Biography of Miriama Smith
Sulphur City
April 6th, 1998 (NZ Woman’s Weekly)
| Shortland Street’s Miriama Smith follows her heart back
to Rotorua where her family’s Maori heritage lies – and a rather
unique smell awaits visitors.
Whenever I take a visit back to my home town, there’s one thing
that lets me know I’m nearly there. It’s not the signs, the
buildings or the familiar landmarks, but the exclamations from the other
passengers in my car.
"Okay – who farted?"I simply smile, take a deep breath
and reply, "Oh, yeah. I’m home."
I’m talking about the smell of sulphur so unique to Rotorua. I call
Rotorua my home town because that’s where I was born, where my
family’s Maori heritage lies, and where a lot of my extended family
still live.
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Aged 3 years
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On Thursday, 3 June, 1976, a new baby entered the world at 9.21am. She was a
3500g healthy girl, slightly jaundiced, with lots of dark hair and a great set
of lungs. Pamela Copland and Edwin Smith were delighted with the arrival of
their baby girl. "She’s kind of ugly but she’s kind of beautiful,"
said her dad.
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A cheeky Miriama at three.
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That baby was me, Miriama Te Rangimarie. My family, which
includes my brother Krishna Tamaiti, lived in several houses around
Rotorua before settling for a small four-roomed house, with an outside
loo and lean-to laundry, in Whakarewarewa.
That’s a village just on the outskirts of Rotorua, famous for its
hot mud pools and steaming geysers. It’s a special place, full of
tourists and penny divers during the day and very spiritual at night,
with stream rising and the local villagers going for baths or cooking
their kai (food) in the hot springs.
Although I only lived in Rotorua until I was four, I stayed there
many times during my childhood and have a lot of fond memories of the
free-and-easy village lifestyle, especially in comparison with the busy
city life I now lead.
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Jumping off Whakarewarewa Bridge for money is one of my strongest memories
and was a favorite pastime for many of the local children.
We’d wait for a bus load of tourists to arrive at the village entrance and,
as they walked over the bridge, we’d all jump into the river below and call
out, "Can you throw some money in, please?"
The really brave children would jump from the bridge and do bombs and flips
on their way down, much to the delight of the tourists. Then they’d throw
money, mainly coins, into the river for us to dive for.
Once found, we’d store the money inside our cheeks to keep our hands free
for the next dive. The children with the biggest cheeks got most the money.
In some places it’s handy to have big fists growing up but in Whakarewarewa
it was always handier to have big cheeks.
We’d dive for money all year round. Sometimes in winter, when the water was
really cold, we’d all sit in the hot pools, another favorite feature of
Whakarewarewa, waiting for the tour parties. When they arrived, we’d run to
the river calling out once again.
As soon as they moved on, we’d jump back into the hot pools, our teeth
chattering but cheeks loaded.
The Japanese tourists were the most generous. Sometimes they would even wrap
a $10 or $20 note around the coins and throw them in. Any kid who was lucky
enough to get one could afford to call it a day and go straight to Whakarewarewa
dairy, where all our earnings were spent.
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Big brother Krishna (3) holds his baby sister.
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It tended to be mainly the boys who, indulged in the
diving. Occasionally, I’d just sit on a rock by the river and smile
sweetly, and the tourists would throw me money. So I guess being a girl
growing up in the village had its advantages.
I’m sure the local children must have thought all their Christmases
had come at once when the one and two dollar coins were introduced.
You could say my love of performing is closely related to the
environment I was in from a young age.
From the simple act of diving off the bridge for money, to the more
complicated waiata aringa (action song), haka and poi, I loved
performing for people wanting to get a taste of traditional Maori
culture.
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| Even the hissing geysers would come to the party, spraying
huge shoots of water and steam at regular intervals.
Rotorua is well known as the thermal wonderland of Aotearoa. That’s
an apt name in my opinion because it’s so full of life, beauty and
culture. Whenever I return to Whakarewarewa, the memories of my
childhood come flooding back and fill me with immense joy, but also a
touch of sadness. Joy because of the good times, but sadness because
I’m reminded of family members who have passed away, and the tangi
that have been held at Wahiao (the village wharenui) in their honour.
The old four-roomed house we lived in 20 years ago only just manages
to stand upright now that age and weathering have got the better of it.
Modern houses and shops are being built around the old whare and the
village is very different to the Whakarewarewa I knew as a child. Even
so, no matter how many other places I live in, I’ll call it my home
town.
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By Miriama Smith