20 June 2024

The Ebb and Flow

Toitū Te Whenua, Toiora Te Wai. Our Land and Water.

writer: ARPÉGE TARATOA (NGĀI TE RANGI, NGĀTI RAUKAWA, NGĀ PUHI, NGĀTI RĀRUA)

photographer: Vivian Gehrmann

Kura Paul-Burke connected to her marae, whānau and father through kai – helping in the kitchen, emptying the pig bucket, collecting pipi and driving her pāpā to maraehui. Now a professor in marine science and aquaculture, Kura looks at innovative ways to restore Te Wahapū o Waihī – the Waihī Estuary – in Te Moana-a-Toi Bay of Plenty and ensure its kai moana can thrive for generations to come.

Before her father, Petera Matehaere Paul (Peter Paul), passed in 2015, Kura asked him what he would like to eat; his response was simply, “Pipi.” When she asked him where from, he looked at her as if she was silly – he wanted the pipi of his childhood, from the Waihī Estuary.

At any given time when the tide is low, the Waihi Estuary comes to life. There’s Tamariki running around playing, and adults searching for kai in the shallow waters. Some people might visit for recreational reasons – to go kayaking or for a swim – but for mana whenua, it’s about kai. The beds used to be full of pipi, tuatua, tuangi, pātiki, tio and tuna, too. Kura, 58, a marine ecologist working on restoration projects in the area, sees it as a place of connection – where people, whakapapa, land and culture intersect.

Above. Kura at Pukehina Marae. “Back then, I didn’t have the words or the support to be able to respond to that type of rhetoric, where being Māori meant you ‘didn’t count. ’So, I put my head down, worked hard and tried to stay true to my ancestors and their wisdom. Today, the successful results and methods of our work are undeniable, they speak for themselves.”

“You’ll see our Pukehina Marae on the hill, and right next to it is this amazing character house; that’s my great-grandmother’s house – it’s beautiful. Our kaumātua restored the whole whare with many of the original fixtures, and it’s now a free holiday home for anyone in our extended family to go and stay with their kids,” Kura shares. When her children were young, Kura would load them in the car and take them to hui at the marae. Growing up in landlocked Kawerau in the seventies, it wasn’t easy for Kura, of Ngāti Awa and Ngāti Whakahemo, to reconnect to her Māori heritage – but she made a commitment to do it, and to bring her children along for the journey. “I was searching for connection, like others – finding ways to connect and ground ourselves – maybe not just as Māori but as humans; because we’re all one species, irrespective of our colour, our gender preferences, the way we dress, our religions or politics,” Kura says.

She recalls calling one of her cousins one day and asking if he’d take her to a marae hui. He was thrown by her asking. “He was like, ‘Just go!’ But for me, I was tino whakamā... I remember we showed up really early because I was so nervous – I don’t know why, but I was.” She further recalls, laughing, that her aunties thought her cousin had a new girlfriend when she showed up that day, and they were rather disappointed it was just another whānau member!

Above. Field research training tools for taiohi data-collection surveys.

When Kura told them who she was, they asked her why she came with her cousin and not her father – but because Kura didn’t grow up with him, her journey back to her marae was another way to connect and be closer to her father. “There’s beauty in going home... Not a physical beauty, but it’s the intangible beauty of connecting with your own – and with that comes healing. When we all go home, it’s like knowing our place, being part of a place.”

When Kura was studying marine science, she was the only Māori student in her class, and there were no Māori lecturers throughout her entire science career. “For a good decade, I never talked about the methods that I used when I did my work in the ocean, because I was always the only Māori person in the room, and I was also afraid. I was afraid that they would say to me, ‘Nope, that’s not science. You don’t count.’”

But it’s with this understanding and expertise in both mātauranga Māori and Western science that Kura is spearheading the way forward in the restoration of the Waihī Estuary. Working with Te Rūnangao Ngāti Whakahemo and Pukehina Marae through the project Tāwharautiate Wahapū – Protect the Waihī Estuary, she recognises the value in weaving both knowledge systems together to generate change. “Every time you go out and do science in the field, you consider other people’s work prior to yours, right? Just like mātauranga Māori – same-same. You go and get your watercress where the koro used to get it before, and then you adapt the methods depending on the context of what you’re working with. Every culture on the planet evolves with the times,” Kura says.

