‘Kamate, Kamate’ thunders around the waka. The glistening water under my oar falls like a raindrop from a leaf. It is night and the patterns on the waka look fearsome, the warriors have an amazingly tight grip on the oars. My veins course with adrenaline.
As we continue to row I watch anxiously the horizon, at the stern of the boat we are doing some startling pukana’s with bulging eyes and protruding tongues. My fellow warrior’s arms are as big as the trunks of a kauri tree and are decorated with tattoos that represent our ancestry. The oars submerge one last time as we reach our destination of war...
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