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My waka is Mataatua.
White Island is my ancestral island.
My river is Whakatane
and my ancestor is Wairaka.
That's me on my mother's side.
On my father's side, I am of Te Arawa waka.
Ngongotaha is my mountain.
Tarawera is my river.
My lake is Rotorua,
and Tamatekapua is my chief.
When I was born,
my biological mother died from a haemorrhage.
She died three days after I was born.
She knew she was dying
so she told my father, Pita Paoro,
'If I die,
'give my child to my sister, Kenehi, and Arthur Berryman.'
They are my adoptive parents.
They never had children of their own.
And I knew from the time I could speak
that I had two fathers.
For the first four years,
my grandmother, Mere Berryman, took care of me.
My parents weren't able to because they had to shear sheep.
She taught me many things, like how to grow food
and how to care for the garden.
How to fish for freshwater fish,
because we were very close to Rotorua Lake.
I also learnt how to gather freshwater crayfish,
which some tribes call 'kewai'.
My mother's name is Kenehi.
She's a Merito.
I remember when I was growing up I wanted to be a shearer
because that's what my father did.
My father didn't tell my mother that he taught me how to shear sheep.
One day during lunch,
my father and I jumped on the shearing board.
I saw his eyes suddenly grow this big
and I wandered what his problem was.
So I turned around and saw my mother there.
Now, my mother is a small lady.
But when she saw what my father had been doing,
she called out to him, 'Arthur, you stop what you're doing.'
Though my father was a very tall man with a big build,
my mother just looked up at him and said, 'Arthur,
'this boy is not to shear sheep.
'He's going to go to school to get an education.
'If I catch you teaching him any more,
'I will take my son and we'll leave.'
Well all of the shearers looked wide-eyed at my father.
I did too and I felt so sorry for him,
because even though my father knew how to fight,
he just put his head down and said 'yes'.
I grew older and soon enough I was ready for secondary school.
I thought at that time
I would be going to a school in Rotorua.
On my last day of primary,
I came back from school
and my mother told me to go to my room.
So I went and there on my bed
was a long pair of trousers.
I had never worn trousers before.
There was also a pair of brand new shoes.
'What are these for?' I asked.
'This is your school uniform.'
'What? Really?'
'You're going to Hato Petera.'
'Really? I don't want to.'
The night before I left home,
my mother said she wanted to talk to me.
I asked her why.
'Do you remember that time when I told your father off
'for teaching you how to shear?'
'Yes, I remember that time'.
"Well this is why;
"when I was old enough to go to high school,
"my father said to me,
'Kenehi, you won't be going to high school.'"
"I asked him why and he said I had to stay at home to milk cows
"so I could raise money to pay for my younger sisters' schooling."
There were two of them at St Josephs'.
So from that moment on she decided
that her children would not miss out on that opportunity.
On my first week at school,
I hated it.
I was hungry, always hungry!
So I left school.
I hitchhiked all the way home.
From the North Shore, all the way down to Rotorua.
When I arrived home,
my mother was there
cooking fried bread.
Boy, the aroma of the bread was mouth-watering!
She goes to me,
'What are you doing here?'
'I didn't like that school, so I came home.'
'Is that right?' she says.
'You go and sit in that corner
'until your father gets home from work.'
My father got home about 6pm,
so I spent three hours sitting there smelling fried bread!
My mother wouldn't give me any.
When my father got home,
he and my mother went to have a chat,
though I overheard them talking.
'This boy has run away from Hato Petera.'
'You go and freshen up
'and we'll take him back to school.'
Back then,
that was like traveling to Australia.
We arrived at Hato Petera in the middle of the night
and the priest came out.
His name was Dean Arling.
I heard my mother say to him;
'E Pa, you see this boy?
'I give you permission to tie him to his bed.'
Well I knew from then on
there was no point in running home again.
After that, however,
I ended up enjoying my time at school.
In fact, when it came time to graduating
after four years of being there,
I didn't want to leave.
After Hato Petera College, Charles spent two years
at Ardmore Teachers' Training College in Papakura.
Then returned home where he met his wife, Ann.
I came down this one time for a birthday.
We were there dancing and socializing.
I saw this woman.
She held herself well
and she was attractive too.
So I went over and asked her for a dance.
Her hair smelt lovely
and she was just beautiful!
So we danced.
I then asked her for her number and she gave it.
I called her and told her I was going back home to Rotorua.
I returned home to teach.
At that time we got married.
There!
Then we had our children,
my daughters.
We've been married for over 40 years
which I think is a really long time.
She keeps me on track.
If I go off that track,
she'd clip my ears and put me in my place.
She is the most important thing in my life,
her and my daughters.
They're my first love.
My second love is for diving.
Diving.
Diving for seafood, whether it's in the ocean,
in the lake, in the river, wherever.
This is what I love to do.
I wear a scuba tank, and I like to dive for crayfish.
It's one of the family favourites.
Sometimes it's difficult to catch
because nowadays there are very few that are close to the shores.
I use my boat so I can go to all the diving spots
where I know there are crayfish.
The start of crayfish season is in the middle of September.
At the moment the crayfish's shells are soft
and they're carrying eggs.
We're not allowed to get them then.
The right time is from September through to March.
In the beginning of the crayfish season,
the crayfish come up to the shallows.
You can catch them when they're 3 to 6 metres deep.
