Under the guidance of two uri of Ngāti Whātua, I was able to visualise the land beneath my feet for the first time, and think more about how we keep our history alive in a concrete jungle.

By Kahu Kutia

For episode four of He Kākano Ahau I've come to Tāmaki Makaurau. I've never really liked it here, but I've come anyway to learn more about the history beneath the concrete. Ngarimu Blair is one of the many uri of Ngāti Whātua who live in Auckland city. He is a director for Whai Rawa, the commercial branch of the iwi. He has agreed to show me some of the significant kōrero in the puku of Tāmaki Makaurau. Over an hour we circle round a couple of city blocks, and Ngarimu weaves for me a history that allows me to finally see the land I'm standing on.

We're standing in a parking lot beneath the university law school in central Auckland, staring quietly at a brick wall.

Ngarimu points to a small hole in the bricks, where water is slowly dripping into a tiny pool. For many years this spring has been concealed here, not known to many. This is Te Wai Ariki, a puna that was once a popular water source for Ngāti Whātua.

"When the settlers arrived we used to sell the water to the ships coming in until one day where there was too many," Ngarimu tells me.

Usually when we talk about Māori in the city, we're talking about Māori who aren't from there. But what we often forget is that beneath the concrete, the city is Māori land too. As Ngarimu showed me around, streets became pathways, hills became pā, and Queen Street became a valley that drives an underground stream out towards the sea.

It's predicted that there will be two million people in Auckland by 2025. The challenge for Ngāti Whātua is how they keep their history alive, and how they advance the legacy left for them by previous generations.

At Ōrākei Marae, Hana Maihi is one of the many young people of Ngāti Whātua thinking about their aspirations for the future. In the late 70s, young activist Joe Hawke and his contemporaries successfully protected Takaparawha or Bastion Point from being turned into suburban development. We talked about what it is our generation is prepared to fight for.

Episode four is about being Māori in the city. Under the guidance of two uri of Ngāti Whātua, I was able to visualise the land beneath my feet for the first time, and think more about how we keep our history alive in a concrete jungle.

Go to this episode on rnz.co.nz for more details

I have a hunch that the city might provide something unique to our people. This episode is about decolonising gender and sexuality in Wellington city.

By Kahu Kutia

I'm sitting by the window in a flat in Te Aro, Wellington. Opposite me is Kayla Riarn, she's pushing cigarette smoke out the window with a black lace fan.

"You go to any marae you see one of us whakawahine. We're in the kitchen. We're with the aunties. We are workers. We don't argue about things on a marae. We get up and we do it. And we're respected for it... Since I've been in Wellington I have worked in eight marae, as sole chef. I don't get questioned."

In this episode of He Kākano Ahau I'm talking to those who are decolonising gender and sexuality in Wellington city. Whakawahine might loosely translate as "trans woman", but more importantly it's a term that also takes into account Kayla's whakapapa Māori. After all in te ao Māori, whakapapa is usually the first level of our identity.

Over a kapu tī, Kayla traces for me her whakapapa back into Taranaki maunga. She tells me that she had to find a lot of this out by herself. Her whānau moved to Tawa shortly after she was born. She's been in inner Wellington since the 70s.

When colonising forces came to the Pacifc there was a lot that changed for all of our cultures. Perhaps some of the biggest changes came with the introduction of the bible, which squashed out any ideas of sexuality and gender that weren't cisgender and heterosexual. In te ao Māori today there is a heavy gender binary. Ira wahine, ira tāne. They are still significant, but perhaps not as rigid as some may think.

It's a story that I don't think has ever been explored in enough detail. After exploring the history, I also wanted to talk to someone of my own generation who could speak to these experiences. I went to see Ariki Brightwell, who's 30 years old. She grew up in Tūranga-nui-ā-Kiwa and came to Wellington to study at Massey. Today, Ariki is an artist and kaihautū for the waka that sit on the Wellington waterfront. Unlike Kayla, Ariki felt a lot of support from her whānau through her transition. Ariki also had good perspective on our history.

"What I've learnt from some of our kaumātua is that our people have always experimented or dived into our sexuality especially our gender - you know - that's one of the main parts of our culture. It's displayed on our carvings, the ure the teke on our carvings, the form of a person on our carvings," says Ariki…

Go to this episode on rnz.co.nz for more details

For this episode I went to Ōtautahi, Christchurch where we're looking at what it's like to move to the city today. From many perspectives, Christchurch seems a hard place to be Māori.

By Kahu Kutia

What defines the current generation of rangatahi Māori? Some might call us millennials, the first generation to be born fluent in digital technology.

Some might call us the kōhanga and kura kaupapa generation. Many of our parents and kaumātua were punished in school for speaking Te Reo. But some of us were the first to taste our language again and to bring it back to life.

