As told to Elisabeth Easther New Zealand.
I was brought up in Bulls, but my fondest holiday memories are of going back to Manutuke about 12km outside Gisborne. I always looked forward to staying with my grandmother and seeing my cousins — because my whakapapa goes to Ngāti Porou, Rongowhakaata and Ngāti Kahungunu, I knew, in my heart of hearts, tribally that is where I came from and where I belonged. There was a little swing bridge over Te Arai river. We used to jump off the bridge then swim to shore and cover ourselves in mud. We'd bake in the sun till the mud was completely dry, then stand up all crinkly and crunkly, before going back to the bridge to jump back in and go through the process all over again.
After school, I went to Wellington to study engineering. I never really had an interest in the arts, but I remember going home one weekend because mum told me a healer was coming to Parewahawaha Marae. The tohunga wore big dark glasses and, as we went into the meetinghouse, he walked around naming all the carvings. When he got to the end, he looked directly at me and asked, "how did I do?"
I was taken by surprise as it wasn't that difficult, because they all had nametags. But he asked me how he did and then said, "you should know because you're a carver". At that stage I'd never considered carving. When I got home I told mum and she said, 'you do know he's blind?' Obviously he had an insight, and for the first time I thought maybe I'm meant to be a carver.
My first trip overseas was to Australia in 1980 to participate in the World Conference of Indigenous People. I met some Aboriginal people from Alice Springs and they invited me to join them in the desert for a few weeks. We'd get up each morning and drive all day, miles and miles along straight dusty roads. I knew Australia was big, but driving to Alice Springs, I really experienced it. Sleeping by campfires along the way, they said if I felt something crawl into my sleeping bag, it was probably just a snake trying to keep warm. So I made my bed on top of the truck, snakes were not part of my landscape. One guy caught a snake in the middle of the night, knocked it over the head then baked it over the fire for breakfast. It tasted a bit like chicken