opera kids now!) 

So there we were - battening down the hatches.  You see, the garage in next door's back yard, backs right onto our bedroom wall.  The fillings in my teeth were rattling in time to the bass beat.  Voices were also getting louder. The most popular word started with.....come one, you know already!

Anyway, about 1am, we thought we should try and get some sleep.  I took a couple of bigger pain pills, and the Maori, well, he can sleep on the back of a turtle, swimming in the Pacific, being chased by a Mako, in the middle of a tsunami.  At 2am, we were woken by what we now realise was the fence being broken down.  The fence is about 5 foot high, and made of tin and posts.  It was like an explosion and we both jumped out of bed.  I confess to being frightened out of my wits- and remember -I lived through a major earthquake (Newcastle), and the Boxing Day Tsunami, and the Blue Mountains bushfires, and even 2 trips to Afghanistan- and I was very frightened. 

There was a group (I wanted to say 'gang', but didn't want to unfairly influence you) of younger people - men and women - and they were fighting each other- they were screaming and one man was making noises as if he was being tortured.  They were on our back door- and one of them was trying to get inside.  Now, 20 years ago, I would have gone out and sorted it out, but as arthritis robs me of physical confidence, the Maori and I just came into the lounge room and hoped they would give it up.  I looked out the kitchen window, and there were about 6 people fighting just outside the window.  I was really violent and went on for over an hour.  The man was screaming and screaming.  I rang the local police station, but Murupara doesn't ahve a 24 hour manned station.  I rang the emergency number and spoke to a policewoman.  She asked me what I could hear now, and I told her I could hear some man getting a flogging with what sounded like a huge stick (turned out to be one of the broken fence posts).  She said I was the 3rd caller about this 'party', and she would talk to dispatch about it, thanked me and gave me a reference number in case it escalated.  I wanted to say it could only excalate into WWIII, but I am guessing she hears a lot of complaints, ergo her scale of upset was inverse to mine.  No police came - the hour+ drive from the nearest police station must have been prohibitive.  The Maori says they only come if someone has been killed.  I know there are children in that house.  So, there you go.  A baby was murdered near Hamilton last week, and the grandmother was demanding that people ring the police if they are worried about threats to children, but it didn't make any difference in this instance.  The music continued all night, but about 4am, we went to sleep exhausted.

The Maori was up early though, reviewing the damge.  A young man from across the road came and said he was going to fix the fence that 'those drinkers' had caused.  He did too - he came over and hammered a post up and the fence is ostensibly there.  The Maori thinks he was at the party, but we don't know.  It is quiet there at the moment (4pm).

We were glad that Mum isn't here - can you imagine how scary it would be for an 80 year old woman to be here by herself.  There is no help to call on - no police will come to save you.  Usually in the Western world- if you call police and ask for help- if you are a scared woman like I was last night (I was shaking), I know in Australia - the police will come.  We have always told our boys - if you are in trouble, call a policeman, he will help you.  But I can only assume, that here, they don't care so much about Murupuddlians.  They are not like our police.  I am going to kiss the first policeman I see when I get home- dang it - I can't wait that long- will you go and kiss a policeman/woman/both for me please?