Celebrating Matariki
My first Hautapu: Healing, decolonising and reclaiming our indigenous practices
by Brooke Hawe
As an urban Māori, I’ve spent most of my life disconnected from te ao Māori. I didn’t grow up knowing my whakapapa, te reo Māori or our indigenous practices and kupu like Matariki and Hautapu were non-existent. But this experience is not unique to just me. A familiar narrative shrouded in colonisation and intergenerational trauma, countless whānau Māori across Aotearoa have grown up knowing that they are Māori but not knowing what that means. Who are we if we don’t look Māori, we don’t speak our reo and we don’t know where we come from?
With the risk of future generations inheriting the same mamae and whakama, many of us are on continuous journeys to decolonise ourselves and reclaim our identities. For me, that journey has been the better part of a decade where I’ve enrolled in numerous te reo classes, started tracing my whakapapa and stood on my ancestral whenua in Tākaka. And, this year I celebrated Matariki and attended my first Hautapu ceremony.
June marked the first time Matariki was formally and legally recognised in Aotearoa making it the first Indigenous public holiday in our 200+ year history. Matariki is the Māori name for a cluster of stars more commonly known as the Pleiades. She is visible for most of the year, except for a month when she disappears from the skies and rises again during winter – this year it was in late June. For many Māori, Matariki signals the beginning of the new year. It’s a time where we come together to reflect on the past year, remember loved ones we’ve lost and look forward to the year ahead, and an integral part of these celebrations is the Hautapu ceremony.
Traditionally, Hautapu involves acknowledging and giving thanks to Waitī, Waitā, Tupuānuku, Tupuārangi, Matariki and Pōhutukawa – six of the nine stars in the cluster in the early morning, just as they become visible. Kai is collected to represent Waitī (kai from fresh water), Waitā (kai from salt water), Tupuānuku (kai from the ground) and Tupuārangi (kai from the air) and then cooked in a hāngi/umu with the steam from the food being released as an offering as a thanks for the harvest of the past year. It is also offered to Matariki as a means of sustenance for her year-long journey across the sky. Lastly, thanks is given to Pōhutukawa, the star that looks after those who have passed where you say their names out loud and Pōhutukawa releases them so they can turn into stars.
How I came to attend my first Hautapu is similar to my own personal journey of decolonising – a cycle of turbulent emotions. I’m lucky to work at a place that values and prioritises a te ao Māori perspective. There are always opportunities to learn and expand mātauranga Māori and many people within our team who can support you on your journey. Earlier this year I sat in a Matariki seminar from renowned Māori astronomer Professor Rangi Mātāmua and was left both inspired by the knowledge systems our Tūpuna built and passed down through the generations and angry that this was almost lost at the hands of colonisation. Following a teary kōrero (on my part) with a colleague about how I felt, she invited me to celebrate Matariki at her whānau Hautapu. I didn’t know this at the time, but this small act of whanaungatanga and manaakitanga would be a bridge for me to start healing.
Trying to catch a glimpse of Matariki means an early start and on the morning of the Hautapu, I found myself wandering around Māngere mountain in the dark trying to find my way to the summit. Hoping I wasn’t about to gate-crash a stranger’s gathering, I wadded through the overgrown grass to get to the top and was relieved to hear “where did you come from?” from a familiar voice. Clearly that wasn’t the path up the maunga, but I had found the right place. Camp chairs were filled with people buddled up in beanies, puffer jackets and thermals and the kai was bubbling away on gas cookers waiting to be offered to the stars. I joined the group who were all looking towards the eastern horizon waiting to spot tohu in the sky that would signal when Matariki would appear and when we could start the ceremony. As the sun slowly started to rise transforming the sky from dark blue to swatches of purple, pink and orange, our Hautapu guide was teaching us what to look for and how to spot Matariki. Turns out, she can be a little elusive at this time of year being so close to the horizon and is easier to see out of the peripheral of your eye. Some were lucky enough to catch sight of her, others not so much. I was unfortunately, part of the latter. But that was our signal to start the karakia and lift the lids off the kai, releasing the steam into the heavens as our offering to the stars. We then said the names of those who have left te ao mārama so that Pōhutukawa can release them to join our Tūpuna amongst the stars.
As I reflect on Matariki and my journey so far, I don’t think about the mamae or how whakama I was going into the Hautapu. Instead, I feel grateful. Grateful for the experience. Grateful for the generosity of my colleague. Grateful to be surrounded by people, both Māori and non-Māori, who value te ao Māori as much as I do. And most importantly, grateful to be Māori. Because with each opportunity to reconnect and reclaim who we are as tangata whenua is another step towards healing.