Blast-off!
John Hart talks to Enoki Housia

Matò lè lei!  My name is Enoki Housia.  I'm from Tonga, and I'm in room 12 at 
Onehunga Primary School.  As part of a space technology study, our class made rockets 
that really flew.  We had heaps of fun.
To build the basic rocket shape, we rolled thin, soft card into a cylinder.  The 
cylinder was just large enough for an empty film canister to fit snugly inside one end.  
We taped the canister into place with the "lid" end facing out.  Then we gave our rocket 
wings and a pointy top.  
Last of all, we taped a paper clip onto the side of the cylinder.  This meant that we 
could clip the rocket onto the piece of thin fishing line that we'd stretched from one 
classroom wall to another.
Our rocket fuel was Alka-Seltzer tablets in water.  You can buy Alka-Seltzer tablets 
at the chemist's.  When the tablets dissolve in water, they give off a gas.  There isn't 
enough room in the canister for all the gas, so the canister's lid blows right off.  This 
propels the rocket along the fishing line – at least, that's what we hoped would happen.
Before we mixed the fuel, we had to sort out a few details – like how much water to 
use and if we should add just one tablet or two or three.  We decided to go for about 
one centimetre of water and one tablet.  
At last we prepared for our test run.  We added the water and the tablet to the fuel 
capsule (the canister).  We began the countdown, but … with only three seconds to go 
before blast-off, we discovered a leaky fuel capsule – mission aborted!  Someone ran 
for a mop while flight mechanic Matamoana made some repairs.
The second time round, everyone was feeling tense.  "Don't crowd me!" I said as I 
dropped the tablet into the canister.  Joshua put on the lid.  With ten seconds to go 
before blast-off we hooked the paper clip onto the fishing line.  Five seconds to go.  I 
held a block of wood against the rear end of the rocket.  This was to steady it – a rocket 
doesn't actually have to push off against anything to make it move forward.  Two 
seconds to go, and … blast-off!   
Yes!  Alka-Seltzer liquid sprayed into the air.  The rocket was propelled down the 
wire – and almost hit a hanging basket!  Everyone cheered wildly.  Mission 
accomplished – even if I did end up with rocket fuel all over me!
After the success of the launch, I got to thinking that maybe, if I taped enough 
rockets onto my arms, I'd be able to fly, too.  I decided to give it a go.  
"See you later, fàmili," I called.  "I'm off, rocketing back to Tonga!"
Make a Periscope
by Tom Rouse and Sue Fuller

Have you ever wished you could spy around corners and 
peep over walls?  With your own periscope, you can!  

You will need:
•	two small rectangular mirrors (each one should measure 
about l0 centimetres by 6 centimetres – ask for them 
in a hardware shop or at a glass cutter's)
•	an empty 1-litre milk carton (rinse it out with plenty 
of fresh water)
•	a square of card, 7 centimetres by 7 centimetres
•	a pen and a ruler
•	sharp-pointed scissors 
•	masking tape.

What to do
Getting started
•	With a pen, mark the front, the back, side A, and side B 
of your milk carton, as shown.

•	On the square of card, rule a diagonal line from one 
corner to another.  Cut the card in half to form two 
triangles.


The mirror slots
•	Place the two card triangles on side A of the milk 
carton, as shown.  
•	Draw two diagonal lines on side A of the carton, 
using the edges of the triangles as guides.  Begin 
each line from the upper corner of the triangle.  Each 
line should be the same length as the shortest side of 
your mirrors.    
•	Cut carefully along each diagonal line.  This will 
form two slots in side A.
•	Now work on side B of the milk carton.  Place the 
two triangles on the milk carton as shown.  Draw and 
cut the diagonal lines as you did for side A.  This 
will form two slots in side B.


Fitting the mirrors in place
•	Push one mirror through the two upper slots in the 
milk carton.  Make sure that its reflecting (mirror) 
side faces down.
•	Push the other mirror through the two lower slots in 
the milk carton.  Make sure that its reflecting 
(mirror) side faces up. 
•	Use masking tape to hold the mirrors firmly in place.  
Tape over any rough edges of the mirrors.

