KAPAI: Clap, clap for the clumsy chap

They say that `White Boys' can't dance and when it comes to doing kapahaka, this boy's cultural genetic inheritance definitely puts me in the Caucasian camp of dancing.
It's not that I didn't give it a good go when I joined the HuiAranga kapahaka group, quite the opposite. I was as keen as Hone Harawira on a hikoi to give it my best shot and go the full distance. But after my first practise I was starting to feel more like `later ronny' than Hone and it was time to phone for a taxi and head home. Who was I trying to fool, there were no shortcuts on this hikoi and we hadn't even left the lighthouse at Cape Reinga yet.
How hard could it be?, I asked myself that first day, when we had got through the high fives, the hongi and the "what waka did your cuzzies row here on?"
Bit of jumping jumping, slapping slapping mixed in with a whole lot of singing and I would be sweet as, or so I thought. At first my street smart made me think I could get away with a bit of lip syncing while I tried to get my moves sorted out.
I would make sure that my line of vision to our tutor was blocked by one of the bigger bums in front of me but little did I know that she was straight on to me as that was the oldest trick in the bluffing book of kapahaka and everyone knew it but me. In fact the rule of thumb was if the tutor couldn't see you, then she would be seeing you after practice and my first "I want to see you afterwards" left me jumping when I should have been slapping and stamping when I should have been stopping.
If I knew then what I know now I never would have given kapahaka a go but I'm glad I did. Walking on to that stage to finally perform would have to rate as one of the highlights of my life. When you join a kapahaka group you join a family and there is no best or worst performer - well not until I came along I guess. Something magic happens at a national HuiAranga kapahaka festival, that words cannot capture.
I guess it is best explained in the eyes of the tutor (when you can finally see them after hiding for 26 weeks) who has walked every step and sang every waiata with you without ever asking for anything in return but your best effort.
There is this awesome feeling of absolute aroha for your fellow performer when the karanga (welcoming call) goes out and there is no turning back. It is a feeling that stays with you for ever and those fortunate to feel it know that exact buzz. Each performer in your family of dancers knows the journey you have taken to get to this day because every kapahaka performer remembers their first time on stage.
And as it turns out they would never forget mine, who could? Given the huge amount of hard case humour that my uncoordinated haka style provided that memorable night.
They called me Bay Park after that night. That was because my mate Kevin reckoned I was like a stockcar knocking in to everyone. As they moved as one wave left, I would move as one tidal wave right. As they jumped I jived and it didn't get any better.
It was a sideshow and I was the clown. My poor Bro Pat next to me wanted to yell out for a tow truck and haul me out of there, meantime all I could see was my whanau in the audience slide further and further down their seats as my timing went from ordinary to extraordinary.
If it wasn't for one of the real seasoned campaigners of Hui Aranga showing up on stage in his jandals I really was a one man stand up comedian disguised as a haka boogie bro.
If you ever get a chance to throw on a piu piu, or flax skirt (and I know there are plenty that would jump at a chance to cross dress) and you fancy your face looking like Tame Iti then give it a go, it is a once in a lifetime experience.
If not, and you would just like to sit back and soak up the absolute brilliance of a performing kapahaka group, then head to Aquinas College this Easter for the 2005 HuiAranga Festival. If you're lucky I'll show you some of my moves.
Pai marire
tommy@indigenius.org