Museum Notebook: Weaving the story of the Whanganui Mūmū

A photograph of the newly completed tukutuku panels at the entrance of Te Atihaunui-a-Paparangui The Maori Court at Whanganui Regional Museum, 1970. The panels feature the many varieties of woven patterns. From left are Mrs Phillipa Pikimaui - Hemi Pikimaui, Mrs Ruaka Rewiti, Mrs Ema Hipango, Mrs Moe Tiraha, Mrs Arahori Potaka, Matui Potaka, Mrs Pare Paamu, Mrs Rangitaamo Takarangi. Whanganui Regional Museum Collection Ref: MM-82

My grandmother, Maudie Reweti, plonked me in front of a wooden board with strategically placed holes. She sat on the other side of the board, facing me. I was 7 years old.

“We are going to weave a tukutuku pattern with harakeke (New Zealand flax) - I will teach you.”

Nana had prepared the harakeke earlier and it was ready in strips for us to use.

Māori people did not use letters like we do today; instead, they wove or carved patterns that had meaning and told stories. This was one of the ways that helped Māori remember information, special events or people.

“I will tuku the harakeke to you,” my grandmother instructed. “And then you tuku it back to me and I will tie it off.”

We wove diagonal crosses into patterns.

“Does tuku mean to give?” I asked Nana.

“Aana, yes,” she said. “It means to give and to receive.”

“What can you tuku?” I asked.

“People can tuku aroha – love. People can tuku manaakitanga – sharing and caring,” she responded.

“Can you tuku a chair?” I asked.

“Kao, no,” Nana told me. “A chair can’t tuku back.”

My grandmother had a wonderful story that she loved to share. At the mouth of the river are two freshwater springs. Sealers and whalers would stop on their journey down south to fill up the water tanks on the ships. As they waited, they taught local Māori from Pūtiki to play draughts or chequers.

Maōri couldn’t enunciate the “v” sound so instead of saying “Your move, my move”, they would say “Your moo, my moo”.

There are many different tukutuku patterns found across Aotearoa. One of my favourites is Roimata Toroa (The Tears of the Albatross). In this pattern, vertical lines of crosses represent the tears.

Albatross are revered by seafaring folk from across the world’s oceans and Māori were no different. It is the feathers of the albatross that can be seen on the great wakataua (war canoes) where they are tied to tickle Tangaroa, guardian of the ocean as the waka glides over the sea. The intention is to keep Tangaroa in a good mood so he doesn’t tip over the waka.

Albatross can spend three years at sea, only returning to land to breed. They are a solitary animal often seen alone in the ocean. They survive by drinking salt water and flushing it out through two tear ducts on their beaks. The salt stains their faces as though they have been crying and the Roimata Toroa pattern reflects that. The “tears of the albatross” are synomous with loneliness or sorrow.

Tuku patterns all have meanings.

He Purapura Whetū, a myriad of stars, reminds us of our ancestors – long gone but never forgotten. Poutama is often called “stairway to heaven”. Māori were lifelong learners, and this pattern represents education. Pātiki is a flounder, woven in a diamond pattern to remind us of the importance of manaakitanga, caring and sharing. Manaakitanga is highly valued in Te Ao Māori, The Māori World.

A pattern that is used in Whanganui, but actually belongs to Tainui in the Waikato, is Niho Taniwhā, The Teeth of the Taniwhā. Waikato and Whanganui are linked through their awa (rivers). The source of both awa is Tongariro, a mighty river that twists and turns like a great serpent. On each bend of the river is a village, led by a rangatira, a leader. The river is a weaver of the people and Niho Taniwhā reminds us to ask for help if we need it.

All of these different patterns are put together in one fabulous tukutuku panel that looks like a draughts board. Whanganui Māori call it: The Whanganui Mūmū. Your move, my move. Whanganui by Design.

Lisa Reweti is public programmes presenter at Whanganui Regional Museum