Mad PROUD Skillz, Mad DISAPPOINTMENT, Part II

I've been wanting to get a Graduate Diploma of Teaching for the past few years, but obviously, living out in no-man's land, it hasn't exactly been possible. It's just a one-year degree though, and not only would I be able to legally teach, but I'd also be able to pursue what I really want to do, which is be a literacy specialist. I want to help children to learn how to read, and then hopefully, to love it as passionately as I do.

Distance learning has really increased in New Zealand lately, so I started calling all the universities with Education departments to see if I could do this one-year degree from home. I was going to be a stay at home Mom anyway, it seemed perfect.

One big snag -- all of these universities required a one-time, on-campus stay of 1-2 weeks in the first week of February. Then I would be home free to, well, be at home for the rest of the year. Sounds fine, except that Jiffy Pop was due about February 3rd. All the universities said the same thing, "Sorry, you'll just have to wait another year."

Argh!

A few weeks after the Maori language class had ended (and me STILL pregnant), a woman from a Maori university came to Beau's school to talk to us. Many of the people teaching at his school are not truly officially certified and the university had a three-year distance learning program for them to get all the credentials they needed. It would work out well for those in our community who live far from active civilization. The school's staff was told over and over that this university was very keen to work around all our needs. So, along with some staff members and several locals also interested, I came to the meeting myself, hoping that perhaps this could finally be my way to get that damn diploma. Also, it was the cultural part of this Maori university I was really hoping to work in my favor. I'll explain, but first, let me get to the start of the meeting.

Three Maori women walked into the room, smiling and acknowledging several of the teachers and locals whom they obviously knew. We then all settled around a large conference table. The three university women, interested people (about 12 of them, all Maori), and me, white-ass cracker girl.

As in Maori tradition, the first university representative stood up and began speaking in Maori, greeting everyone. Then she did her pepeha (short personal genealogy) for the group. Everyone warmly greeted her, and it then moved on to the next two women who did the same.

Then the first teacher stood up to do her intro. It was coming MY way around the table, not the other way around! She too recited her pepeha and greeted the group, and so rose the next person. There was only one more person between her and I. They didn't go very quickly, but it wouldn't be long before it was my turn.

I gulped and looked around the table at the people there. Should I do my own pepeha? I mean, I'm the American sitting at a table of Maori New Zealanders. Would it be appropriate, presumptuous, weird? Would I be like some sort of novelty? A trained dog? My heart began pounding hard.

But wait a minute, this is what I was taught in language class. This was what I was supposed to do, right? Hmmmm. Okay, I was going to do it!

My heart was really banging in my chest now.

Slowly, I stood up and I immediately had to make myself manually breathe. I steadied myself, then plunged in with full force. This is my name! This is my mountain! This is my lake! This is my ancestor! This is my people!

There was a sudden silence, and the mouths of the three university women dropped open. Their eyes bulged out. They looked at each other in amazement.

I felt a sudden burning flush and knew my neck and face were becoming beet red. I'm as pale as they come, and when I get very embarrassed, the change in skin color is rather dramatic. But I kept going...I was almost done! I finished my pepeha and self-introduction, then switched to English where I said I was hoping to do the graduate diploma. Then, now shaking slightly and with my skin on fire, I smiled self-consciously and sat down.

The table erupted in a loud, collective whooop. The three women let out several exclamations voicing their shock, delight and admiration. I felt so proud and thrilled, but also completely horrified at what I knew my skin looked like at that moment. I have to say though, I hadn't felt that proud and that good in a long time. There aren't a lot of moments like that in one's adulthood.

The crowd began to settle, and the woman next to me, Ella, a Maori woman in her late 50's who often substituted at the school, leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Oh great, thanks a fucking lot, J!"

She then stood up and did her own introduction. In English.

Anyway...

I've lived in a lot of places and haven't seen the amount of love and acceptance given to the presence and care for children as I have in Maori culture. Each time I take Jiffy Pop to Beau's school for a visit, my heart is just warmed at the amount of love she receives. Everyone is an aunty, uncle or nanny. Everyone wants to care for her. She is entirely accepted and welcomed in the workplace. The first time I brought Jiffy Pop to the school, one woman ("Helen") held out her arms, said, "Come to Nanny Helen," and after cradling the baby in her arms, promptly walked off to a staff meeting where she stayed with her for the next two hours. Imagine trying to bring a baby into YOUR next staff meeting.

Well, this university provides for women with babies like me! Though I was due to give birth to Jiffy Pop shortly after the university program began, they have it set up so I could stay in my own room at the university, breastfeed and care for Jiffy Pop, and do my several days of required on-campus time before going back home. I could even bring her to class! This is the Maori way. I couldn't believe my luck. I'd be able to get my degree, WHILE here in the bush, do the majority of it online and be totally supported on campus! Wow...beyond thrilled.

Not so fast, J. For reasons that are complicated and still a bit hazy to me, the particular degree *I* wanted to do was not available to me. The rest of the room was interested in doing a three-year teaching degree (basically, a B.A. in Education), but mine was a post-grad one.

