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WHAT IS IT TO BE A WAHINE MAORI MAKER ON THE WHENUA THAT BIRTHED ME? By Juanita Hepi.
Tē rongo i a koe Ōku kōiwi, ōku toto Kua tuaki tōku ngākau, Kua tuaki tōku wairua Kua riro atu rā Nōku konohi, no tauhou kē Kua ngaro ōku waewae I ngā hiti raima
I no longer feel you My bones, My blood My heart and soul have been dismembered I am far away My face belongs to a stranger My feet lost in concrete sheets
LYRICS - BYLLIE JEAN ZETA TRANSLATION - KARI MOANA TE RONGOPATAHI TUNE - JUANITA HEPI I Am Not Your Dusky Maiden (2021)
Protocol wraps around me like air, so do ethnonational narratives, these are the razor thin experiences of my life. I have laboured on this article for far too long in an attempt to describe the experience of being a BIPOC maker in Te Waipounamu. I’m Mana Whenua. I am a wahine Kāi Tahu maker on the whenua that birthed me, Te Waahi Pounamu/Te Waipounamu and I am the culmination of a thousand genealogies tasked in this moment with a story. I keep repeating myself,
(re)presenting the historical facts over and over again. Words taken, no, stolen, no, ripped from our dying mouths- are what I’m really looking for. English words for Māori things, Māori words for English things. We’re stuck in a loop of not saying what we really mean. BIPOC, MELAA, Pasifika, Indigenous, Native, disadvantaged, minority when what we really mean is the majority, the original, not White, and all is not White with the world. Angela Davis reminds
