Tītī and Trash

by Jacqueline Petroski (United States of America)

I didn't expect to find New Zealand

Uncle Denis is of Waitaha Katiamoe decent, from the southernmost part of New Zealand’s South Island. He explains to me that traditionally the southernmost Māori tribes and their descendants have the rights to harvest Tītī, also known as muttonbird. Uncle Denis is retired, and has come to Fox River for the same reason all of us did: to pick up rubbish. Fox Glacier township could be easily mistaken for a roadside truck stop. If you took the time though, you’d notice the small cafes and the large scale Sasquatch outside of the bar and hostel called Big Foot. You’d know that the Ivory Towers hostel is run by a family who takes the time to stoke the fire, and keep a ‘dry room’ for the Fox River volunteers on days when the rains join the clean up effort. We all meet each morning at the Department of Conservation site and hop in the back of an all terrain defense force vehicle, shoulder to shoulder with 11 other volunteers. We jostle our way down the Fox riverbed, where a landfill with 135,000 tons of rubbish washed into the Fox River three months ago. With gloves and good intentions we excavate log jams built up of broken trees, twigs, car tires, shopping bags, rocks, and tattered shoes. Some days we return to our hostels heavy with mud, rain, and the guilt of knowing we are part of the problem. One day after returning from a cold day on the riverbed, Uncle Denis is hard at work cooking up what he tells me is a traditional kiwi feast. Tītī. He tells me that it will taste more like fish than it will like bird. “They live and eat seafood. The salt water, that life- you can taste it.” He goes on to quickly explain the process used to preserve the tītī. The birds are defeathered, dipped in wax, which is cracked off when dried, then the tītī is covered in salt and stored in a container. “Just salt?” I ask. “Well, wax first. Then yeh, just salt” Uncle Denis tells me. He can see the look of question in my eyes, but doesn’t offer further explanation. Instead I go over to the boiling pot on the stove and peak in. The steam leaves a trail through the kitchen of vegetables saturated in grease and ocean. Once Uncle Denis declares that the feed is ready, I stand next to him and pass the plates. On each plate he places a muttonbird and spoons out a large helping of broth, carrot, cabbage, and potatoes. As the plates make their way to the counter, Melissa- one of the localvolunteers walks in. Her eyes widen and her mouth opens. “On my volunteer form, where it asked if I had special dietary requirements, I put muttonbird!” Uncle Denis smiles and pushes a plate in her direction. None of us sit. None of us have utensils. Our fingers grasp for the tītī. I am surprised by how salty it is. I feel that I’ve swallowed the sea and my face reacts appropriately. My eyes squint, lips squish towards my nose and my tongue tries to wipe off the remaining salt without ingesting it. “It’s not bad,” I try to explain. “It’s just…salty.” Uncle Denis laughs. I take a few more finger-fulls, but then decide to stick to the vegetables. Melissa explains through mouthfuls of muttonbird, that this river is part of her. That the places we come from are tied with the people we are. She teaches me the Māori word for river is ‘the awa’, and that kaupapa whānau is a family that’s brought together by a common goal. “You’re part of this whānau, now,” she tells me. Fox Glacier township could be easily mistaken for a roadside truck stop. If you took the time though you’d see Uncle Denis in the kitchen, and people gathered around a counter, laughing and eating and talking rubbish. Our connection to a place because of the people, and a connection to a people because of the place. Ko Fox te awa. My river is Fox.