I was devastated. I sat there for a minute, sort of soaking in my disappointment. Then, realizing the meeting was going to continue for some time for the REST of the room, I self-consciously whispered my goodbyes and left.

Fuck.

Mad PROUD Skillz, Mad DISAPPOINTMENT, Part I

Starting about two months before I got pregnant, every Wednesday night, Beau and I would attend a three-hour Beginning Maori language class at the local RSA (Returned Service Members Association -- Veterans). It started out interesting -- a class of about 40 people, all from the local community, of all ages (though predominantly women). It was taught by a grandmotherly woman who loved to joke and would frequently throw her head back and let out huge guffaws, exposing her many missing teeth. It was weird, but it was like all those missing teeth looked CUTE in some way. I thought she was a total delight. We'll call her "Kata."

Sadly, as time went on, the class dwindled dramatically, particularly the younger people who evaporated with each class. By the end, we had a steady number of about seven or eight people (including Beau and I). There was an advanced class that ended up with about half that. Beau would grumble every now and then that THAT was why his students were the way they were, they were mimicking the same behavior as their parents -- begin something with gusto, and then just shrug, say you can't be bothered, and quit. A LOT of activities at his school end up that way.

But admittedly, it was a tough class to stick to. It was NINE months long, and sometimes those three hours in the evening were tough to get through, especially for those who worked during the day. Also, the more pregnant I got, the more draining the class could be. But we stuck with it. We really wanted to learn the local language, even if we didn't need to, and besides, with NZ being obsessive about certificates and qualifications, it would be great to have an official Maori Language certificate at the end of it all.

It was important to Kata that there was a strong emphasis on the local culture as well as the language. She frequently went off into tangents and I think Beau and I counted four times that she went into the story of the returned Maori soldiers from Italy in WWII. Basically, the men (who survived), returned heroes and spent the next 20 years boozing their nights away. Since the community was so proud of them and were so happy to have them home, they were given total free reign to let loose when they got home. It's just that no one ever said, "Hey, that's about enough now."

But we did learn more about the people and traditions, aspects of all sorts of local land features, and especially, the beautiful maraes -- small compounds which features several buildings including the main meeting house, cooking and eating house, and the sleeping house. And we did lots of singing. LOTS and LOTS of singing.

Unfortunately for Beau and I, Kata didn't focus too much on the actual LEARNING of the language, and the many books and workbooks we had were practically skimmed through. We still adored her and enjoyed being in the class. One feature was the near hour-long "tea" in the center of class time where each night we had a giant potluck, sat around and shot the shit. It was very enjoyable, and as the months went by, the time of this break seemed to increase.

But there was one thing we learned, and learned well: our Whakapapa. (pronounced: fah-kah-pa-pa). It's basically an oral version of your genealogy. Maori recite it back to their original canoe. In Maori history, seven canoes left "Hawai" or "Hawaiki" (no, not Hawaii), a Polynesian island they all came from, though no one quite knows exactly which particular island it is today. And similar to the American focus on the Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria, Maori know not only the NAME of each one of the seven canoes (Aotea, Arawa, Kurahaupo, Mataatua, Tainui, Taakitimu and Tokomaru), but also which one(s) they descend from.

There's two ways to do it, the long version where you actually say something like "John slept with Beth and they made Tom" until you get to yourself or the cool short version, the "pepeha." The pepeha involves reciting your connection to your family, your people, and the land you come from. You recite each one like this: "Arawa is my canoe, Tinangahua is my river," etc. Oh, and in Maori, of course. The typical list includes most or all of the following:

- your canoe (or "waka")
- your mountain
- your river (or lake)
- your marae
- the name of the land you were born on
- your "iwi" (larger tribe)
- your "hapu" (local, family clan)
- your main ancestor
- your "whanau" (family name)
- your mom and your dad's name


Now, this is easy for Maori, especially rural ones, who still live amidst all these things. For Beau and I, this suddenly became a unique challenge, especially for me who was born in the Midwest, but after age five was raised in the desert. Then I returned to the Midwest for my university degrees. I was much more familiar with my desert topography, but apparently, it was the Midwest landscape I was supposed to be acknowledging.

Obviously, I don't have a canoe or a marae, and what exactly is my ancestor, tribe or clan? So, after some discussion in the class and the example in our workbook that one Scottish person used, I decided to go with my last name (Norwegian) for my family, went back to the first ancestor who immigrated to America for my ancestor, Vikings as my tribe, and Norwegians as my clan, and used the local land in the Midwest for my mountain, river and the land I was born on. Yeah, it's not an exact science, true. It felt both a little silly and also kind of cool. And though Beau and I brought smiles every time we did our strange pepeha, it was still unconditionally accepted. People don't fuck around when it comes to bloodlines here.

To this day, when Maori get together, even in very official and/or government meetings or in business dealings, they spend a great deal of time introducing themselves, and this almost always includes reciting their pepeha to the group. It's a way of identifying who you are and connecting to others around you who may be closely or distantly related. It's really not so different than our own introductions when groups first get together for a meeting, it's just that instead of the focus being on your job, position, or maybe your university, it's on your family and land.

