Why I’m learning te reo Māori with my six-year-old

One night my six-year-old son and I were debriefing his day after his bedtime story. He wanted me to tell him about my day before he told me about his. I listed off everything I’d done that day, including my te reo Māori lesson. He excitedly said, “I’m learning te reo too!” He was so excited to hear that I was learning, just like him. The divide between adult and six-year-old shrank a little in that moment, and sharing that experience helped us to connect with each other.

I went to a primary school that was, in retrospect, very embracing towards cultural diversity. Even as a child I had a natural interest and curiosity about Māori culture and I remember enjoying learning te reo, especially waiata and kapa haka (which, in those days, was called the ‘Māori culture group’ – go the eighties!).

I don’t remember it being hard, and I’m grateful that now, as an adult, I've retained a basic understanding of some common te reo Māori words that were sown into me as a child. Words and commands like kia ora (hello), tamariki (children), e noho (sit down), taringa (ears), pakipaki (clap) and a handful of others have stayed with me.

Te reo Māori in schools has come a long way since then, and it makes me happy to think that my kids’ te reo base will be more expansive than mine was. Recently, we were learning about time in my te reo classes at Te Wānanga o Aotearoa. I revised the days of the week and the months of the year by writing them up on a whiteboard at home and asking my son each morning, “Ko te aha tēnei rā?" (What day is it today?) He asked the same back to me, because he was learning the same thing in his Year 2 class at school. When I made mistakes, he corrected me.

I imagine that seeing me learning and making mistakes is quite an empowering experience for my son. Seeing me learn helps him realise that learning is a valuable lifelong endeavour, and not just for kids at school. Not to mention the excitement that he’s able to correct his mummy for once, instead of the other way around!

I’m aware there’s a wide range of opinions about the relevance of teaching te reo Māori to our kids. Will proficiency in the language help my son get a job one day? Is it a waste of his time? I’ve been asked similar questions from adults when I tell them I’m learning te reo. Why? What’s the point? Is it going to help my work?

There are numerous pieces of evidence about the advantages of bilingualism. The majority of the world’s population is bilingual. More than half of all Europeans speak at least one language other than their mother tongue. I remember a humbling and perspective-shifting experience I had in Brussels on my O.E, sitting at a café with my German friend and meeting a group of her friends. All of them could speak at least two other languages, some could speak three or four. At that moment I felt like a very un-cultured monolinguist!

Growing up as Pākeha New Zealanders, giving my children an opportunity to speak another language is preparing them to be global citizens. Later on in their school careers they’ll have the chance to learn Mandarin, French, Japanese and a host of other languages. But learning te reo is more than just an intellectual exercise and an opportunity to teach kids about another culture – it’s an opportunity to teach them about themselves.

There is a deeper level to learning the language that’s related to what I believe being a New Zealander is about. I’m finding my journey in te ao Māori (the Māori world) is impacting my core identity and my relationships.

It’s helped me to investigate my whakapapa (ancestry). It’s made me think about my connection to the land I live in and on. It’s given me the space to talk about my late father and grandparents, and about the people who have gone before me to give me and my family the life we live today. It’s helped me to be a more inclusive person and has ignited in me a hope for the future of New Zealand society.

Of course, my six-year-old doesn’t care about the politics or philosophy of learning te reo Māori when his teacher asks him, “Kei te pēhea koe?” (How are you?) each morning, but that doesn’t matter. At the very least, he will grow up knowing there’s more than one way of saying something, of looking, seeing and thinking about things. And knowing there’s more than one way of seeing leads to greater empathy, compassion, openness and kindness. That’s really something.