Born and raised in Niue, Tufuga Lagatule came to New Zealand at the age of 17 years. She overcame the difficulties of adjusting to her new country and went on to become a wife, mother and prominent Pacific Island community worker. Tufuga shares her story and inspirations…

Early this year we were devastated by the news that Niue was destroyed by Cyclone Heta. Before the cyclone, Niue’s future was already threatened by the loss of its language and culture - about 1500 Niueans live in Niue and a staggering majority of 20,000 live in New Zealand. We were working so hard to help preserve our culture, and then we were hit by another blow. We are now helping to rebuild the lives and homes of our families in Niue; providing them with their basic needs of food, clothing and shelter. It is heart breaking to see what we have lost. My memories of Niue have become even more precious to me.

I was born in 1938, in Alofi South. I was raised as an only child within a large extended family. I have one brother and two half sisters who were adopted by an aunt and an uncle. My village was a happy, happy village; oh, it was so much fun. My mother would make these balls out of coconut leaves and we would play cricket using biscuit tins as the wickets. We would sing and play music on the guitars and ukuleles.

Evening meal was the most precious time. We only had one meal a day; before then you ate anything that was available like coconuts, oranges, or bananas. In the village, food would be taken from one family to another. If my father had a big tuna fish, he would give it all to the village - it was a whole circle of support. We believed that what you give out brings back in return, and to: “Love thy neighbour as you love thyself”. It’s not about doing good things all the time, it’s about knowing that there’s a need out there and to go help that person. So my childhood was a joyful one – and a very selfish one.

I’m embarrassed to say that I had never done a good day’s work at home because I was always one step ahead of everybody else. I’d go to my parents and ask them for money or a loaf of bread because my father was a baker. Then I would say to my brothers and sisters “If you do this for me, I will give you this for your lunch tomorrow.” Terrible. When people prepared the early journey to the bush to plant or to get taro, I took off somewhere else. But when it’s mealtime, I was the first one to sit down!

As a school kid, I was one of those bullies. I was terrible. I walked out of the classroom so many times, and I don’t know how I got away with not being expelled. However, I enjoyed school and I didn’t have any difficulties with my schoolwork. I was in a special class taught by a European teacher from NZ. I became a trained teacher and worked in schools when I was as young as 16.

There were sad times, like my parents’ arguments. From time to time, rather than go to school, I’d go to a cave with my mother and her cousins, and they would weave. It was a therapeutic time; while weaving they’d work themselves out, and by the time they went back to their families, they were different people altogether. That memory I will treasure all my life.

I came to New Zealand when I was 17 years old and worked in factories. When I was 20 I fell in love with and married Wallace, also a Niuean. We set up home in Christchurch and have six children, 14 grandchildren and three great grandchildren. It is a joy knowing that I’ve planted my seed in Christchurch.

It was a very frightening thing coming to NZ. I had moved from a very protective household in the islands, into an open space where everything is big. The cars were running, and the trams and the buses, and you think, “What the hell is going on here? Where am I?” It frightened me. I couldn’t wait long enough to get home to my comfort zone.

Another loneliness for me was not seeing any brown faces. I was terrified of going into the city, knowing that you were “it”. When you did see a brown face your own face just lit up. It didn’t matter whether it was a Samoan or Cook Island face, as long as it was brown, you knew that there are us here.

It was difficult to adapt to living in boxes, surrounded by fences. It took me a long time to realise that in New Zealand you just don’t walk into a house and ask, “Do you have any taro to eat?” It’s through invitations that you go to people’s houses. And the climate changes! Changing your form of dress through summer, autumn, winter and spring was just too much to understand.

As I began motherhood the Plunket was my survival kit. Back in those times, there was not a lot to help you learn how to look after your children. The Plunket would show you everything. When you needed somebody to talk to, you only had to ring them and they’d be at your front door. I’d get excited that somebody was coming to visit me, and do the happy thing of getting a cup of tea and biscuits ready. I swear on the Plunket, and what they have done to NZ as a country. They have helped give life back to women just at their time of need. Today you’ve got everything that a young mother wants and I envy that.

The church has done a lot to my life. If there was no God, I don’t think that I would have survived. Our belief in God is the pillar of our families. Some people say to me “Tufuga, if God is there, why do you always moan that you have no money?” But the material things in life are not important compared to the value of what God has given us; his life was given to redeem the sinners of this world.

