Dinner with a Cannibal (eBook)

In the early 1970s, my late husband, Dick Travis, purchased a carved wooden Maori lintel (a decorative horizontal piece affixed over a door or window) in the area of Rotorua on the North Island of New Zealand. In 1981, the two of us returned to New Zealand anxious to findmore of these wonderful carvings, but to our dismay none could be found. Regardless of shop or gallery, no Maori carvings were available for sale. Finally a shopkeeper told us that the carvings were no longer being produced and that the older ones had been collected by the national museums, which were where we found them, each one carefully mounted behind glass enclosures and well guarded. In our search for Maori lintels, we were told by white New Zealanders that there were only about 80 fullblooded Maoris left and that the Maori would soon join the thousands of races that exist solely in text.

In the fall of 1985, I was in the city of my birth, Los Angeles, where I had the good fortune to meet Mr. Gavin Thompson, trade commissioner to Los Angeles from the New Zealand Consulate. I told him about the lintel and how much I wished to know more about the meanings behind thecarving. Mr. Thompson said, 'I have the perfect man for you in my office. His name is Erima Henare. He is Maori and an expert in the field of Maori art. I am sure he would be interested in your carving.' I lamented that I hadto fly back to Wyoming the following day, but promised to respond with a photo and letter as soon as possible. I kept my promise, but by the time I could return to Los Angeles it was February of 1986. I reread the letter Ihad received from Vice Consul Erima Henare. The last paragraph read, 'I am pleased to see that you purchased the carving while in New Zealand and above all have an appreciation of fine art.'

I picked up the phone and called Mr. Henare. We exchanged pleasantriesand backgrounds. As we got into the field of anthropology, I threw in a blockbuster, 'A friend of mine gave me a very precious Christmas gift, a book published in 1876 entitled The Human Race by Louis Figuier. Mr. Figuier states that your people were avid cannibals. I know a Fijian chiefand know well the pride they take in their past dining modes. I had known your people to have consumed human flesh, but I had not been aware they had added such protein to their diet in such an ardent fashion. Mr. Figuier writes, 'the New Zealanders are openly and cynically cannibals, that they relish with extreme satisfaction the palpitating flesh of enemies who have fallen at their hands.' He also states that your women were filthy and smelled of fish oil.'

After a brief hesitation Erima came back with mock disdain, 'Doyou realize that you are speaking to a full-blooded Maori?'

With a chuckling voice, I replied, 'Marvelous. You are just the man who can answer all of my questions.' A time for meeting was quicklyarranged.

I arrived at the New Zealand Consulate two days later at 4:30 p.m. A Fijian receptionist greeted me and buzzed me through to Erima's office. 'It will be just a moment,' she said.

I looked over the library in the consulate's waiting room. It was an anthropologist's dream, and I wished I were a champion speed-reader. Iwas perusing a photo of a carving of a well-endowed Maori male when the door from the inner office opened and Erima Henare came forward to greet me. Erima is a tall, impressive man and more than I had expected. He is well over six feet and handsome in both build and appearance. He has great dark eyes and a head of black hair that would make a bald man pale. His hair is not coarse, but wavy, with a thickness and blackness never found on a Caucasian. His smile pleased me and I willing