Recently my two year old spoke her first words in Te reo Māori. I was elated.
However, not long afterwards her cognitive development surpassed my reo skills. My struggle to keep up with her need for language, means she now defaults to English first, most of the time, like me. It brings tears to my eyes sometimes when I say “Watch out bub!” ...and then “Ata haere e kō!”.
I have accepted the reality that I will probably never be a fluent speaker of Te reo Māori. Instead I will be a lifelong, second language learner. I’ll be one of those Aunties that shouts “Horoi ō taringa!” at dinnertime...maybe I already am.
I’m an admirer of those with the reo. I know people who have spent their lives in recovering the language. Years in formal education settings and on marae piecing it back together. Structuring a social life that can support the language. And making whānau choices that nurture te reo. I have a deep respect for their determination and commitment to revitalising te Reo Māori. I see profound and positive results for their whānau. The ripples that spring from this mahi flow into our communities and resonate throughout our culture.
As someone who includes te Reo in creative projects I am often asked in reverent tones by Pākehā, “Are you fluent?”
“Kāo”, I respond. Their inevitable disappointment brings me a sense of shame and on it goes. Not Māori enough.
There are many barriers that prevent Māori from learning te Reo. The impact of colonisation should never be underestimated. Time is scarce and we are laden with problems to solve; from shocking child mortality rates to land claims; protecting our depleted natural resources to upholding our Treaty responsibilities. The variety and depth of the challenges faced by Māori can be quite overwhelming .
We must choose what will fit in our one kete.
That should not stop us sharing and celebrating the parts of Māoritanga we do hold with absolute pride. We each need to use our own talents to champion our tikanga, our reo and te ao Māori in our own way. The wonderful Dalvanius Prime, a lifelong learner of te reo, famously said “I’m not the star, the reo is the star.” Dalvanius didn’t let his personal lack of proficiency, stop him using his creative gifts to shine a big ol’ disco light on te reo and revolutionise NZ music at the same time! And this is the type of approach that inspires me, inspite of some of the negative emotions I have encountered during my Reo journey. Kirsten and I choose to write pukapuka in te reo Māori inspite of our lack of fluency because like Dalvanius, we see the bigger picture. We see our job is to plant a seed for tamariki so what they have is more than we did.
Shame is an emotion that often accompanies the pain of not knowing our native tongue. It’s interesting that instead of saying “I don’t know the reo...” we often say “I don’t have the reo...” we sense something that should be ours, is lost. And we feel at odd’s with the fact that we have not been able to retrieve this missing peice .
A recent study showed 4 out of 5 Māori say they cannot speak te Reo Māori, yet one third of Māori say they can understand it well enough! There is a fear in speaking te Reo that cripples many attempts to learn and use it.
Yet there is an abundance of inherent understanding, aroha and spirit for the language in our people.
Even with all the courses, all the wānanga…all the pukapuka, I may not ever be able to speak fluently but I know all about that aroha and spirit. Those qualities drive me to provide a Māori worldview, a Māori lens for my children through which they can understand the world. And it’s a wonderful time having young children! Indulging in the playful parts of our language, enjoying stories and having illustrations to help with comprehension. And speaking the Reo with pēpi? Many Māori parents will know this sparkling moment when we get to share our delight in the Reo with our babies-before they outgrow us and our ability!
In a way Reo Pēpi has served to crystalise this time for me. My work in the creation of childrens books reflects the bittersweet truth, that my own reo might always be best suited to pēpi. This doesn’t mean my aroha for the Reo is something less. I am always going to need te Reo Māori in my life. I’ll need its poetry. I’ll need its truthful concepts. I’ll need its song and rhythm, my whole life long. And for these gifts, I’ll offer what I can, with what I have.
As we move towards a bilingual society for our mokopuna, it is our pleasure to introduce Toru, the third series of Reo Pēpi—bilingual books that prioritise Te Reo Māori and support basic language acquisition in tamariki. They are what I wanted to see on the shelves when I first went looking for them years ago. Durable and hardy, bright and clear, our pukapuka are created with all the hopes, aroha and wairua we have for our own tamariki and for Te Reo Māori.