OPARURE’S OPENING 29 MARCH '86:

Tu Tangata, Issue 35, 1 April 1987, Page 24

OPARURE’S OPENING 29 MARCH 'B6:

A Personal Account na Te Puoho Katene

The purpose of the trip was the opening of the meeting house at Oparure. We left Porirua at 8 pm. This gave us plenty of time for a leisurely trip with generous stops on the way; Bulls, Taihape, maybe Waiouru and yes Taumarunui. So long as we arrived in time to tag onto Waikato when they go on the marae to open the house. This would be about six in the morning.

Quite a few of our old dears managed to come. They settled themselves upfront giving a matriarchal thrust to our northward movement. We sighed contentedly, secure in the company of our arbiters of Maori values. The bus trip was relaxing and as comfortable as bus trips permit. Some complained of sway and roll. Like most, I slept along the way, getting out whenever we stopped to release pressure on the bladder and to stretch cramped joints. We arrived at Te Kuiti at 3.30 am. Ours was the only sign of life on the deserted street. The misty drizzle came out of the surrounding blackness frosting the windscreen in places beyond the wide sweep of the wipers. For the next hour we made final preparations for our arrival at Oparure which lay a few miles to the north in a secluded valley off the main highway. Kai boxes were emptied and the old dears who had not already done so, changed into their sombre black. A tone of serious intent settled on this band of travellers. Even the kids were hushed by the feeling of expectancy.

Jacko had changed too. In flowing white robe with Arab headress, luxuriant black beard and black circular sunglasses he looked startlingly marvellous and magnificently out of place. He boarded the bus to a stunned silence. Crikes - we’ve brought our lunatic fringe! The old dears were the first to recover and emitted a stream of scathing denunciations. Undetered and as if gathering strength with every step Jacko flowed through the gauntlet of pecking crows to his throne at the back of the bus. The men, observing this high drama and sensing the fractured atmosphere veiled their mirth in probing jibes. There’ll be enough time to split their seams later. In this disturbed frame of mind the bus proceeded to Oparure to await the dawn and the arrival of the Waikato people. From our windows we could see the

black mass of humanity assembled against the lights of the marae buildings. Occasionally the quietness would be broken by the call of the leader and the concerted response as the powhiri was given a run-through. For a long time nothing seemed to happen. Time dragged on. One by one the electric bulbs strung on a lead by the entrance exploded in the thickening drizzle, ‘Those poor people, having to wait outside there’. Then a continuous stream of light wound its way up from the valley floor to the paddock opposite. Waving torches directed the lights to the paddock entrance or to the raised ground by the marae. The space in front of the entrance was kept clear. A ministerial car arrived and was parked by the entrance.

“That’s probably Koro Wetere” said a voice. Satisfied, the eyes moved to other points of animation discernable in the growing light. “Where’s this mob”? grumbled someone, “Talk about Ngati Tureiti”. Dawn had broken. ‘Here’s a bus now’. Murmurs of satisfaction. The bus pulled up in the space in front of the entrance. ‘Shall we get out now’? asked someone. ‘Hang on, they’re not moving’, observed a voice ‘They could be waiting for the rest of their mob’, suggested another. ‘Well, I’m not shifting until something happens’. Silence, but everyone’s watchful.

Many cars arrived and disgorged their passengers before moving off to park. The space in front of the entrance filled with people. It was quite light now. Another bus arrived and took its place beside the other.

‘lts them alright’, said a voice, ‘lts a Huntly bus’. We decided to vacate and huddle under umbrellas by the side of ours, but kept a discrete distance from our dopey relation who attracted much attention from the assembled crowd

and the marae people. The drizzle was heavy now.

The queen had arrived, the whisper was that it was she who had held things up. One slow smile on her serene face and all was forgiven.

The Waikato crowd and their rangatahi band got into formation. A woman’s karanga announced the procedural order of the moment, which had the effect of clearing a pathway to the gate. The band struck up a lively march and moved off with all falling in behind.

Once through the archway the band lined up on either side like a guard of honour. The multitude poured through. Everything swung into action. The powhiri exultantly dispelled the stiffened joints of hours of standing, the frustrations of waiting, the wetness and the disappointment of the advanced morning.

The encroaching horde halted halfway up the marae while Henare Tuwhangai entoned the ancient words of the karakia. They then moved forward until they were swallowed up by the house. More prayers, and mass responses, Ancestral identifications, hymn singing, band music, ending in a solemn dedication to Christian virtues. Interested and critical eyes surveyed the whakairo, tukutuku and kowhaiwhai, their separate and distinctive features noted, as was their balance within the total decorative statement of the house. After all had been given the chance to quickly view the mysteries of the interior the doors were closed. In front, the whaikorero had started and speakers laid their koha on the marae. The dignity of the occasion belied the urgency at which the programme flowed, and we were mildly surprised, but wholely gratified when ushered into the mid-morning hakari. By noon the crowd had gone, headed out to the poukai at the coast.

The drizzle had stopped, a warm sun broke through the clouds. It would be a hot day. ‘Hello God’. Innocent eyes looked up into the bearded face of Jacko. ‘Bless you, child’, was the warm sonorous tones from the beard. ‘lts real nice seeing you all’ declaimed Eva, ‘and don’t forget, I want my Ngati Toa people to come up when I celebrate the return of our land. ‘Oh -1 must speak to that important visitor’. She brushed past heading in the direction of Jacko.