As a Niuean woman I was not brought up to speak for myself; someone else had to talk for me. In 1977 they had a women’s convention and this opened my eyes. I thought, “Yes, I can offer something. I can say these things and I don’t have any fear.” Ever since then, I have never stopped. The church also strengthened my ability to perform, to be public, to be vocal. I love letting people know that we’re not just “hip movers” or dancers – we are thinkers, talkers and we challenge. I like knowing that other people cannot make a fool of you because you can play the fool back on them.

For 42 odd years, I was a voluntary worker for Pacific Island children. I was heavily involved in setting up an organization called Matua Whangai through the Ministry of Maori Affairs. So many children were being driven through the legal system without family or legal support. Parents were trying their utmost best to be good parents but they needed support too. There were no alternative methods for parents to discipline their children. We had to influence the system to understand where the Pacific Island people are coming from. The community also had to establish a reputation of doing something for ourselves. Changes had to come from the community, not from the palagi people or their organizations.

There are a lot of Niuean traditional things that I hold on to. For instance, I could never ever go to church without wearing a hat. That would make me feel unclean and that there’s no spirit in me. But when I cover my head, I have that protection. I have kept that tradition, not because I like to wear a hat, but because this is what I was brought up to do and you don’t give those things away just because you live in another country.

I taught my children the same way my parents taught me – to show respect, to honour and to love. It is very hard to discipline my children in the same way I was disciplined by my own parents. If you get a hiding in Niue, the government doesn’t come and remove you from your family. I don’t have a problem with the “no smacking” laws here, but I do have a problem with the children using that influence to ensure that the parents don’t discipline them in the way that parents want to. In the Pacific Island way, to learn to honour your parents and to respect them are the most important things. It’s been a legacy of our ancestors that was handed down to us. That is one of the treasures that I give my children. I don’t want to see the changes.

I have never asked from my kids more than what they can do. I’ve never challenged my children in regards to being academic, or being a professor of a university. I’ve always supported my children in the things that they want to do in life, be it a carpenter or to be a factory worker. We tried to bring the bible and the church into our family. All my children of course have their own lives but it’s still in them. I suppose they have to go through life before they make decisions about what to do with their own lives.

My children are very much involved in Niuean things like the celebrating of the Niuean haircutting ceremony, funerals or weddings. They’re always there. They all know how to make an umu because they were taught how to do these things. They’re also very good challengers as far as anything about Niue. If anybody says anything out of place about Niue, the three of them ram them down.

It is wonderful that my children are brought up in a Niuean way, and at the same time living in a culture that is more dominant. I have allowed my children to be themselves. Being a traditional Niuean family is very important but at the same time, let’s be real. We live in another country, so we need to be part of the dominant culture, by which I mean health, education, justice, and social services. It doesn’t mean that it takes away the fruits of being Niuean. If anything, it builds more character. My granddaughter is very fair, very blonde but she’s very much a Niuean. She’s the one who can siva (dance) and sing in Niuean. My children feel very comfortable about both cultures. They don’t have an inferiority problem and say, “Oh I don’t really know; I’m a New Zealand-born.”

If your parents are from different cultures, never feel angry. You need to feel warmth because you belong in each culture. Get involved, and don’t be shy, thinking, ‘Oh, I’m just an afakasi (half-caste)”. There is no such thing as afakasi. You are a whole person. Two special people came together and created a total person.

I love to read and watch cartoons on TV. My upbringing though was not about sitting down. It was about serving. When visitors came into your home, you had to serve all of them. You have no time to sit, no time for yourself. Now I feel what a joy it is to sit and be more relaxed.

In my house I have baskets all over the place. I get my stories from them. When you get lonely or sad all you have to do is look at that basket and think how the older person of that family weaved that basket. You think, “She’s got more energy than I have, why do I feel this way?” It re-energises you. My husband had a severe stroke over a year ago and is in a home. He says he doesn’t want me to be lonely. But I’ve learned not to be lonely. I have God that lives in our home. I have the spirit of my ancestors – they’re here, in the gifts they have created. That energy, money can never buy.

If there’s one thing I would do, it is to write a book. I want for my children and the children of tomorrow, a legacy of my own journey, and how I survived the experience. Whether they learn something from it, I don’t know. At least they can open the book and say, “Oh yeah, the ‘freshie’ did this?”