The peepholes
•	Draw a 4-centimetre by 3.5-centimetre rectangle on the 
upper front of the milk carton in the position shown.  
Cut out the rectangle.
•	Draw a 4-centimetre by 3.5-centimetre rectangle on the 
lower back of the milk carton in the position shown.  
Cut out the rectangle.


Using your periscope
Crouch down behind your desk.  Keep your head out of 
sight.  Hold the periscope so that the upper peephole is 
above the top of the desk.  Look through the lower 
peephole.  You can see what's going on, but you can't be 
seen.  Now try spying around corners!

How does your periscope work?  
When you look directly at an object, what you are really 
seeing is the light that is bouncing off it.

When you look at an object through a periscope, the light 
bouncing off that object turns two corners before it 
reaches your eyes.

Put a Ring around It
by David Hill

Any idea what you'll be doing at Christmas – in the year 2004, that is?  
Scientists know exactly what Cassini and Huygens will be doing.  Cassini (a 
spacecraft) and Huygens (its attached probe) are two parts of the Cassini Space 
Mission which left Earth on 15 October 1997 for a 7-year trip to the planet 
Saturn.  They are named after two early astronomers who had a particular 
interest in Saturn.  
At Christmas 2004, Cassini will be flying through silent black space at a 
temperature of minus 270 degrees Celsius.  Huygens (pronounced hoo-gens) will 
be glowing red-hot and racing towards an icy moon that may have life on it.  
Cassini's pre-dawn take-off from Cape Canaveral in the United States of 
America lit up the whole sky.  Nobody was allowed within 10 kilometres of the 
three huge rockets that blasted the spacecraft clear of the ground.  Packed with 
840 tonnes of fuel, the rockets burned for 12 minutes to get the spacecraft into 
orbit around the Earth.  Another 8-minute burn, and the rockets fell away.  
Cassini began hurtling off into space – away from Saturn!  
No one was worried.  It was meant to happen that way.  Cassini has a 
computer-controlled flight path, which will send it twice around the planet 
Venus, once round Earth, and once round Jupiter before it finally heads for 
Saturn.  The gravity of Venus, then Earth, and then Jupiter will make the 
spacecraft move faster and faster as it is pulled towards each planet.  At set 
times, computer-controlled boosts of power will change Cassini's flight path and 
send it flying away from each planet and off into space again – a bit like 
something flung from a spinning playground roundabout.  
Cassini will need all its speed on its 1-billion kilometre glide to Saturn, the 
second biggest planet in the solar system.  But although Saturn is 750 times 
the size of Earth, it's very light because it's made of gas.  In fact, if you put 
Saturn into a bath of water (a rather large bath), it would float.  Because 
Saturn is made of gas, it has no solid surface.  As for possible life on the 
planet, if there is any, it will be living in clouds, breathing hydrogen gas, and 
enduring winds that blow at up to 1600 kilometres an hour!
The Cassini spacecraft has instruments that will examine Saturn's 
atmosphere and try to find out why the planet is coloured pale yellow and grey.  
High-powered cameras will photograph its eighteen (as far as we know) moons.  
Why is one moon so smooth?  Why is another so brightly coloured on one side 
but dark on the other?  Why does a third moon have a backwards orbit?  Cassini 
could give some answers.
But mostly, the spacecraft's instruments will study Saturn's famous rings.  
Viewed edgeways, they're 2 kilometres thick.  Viewed from above, with Saturn 
sitting in the middle, they're twice as wide as the distance from Earth to the 
moon.  The rings are made of billions of pieces of ice, some as small as dust 
specks, others as big as a house.  Cassini will tell us more about them.
Near Christmas 2004, 4 months after Cassini has begun orbiting Saturn, part 
of the spacecraft will drop off.  Once again, no one will be too concerned – it's 
meant to happen.  The remote-controlled probe, Huygens, a flying-saucer-shaped 
metal disc the size of a giant truck tyre, will be released and start dropping 
towards Saturn's biggest moon, Titan.
Huygens will enter Titan's atmosphere at over 20 000 kilometres an hour. Its 
underside, made of special heat-resistant tiles, will glow red hot with the 
friction of Titan's gases.  A computer-controlled parachute will cut the descent 
speed to 1200 kilometres an hour.  A second parachute will slow the probe to 20 
kilometres an hour.  After two and a half hours of falling, Huygens will reach 
the surface of Titan and find …
No one knows what it will find.  Titan is always hidden under an orange-
brown haze, but astronomers think its freezing surface (minus 221 degrees 
Celsius) may be partly liquid, a bit like slushy ice.  Huygens is built to stay 
afloat for a few minutes while it sends information back to Cassini and on to 
Earth.
Why pick Titan?  Because of that orange-brown haze.  It's possible that the 
haze is caused by chemicals like those that existed on Earth when life here 
began.  
Five billion years from now, our Sun will grow bigger.  It will slowly heat up 
the solar system's inner planets, including Earth, until life here is impossible.  
It will also heat the cold outer planets and their moons.  When that happens, 
the chemicals on Titan could be warmed to the point where life starts to form 
there.
So Cassini and its Huygens probe might bring us our first look at where life 
will be 5 billion years from now.  Just don't expect to see any of that life before 
this Christmas!

