Above: Justin Tipa (Ngāi Tahu, Ngāti Kahungunu) with partner Ana Tangaroa (Ngāpuhi, Rarotongan) and tamariki Hoani and Kauri.

Reo Revolution

Two generations of Ngāi Tahu language leaders are set to meet for the first Kura Reo Kāi Tahu in Bluff this July. It is an opportunity for sharing, debates and most of all, kōrero.
Kaituhituhi Sandi Hinerangi Barr reports.

In 2000, Ngāi Tahu set itself a goal of having 1000 Ngāi Tahu families speaking te reo in the home by 2025 so that the language lives in Ngāi Tahu communities. The torch bearers for this Reo Revolution have mostly been second language learners in their 20s to 40s, individuals with a passion for the language and a strong desire to pass the gift of te reo Māori on to their children.

In July this year, the first Kura Reo Kāi Tahu at Te Rau Aroha Marae in Bluff will give these younger speakers the chance to hear from Ngāi Tahu kaumātua about tribal tikanga (customs), language and histories. It's a rare opportunity for two generations of language leaders to meet.

In this fight against the loss of a language, 29-year-old Justin Tipa (Ngāi Tahu, Ngāti Kahungunu) is the kind of champion you need.

"Learning te reo Māori is my passion," he says. "It's the reason why I get up in the morning. It's also a responsibility."

"I carry a Māori name, I'm Ngāi Tahu. People are quick to categorise Ngāi Tahu as the white landless tribe from the south, who have lost their language and culture. So if I have the ability to kōrero Māori, it allows me to rebut that view and to participate in the Māori world at a much higher level."

Te reo certainly wasn't a strong feature of Justin's upbringing although his Pōua Ivor (Deedee) Tipa insisted his mother take him to the kōhanga reo in Twizel when he was a toddler. "I vaguely remember going there, but what I remember most is that my grandfather wanted me to have some kind of grounding in the language."

Although Deedee Tipa was a fluent speaker of te reo, Justin doesn't recall him speaking Māori. "The only Māori I heard as a youngster was Māori terms and words related to gathering kaimoana at Moeraki or going eeling at the Waitaki River. It wasn't until we shifted to Christchurch and I went to high school that I picked up the language."

Justin was placed in a bilingual unit at Hillmorton High. His teachers Horowai Tonkin and Doug Baker inspired him to embrace his culture and Māori language. "I learned more out of the classroom than I did in it. Doug would take us out camping and we'd learn about the natural environment.

Generation Reo

It takes one generation to lose a language and three generations to get it back.

The intergenerational transfer of te reo Maori as the main form of communication has not occurred within Ngai Tahu communities in Te Waipounamu for 80 years in some areas and for 130 years in others.

Second language learners from Ngai Tahu will have to lead the revitalisation of te reo Maori within the tribe because the iwi has so few native speakers.

We visited various marae around the North Island and we'd go to tangi for local kaumātua, so we were well and truly part of the Māori community."

Justin left school in the fifth form to travel around the North Island selling homemade Māori language resources and traditional Māori weaponry to schools and early childhood centres. When his mother, Sue Tipa, fell ill with multiple sclerosis he shifted to Oamaru to be close to her and found a job working at a tannery.

At this stage, he and partner Ana Tangaroa (Ngā Puhi, Rarotongan) had one child and they had made a conscious decision to raise him speaking Māori. This period proved to be a turning point in their lives.

"I'd had enough of working in the Pākehā world and I wanted to gain some qualifications and a career based around the Māori language. I also wanted our kids to grow up with Māori as their first language."

Justin enrolled for a degree in Applied Language (Te Reo Māori) at CPIT in Christchurch while Ana improved her Māori language skills by accompanying their younger children, Kauri (now four years old) and Hoani (three years old) to kōhanga every day.

"The hardest part about raising fluent Māori speakers is having other friends, whānau and a community that regards speaking Māori as 'normal'. That's a huge thing."

The Tipa whānau have tried to integrate te reo Māori into their daily lives so the children have a positive view of the language as a medium for school, work and play. They have Māori-language books, music and games at home and enjoy watching te reo Māori children's cartoons on Māori TV.

Justin doesn't expect everybody to be as committed to speaking the language as he is. "It's not easy learning te reo Māori, but every little step counts and everybody has something to contribute.

"There's a view held by some of the older generations within Ngāi Tahu that it's too late for us, but even if they used what Māori they did know and supported the revitalisation of te reo it would make a positive difference." In July, he and Ana will take their two younger sons down to Te Rau Aroha Marae in Bluff to take part in Kura Reo Kāi Tahu, which involves a kāhui kaumātua (group of elders) from Ngāi Tahu who are fluent in Māori.

Justin says he is keen to hear the kaumātua's views on the state of Ngāi Tahu reo on the marae. "And of course the use of the 'k' versus the 'ng' as a marker of Ngāi Tahu reo. I don't use the 'k' because I'm not confident enough about applying it to all Māori words, but I'm keen to hear other people's views."

Kūkupa Tirikatene, 75, is among the Ngāi Tahu kaumātua who will speak at the Kura Reo. He represents the less than one per cent of the iwi who are native Māori speakers.

Kūkupa was born at Rātana Pā near Whanganui to Southern Māori MP Eruera Tirikatene (Ngāi Tahu) and Ruti Horomona (Ngāi Tahu, Ngāti Kahungunu). When he was three weeks old, he was given to Pani Heremia (Ngāti Kahungunu), a devout Ratana follower, who raised him as her own near Wairoa in the Hawkes Bay.