We were raised on stories of resistance. Bastion Point. Springbok Tour. Te Matakite Māori Land March. Foreshore Seabed. Tūhoe Raids. Dawn Raids. Raglan. Pākaitore. We look to Māui-tikitiki-ā-Taranga for guidance. The trickster, the pōtiki. With the legacy of our tīpuna in front of us, we walk backwards into the digital era.

Many of us now live in the city, and are redefining what it means to be urban and Māori. Maybe we're learning Te Reo through an app. Maybe we're driving home once a month to spend time at our marae. Maybe we're reviving the hidden history of the whenua beneath the concrete. Maybe we're just looking for a place to be Māori.

For this episode of He Kākano Ahau I went down to Ōtautahi, Christchurch. In the first episode, we learned about the first generation to transition from rural to urban Māori. In this episode, we're looking at what it's like to move to the city today.

From many perspectives, Christchurch seems a hard place to be Māori.

TVNZ's That's A Bit Racist documentary commissioned Harvard University to research racism in New Zealand. The results weren't great for the whole country, but the south came out particularly badly with 89 per cent of South Islanders saying they favoured Pākehā over Māori, compared to 63 percent in the North Island.

The South Island is where Kiwa Kahukura-Denton has lived for most of his life. Kiwa moved to Ōtautahi this year. Like many of us, Kiwa has moved to the city to study. He's at Te Ora Hou studying to be a youth worker. Kiwa and I talk about loneliness, staying connected, and what he hopes to create for rangatahi Māori.

"A system where Māori is normal, Māori is standard you know it isn't that one house for kapa haka it isn't te reo class it isn't the whānau class it isn't when someone flash come to the school and you have a pōwhiri for them it's just normal and it's okay that its normal and they don't have to feel whakama about being Māori or seeing things a Māori way or saying karakia when they need to say karakia."…

Go to this episode on rnz.co.nz for more details

When I came to the city I needed ground to stand on. That turanga waewae became Tapu Te Ranga Marae, tucked away in Island Bay, Wellington. You would have never seen a marae quite like this.

By Kahu Kutia

I grew up where the tarseal on the road crumbles away into loose rock and dust. On a clear day, if you stand at the opening of the valley, you can follow the hills all the way to Maungapōhatu in the distance. With my awa beside me, and my marae just down the road, I was able to locate my place in the world.

For most of my life, this was all that I knew. But four years ago I moved to Wellington.

The first great migration of Māori happened when our ancestors came across Te Moana-Nui-ā-Kiwa to Aotearoa. But I think there's a second migration that is just as important. In the 20th century, Māori moved from being 85 percent rural, to 85 percent urban.

Today we don't really think of ourselves as urban people, and yet most of our people now live in the city.

In the 60s and 70s there was increasing awareness for a generation who was urban and Māori. Ngā Tama Toa were in there, organising te reo classes in flats in the city, and pushing the government on Māori issues.

Many of these young people had grown up as a product of "pepperpotting", a policy employed by the Department of Māori Affairs to place Māori families amongst Pākehā families in the better suburbs of Auckland and Wellington. The goal was to assimilate Māori families into a Pākehā way of life.

But the urban drift of our people came with a number of challenges. Many came to the city under the promise of jobs, and upon arrival found they were the last to be considered. It was during this time that we saw a number of Māori, particularly men, turn to gangs for a sense of community. These were whole generations who were unable to find jobs, cut off from home, and often alone in the city without any support network.

When I came to the city I needed ground to stand on. That tūranga waewae became Tapu Te Ranga Marae, tucked away in Island Bay, Wellington. You would have never seen a marae quite like this. The levels of Tapu Te Ranga Marae climbed up the hillside like a tātarāmoa vine. A treehouse of your wildest dreams.

Tapu Te Ranga was built by gang members and displaced people of all kinds in the early 70s. It was a dream brought to life by Bruce Stewart after he read an article in Māori publication Te Ao Hou.

This is the starting point of our podcast, He Kākano Ahau. In a place not only special to me, but a place that has been a home away from home for hundreds of people…

Go to this episode on rnz.co.nz for more details

I think it's natural that a family, Māori and non-Māori, always has mysteries to uncover, whether or not you grew up knowing your whānau history, knowing your whakapapa or not.

By Kahu Kutia

I'm sitting in a van, on the side of the road. It's a grey day on the edge of rain and we're all wrapped up in beanies, scarves, jackets and thick socks. To my left is a marae, it's windows shut and the paepae empty. To my right is an urupā.

As I sit in the van, I watch three people stand outside the urupā for a bit then eventually work up the courage to unlatch the gate and make their way in. What I'm witnessing is Geneva Alexander-Marsters visit the graves of her kuia and uncle for the first time. She's accompanied by her father and her half-brother.

We brought Geneva into this kaupapa to make music for our stories. As the kōrero evolved, we found out that Geneva had never visited her marae. It was something she had always wanted to do before she turns 30.

For this episode, Geneva agreed to take me on the road with her. I don't think either of us knew what we were getting into. More than anything I hoped this journey would bring answers for Geneva. Her dad Daniel was an important part of the journey, but hard to track down.