Above. A pou on the waharoa at Pukehina Marae. “It identifies Ngāti Whakahemo as coastal people and caretakers of our marine taonga species and spaces, including our island Motunau and the kaitiaki that reside there –whai repo, mako and wheke, among others,” Kura says.

“Ka whati te tai, ka pao tetōrea – when the tide ebbs, the oystercatcher strikes."

Kura quotes a whakataukī that says, “Kawhati te tai, ka pao te tōrea – when the tide ebbs, the oystercatcher strikes.” Kura and her team explore intergenerational knowledge around kai harvesting and have mapped where the traditional tuangi beds used to be and where tōrea now go to hunt. Where mainstream science would only look at the tuangi in the estuary and do single species surveys, the project team also uses te ao Māori processes of whakapapa, pūrākau and generational knowledge transfer – asking the older people where they used to collect from and using that as the baseline for their explorations.

Kura and her team are collaborating with the wider community to plant a further 40,000 native plants on a thirty hectare dairy farm that they plan to convert to wetland. This will act as a protective korowai to help prevent further pollution whilst they continue to research the estuary. “If we put our taiao at the centre, everything else doesn’t matter, because ultimately, it’s about survival. We need to, as good custodians, as good tīpuna, make sure that it is a better place for our babies, and their mokopuna, when we’re gone,” Kura says. “Waihī Estuary is first and foremost a traditional mahinga kai, and that mahinga kai is what sustains us – not only kai-wise, but culturally. It’s ecologically important and it’s culturally important – and that cultural importance extends not only to Māori, intergenerationally, but it also benefits the wider community.”

Ensuring there is a prominent place for taiohi is crucial for Kura, as futureproofing both whenua and people are at the core of her kaupapa. She runs free taiao training programmes for the younger generation, teaching them how to do practical, hands-on field research in their estuary and whenua – that way, they feel a sense of belonging and are able to continue the mahi of their ancestors. “When I talk to people who want to heal– or aim to restore – the whenua, I also talk about it as the revitalisation and the restoration of the people. When we see it from that point of view, it dictates how we walk with the people we work with – and we realise that some people are mamae and looking for a pathway to connect and participate. I know that feeling, too.

”Whilst returning home seemed a daunting task for Kura, it is the best thing she has ever done. Her tamariki are now adults with pēpi of their own, and have a strong connection to their marae. Kura’s motivation in life is to contribute to the betterment of our world, for future generations to not only survive, but thrive in. “If you’re connected, you feel a sense of responsibility, and that is our role and privilege as humans. From a te ao Māori perspective, and for most indigenous people on the planet, that is our role – to care for the world.”

Glossary. Hui, meeting, gathering. Kai, food. Kaimoana, seafood. Kaitiaki, guardian, caretaker. Kaumātua, elders. Kaupapa, topic, project. Koro, grandfather. Korowai, cloak. Mahi, work. Mahinga kai, food-gathering place. Mako, shark. Mamae, hurting, in pain. Mana whenua, Māori who occupy that land/tribal landscape. Marae, courtyard in front of a meeting house, often used to describe the complex. Mātauranga Māori, Māori knowledge. Moana, ocean. Mokopuna, grandchildren. Pāpā, dad. Pātiki, flounder. Pēpi, baby. Pipi, small edible bivalve. Pou, carved post. Pūrākau, myth, legend. Taiao, environment. Taiohi, youth. Tamariki, children. Taonga, treasure. Te ao Māori, Māori worldview. Tino whakamā, very ashamed, embarrassed. Tio, rock oyster. Tīpuna/tūpuna, ancestors. Tōrea, oystercatcher. Tuangi, cockle. Tuatua, mollusc. Tuna, eel. Waharoa, entranceway. Whai repo, eagle ray. Whakapapa, genealogy. Whakataukī, proverb. Whānau, family. Whare, house. Wheke, octopus. Whenua, land.

The whakapapa that connects our mountains to our rivers, flowing into the estuaries that embrace our oceans, remind us of the interconnected relationships that bind us all. It challenges us to reflect on the responsibilities we hold and can inspire us to work towards protecting our estuaries. Find out more about Kura’s research atourlandandwater.nz/estuaries. This is the tenth and final piece in a series supported by the Our Land and Water National Science Challenge.