The Big One
by Keith Tonkin

I think I was only nine years old when the headmaster came into 
our classroom, told us to put down our pencils, and with a very 
worried look on his face, explained that we all had to leave the 
school and climb the nearby hill.
We did as we were told.  I don't remember anyone being silly 
or pushing or fighting.  No one laughed either.  The whole school, 
classroom by classroom, quietly and obediently filed along the 
corridor, down the front steps, and out the driveway.
Some of us were afraid.  We had listened to our parents and 
the radio the night before, and we knew what had happened.  But 
even though we wanted to get up that hill quickly, no one 
panicked.  Not one person broke into a run as all two hundred and 
fifty of us slowly climbed, single file, up the old track we knew as 
"the zigzag".  At the top, on the broad, flat paddock overlooking 
our homes, we looked out to sea and waited.
We were watching the horizon for a thin, rising blue line that 
we expected would rush quickly towards us and break as a huge 
wave across the suburb below, destroying and splintering each 
building as it went.  Our imaginations even allowed for us to be 
covered in spray as the water dashed itself against the cliffs at 
our feet.
We were in Redcliffs, the seaside suburb of Christchurch, and 
it was 1960.  In Chile, over 10 000 kilometres away on the other 
side of the Pacific Ocean, a huge earthquake had destroyed cities 
and killed thousands of people.  The shock of the quake had 
shunted the whole ocean to the west, briefly sucking away the sea 
from part of the South American coast.  The returning water had 
rushed back with a disastrous surge that killed and destroyed.  
After it had receded, ships were left high and dry in city streets.
But the westward surge didn't stop there.  It continued on, 
heading towards New Zealand at about 800 kilometres an hour.  It 
would only be an unnoticeable shift to any ship on the deep ocean, 
but it was expected to build into a 15-to-20-metre-high wall of 
water as it reached the shore.  The radio news had called it a 
"tsunami".  We called it a "tidal wave".
In Redcliffs, and in Sumner, the next suburb around the 
shore, people were evacuating their homes and heading inland 
into the city.  From our hilltop, we watched the cars drive past 
the school, their bulging boots loaded with household valuables 
and tied down with string.  Some cars stopped, and panting mums 
and dads ran up the zigzag to collect their children.  Other 
parents came just to stay on the hill with us.  Some of my 
classmates began to cry.  "Where're my mum and dad?  They're 
going to get drowned."  Some were too scared to go back down the 
track with their parents.
To others, the whole situation became an entertainment.  We 
were now brave because we were safe.  In nervous excitement, we 
began to suggest to each other all the amazing things we might 
see.  We shouted whenever we thought we could see a change in 
the ocean.
Others were excited too.  City people, trying to get to the 
beaches for a closer look at the tidal wave as it approached, were 
making it difficult for the seaside residents to escape.  Police and 
traffic officers had to stop sightseers so that the Redcliffs and 
Sumner people could use both lanes to leave the area.  At Taylors 
Mistake, a beach just past Sumner, it was reported that a group 
of boys who had taken up the new sport of surfing were sitting on 
their long wooden boards several hundred metres out from shore 
waiting for that "special wave".  
Noone quite knew what to expect, and I don't remember how 
many hours passed before the "danger" was actually over.  But in 
the end, no huge wave roared over Redcliffs, and the boys on the 
boards at Taylors Mistake were disappointed.  Just before we kids 
climbed back down the zigzag, brown surges of high water began 
to pour past Shag Rock through the estuary mouth, but by then 
we knew that that was all we could expect from the "tidal wave".
The surges went on for hours, and after school that day, a 
friend and I ran up and down the yacht club jetty as each slosh of 
water chased us back to the sea wall.  The estuary and the open 
sea beyond looked churned up and muddy on the surface.  Houses 
close to the water were in danger of having their foundations 
washed out from under them, but one big disastrous wave never 
did smash its way ashore.
Local people talked about the "tidal wave that never was" for 
years afterwards, but now, almost forty years later, perhaps it 
has been forgotten.  Still, it would only take one big earthquake, 
somewhere out there in the Pacific, and the threat might be there 
again.

