A first-time performer’s journey to compete against the best kapa haka groups in the world.

The road to performing at Te Matatini requires dedication, perseverance, and for many kaihaka, an abundance of lengthy commutes.

Lawyer and mum of three Lu’isa Latimer-Toetu’u (Ngāpuhi, Ngāti Kahu, Ngāti Whātua and Whakatohea) knows this all too well. She’s spent every second Friday over the last six months driving around three hours north from her home in Tāmaki Makaurau to weekend wānanga in the lead up to her first ever Te Matatini as part of kapa haka rōpū Ngā Manu Mātui – a Te Tai Tokerau-based group affiliated with Ngāpuhi that was established in 2010. 

On Wednesday afternoon last week, the first day of the four-day Te Matatini competition, Latimer-Toetu’u filed into place on stage as her children, partner and whānau watched on from the crowd. Proudly wearing a teal, black and white knitted pari and matching tipari with her poi at the ready, tucked into her piupiu, she joined her group as they opened their 25-minute bracket with a collaboration of soaring harmonies. That experience on stage, and the lead-up to it, she says, has been life-changing.

Latimer-Toetu’u was born in Whangārei, and other than a stint in Tonga and Melbourne, has lived most of her life in Auckland. An absence of kapa haka groups at high school meant that beyond the occasional haka learnt at primary school or waiata practiced in school assemblies, she hadn’t stepped into the world of kapa haka before September last year. It was her three children that gave her the courage to pick up the poi.

In 2018, and while studying at law school at the University of Auckland, Latimer-Toetu’u and her partner, who is also Māori, had their first child. Her second child was born after she graduated and her third was born last year. Becoming parents for the first time “was a huge life-altering moment” and sparked conversation between the pair about how they would raise their children.

“We realised that we both had a bit of an identity crisis-type situation while we were at university, and that law school surprisingly allowed us to navigate through that,” she says. It was through the university’s Māori law students association Te Rākau Ture and the Māori and Pacific Admission Scheme that the two were confronted by feelings of absence around their identity. “Yes we were Māori, but we were half caste and we didn’t speak te reo Māori,” she says. “We started to realise that there was a feeling of a piece missing, and a yearning for something more.” 

Their children, they decided, would be immersed in a world that they’d missed out on. It meant enrolling their children in kōhanga reo and kura kaupapa, regular visits to their marae and learning te reo Māori themselves.

Kapa haka began finding its way into their home by way of waiata and haka learnt by her children at kōhanga. “I would go in and ask the kaiako if I could have the kupu for the songs that they were learning so that I knew what the kids were saying so that I could sing with them and learn too, she says”. And her three-year-old daughter Eva found a special affinity with the world of kapa haka, “she’s gravitated towards kapa haka in a very profound way”. 

It was a family group chat message from her aunty last year that led her to the first kapa haka muster for Ngā Manu Mātui with her daughter at their marae in Takahiwai. Not knowing what to expect, she went into the day nervous that the time would be filled with auditions or waiata solos. Instead, it was low-key: “we introduced ourselves, learned a waiata all together, and then we had kai, and I, really, really enjoyed it.” And while she’d never heard the waiata they learned before, “it was just like I knew the song”. 

Despite weeks of reservations around whether it would even be possible to dedicate that time to the practices on top of a job and being a mother, she made the decision to return to her marae every fortnight – without her kids. “That was the first weekend that I’d spent by myself without my kids, so that was hard for me,” she says. Even though kids were welcome at wānanga, Latimer-Toetu’u felt that it was important to give herself the time and space to fully absorb every kupu, every harmony and every movement. With the support of her partner, whānau, tutors and rōpū, each and every wānanga she attended, she attended alone. 

At times, that meant the experience was tinged with guilt around being away from her kids. “I’ve never had a hobby or anything aside from the things that I need to do or that I have to do for myself, and I think for mums that’s very common.” “It’s been something for me, which is something that I’ve never had,” she says. 

Latimer-Toetu’u says, “it was a really monumental point for me because I’d been struggling with postpartum depression, and I noticed when I was at kapa haka that even though it was daunting, it was a very healing experience for me.” 

Part of that healing was reconnecting with her marae – a place she’d not stayed at in years became astonishingly familiar. It might have been more convenient to join a group based in Tāmaki Makaurau, but it would have lacked part of what made this journey so vital. “I’ve been doing all of these things where I’m from, surrounded by my tupuna at my marae, in Ngāpuhi dialect and the “Ngāpuhi way”, which are things I wouldn’t have necessarily had if I was in a group in Auckland,” she says.

Being a first-timer in the realm of kapa haka, especially in the run-up to Te Matatini, is not without its challenges. “It has definitely not been easy for me,” she says. “Learning all the kupu for the songs and then learning the poi for the first time in my life, that was all a huge struggle.” 

That meant there were plenty of tears along the way, but her initial hesitancy around being able to swing the poi on time, remembering the continuous rhythms of mōteatea and being able to pūkana while staying in tune has given way to a sense of ease. “Everything is just so interconnected and woven together, that without the other, it just doesn’t make sense,” she says.

This feeling is something Latimer-Toetu’u hopes others will seek out – especially if they’re newcomers to kapa haka. “You’re never too old to join kapa haka,” she says. “Kapa haka in its essence, is a taonga to our people and so it’s something that you can have at any stage of your life, anywhere, anytime, you don’t even have to be in a kapa haka group.”

In those long drives, in those wānanga, in the relentless support from whānau, in the kupu and rhythms of waiata and haka, in those 25 minutes on stage, in the the hopes and dreams she has for her children’s future, Latimer-Toetu’u has found at least part of that missing piece. “It’s an experience I’d never had before, like my ancestors are tapping into me,” she says.

“If you hear the call, just listen to it,”  Latimer-Toetu’u says. “Your ancestors, they’re calling you for a reason.”