Stella Kenyon - memories of a Cook Island girl at CCNZ.

I was 14 years old when I came to Church College with a group of students from the Cook Islands. We all qualified for the title of FOB because we travelled here by boat. The boat carried among many things, bananas and the original Raro Juice. 

We were the last of the two groups that came here, carrying our own hopes and dreams and those of our parents. We all came from similar backgrounds - poor, with parents who struggled to put food on the table and clothes on our backs. Our family was not from Rarotonga so we did not have our own home and were at the mercy of relatives who shared their home with us or gave us a place to stay until it was not convenient. Our last home for 6 months was a one room house 5mx4m with a curtain that divided the sleeping area from the dining. Our stove was a single primus burner, a food safe but no fridge. We had the luxury of electricity for lights which we had not previously had. 

My father had left Rarotonga to live on another island a few years before and I still missed him desperately. My mother and I clashed and I could not voice the unhappiness I felt inside but there were many nights that I hoped I would go to sleep and not wake up. I did not know there was a name for what I was feeling but when I was told that we were going to Church College, I knew that everything was going to be alright. 

Being accepted into CCNZ literally saved my life.When I arrived that March day in 1972, the view of the David O. McKay building was an awesome sight, drawing the eye to the temple in the background. I was filled with awe and reverence, feeling so privileged and humbled that I was going to be schooled in such magnificence. Rarotonga's tallest building was only 2 storeys. You can imagine what it was like for a girl fresh of the boat and out of the islands to see and view those buildings. 

I had no wish to break school rules or wander off its boundaries. Its beautifully manicured lawns and flowered borders, the rose gardens with its scent that filled the air as we walked down the blocks, made up for the lack of coconut trees, ocean breezes and the sound of the surf that had usually lulled me to sleep at night. I was dismayed by the grumbles of fellow students that complained about the restrictive rules and cafe food. I could not understand their feelings because I had come from a home where the consequences for disobedience could be mighty sore and to be able to walk anywhere on the college grounds was absolute bliss. 

The food was out of this world for someone for whom supper sometimes meant sugared hot water and a slice of plain bread, eaten and sometimes dunked to make it last. Savouring the last mouthful was something I knew how to do and I did savour and appreciate every mouthful of cafeteria food; even the chicken bones did not go to waste. 

I was fearful of not passing exams and that gave me impetus to study (sometimes last minute because my love of reading could at times over ride the fear) and I left having achieved UE.

There were many that left dissatisfied with their Church College experience and those that did not achieve the hopes their parents had for them. My story is not unique. What is however unique, is the legacy and individual stories of sacrifice and achievement made by the builders, families, whanau and the Iwi who supported the building of these magnificent and awesome buildings. The David O McKay building is not only a monument of its size but a fitting and worthy monument to that story. This is a monument worth keeping, deserving of its status as a heritage for all whose stories are interwoven in its bricks and mortar, the driven steel and plastered walls. It is a rallying cry to all those who rallied to the cry of Kia Ngawari. That gave and gave and gave. Not only of time and food, but of sweat and heart.
It is a worthy monument to the tears of tipuna who wanted the best for its rangatahi who were not been given the best by the system of its time and of today. 

All Iwi of the length and breadth of Aotearoa are part of this weaving – the raranga of hands and muscle that cooked, fed, built, dug and survived floods, cramped quarters and illness. That never gave up and never gave in. For whom failure was not a word or an idea. They are worthy of the building they built for it was worthily built and as they withstood the challenge of its day, so should this building and this campus stand as a challenge and a testament to all who say it can’t be done. 

The Labour missionaries showed it could be done and the challenge of Kia Ngawari should ring out loud, ring out strong. Iwi should unite and rally because memories grow dim, stories die with those that go and a room to show the taonga and pictures although of merit is not the same as the building that breathes, that can be seen and touched; to be admired and to be marvelled at. That is why monuments are built and we already have one. Kia Ngawari