Snowboarder
Ian Trafford interviews ten-year-old Arlo about his favourite sport.

How did you learn to snowboard? 
I'd never seen snow, so one day my dad took me up to Rainbow Ski 
Area to check it out.  I hired a snowboard just for fun, mucked 
around, and fell over lots trying to learn.  After that, I went up the 
mountain a few more times and taught myself by watching the other 
boarders.  

What do you enjoy about the ski field? 
The snow and the mountains going on for ever are awesome.  The first 
thing I do when I get to the field is take the chairlift to the top and just 
burn down, carving turns all the way.  I went on a plane from Nelson 
to Christchurch once, and right down the South Island there are just 
heaps of mountains as far as you can see.  It would be so wicked to 
board on them.   
I like the people who work at Rainbow.  Some of the liftees know 
me now, and they always say, "Hi, Arlo."  When I come up from Nelson 
on the bus, the drivers are really good to me.

Are there any snowboarders you particularly admire?
I want to be as good as Jamie Bassett.  He's one of the older boarders 
on the mountain.  He does some awesome tricks, and he rides goofy 
(left-footed) just like me.  Most people ride natural (right-footed).  
Jamie gets big air (he makes big jumps), and he can pull off flat back 
flips and even land them.

What tricks can you do?
I can do lots of different jumps, and I like getting really big air.  I 
can switch and ride "fakey" (backwards), which is cool fun – and I'm 
working on a "540".  That's when I spin myself around one and a half 
times in the air – like 540 degrees.  I can get it in the air, but I can't 
land it yet.  lf I keep trying, I should be good by the time I'm 
sixteen.

How do you learn tricks?
After I've watched the older boarders doing them, I go over to an area 
called the West Bowl.  I find a steep hill and some soft snow, build a 
snow ramp or find one that's already there, and then just go hard.  Fresh 
powder snow is best for doing jumps.

Is there anything that can make snowboarding difficult?
Heaps of things:  cold weather, avalanches, rocks in your way, people 
skiing or riding out of control, runaway snowboards, or getting run over 
by a ski or a snowboard edge.  If we get a blizzard or a white-out 
(when there's mist everywhere), we can't see anything.  
Ice on the runs is dangerous.  Once I was racing real fast with my 
friend and he hit a patch of hard ice.  His board slipped out, and he did 
about ten roly-polies.  He smacked his head and everything.  It doesn't 
pay to go fast in icy conditions.

What happens if you do get hurt?
If you're boarding with someone else, they get the ski patrol, who tow 
you off the slopes in a type of toboggan or on a motorised Skidoo.  
Sometimes, if you get badly hurt, you have to go out by helicopter.

