our waka

                                                                      Waka

 Aboard  the waka I sit amongst my whanau, dipping my oar firmly into the water. The water glistens  in the sun as we chant “ka mate ka mate”. The mighty muscly tattooed arms pushes and pushes the paddles through the moana.  The vessel travels further and further. My arms keep moving the oars in and out, my body fills with fear and adrenaline. ”Were going to fight”, shout the whanau.

The wooden taniwha  was carefully carved into it’s beautiful shape with the bow at the front and the stern at the back. The koruru sits on the front of the waka looking furious at the mark  we are going to reach. The moko on our  face tells the enemy that we are not scared. We form a pukana on our face. Our eyes widen and our slobbery protruding  tongues poke out. The oars are shaped like feathers and every single drop of water falls off the oar as we bring it out of the water. The waka is red like the blood that is going to come from our enemy’s flesh.