Nan Pani couldn't read English, and Kūkupa says she spoke only enough English to "convey a message". The whānau were brought up in a tin shed with no power and an earth floor.

Despite their lack of material wealth, Kūkupa has very fond memories of his upbringing. He reminisces about their conversations by the fire.

"She'd speak about the prophet Te Kooti coming through Wairoa, and I'd tell her about how they were going to put a man on the Moon!"

Kūkupa learned to speak English only after he started primary school.

It was something he acquired with "much difficulty".

"I used to speak backwards. English was one of my difficult subjects, so I really concentrated on it. I still make the odd faux pas, and my wife tells me off when I ask where my pantsis [sic] are!" laughs Kūkupa.

His father, Eruera, used to pick him up in the school holidays and take him back to Tuahiwi in North Canterbury. He has vivid memories of meeting his younger relations. "We'd all be sitting around the kitchen table and Dad would fire questions in Māori at me to which I'd respond. All the children were staring at me – it was probably a novelty watching a five year old prattling away in Māori."

When Nan Pani died in her late 80s, Kūkupa shifted to Auckland. He credits her with teaching him "the real values of Māori", and she is still clearly a guiding influence in his life.

As an example, when Kūkupa was poised to be promoted as a senior manager in New Zealand Rail, he left the company to avoid getting the position ahead of a person who had given longer service. "I resigned because I didn't want to use people as stepping stones," he says.

For the past 40 years, he has dedicated his working life to teaching te reo Māori. He says he felt like a "crusader" when he first started studying at Christchurch Teachers' College, and he's always looking for the best way to teach the language.

"I've come to the conclusion that there are a number of simple set patterns that a beginner needs to learn. Unfortunately, there are no quick fixes and people need to experience the language in different ways. They need to hear it, read it, see it and enact it.

"We've also got to take it back to the marae. I can see our men on the paepae who aren't fluent and they're 'faking it until they make it'. You want to teach those who are willing to learn. Te reo Māori isn't just something that comes from your waha (mouth). It's something that comes from the heart."

Te Whe Phillips, 67, knows all about speaking from the heart. She was born and raised in Rāpaki on Banks Peninsula to Napier Hutana (Ngāi Tahu, Ngāti Kahungunu) and Te Whe Ariki (Ngāi Tahu, Ngāti Maniapoto, Ngāti Kahungunu). She knows the kawa and tikanga of Ngāti Wheke, the history of the area and the whānau that belong there.

"Te reo Māori isn't just something that comes from your waha (mouth). It's something that comes from the heart."

Kūkupa Tirikatene (Ngāi Tahu, Ngāti Kahungunu)

"When I hear our rangatahi and tamariki speaking I'm so proud of them."

Te Whe Phillips (Ngāi Tahu, Ngāti Kahungunu, Ngāti Maniopoto)

She has spent only two extended periods away from her kāika, once to learn te reo Māori in Waikato and her current stint as a Ngāi Tahu kaumatua at Te Papa Tongarewa in Wellington.

Te Whe says her Tāua Lassie (Maata Hutana) was a fluent Māori speaker.

"She always spoke te reo to us when she came for holidays from Woodend, and they could all understand her, but English was the everyday language at Rāpaki aside from the use of Māori words like hauka (smelly)."

An almost inevitable situation arose that motivated Te Whe at the age of 49 to pack her bags and vow not to return until she could speak Māori. "Bill Gillies' brother, George, died and four busloads from Te Arawa arrived at Rāpaki to pay their respects," she says. "There were only three of us working in the kitchen at the time, and none of us could speak Māori. All of our paepae were at the opening of Ngā Hau e Whā marae in Christchurch.

One of us had to go and welcome them on, so I wrote 'Haere mai x3 on my hand and did the karanga (call).

"I almost ended up saying 'Haere mai three times!' That was it. I knew I had to go away from home and learn the language properly."

Te Whe had lost her husband a year earlier. She had never lived away from Rāpaki, or paid her own accounts or bought or cooked kai, so shifting to Waikato to become a student was a massive change.

"It was hard. I had no whānau with me and I thought the teachers were being mean to me. It was horrible. I went home a couple of times, but I stuck it out and made some good friends."

Te Whe's teachers insisted that they would only teach her the language and she had to return home to learn the karanga and other customs. She recalls Tāua Kitty Couch and her Aunty Fan (Raukura Gillies) doing the karanga but says there were no waiata tautoko (supporting songs) following the speeches when she was growing up.

"We used to sit on the atamira (stage) in Te Wheke hall and the other group (manuhiri) would sit together by the door. You just stood up where you were. It wasn't as rigid as it is today."

If you want to know what Ngāi Tahu tikanga is, you have to go to each marae around the region, she believes. "I notice there's a distinct difference between the marae south of the Waitaki River and those north of it.

I can only really share my experience of tikanga at Rāpaki and on the other marae around Banks Peninsula."

Despite Ngāi Tahu having the largest loss of language of any tribe in the country, both Te Whe and Kūkupa are optimistic about its future survival.

"When I hear our rangatahi and tamariki speaking I'm so proud of them," says Te Whe. "I haven't really had much to do with all the wānanga reo (language workshops), but I think they're great and I fully support them."

Kūkupa says he is heartened by the enthusiasm of the younger generations.

"I was most surprised when I went to Johno Crofts' 80th birthday at Tuahiwi. You can't keep them down. Those young people want to be counted."

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