What mountain conditions do you like?
Clear days with blue skies and fresh powder.  Big snowflakes falling 
with no wind is cool.

What gear do you need for snowboarding? 
You need a good snowboard and special warm boots that fit into the 
snowboard's bindings.  Goggles are important because you can get 
snow-blindness from the bright light reflecting off the snow.  It seems 
strange, but you have to wear lots of sunblock on your face too.  
You need a beanie on cold days, warm clothes and gloves, and 
waterproof snow pants and a jacket to keep your clothes dry when 
you fall over.

Are there any special places where you'd like to snowboard?
All over New Zealand first.  We have some of the best fields in the 
world.  It's amazing.  You'd think it would be overseas somewhere.  
Then, if I got sponsored, I'd be into going to somewhere like Japan.  
They've got just the best snow over there. 

Do you think you'll still be snowboarding when you're older?
Sure.  I want to get somewhere in life, and snowboarding would be a 
great way to do it.  I'd like to race; maybe do the boarder cross where 
you all line up and whoomph! race together full-on down the mountain, 
over humps and jumps and around sharp corners.  

Do you wish you could snowboard all year round?
I reckon!  But in summer – I rollerblade heaps!

Jonah Lomu 
by Norman Bilbrough

Imagine this nightmare:  you're playing rugby.  It's two 
minutes to fulltime, and it's a draw.  The team that wins 
will take out the junior competition for the year.  
Suddenly, a wing in the other team gets the ball.  He 
charges down the field, brushing off players as if they 
were flies.  Now you're all that's standing between him and 
the touchline.  But the wing coming at you like a Boeing 
747 is Jonah Lomu!  The earth shakes.  You've got to 
tackle him – but you only come up to his waist.  You can't 
do it!  Nobody can!  You wake in a terrible sweat …
Don't worry, when Jonah Lomu played for New Zealand 
in the 1995 Rugby World Cup, not many players in the 
opposing teams knew how to tackle him either.  After all, 
he's 1.96 metres tall, weighs 116 kilograms, wears size 13 
boots, and can run 100 metres in 10.8 seconds!  And when 
Jonah travels in an aeroplane, he has to have a special 
seat so that his long legs don't stick out into the aisle. In 
fact, Jonah is the biggest All Black back in history.  He's 
even had built for him in South Auckland a special house 
where the doorways are high enough for him to walk 
through without hitting his head!
As for the tackling, Walter Little, another All Black, 
has this advice:  "Don't drop your head when you tackle 
him.  It's easy, then, for him to push you down and away.  
Get outside him.  Knock down the fending arm, then move 
in."
Jonah's sporting career began early.  At twenty-one, he 
was the superstar of rugby.  But it hasn't always been easy 
for him.  Jonah was born in Auckland on 12 May 1975.  His 
parents are Tongan, and he was sent back to Tonga to 
learn his family's culture.  Five years later, he returned to 
South Auckland.
Even though he's big and fast, now, Jonah was often sick 
when he was a child.  If any bug was going around, he got 
it.  Then, when he was nine, he really shot up.  He grew so 
big that he couldn't fit into the car with the rest of his 
family, and he had to run behind it to church each Sunday.
Jonah started hanging around with bigger kids, like his 
cousin, who was nearly six years older than him.  He 
became frustrated and aggressive.  Then, when his cousin 
was killed in a brawl in Òtara, Jonah's mum made a decision.  
She took him out of the secondary school he was attending, 
and although it was a struggle financially, she sent him to 
Wesley College to be taught some discipline.  
Rugby coach Phil Kingsley-Jones remembers the first 
time he met Jonah.  "One day at a Counties under-fourteen 
training session, a big boy from Wesley College turned up 
wearing a bandanna around his head.  His T-shirt was 
hanging out, and I was disgusted with his appearance.  I 
sent him back to school."
Jonah now regrets not having put enough time into his 
school work, but rugby and athletics took over.  When he 
left college and began earning money from rugby and from 
sponsoring products, he employed Phil Kingsley-Jones as 
his agent to look after all his business. 
When Jonah was nineteen, he was selected for the All 
Blacks to play against France.  He played two games on 
the wing – and he has especially bad memories of the 
second game in Auckland, when he missed vital tackles.  It 
was a hard introduction to top rugby for Jonah, and he 
nearly turned to league.  But then came the 1995 World 
Cup, and he was selected for the black jersey again.
"I was hungry," he says.  "All I wanted to do was pull 
on the black jersey, show everyone I could score tries … 
show everyone I could defend."  
And he did.  The high point for him was the semi-final 
game against England.  He scored four tries that day.  But 
after each game, Jonah was exhausted.  In 1996, he played 
against the Barbarians in England, and after the match, he 
had to lie in bed for three days barely able to move.  Not 
long after that, he was told that he had a serious liver 
disease. 
Fortunately, with the help of doctors and with nine 
months off rugby, Jonah was well enough to play in the 
1998 Super 12 series.  Now he's working hard to get 
selected for the 1999 World Cup series.
Before then, maybe all those overseas players should 
check with Walter Little on how best to tackle Jonah – just 
in case they wake up with a nightmare too!

