The waka we are all in together
He waka eke noa — we are all in this waka together.
This whakataukī reminds us that we journey not as individuals but as a collective, bound by shared purpose and care. Over recent months, as I’ve worked alongside early childhood settings in Tairāwhiti and Wairoa through a SELO contract focused on manaakitanga, I’ve witnessed this truth come to life.
Our sector has long understood that collaboration and kindness strengthen both our professional and human connections. Yet in regions still recovering from the devastating impacts of the cyclone, He waka eke noa carries even deeper meaning, one of compassion, generosity, and collective healing
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Whakawhanaungatanga in Action
Before beginning this mahi, I knew I was heading into an area that had faced enormous disruption and loss. Wanting to show practical support, I reached out to my local ECE community to see if anyone could contribute resources for our colleagues in Tairāwhiti.
The response was overwhelming.
ACG Tauranga, Kids on 19 – Marlene, Shalom Kindergarten, Liberty Montessori, Bethlehem College Kindergarten, Whangamata Kindergarten, and my dear friend Rita Smit, who has recently retired, all gave so generously. My garage quickly filled with boxes of taonga ready for mokopuna and kaiako in the affected areas.
Realising my little Swift was never going to manage the load, I hired a much larger vehicle and set off for Gisborne. Esthie from the Ministry of Education met me there with a warm smile and helping hands. As we unpacked the boxes, she laughed at how every nook and cranny of the van had been filled, a perfect maths challenge in spatial reasoning!
That journey was about more than delivering resources; it was about whakawhanaungatanga, connecting, listening, and honouring the stories of those still navigating recovery.
Stories Beneath the Surface
A month has passed since that first trip, yet the experiences and stories continue to sit close to my heart. This week, travelling through Esk Valley, I found myself deeply moved once again.
The sight of houses now abandoned shells, orchards still thick with mud, and the quiet resilience of the people left me in tears. These images, and the kōrero shared in cafes, retail stores, and early learning centres, remind me that trauma doesn’t disappear once the clean-up is done.
The kaiako I met spoke of loss, grief, and survivor’s guilt, emotions that resurface whenever the rain begins to fall or a severe weather warning is announced. These are the unseen layers of community healing, carried with courage by those who continue to show up for their mokopuna every day.
Manaakitanga: The Heart of Collective Leadership
In every story, I saw manaakitanga alive, through gestures both grand and small.
Letters and drawings from mokopuna at Lil Pumpkins in Hamilton arrived at one centre that had only just returned to its own space after weeks of displacement. Whangamata Kindergarten children also gathered resources and talked with their kaiako about what they could give, an early lesson in empathy and collective care.
Leadership, I am reminded, is not always loud or formal. Sometimes it is found in the quiet generosity of a Saturday spent packing boxes, or in the courage to reach out and say, “We stand with you.”
Nā tō rourou, nā taku rourou ka ora ai te iwi, with your basket and my basket, the people will thrive.
This whakataukī speaks directly to the essence of our profession and to the shared leadership that sustains it.
Still Not All Okay
Willie Apiata recently reminded us that we are still not all okay.
There are places on the East Coast still in real hardship. Until every part of our waka is repaired, until every community feels steady again, we must keep showing up with compassion and encouragement.
Healing takes time. For some, it will be years before the fear of heavy rain fades. For others, the scars of loss will always be close. As kaiako and leaders, our mahi is not only to teach but to hold space, for grief, for hope, and for one another.
Ahakoa He Iti, He Pounamu
Through this journey, I’ve been reminded that leadership lives in the small acts of kindness that ripple outward. Each shared resource, each letter, each conversation contributes to the collective strength of our waka.
Ahakoa he iti, he pounamu — although it is small, it is precious.
Every gesture, no matter how simple, helps us move together toward wellbeing.
As we continue this voyage, may we remember:
The strength of our waka lies not in the speed of our paddling, but in the unity of our hearts.
He waka eke noa — we are all in this together.