Editor’s Note: This is an extract from Sara Orme’s interview with Rānana (Nancy) Taituha-Paul, originally published in her book Kaumātua (2023). Sara and Nancy have kindly granted SPiCE permission to publish part of their article here. Learn more about Sara’s work at saraorme.com.

Sandringham, Auckland - March 2023.

Arriving in Auckland from the small town of Benneydale in the 1970s, Rānana faced tough times for many years as a single parent and survivor of domestic violence. Although living in Auckland provided many challenges, later in life, it also provided new beginnings. It was in Auckland that Rānana immersed herself in Māoridom, gaining knowledge and discovering her strength to establish a solid foundation for her own whanau. State housing in the early 1990s also provided solid ground for her and her children. Today, thirty-one years later, the doors to her home in Sandringham are always open; her whānau stands strong, and the future is good.

I’m Rānana, but when I went to school, they’d call me ‘Naana Banana’. I stopped going to school [because of this], so my mother picked a Pākehā name [for me] – Nancy. To this day, I don’t know how I got that name. I got married as Nancy; my driver’s license says Nancy, but it wasn’t so long ago that I needed to get my birth certificate and found out my name was Rānana. As a kaumatua, I am called Rānana. Nobody likes it because it’s a Māori name. It’s easier to say Nancy in the Pākehā world. But I’m claiming it back. My grandson has said, “Nan, if I have a baby, I’m calling it Rānana.” I hope I’m still alive by then!

When I lived in Benneydale, I knew nothing – no language, no Māoridom. I spent most of my life there and learned nothing. I also got the strap on my bum, the strap everywhere just for saying one word in Māori. I remember that well. As a kid, I learned nothing about our marae or what it was for. I went there to work – that was all. I’m thankful that I was a cheeky and nosy kid because I learned a lot from peeking and listening to the kuia through the door. I’d listen to them talk in Māori, even though I didn’t know what they were saying. I remember them singing naughty songs, dirty songs, as they were doing the Kopikopi (dance), and they’d all laugh! Decades later, I learned what they were singing. Peeking was the most awesome thing I did – it was my learning, though I didn’t know I carried it at the time.

Things started out tough for me. I was quite young when I got married and had my first baby. I then went on to have thirteen more children. It was a hard life. We were married for eighteen years. It was a bad relationship, and I came here to Auckland in 1976, the survivor of domestic violence. I have had twelve children [of my own] as well as eleven whāngai. My Pākehā doctor said I needed to get out, so I talked to my kids about who wanted to come with me and who wanted to stay with their dad. There was a lot to sort out. [I left] with six kids and two sugar bags of belongings. My doctor helped me with tickets and got us on the bus to Auckland. I have been here ever since.

So, here I was in Morningside, Auckland, ready to start a new life. It was really hard. I would sit in the room and cry because I’d left the other children at home. Although we lived with my sister, we didn't get much support, and I didn’t really see any Māori in this suburb. They were either heading back home or living further out.

I was able to get a benefit, and that did help. Later, I went to work. I used to catch the train to Parnell, where I’d put nails into boxes all day. My job gave me enough money to see the kids through. My whānau helped look after them so I could work.

I never drank before coming to Auckland, but I started drinking, drinking, drinking... I did it because I wanted to be in with the crowd. That’s how I met people. It made me feel less lonely, and we’d have some fun times. For a time, I had a new partner who was twenty-one years older than me. I fell in love with him, but I didn’t know what he was like. He was no good – he was already married and had a whole other family. When he later left me, he reported me to social welfare because I was still collecting the benefit so I could feed my children. I [was sentenced to] nine months in jail for benefit fraud in 1982. I am still paying it back today. I’m not ashamed of going to jail; it’s my story, it’s made me the strong person I am today.

I had a good job cleaning up and making the kai in prison, so it wasn’t as bad as people say. It’s like you’re in a home. I had a life while I was in there. I got out after six months for good behaviour. I’m not ashamed to admit any of this. I went through a lot of mud, a lot of dirt, and still came out on top.

Me and the kids moved around a lot during the seventies, eighties, and nineties – sleeping on couches and in any spare rooms we could find. My kids went to seven different primary schools. It was really disruptive, but there was nothing else I could do, and there was no support. There was no one I could talk to. I felt very alone at times.

Eventually, I got into a Housing NZ home in Mt Roskill in the eighties. Having our own home through Housing NZ changed our lives. I know there were people who didn’t want state housing on their doorstep, but for us, it was life-changing. It allowed my kids, who were still at home, to have the stability I always dreamed of. My youngest were able to go to one intermediate school and one high school. Eventually, they went to university. I know that it was this stability that opened up so many doors for them. I think if we had to keep moving around, their lives could have been quite different.

At first, I spent more time crying, trying to get my tongue around the Māori language. I’d stay up all night learning with no sleep.

I was fifty-nine when I first learned who my ancestors were and where Māori came from. As a kid, I didn’t even know what Papatūānuku or Ranginui were. I had to get back to school to get that ahi kā, that kaitiaki, and my wairua. I vowed I would do it for the sake of my children. So I went to Unitec to study. I was the eldest in a class full of teenagers. At first, I spent more time crying, trying to get my tongue around the Māori language. I’d stay up all night learning with no sleep. I’m so pleased now that I can help a lot of others and tell them the story of what I did and how far I have come. I graduated at sixty-five years old. I’m very proud – it’s a great honour to have my degree.

When I first arrived at Unitec and saw my teacher, who was a Pākehā woman, I said ‘I’ve come to learn Māori not be taught by a Pākehā.’ But she was amazing. I started to learn where we come from – our tikanga. It changed my life. I did four years of learning to become a teacher and learned tikanga. I then decided to come back to my tūrangawaewae, Rereahu, to find out what I had missed out on my whole life.

I learned about where Rereahu was buried, where Tawhiao was, and I climbed up the side of Pureora Maunga. I’d never climbed my mountain or spent much time in my marae, but I found myself looking at my mountain when I came to visit and thought, ‘One day, I’m going to climb that maunga.’ In 2004, I was driven to climb it. It took me five hours to climb up and six hours to climb down, and it was midnight. I was crying because it was hard and I was by myself. People even came looking for me. But I was driven to do it. Now, my children are proud that I did it.

Much later, when I retired from being a schoolteacher, it was time for me to do something different. I found the Sandringham market, where I was a co-ordinator for eighteen years, just around the corner from my home. I finally handed it over to the younger generation when I turned eighty. At eighty-three, I still come to the community centre here in Sandringham; it helps me stay active. I love this market and have been a storeholder for years. It keeps my brain busy and keeps me social, and I’m famous for my banana cake! I teach Māori to everyone who comes by – Chinese, Pākehā, Sāmoan, Muslim, Somalian: it doesn’t matter what culture people come from.

The future is getting my grandchildren out in our world, our Māori world. All my grandchildren and great-grandchildren are my future. They’re doing pretty well. They are doing me proud. I’m so proud of all my whānau because I come from a hardship family, a family from nothing, and it’s an honour to see who they have become. From Benneydale to Sandringham, I’ve seen a lot and learned a lot. I want to bring people from the past into the future.

Credits:

Original text and photographs by Sara Orme. Originally published in Kaumātua (2023). This version edited by Lize Deng. Thank you to Nancy for sharing her story, and Sara for granting SPiCE permission to republish this extract as part of our Sandringham Stories project.