As I look out to the sea, my eyes are blinded by blue. The bottom of my line of sight is framed with green trees, and I can almost taste the saltiness of the seaspray. I turn my head slightly to the left, and just out of the corner of my eye, I see movement. My ears prick as I hear a chorus of greetings, of ‘how’s your day going?’ said through a smile.
The community surrounding Waimanako is vast and steadfast. It’s not just made up of the people who we see there every week. The roots run much deeper than that.
I’ve spent the majority of my adult life on the outskirts of ‘community’. I lived in Te Whanganui-a-tara for many years, cultivating a beautiful circle of friends throughout my university life and career, and for the most part, I stuck with them. I clung to what was comfortable. It was only when I moved back to Taranaki that I realised how much I craved community.
For me, growing up in Ngāmotu looked like smiling faces and warm greetings on our beautiful walkways. It was picnics at Tūpare with friends, and youth orchestra concerts once every school term. It was drama competitions and lunch-time band practices.
As I entered adulthood, I took all these relationships for granted. I moved away and didn’t pursue music anymore. I didn’t join any groups or teams, and justified my self-exclusion as ‘being busy’. Only when I approached my mid-twenties did I see the sort of effect this had on me. I had missed my home.
In the past four months that I’ve been involved with Taranaki Retreat and Waimanako, I’ve seen more aroha, more compassion and deep care than I had in a long time.
I wasn’t here for the opening of Waimanako. I wasn’t around to see the community that built Waimanako and nourished it into the vibrant, supportive hub we have today. But I have been around for our move to the Tasman Club; the farewell of the Metro Plaza, the transitional two-week period, and the opening of Waimanako tuarua.
A large part of my role at Taranaki Retreat is to capture what I’m witnessing. To take photographs and videos, and at some point, write down what I thought about it all. For the most part, that puts me on the sideline; I watch, I listen, and I take in all the beauty. I ‘capture’.
What I have captured has moved me.
I’ve seen the faces of those in deep conversation, sharing their life story with a listening ear.
I’ve seen kai gratefully accepted and enjoyed.
I’ve seen how a short greeting, a simple smile, can change someone’s entire day.
As we prepared to farewell Waimanako at the Metro Plaza, I got to witness the raw emotions of my team. This team has so much pride in what Waimanako is all about and what has been achieved here. As boxes were packed, furniture was moved, and we began to let our community know about our move, there was an odd combination of grief and excitement. Some of our team shed tears as they started their farewells to the Metro Plaza. Others quietly celebrated the move; a move away from the Metro Plaza floods, freezing temperatures and lack of windows to the outside world. Despite how each member of our team felt, all of us acknowledged the magnitude of this move and of the impending demolition of the Metro Plaza.
We had two farewell ceremonies, and I captured everything. Our first poroaki was for our street whānau, our second for our wider community. It was a celebration of all that Waimanako has achieved over the past four years, and a mourning of a place that so many have called home. Throughout our farewells, there were moments where I allowed myself to be truly present, to be unfocused on the camera angles or whether my hand was starting to shake mid-video. It was in these moments that I witnessed immense gratitude, heartfelt tears, and an overwhelming sense of community.
We take a lot of comfort in our ‘home’. It’s not always the place that we live, or where we sleep at night. For so many people, Waimanako has become their home. It’s been a space of safety, of support, of inclusion and empowerment. A place where everyone is welcome and everyone is cherished.
Although there’s been a lot of change – our location has changed, our menu is different, even our hours have been tweaked – our kaupapa has remained the same, and we will continue to be here.
We hope that Waimanako i te taha moana – Waimanako by the sea – will continue to be ‘home’.