A Bunch of Peanuts
by Jill MacGregor 

You pick a bunch of flowers, you peel a bunch of bananas – but what 
do you do with a bunch of peanuts?  After school in the village of 
Lapaha in Tonga, Malia sells bunches of peanuts at her family's 
falekaloa (small shop).
"Pinati" season is a busy time for peanut farmers and their 
families.  The peanuts must be planted, harvested, dried, and cleaned 
or roasted before they are ready to sell.  There's a job for everyone. 
On the island of Tongatapu, the peanuts are grown in the 
ground on plantations hidden away under coconut palms and 
breadfruit trees.  
When the peanut-growing season starts, the farmers travel to 
their plantations early in the morning so that they can sow the raw 
peanut seeds before it gets too hot.  Sometimes, a crop of kumala is 
planted around the edge of the plantation to help discourage the field 
mice, which are very fond of young peanuts.  Once the peanut 
seedlings appear, the farmers return every week to weed and water 
the plants.  
In the warm climate and fertile soils, the small bushes grow 
quickly.  After two or three months, when the leaves of the bushes 
turn brown and wither, the peanuts are checked for maturity.  If the 
seeds inside the pods have a reddish-pink skin, they're ripe.  If their 
skin is white or too pale, they're not.
On harvest day, the farmer arrives at the plantation with helpers.  
They have a long, hot day ahead of them, but the soil is soft, and the 
leafy bushes are easily plucked from the ground.  The harvesters 
shake the soil off the pods, gather up the bunches, and lay them in 
piles around the plantation.  It's important to harvest on a fine day, 
because if it rains and the peanuts get wet, the damp pods will 
become mouldy and rot.
At first, the pods are quite soft but they soon dry and harden 
in the sun.  
The fresh bunches of peanuts are taken by truck to the farmer's 
home.  There, they are spread out in the sun for four or five days and 
guarded from the village animals (and children!) while they dry.
When Malia and her cousins come home from school, they prepare 
pinati mata (bunches of raw peanuts) for sale.  They dust the loose 
soil from the pods, trim the stalks, and wrap a rubber band or length 
of plant fibre around each bunch.
Some customers prefer pinati moho (roasted peanuts).  To prepare 
these, Malia picks the pods off the bushes and puts them to dry well 
away from the village pigs, which love to eat them.  Malia's 
neighbours dry their peanuts on the iron roof of their home.  After a 
few days on the roof, the peanuts are poured into sacks, ready to be 
taken to the bakery.  Farmers sometimes wrap the peanuts in tinfoil 
or banana leaves and roast them at home in their umu (earth ovens).
Peanuts for roasting are taken to the bakery in Nuku'alofa, 
where they are baked in their pods in one of the electric bread-
baking ovens.  
For the children of Tonga, peanuts are a popular and nutritious 
snack.  If they want pinati mata or a bag of pinati moho, they don't 
have to look far.  Peanut vendors set up stalls at sports grounds, 
picture theatres, bus stops, and roadsides – almost anywhere!


