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Tarawera erupted in 1886. It was a cataclysmic unzipping of the mountain that split it in half. A firestorm engulfed the sleeping kainga ( village[s] ) on the lake’s edge, levelled the bush and rearranged the landscape. My koro (grandfather) was 9 years old. He lived at Te Wairoa. He survived the onslaught. His kainga is now a tourist attraction called, ‘The Buried Village.’ Koro says that none of them knew that it was the next day until they all heard the rooster crow. His nanny carried him out on her back. The survivors made their way to Rotorua township. Their lives had changed forever.
My phone rang. The second week of Level 4 lockdown was in full swing. I didn't know the number. I spoke to the caller and was surprised. It was a volunteer from my marae. She wanted to know how I was and if I needed help with collecting anything. The following week another volunteer from Ngāti Whakakaue called. She was offering a care pack. I was humbled with the care and attention and impressed with the service. This was not aroha learnt from a management manual. It was aroha in action and a community taking care of its kaumatua and kuia.
