The shared world of our villages

Human connection is what underpins community and a person’s village. That kind of connection has in some ways become more important to me over the years. However, my village has always been very insulated.

I have a few good friends who are my ride or die and they happen to also be my cousins — that is pretty much how I roll. I have my wider whānau, because I have grown up in my village, and, yeah, we are pretty much all related to each other, either very closely or at a bit more of a distance.

Don’t get me wrong, I have understood that my world is narrow. I have really appreciated this as I have got older and I am content and have liked it that way. There is some sort of safety in that — it’s like a sports club, we all have something in common, ours just happens to be whakapapa, a layered kind of intertwined history and DNA.

Everyone knows each other, the good, bad and the ugly.

Growing up, I was Eddie’s daughter, that’s how people knew you, they knew your family and that felt good, it felt connected.

This isn’t an unusual phenomenon, but there has even been an air of arrogance with this, that my village is better, more authentic, more connected, more permanent, more prolonged. And, to be honest, this position has been somewhat tested in recent months.

My partner comes from a different village. Although different, I have been humbled in realising that it also mirrors mine in so many ways. His village is also long-standing and interconnected by blood ties, commonalities and vocations that align with their wider rural backdrop.

Of course, there are deep cultural differences. At the heart of their village is a church and they come from the first wave of Scottish settlers, and mine has a marae at the centre and we come from Pacific lineage, many many generations before. We are not the same but the human assembly of relationships and connections are.

I had the privilege of spending a weekend with 10 of his long-lasting friends and their partners. It was a lot for me, who prefers to wallflower it and spend some quality one-to-one time with a mate. My social battery was certainly depleted but my cup of goodness was filled.

These were his friends from school and they have maintained a tight bond over decades. Some married from within the village and some outside of it. Some still live there and others elsewhere.

It was a weekend filled with costume rivalry, notably yacht rock — yes, I had to Google that one — incredible food, walks to an old hut (with dubious mileage instructions), a battle of the best cocktail, a casino night with shameless but entertaining game dealers, boating and water skiing swagger, music DJ domination, and plenty of laughter.

I took it all in, and felt privileged to be welcomed into a deeply interconnected network of good humans.

I come very late to the party and if it wasn’t for my person I would never have the opportunity to even touch the surface of an ecosystem that simply isn’t mine and that I would normally never even enter into.

I was struck by their stories, many of which paralleled mine, about losing a loved one and how their community rallied around them, stories of growing up on the farm next to each other, playing in the same sports team, driving their first dodgy car with pride on their roads. There were shearing shed yarns, their mothers were the village’s information grapevine and their farming fathers uncompromising, there was young love, enduring friendships and more.

They may not have understood this, but I connected with it all.

I think there is far more human cohesion than we sometimes feel. In a world that is so politically divided and feels culturally polarised, there actually are synergies that connect us.

I get it, it’s also human nature to stay in the safety of what we are familiar and comfortable with, but let’s envision for a moment the opportunity for our community, country, and the world if everyone had the privilege of being invited into communities they would never normally touch or step into.

I am also very realistic and am fully aware that my Māori world presents a few extra challenges, with cultural parameters and bylaws, te reo Māori and distinct and unique cultural encounters.

Therefore, bringing my partner’s community into my Māori world would potentially throw down the gauntlet, but I am convinced this intersection would make the world a better place, by empowering, de-mystifying and connecting.

I certainly felt like that was the opportunity my partner and his friends afforded to me.