Takipū / Takepu Rangahau Blog

A whakapapa of this rangahau

I begin this blog using Takipū and Takepu interchangeably to reflect the various spellings and kōrero I have learnt and seen in both recent and historical documents.

The whakapapa of my involvement with this rangahau began as a conversation with Hine August when I visited the Te Aitanga-a-Māhaki Archives in October 2022. At the time, I had visited the autobiographical reminiscences of Maraea Morete at the Alexander Turnbull Library in Pōneke Wellington and wanted to find out more about her. And although the focus of my PhD shifted away from Maraea and I never used any of the information from the Māhaki Archives, my overall vision to whakamana contemporary and historical Te Aitanga-a-Māhaki storytelling continues. Nothing concrete came of the initial conversation between Hine and me, except perhaps an emphatic agreement that a pukapuka about Takipū was long overdue, and a promise from me to help once my doctoral studies were completed.​​

Takipū pā has been out of commission since Cyclone Gabrielle descended over Aotearoa on 14 February 2023. I won't speak more on this; as someone who lives outside of our rohe, these stories are not mine to tell. The following year, on Mother's Day, Sunday 12 May 2024, my mum passed away. She couldn't return to Takipū, but the whānau at Tapuihikitia Marae welcomed us again (eleven years after Dad had rested there too). On our way into Tūranga to lay Mum with Dad at Taruheru Cemetery, Mum rested for a moment on the mahau at Takipū alongside her cousin. I sat next to mum with my cousin, Ruby Hata, gripping my hand tightly. Behind us, the door into Te Poho o Pikihoro was ajar. Inside, carpet had been stripped from the wharenui and the wooden floorboards still appeared muddied with silt remnants. An icy draft spread across my back and I don't remember much about who spoke or what was spoken, but I do remember a spider threading its way from the roof of the verandah down towards me, a bee circling Mum's coffin, and two manu flitting about. I'm fairly sure they weren't the same fantails who were flitting inside the wharenui at Tapuihikitia - chattering incessantly in the rafters above Mum - but at that time I saw tohu in everything.​​

I end by speaking briefly about the above photograph, which is a close-up of a painting called “Hineukurangi: first impressions” (sand and acrylic paint on repurposed plywood, private collection of Prof. Alice Te Punga Somerville). I wrote about this photo for the September 2024 edition of the Australian Association of Pacific Studies Newsletter. I said:

This photo was taken in October 2023 during my four-week Indigenous visual arts residency at the Banff Centre for Arts and Creativity on Treaty 7 lands in Canada. Along with seven other artists, the Akunumustiǂis (Natural Law) residency provided us with incredible opportunities to whakawhanaungatanga with each other and with the land...“Hineukurangi: first impressions” depicts Hineukurangi, the atua of clay, and represents my initial attempts to make sense of the whenua I was on, and my initial impressions of the land – of the clay and paru I saw under the roots of upturned tree stumps, as well as the autumnal colours of the flora and fauna (including the many deer and elk who frequented the campus daily). For me, the painting “Hineukurangi: first impressions” represents a transformational period of intense creativity, and attention to the inner voices of the whenua.

It felt appropriate to begin this rangahau about land, wai and iwi movements with a painting of Hineukurangi, and with a commitment to listen to the inner voices of Takipū whenua and whānau.