I am proud to be a Disabled Māori woman.

Growing up mixed race, as well as being disabled on top of that, was extremely challenging. Especially growing up in Tūranga-nui-a-Kiwa ('Great standing place of Kiwa") or Gisborne (English city name) which is a small isolated town in the North Island of Aotearoa (New Zealand). At that time, I was the only one I knew of my age who used a walking frame and then eventually a wheelchair, so I didn’t have much representation and felt even more isolated than the town itself. But I’ll go into detail about why later.

At a young age, my disability and the way I looked didn’t stop me from getting involved in my Māori culture, even though I was the only light-skinned kid with blue eyes at the Marae. For those who don’t know what a Marae is - it’s the meeting grounds for Māori which belongs to a particular iwi (tribe), hapū (sub-tribe), or whānau (family). We see our Marae as tūrangawaewae - our place to stand and belong. As a kid, I mainly hovered around my dad, especially when it came to visiting whānau and going to our Marae for tangi’s (funerals) so at that point, I never feared that my own whānau ever saw me as any different and for all I knew I was a hardcore Māori even with the way I looked. I was also the only kid that was allowed to hang out at the aunty table because I couldn’t keep up with the kids playing outside the Marae. And dad was usually in the kitchen helping prepare the Kai (food) so you bet at the aunty table I was being passed all the freshly buttered slices of Māori bread (traditionally called Pararoa Rewena "flour leaven", which is a type of sourdough bread using biological leavening developed by Māori) and all the Milo I could drink (NZ version of hot chocolate) with at least 3 teaspoons of sugar and milk added. At that age, I never felt excluded or that I didn’t belong around my family which I’m thankful for.

Throughout primary school (elementary), I was involved in Kapa Haka - which is an important avenue for Māori to express and showcase our heritage and cultural Polynesian identity through song and dance. They would make inclusive adjustments for me like adding a chair for me to sit on because they knew getting up and down off the floor was difficult for me, especially during performances. At that time I was also still walking but unsteadily and needed assistance. But again that didn’t stop me from wanting to participate, I never felt like I didn’t belong there. If anything, I was fully encouraged especially since my Kapa Haka teacher knew where my whānau came from.

I continued Kapa Haka all the way up until intermediate (middle school) where I began using a wheelchair full time. I knew I still wanted to sign up even with me being in a wheelchair because it was no different from when I was using a chair at primary school. I remember my teacher at the time handing out the signup sheets to everyone in the class, and when I handed mine back to her once I was finished she said “you can’t participate, your wheelchair is not traditional” I felt like my heart dropped into my stomach and the color of my skin drop to the floor. I could barely get a word out to reply to her, but nodded my head and went back to my desk. I was mortified, I was crushed, I was confused, I was angry. I felt every emotion under the sun and instead of directing that anger at the teacher, I directed it at myself. “My wheelchair is not traditional, I don’t belong here”; “what’s the point in being Māori”; “I don’t belong”;” I hate my wheelchair”; “I hate my disability”. All these thoughts and more were in my head from age 11 until age 19. I shunned away from my culture, afraid that I would be looked down upon. I hardly went to the Marae anymore with dad, and if I did, I felt uncomfortable the entire time. A Marae is our place to stand and belong and that feeling was taken away from me. Anything to do with my culture I felt like I couldn’t participate, it was burned into my brain that I’m not traditional, therefore I have no right to get involved. I have no right to be here. The once hardcore Māori I thought I was, was now gone. An empty shell of isolation and loss of identity. You’re probably wondering why I let an intermediate teacher have that much power over me, and you’re right but for 9 years I was in a battle of self-hate and her comment was the core of the tumor that took over me until I was hollow and had nothing left.

From age 20 to my age now 24, I’ve been on a journey of discovering who I am after hitting absolute rock bottom. I needed to find my inner acceptance and self-love again; it was a must otherwise I would continue to dwindle into nothingness. It took a long time to untie the knots of self-hatred. To apply love to the burns that were scarred into my brain. To fall in love with myself and my culture all over again, and for the first time since I was a kid. I feel as if I belong. I know I have my tīpuna (ancestors) watching over me, cheering me on in the afterlife. I am a part of the new generation of Māori warriors, with a unique story to tell. My wheelchair is my waka, (Māori watercraft - canoe) it’s carried me through life and has been an extension of my freedom. I am proud to be a Disabled Māori woman.

Ko Noell Ratapu toku ingoa,

Ko Maungahaumi te maunga

Ko Mangatu te whenua

Ko Waipaoa te awa

Ko Rongowhakaata, Te Aitanga-a-Māhaki te iwi

My name is Noell Ratapu,

My mountain is Maungahaumi

My land is Mangatu

My river is Waipaoa

My tribe is Rongowhakaata, Te Aitanga-a-Māhaki