And in the future it would be very useful and important to me in several situations. I'll share one of them in my next post. :)

Big City, Lustful Heart

I do promise that my blog from now on will NOT be solely about being an obsessive mommy and the wonders of my child. But frankly, the last four months of Jiffy Pop's life have been solely my focus. As she gets older and develops more, I will also be spreading my own wings. Sadly, though living here out on the coast is just as breathtakingly beautiful as the day we arrived, it's now starting to suffocate me a bit. The upside is that it has allowed me to be a full-time mother to a preemie baby, something that would have been impossible in the States. The downside is that I haven't done more than temp or long-term relief work for the past few years and any semblance of a career is slowly becoming an impossibility. Oh, I knew what I was doing when we made Jiffy Pop. And I know living out here on the coast holds few opportunities for anyone, but still, it is starting to get me down.

Beau had some teacher training in Mt Maunganui, a good-sized city attached to Tauranga, which is the fastest-growing city in the country. We love these cities (we kind of see them as one, though I'm sure residents would get pissy about that), and so Jiffy Pop and I tagged along for the day.

It's always a treat to go to Auckland or Tauranga for the day to shop and see movies and eat at restaurants, etc. It's something I feel I truly need once in awhile. I am still a city girl at heart and though I have enjoyed the country, truly, it's not for me. Though surprisingly, when I picture my ideal situation for the future, Beau and I would live on a "lifestyle block" which is basically a modest piece of rural land on the outskirts of a big city where you can do a tiny bit of farming or animal raising, but mostly, it's just bigger and prettier to live in. (This kind of reminds me of what you guys did, Loafkeeper). Since New Zealand is still mostly rural, there are many of these blocks around and the only downside is your commute. But you'd still be attached to the city in some way.

So, on this recent trip to Mt Maunganui where Beau went off to enrich himself professionally, Jiffy Pop and I went off to...the mall! Though it was still morning, I promptly got myself some Indian food, Jiffy Pop got a big-ass bottle, and we proceeded to KILL that place.

It's amazing how much time you can kill in a mall (especially one with a bookstore that has lots of clearance items), and I felt so frickin happy. I missed the convenience, the accessibility, the choices of a city. And luckily, I have a pretty good baby who was a good girl the whole time I pushed her around in her "pram," which believe me, I was super thankful for after passing about 17,000 screaming babies while there (btw, is "bring your baby to the mall" a total THING? There were TONS of them!).

Sidnote: Super big shout-out to this Bayfair Mall! I took Jiffy Pop to the bathroom and saw something called a "Caretakers Room." Pushing a button, a long glass door slid slowly open to reveal an incredible (massive) room: three large changing tables with mats and a sink to wash your hands; a microwave for heating up food and bottles; three leather couches tucked into individual cubbies with a curtain you could pull across so you could breastfeed in private; a large play area filled with toys and sporting a glass enclosure so your little monster can't take off on you; high chairs; and a bathroom with various-sized potties for all ages. Oh, and soft lighting, too. Wow!

Anyway, we then picked up Beau, had some lunch, did a bit more shopping (hooray for the German sausage shop!), and headed home.

Since then (last week), I've felt a bit different. Going to Auckland or Tauranga is like that old adage about sex: once you do it, you wanna do it again right away. So, I've told myself that's just it, I just want to go back again, but I don't know. Though I have always missed living in the city, it's always been nice being here "in the bush," but now...it just seems a whole lot less tolerable. I know I know that this is the perfect time to live here since it has given me the right to take care of my daughter full-time. I really can't imagine what it must be like to return to work 6 weeks later like in the U.S. Awful.

But I've been here in the bush for 2 1/2 years now, and it's just not the place for me. It's so beautiful and the people are really warm and friendly, but the isolation is getting to me. And due to the fact that schools in the big cities won't even interview Beau for teaching positions (we still haven't figured this out, think it might be because he's American and not Kiwi, though people keep telling us, "It's who you know!"), I am terrified that we may be stuck here.

The only way out will be for me to get some great job that makes as much as Beau makes, which will be tough since he makes a pretty decent salary. And since I've been out of the job market for a few years now, who is going to want to hire me for a position like that?

But even if I did get a good job, our monthly costs would easily double once we leave the bush where rent is cheap and there isn't much to spend your cash on. And also, would Beau be happy just being a substitute in a big city, hoping to get a permanent position somehow? Probably not. He's already feeling a bit burnt out as it is and being a sub wouldn't help that much. But after Jiffy Pop gets a bit older, I need to work. I need to work and I need to contribute to my family's expenses. This is important to me.

Whine whine whine. I'm really not unhappy as I sound. My marriage is going well right now, Jiffy Pop gives me a great amount of joy, and though we have lots of bills and little cash, we're certainly not starving. There's just a current flowing in the back of my mind which is unsettling me. A restlessness that, really, is a fear of the future. I'm usually so optimistic about the future, but I need to know we will end up in a decent-sized city somewhere where Beau can work, I can work, Jiffy Pop can go to a good school, and we can possibly get a house.

I never knew such big, open beautiful spaces could make me feel so closed in. I'm going to make the most of this year, and then hope like hell next year we will settle (for good) in a place that will provide opportunities for us all.