Recently I attended Te Matatini o Te Kāhui Maunga in New Plymouth. Matatini occurs every second year and is Aotearoa’s national kapa haka competition; gathering together hundreds of kaihaka and thousands of spectators for a week to celebrate kapa haka. Kapa travelled from as far as Australia to compete this year and the calibre was unlike any other.

I’ve never stood for a competitive kapa at Matatini before. The dedication of everyone involved in the group; kaihaka and kaitautoko alike to create an original matatini-quality bracket takes months of preparation and seemingly endless hours at noho marae sharpening up every aspect of the performance.

Squashed in my front row spot with the other diehard fans, I started to feel a sense of dread creep over me – I’m nowhere near the skill level of these kaihaka and yet I spend heaps of time teaching kapa haka. Am I a fraud?! Should I leave the teaching to the pros?! Leave it to someone who can twirl 4 long poi at once, someone who has impeccable reo, or someone who can haka for 30 minutes straight.

But that is not the point of Matatini.

The point, in fact, is the opposite. How lucky are we that the competition showcasing the greatest kaihaka in the world is right in our backyard? That we can watch the best of the best at what they do and celebrate kapa haka, waiata, te reo and te ao Māori.

Why was I so quick to jump to what I can’t do? Why does the thought that someone can probably do it better than me mean that maybe I shouldn’t try? Why was my immediate response not feeling lucky that I get to share these taonga too, and maybe inspire others the way that Matatini inspires me?

I went home thinking about what drives me to teach kapa haka. It’s not about the kids getting it perfect. It’s not about making sure the ā-ringa are in sync. And it’s definitely not about being the best kaihaka in the world. I love teaching at kura because I get to be present with tamariki, I get to share my favourite waiata in a fun, accessible way and we all get to celebrate te ao Māori together. The tamariki don’t have to get it right, they just have to give it a go. And it is a privilege to be the person who gets to facilitate that.

I’m glad I didn’t let my imposter syndrome get the better of me. I’m glad I remembered my own kapa haka super powers. And I’m really glad I sat in te mana o te Matatini for the rest of the week feeling the power of what I can share, rather than the helplessness of what I can’t.

He waka eke noa, we’re all working towards the same goal. It’s takes a collective effort to keep our sacred culture alive and exciting for our children. Even if that’s just with a ‘mōrena’ or a ‘kei te pēhea koe’. Give it your best shot, have fun and don’t worry that you’re not a Matatini queen.