My Whānau Saved My Life

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A young brother talks about living with HIV and the role his whānau played in his life

I wanted to sleep somewhere where they had sheets and curtains – things I didn’t have at home. I wanted these nice things. I got them and I wasn’t going to give them up for a family who didn’t really give a fuck. But really, when I actually went home, my mother had been crying from the time I left her doorstep till the time I got back. I never thought about it like that.

I was just one of those loose little Māori boys. I knew the lifestyle I lead at the time and the broken home I had as a child. It was very ‘Once Were Warriors’.

You get old enough to get away from all that, and you get to a big city and nothing can stop you. I could get practically anything I wanted, whenever I wanted it. After I was diagnosed I didn’t know what to do – my life was turned upside down before I knew I had balls. I thought of going straight home to my parents, but I thought that would have been the worst thing to do – they’re too staunch.  They only believe in one thing, and that’s just being family. They didn’t know the meaning of HIV or AIDS.

So, I kicked around in Auckland. I was in denial, and I put myself in a position where I couldn’t find a way out. The only thing I could turn to was drugs. You name it, I took it. I lost friends. I lost everything I had. On my 19th birthday I turned up at my flat and there was nothing in it. Someone had robbed me. That was it.

I started to get symptoms.  My partner asked, wasn’t it about time I went home to my family?

‘No’, I said. ‘No way.  They won’t want to know, a Māori family’. I just pictured my childhood – the yelling and the screaming.

But he convinced me to go home. He’d never been to Kawhia. He thought it was some enormous place like Taupo or Napier. I think it was the way I talked about it – I talked about home like it was the best place in the whole wide world, just amazing. We planned a weekend to go, but I got really sick.  I ended up in hospital instead. They wanted to know if I had family and I said yes.  They asked did I want them to call them and I said no. “Don’t you dare.  If you do, I’m out of here.” A day later, I was worse. They rang my family. They rang Kawhia.

When I opened my eyes the next morning – tubes in my nose – my father was at the end of the bed – this man who was so staunch. He had everybody there, the kaumatua, my two nannies, my koro, everything I needed at the time. I had been too afraid to go near them.  I just closed my eyes again and pretended I was on morphine, that there was no one there. But, I could feel my little brother’s hand in my hand. He put a big pounamu in it. I’ll never forget it. My nanny said, “it’s time to take you home.”

In Kawhia, the first thing I did was go to the cemetery, to see people who had died of AIDS and gone home. These people died, but never managed to have their say before they passed away. They were brought home which was a barrier breaker for me – my tohunga had dealt with it. My family is so well known, they were expecting it. I thought I was going home to this whole big tragedy, but as soon as I walked through Kawhai Road and got to my mother’s and dropped my bag, there was this big warmth, this big awhi, the weight being lifted off my shoulders and replaced with a whole lot of softer feelings.

I was blessed and shown the ways, and got in touch with my reo. I was a little bit rusty but my grandmother brings it out of you because she doesn’t speak any English. She asks me all these questions about men and how I got it and I had to tell her I didn’t have a clue and I didn’t want to think about it. She just told me to be strong because my whole whānau was there for me.

I’ve had an amazing year, a year that any positive man would wish for. My family know that I love being loved and love attention and they did that. They’re so proud of me. My whānau made sure that I had joy in me. Without them I wouldn’t be healthy and on my way.