In the 20th century, the Māori population went from 85 percent rural to 85 percent urban. State uplift, employment, and land alienation are just a few of the many reasons that we came to the city in the first place. Geneva's own disconnection stemmed from her father, who was uplifted by the state following the death of his mother. Geneva is candid about her father's time in boys homes.

"If you want to talk about a systematic disenfranchisement of indigenous people they're part of that stolen generation."

What I didn't anticipate was how important the return would be for Daniel as well. This wasn't Daniel's first time here, but it's a place of traumatic memories for him. He's spent most of his life in the city. Like Daniel, Geneva learned about te ao Māori from other places.

"We're urban Maori in the city but that doesn't mean that you're lost," says Geneva. "When that knowledge is taken away from you, you make do with what you have."

All that Geneva knew was a few names. I always felt that this journey would be a success even if we just stood on the whenua where she was from. We were heading up the coast with a few names, a few patchy memories, and no kuia to call Geneva in…

Go to this episode on rnz.co.nz for more details

Thousands of supporters from Aotearoa and the world have been hosted at Ihumātao. For those who protect the land it has become more than a Māori issue.

By Kahu Kutia

It's an interesting time to be indigenous. Or is that what every generation says? Every day when I open my phone I see a new reason to be angry, to be disappointed, to believe that humanity is headed down a slippery path into climate destruction.

Mauna Kea, Djab Wurrung, Unist'ot'en, Standing Rock. Four examples in a never-ending stream of indigenous struggles to protect significant whenua. In Aotearoa, Ihumātao is the latest in a long line of iconic Māori resistance movements. The resistance at Ihumātao began when 32 hectares of land in Mangere was designated as a Special Housing Area and purchased by Fletcher Building. This was land originally stolen by the Crown. Six cousins formed a movement to protect their land, a place of significance to the culture and heritage of Aotearoa.

A friend of mine recently shared an observation of the world. She said she felt that the universe is calling our generation out. For so long we have admired the work that our elders did for us, the land march, Bastion Point, foreshore and seabed. She said to me that it seemed the universe is telling us its our turn to stand up for our beliefs.

When police issued an eviction notice to protectors at Ihumātao, I was a ball of anxiety for two straight days. Thinking back on what my friend said, I knew the only way I might be calm again was to visit Ihumātao myself.

We all turned up to the whenua with berets and statement shirts and flags in solidarity with mana whenua who want their land returned to them. The waiata Rua Kenana rang out across the land over and over again. I watched as every idol I ever had in te ao Māori came and went from the whenua .

While this struggle has constantly been painted as generational, the reality on site is that the resistance at Ihumātao is supported by whānau from all generations of the local hapū as well as kaumātua at Makaurau Marae.

Thousands of supporters from Aotearoa and the world have been hosted at Ihumātao in the time since. Ihumātao has become more than a Māori issue. For those who protect the land, Ihumātao is also a health issue, a wellbeing issue, a climate change issue, a heritage and culture issue, a human rights issue.

This episode is about what it takes to build an indigenous resistance movement. I spent time at Ihumātao before and after the eviction notice was served to protectors. Pania Newton, who has become the face of this struggle, was honest with me about the tolls of fighting for her whānau land. But in the end, it's all worth it…

Go to this episode on rnz.co.nz for more details

In this podcast series, host Kahu Kutia challenges the assumption that to be urban and Māori means to be disconnected from your culture.

He Kākano Ahau is a podcast written, researched, and hosted by Ngāi Tūhoe writer, activist, and young person Kahu Kutia. Kahu now lives in Wellington after spending the first 18 years of her life in the valleys of Te Urewera.

Over six episodes, Kahu explores stories of Māori in the city, weaving together strands of connection. At the base is a hunch that not all of us who live in the city are disconnected from te ao Māori.

Go to this episode on rnz.co.nz for more details

The second season explores stories that are firmly rooted in our past to magically dream about the futures we want to create for ourselves.

May we boundlessly dream of possibilities beyond our wildest imaginations. May we weave communities of support, compassion and active solidarity. With our history in front of us, and our tūpuna at our shoulders, may we walk into a future that is connected and thriving for us all.

He Kākano Ahau: Wawatatia is the second season from the team that brought you the Voyager award-winning podcast series He Kākano Ahau: Urban and Māori. In this season, we move our focus firmly into the future, engaging our kaikōrero in conversations that help us radically re-imagine how the future might look. Weaving together elements of interview, narration, music and poetry, we build a whare in which we can all wānanga our visions. From Tāmaki Makaurau to Motupōhue, Kahu Kutia asks how we might think about the future, and what we need to get there. She explores and weaves stories that are firmly rooted in our past, and hopeful about the futures we can create for ourselves.

He Kākano Ahau: Wawatatia is a 7 episode series, including 2 episodes in te reo Māori. Our target audience is young Māori, but we hope the stories make space for everyone to listen in.

Go to this episode on rnz.co.nz for more details