Hemi

Hemi-

Coming to New Zealand there was 1 person I’d been suggested to meet up with while in the country. His name is Hemi and is mutual friend of Amber who I knew from Vegas, but has been living between Australia and New Zealand for the past 4 years. When arriving to the South Island I made contact with Hemi and we met up outside Able Tasman National Park at an amazing outdoor burger joint called Fat Tui’s. He was late from the boxing/cross fit aerobics class he teaches at a nearby beach, but I waited as it got dark because of Amber’s insistence that I don’t leave without meeting him. He apologized profusely although I hadn’t really waited THAT long and after a burger we continued to a nearby bar for a few beers.

Hemi is a former boxer which his square jaw and battle tested face shows, but sweetheart demeanor contradicts. At the bar I ask him about his Ta Moko (traditional Maori tattoo’s) which lights up his face and propels him into an excited 2 hour whirlwind rant talking about all things Maori. He goes from the meanings and origins of Ta Moko. How it is supposed to represent your life’s journey and if done correctly the artist will have a psychologist like sit down with you for a few hours pulling stories from your past, things about your family, your goals, accomplishments, dreams which he will then translate into the Ta Moko art form designed specifically for you… I wanted to get one before talking to Hemi, but after I felt I HAD to get one. Hemi said there are only 4 people in the entire country that REALLY do it properly and of those only 1 he would recommend. Unfortunately I later found that the 1 person he recommended for me was out of the country and not available while I’m here. I will leave the country Ta Moko-less, because there is no way I’d go against big Hemi’s directive of not letting anybody else do it.

From Ta Moko he switched gears to the surrounding hills talking about how they got their meaning. The story of the ancient Maori Chief that laid his beautiful wife to her final resting place in the hills and directed his top general to watch over her. After years of looking over her grave he abandoned his post and left her resting spirit unattended. The chief became furious and condemned him to a life of suspended animation, turned him to stone and put a watch dog on each side of him to make sure that if his curse ever wore off he would be met by the blood thirsty dogs upon waking. Hemi then pointed out the window where he showed me in the hills the giant rock outlines of a man on his knees with a dog on each side… Every mountain, lake, river, forrest, plateau in the country has a similar colorful story behind it. He continued into the mythology and folklore of the Maori never loosing the childlike enthusiasm of sharing all this with me. At one point he excused himself, went to his car and came back with a bag full of hand carved instruments. In the bar he starts sampling them. First a war horn made from a giant seashell that he blew into turning every head at the bar towards us. Without skipping a beat he’s on to the meticulously wood carved flute, then the piccolo made from the wing bone of an albatross. In the bar we get a lot of attention, but nobody dare say anything to the man with shoulders like cinder blocks and full sleeve tattoos, playing a flute with his eyes closed. We had 4 rounds of beers and at the end of the night I insisted to pay. As I go up to the bartender she asks- you were over there with Hemi right?- don’t worry it’s on the house.

I’m grateful to have had the chance to meet such a passionate person who opened my eyes to the true depth of the unique and beautiful Maori culture. It’s been about 3 weeks since that night in the bar, but that simple yet enlightening conversation has stayed with me and forever molded my appreciation of New Zealand’s amazing history.

Bob