When they had left their humble kainga (home), his koro had told him that this was going to be a particularly important walk as he had an important lesson to teach him on this beautiful spring morning.
They walked for about 30 minutes down the same dusty path before stopping by an old kowhai tree they had walked past countless times.
The young moko looked up at his koro's wrinkly friendly face, each contour highlighted by the sun shining directly on to it.
The koro's eyes were squinting into the sun as they sought those of his moko. Unknown to the young moko, the old koro always spoke to him with the sun shining directly into his own face so the young protege would not have to encounter the glare of the morning sun.
The old man looked down at his moko who had that keen gleam in his eyes that told him his student was ready for their next lesson. He slowly turned to look and gesture beyond the kowhai tree and in his gentle yet authoritative voice said: "Moko, what do you see?"
The young boy was puzzled by the question because he thought he might see something unusual such as a new path or bridge. He looked intently across the vast expanse of land, his keen eyesight searching anything new, anything at all. He saw nothing.
"There's nothing there, koro," he said in a quiet, embarrassed voice that his koro barely heard. The koro paused for awhile before gently saying, "Titiro ano, moko, look again."
"Nah I don't see anything, koro. There's just the same old swamp areas where we buried our taonga and the aunties go for making piupiu, our urupa on the hills where Mama and Papa lie and I will one day lie beside them. There's just the old bunch of kahikatea trees to mark our boundaries and the native bush in the distance that the uncles go hunting in. There's nothing there, koro."
The koro smiled at his young moko and called him over for one of his all-knowing hugs.
"Your answer is perfect, moko. You see everything. There are many features about our whenua which we have inherited from our ancestors and you will one day hand on to those to come. Whatungarongaro te tangata toi tu whenua. You see, moko, you and I will one day disappear from sight, but the land will always be here for our future generations to look after."
Why is it that many years after conversations such as those between the moko and the koro that land, which has been held by many Maori for generations, is often seen by others as just useless swampland with ancient cemeteries and old trees that need to be turned into things such as roads when there are already other roads there?
Perhaps people fail to see that the land itself is the road. It is the road for many generations of Maori to come. It is a taonga that has been held and saved by many for the many to come.
If we continue to build unnecessary roads then where will our future generations lie? Where will our taonga be stored and what will become of taonga such as Turangawaewae?
Many cultures talk about saving money for the future. Why is it that Maori who have saved land for the future get penalised and find that land taken by others who have chosen not to save land for their future generations? What becomes of the broken whenua? It leads to broken promises and broken people.
We may not outlast the land, but at least we can try to understand one another's values pertaining to that land.
Ngahihi o te ra is from Te Arawa and is an international leadership speaker, MC and author. Book him for your keynote presentation, training, or seminar by phoning 021482281 or through his website at www.ngahibidois.com
