I have a history of falling in love with words from languages other than my native english tongue.  I’ve gone and done it again: Whakamā.  I was introduced to this word in stunning piece of writing with such a clear voice from Tayi Tibble - in Ihumātao: Everyone was there, e hoa she writes:

“Whakamā is an emotion that doesn’t have an exact English translation, but it is similar to feelings of inferiority, self-doubt and self-abasement. It’s a deep and enduring shame that is connected to dislocation, of not having a Tūrangawaewae, a place to stand, a sure-footing in te ao Māori . “

…of not having a place to stand.

There’s a few strings of this sentiment that I am observing.  Mme. L. has been watching something on Netflix that uses the Head and The Heart’s lyric from Down in the Valley, and has reignited a particular ache when I hear it: “I wish I was a slave to an age-old trade”.

“I’m hoping for a grand epiphany … I’m stuck, but it’s something I will feel in my guts and in my blood”, calls to me from Floodlights’ track Nullarboor.  

Ray LaMontagne suggests solace with “A man needs something he can hold onto, a nine-pound hammer or a woman like you” in Jolene - not long after he’s sung about not feeling like he belongs in the human race.

Lastly Nick Drake calls me from Place To Be:  “Now I’m darker than the deepest sea, just hand me down, give me a place to be.”

In these songs I reflect the artists are all searching for something, for me it’s their own Tūrangawaewae.  A beautiful word.  The literal etymology of it: tūranga (standing place), waewae (feet).  What a thing.  It’s something I’m looking for.  I’ve disaffected myself of the place I am physically in and am looking inward, backward to locate a centre.  It’s a search that brings me joy in the act of doing.

I can’t speak of, for, or hold any agency in Whakamā. That is not something I want to take.  And I’ve voluntarily spat the dummy with where I am and gone off on some privileged hunt.  I’ve never been pushed from my Tūrangawaewae, never had a thing taken from me in my life.  I just love the words, and I think they evidence that the indigenous culture of Aotearoa New Zealand in its whole, Te Ao Māori has the language, tools and potential to protect all people and things that exist here in Aotearoa - the air, land, water.  I guess I’m saying that perhaps a little less sad country music and maybe engagement with the Katiaki of the land I am in is a start.