In October, they go deeper
and you can catch them
when they're about 5 to 10 metres deep.
Which is not too bad because I use diving equipment.
I remember this one time at our old rugby club,
it was nearly the end of the season,
and we all decided to go and learn how to dive.
So we joined the Rotorua Diving Club.
We were all Maori who went to learn how to dive at diving school.
And then it came time to learn how to dive in the ocean.
I remember that time clearly
because me and my friends didn't have the correct diving gears.
Back in those days we had our fins,
our rugby shorts, black singlet,
and a snorkel and mask.
Off we went on the boat.
It was our first time with our tutor and there were these Pakeha.
Boy did they have nice gears!
Proper diving suits,
and tank bottles too.
We didn't know how to use bottles back then.
As we were watching them my friend said to me,
his name was Rongo Puha and he was my main diving mate.
He said, 'Well let's just see who gets the most catch.'
When it came time to dive,
we filled up our sacks with crayfish, mussels and paua.
When the Pakeha came up, they also had a good catch.
It was all crayfish.
We looked over at them
and the tutor says they're going for another dive.
But because we were so bloody cold we couldn't join them!
Our Pakeha mates had three dives,
and us we only had one!
Well, when we got home,
we went to the diving shop and brought us some diving suits.
I remember that time well
because we were all around the same age,
married with young children.
So when we went diving, the whole family would come.
Now that Charles is older,
he needs to keep fit to be able to dive safely.
My body isn't what is use to be.
These days, in preparation for diving,
I go walking six days a week
for an hour and a half.
Then I come home.
I started this routine this year in mid-May
right through to now
and I finish this week.
Next week I start the next phase of my training
and that's swimming.
The beauty of diving
is that it's a time for me to relax and clear my mind,
to contemplate on my family and my work and other things.
It's also time off from my family, my wife and my job.
It's therapy for me,
because when I return from diving I feel invigorated.
When my children were growing up, I came back to Auckland University.
Then I spent 8 years teaching at Bay of Islands College.
When I finished there,
I came back to Auckland
and got a job at ATI, as it was called then.
The position was to teach Maori and traditions.
I was chosen for part of the position
and Ngapo Wehi was also chosen to fill the position.
It was a good role
because Ngapo and I worked well together.
When I was done planning how we could work together,
I said, 'Ngapo, you're an expert in Maori traditions
'so you can teach that and I'll teach the language.'
'Is that ok?'
'Yes,' he said,
'you teach in the morning and I'll teach in the afternoon'.
And that's how it was back then.
Ngapo and I were the first Maori to teach there.
But back then when I had the job we had little resources.
Charles had many positions in the education sector,
today, however, he is the Iwi Relations Advisor
at the Auckland International Airport.
I've been working in this position for two years
as the Iwi Relations Advisor.
The great thing about it is that there are many different parts,
but my main job is to take care of the relations
here at the airport.
A lot of Maori bring back their dead.
Most from Australia,
some from America, France, Spain, Dubai, Japan,
from all over the place.
We've had someone die while in the bathroom.
And because there are so many people coming and going in this place,
we had to quickly close the area and bless it.
Two hours is too long.
The reason why we bless the area is because of the cleaners.
The majority of them are Maori and Pacific Island,
and they won't go in there until a blessing has been made.
Once it's done,
they can then go in to clean the area.
This other time, someone had died on the plane.
When I went over there,
I saw Maori and Pacific Islanders waiting.
I asked them what they were doing.
They said they were waiting for a minister to remove the tapu
because someone had passed away in the plane.
I said, 'That's me.'
I asked if any of them could come and join me to sing a hymn.
And a Samoan lady agreed to come along.
So we went into the plane and lifted the tapu,
sang the hymn and it was done.
So they continued on with their work.
Over the years, Charles has worked with,
and been inspired by,
many leaders of Maoridom.
I believe I'm very fortunate
to have worked alongside some of the many elders
who are experts in there specific fields.
Whether it's in education, music, Maori traditions or oratory skills.
Elders from the north
right through to the rest of the country.
Sir James Henare from Northland and his wife Aunty Rose.
There was also Brownie Puriri,
and Selwyn Wilson who was an expert
at teaching art in secondary schools.
When I came down to Auckland there were many more.
But when I was up north working at the education board,
well they had experts there.
The ones I remember were very close to me,
like Willy Kaa from Northland,
and Wally Penetito.
When I came to Rotorua,
there was Dawn Taikato and Derek Morrison.
Another person I worked with
was Morvin Simon from Whanganui.
Now, he is a gifted composer.
Now that Charles has kids and grandchildren,
he finds that he has the same dreams that his mother had for him.
The first thing is this,
that my children know who they are and where they come from,
and know their ancestral lineage.
That they can converse in Maori.
The second thing is that they are well educated.
Now my grandchild,
whose picture is on my mobile phone,
he's usually over there playing on my iPad.
He knows how to open it
and move all of my work to the side
so he can play his game,
Angry Birds.
And I think it's just great.
It's good for them to learn those things.
It's a good tool for research.
There's also things like Twitter and YouTube - utilise it all.
You don't have to stay here in Aotearoa and work,
travel the world because there's work out there,
then come home.
So this is my proverb for my grandchildren;
strive for the heights of education.
That's it.
As said by our ancestors,
you never walk alone in this world.
We are on your shoulders, walking with you.
That's where we belong.
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