Not Unlike a Tūī

By Marie-Eve Bernier

We made the decision on a windy day. Walking around our local park to discuss this, as we always did with important matters. After many failed opportunities to move to New Zealand, the fourth time was a go. This time it was calling loudly and there were no more excuses. Exchanging my beloved city with all my dreams that came with it for promises of a new and healthier life in New Zealand. What finally persuaded me, as a true nature enthusiast, was the idea of discovering new flora and native birds. “Think how wonderfully exotic it will be,” my husband said, affectionately holding my hand.

Still holding my hand as I looked out of the small plane window with sea views stretching farther than I could see, my husband seemed anxious, perhaps the reality finally hitting him as well. Our plane was being struck with gusts of wind. The very winds I had been warned about, ‘windy Wellington’ they told me; information I had most likely discounted to stay positive about the move.  These winds are either welcoming us or making us crash, I thought, perhaps a metaphor for what was to come. Safely landed, we were relieved to have arrived at last. Feeling unsettled by the bumpy landing, I was still hopeful. The little of New Zealand I had witnessed from the flight was unquestionably scenic, I was eager to discover more.

As a Québecoise who had spent the last seven years in the UK, I felt terribly out of place. Another relocation was a reminder of how far I was from home. Perhaps I would settle here eventually but wasn’t yet convinced. These thoughts prompted a spiralling state of negativity, it is probably not advisable to get so introspective when jet lagged. Just as the strength of the winds had surprised me, I was unexpectedly pleased to see that New Zealand’s reputation of kindness and friendliness preceded them, even more than I was originally led to believe. I was touched by the warmth shown by the customs officers who reached beyond their stern stereotype, took the time to ask me how I felt and enquired as to how they might help me settle into the country. A small kindness with lasting impact. 

“I saw a kiwi”, confidently proclaimed my husband on our first day. Not wanting to hurt his ego, I gently explained that kiwis were a nocturnal endangered species. It was highly unlikely that he had seen one roaming around the neighbourhood in the bright morning sun. Disappointed he had not seen a native bird after all, I suggested we go to Zealandia, our local ecosanctuary. Home to 40 different species of native bird, if we didn’t like anything in Wellington, I was certain we would love Zealandia.

Not yet having a permanent place to live or a job secured for myself, it was rather telling of my questionable priorities that my first outing in New Zealand was to an ecosanctuary. I’ve always had an insatiable thirst for nature and Zealandia would be my antidote to my unbearable jetlag, responsibilities would have to wait. 

Having moved from the northern to the southern hemisphere felt like I had cheated mother nature by skipping winter and gaining a second summer. A private scheme with myself, leaving me feeling smug like I had uncovered one of life’s great mysteries. It was a spectacular time of year to have arrived. Just on the verge of summer, the flora was generously exquisite. I was surrounded by silver ferns, the symbol of New Zealand. I felt a sense of connection with these native plants that grow by unfurling, perhaps I would also open up to my new surroundings in a similar way. More than a national symbol, the silver fern in the Māori culture represents strength, resistance and enduring power – qualities that I would need to adapt to my new home. As a foreigner or a Pākehā, I was grateful for this reminder.

“Where on earth can you be from?” said the lady in my Zealandia tour group. This type of bluntness is not unusual to me. English being my second language and having lived in many different places throughout my life means there is a unique sound and slang to my speech. My accent is often unrecognisable which can leave others curious, and at times even rude. I have mixed feelings about how I sound. My speech, a reflection of the many places I have lived, is more revelatory than I would like. My unconscious adaptive and mimicking accent most likely comes from a desperateness to blend in with my entourage. Ironically, my uncontrollable inflections mean I usually stand out. In this tour, I learned that, not unlike me, the tūī bird has a complicated and distinct sound. Its call is often described in an assortment of descriptors ranging from a whistle, a cackle, a gurgle, a cough, a grunt, and a wheeze, and will often also mimic other birds. Perhaps it is just trying to adapt like me, I thought. I feel you tūī!

As one of the first inhabitants of New Zealand, the native birds have faced continuous threats to their existence from layers of colonisation and the introduction of predatory mammals. Although there is still a long way to go, I was impressed to learn about the efforts that have been made to protect and nurture native birds through projects such as building ecosanctuaries. I later learned that such initiatives are more than biodiversity projects, they are examples of kaitiakitanga, a concept deeply rooted in the Māori culture. This idea implicates responsibility, guardianship and protection of native land. These values have enabled rare birds such as tīeke, hihi, and little spotted kiwi to flourish in spaces such as Zealandia.

The beauty of Zealandia and its conservation efforts can be seen beyond its fences. It is not unusual to see tūī and kākā in the city centre, made possible by kiatakitagna. Being reminded of these values emphasises the importance that this country places on the natural world. That is something I could connect with, if nothing else. There is something so wholesome seeing important workers in town, taking time out of their busy days to stop and admire a native bird in a nearby tree. It seemed that everyone was at least an amateur bird enthusiast to some level. Strangers connecting over beautiful birds that were once endangered and can now be found freely across the city. The natural world brings New Zealanders and outsiders, like me, together. 

The novelty of seeing native birds has not yet worn off on me. I’ve had many pīwakawaka keep me company on long hikes, most likely to eat the insects behind me that had been disturbed by my stamping feet. But I enjoy my false narrative of them being my friendly walking companions. While the sight of such birds sparks joy, I am in awe learning their history. I was stunned by the famous story of the takahē, a beautiful native blue flightless bird who were once considered extinct until their rediscovery 50 years later. I like the ‘ta-da’ effect of the story, this twist in the plot of coming back from the dead, if you will. New Zealand’s nature has so many stories to tell and I am listening eagerly. 

Nature has since called me in many other ways. My first encounters with a stationary starfish, a sunbathing stingray and a pod of playful dolphins further reeled me in New Zealand’s natural wonders. These small exotic connections with nature made me extraordinarily happy. Often awakening to a spectacular sunrise, only to end the day with an equally beautiful sunset and then have my evening brightened by a luminous moon. When it is raining, if I am fortunate, I may be treated to a rainbow. The sky sometimes showing off even with double and triple colourful arches. I used to count my lucky stars if I witnessed a sunset and could only daydream of rainbows. It is no longer the exception, but the norm with such generous New Zealand skies. I never regret looking up. These small gifts from mother nature have truly made my life richer.It was in this state of gratefulness, surrounded by constant beautiful nature and learning kiatakitagna that I saw New Zealand for what it was, Aotearoa. What was once a foreign land became a safe place, a haven, and a home. I was captivated by the dramatic crimson red of the pōhutukawa trees blooming, a reminder that our life here would continue to blossom and that there were many more adventures to come. If I continued to pay attention to the kiatakitagna and carefully listened to nature’s stories, it would surely guide me through my journey. Just as the beautiful scent of lavender had once welcomed me in the UK, now the smell of fresh sea air was leaving me hopeful. These small nudges from nature constantly reminding me of what I have and to not take it for granted. Forever indebted to nature, I hope I can give enough back. I did find a home in Aotearoa. Only time will tell whether it is permanent, but I am certain that the winds won’t blow me away anytime soon as I am too deeply connected.

Marie-Eve is a Québécoise currently living in New Zealand. She loves playing outdoors and reading books. She works in the early years and has many baby friends. Marie-Eve has previously published in Montreal Writes, Litbreak Magazine and Quail Bell Magazine