An Unusual Plant
Peanuts are related to peas and beans.  Their fruit is not really a 
nut, but a pod.  Inside the pod are the seeds we call peanuts.

About one week after sowing, leaves from the peanut seed sprout 
above the ground.  

Soon, small yellow flowers appear low on the plant.  Early in the 
morning, the flowers open, ready to be pollinated.  By midday, the 
flowers have died.

A long "peg" grows from the stem where the flower has been.  The 
"peg" grows down into the soil for about 5 to 8 centimetres.  It swells 
to form a peanut pod with a papery shell around it.  

Grow your own peanut plant
Choose seed from raw peanuts bought in the pod.  Fill a large 
container (one that has a hole made in the base) with loose soil or 
potting mix.  Add enough water to make the mix damp (not wet).

Sow two or three peanut seeds 5 centimetres apart and about 2 
centimetres under the soil.  

Put your plants in a sunny, sheltered part of your home.  Keep the 
soil moist.  

At night, look at the leaves on your plants.  They will have folded 
into a "sleeping position" like praying hands.

Note:  If you don't want to grow a peanut plant in a pot, have fun 
sprouting raw peanuts on a dish of wet cotton wool or a wad of paper 
towels.

Paper Fortune-teller
by Gillian Candler

Fold a fun fortune-teller. 
You will need
•	a square of paper about 20 cm x 20 cm
•	felt pens or coloured pencils.

Making the fortune-teller
1.  Fold the square along its two diagonals.  Crease the 
folds.  Open out the paper.

2.  Fold each corner to the centre.  Crease the folds.  
Turn the paper over.

3.  Fold each corner to the centre.  Crease the folds.  
Turn the paper over.

4.  Fold the square in half.  Ease your fortune-teller 
into shape by sliding the forefinger and thumb of 
one hand under two of the "flaps".  Push your 
forefinger and thumb into the corners and pinch 
together.  With your other hand, do the same to the 
other two flaps.

5.  Bring all four corners together.

Operating the fortune-teller 
Hold the fortune-teller as shown.  Open it by moving 
your thumbs towards you and your forefingers away 
from you.  Close the fortune-teller by bringing your 
thumbs and forefingers together.  Open the fortune-
teller in a new direction by moving your thumbs apart 
and your forefingers apart at the same time.

Decorating the fortune-teller
Open out your fortune-teller and colour each of the 
eight triangles a different colour.  Write a different 
number on each triangle.  Lift up each flap and write a 
"fortune" under each triangle.  You can make each of 
the flaps a different colour if you like, too.

Fortune-telling for friends
Open and close the fortune-teller as you spell out each 
letter of your friend's name.  When you have finished 
spelling, ask your friend to pick one of the numbers.  
Open and close the fortune-teller as you count out the 
number.  Now ask your friend to pick a colour.  Lift the 
flap and read them the fortune underneath the triangle 
they have chosen.

Some ideas for fortunes
A fly will fall in your porridge.
Look forward to an unexpected holiday. 
Your teacher will run away and join a circus.

My Uncle Leo's Getting Married
by Mary-anne Scott

Recently, John Scott attended his uncle's wedding on Kahurànaki Te 
Hauke marae.  He talked to Mary-anne Scott about the experience.

I couldn't believe it – my Uncle Leo was finally getting married.  I 
liked Leo's fiancée, Phillippa, and her little boy, Temuera, heaps, but 
now all that Leo could think about was wedding plans.  He didn't even 
have time to play cricket with me.  I wasn't sure about the wedding 
being on a marae, either.  How were we supposed to know the right 
things to do and say?
We all felt a lot better when Leo sent a letter to everyone in the 
family outlining the details of the day and the protocol of the marae.  
He told us about the wedding breakfast, too.  At first I didn't think a 
hàngi sounded like party food, but Leo promised that there would be 
plenty of other things to eat, too, including fresh seafood and desserts.
The main language of the day was going to be English.  That was a 
relief, because I could only sing a few songs and count to ten in Màori.  
Leo also told us that the main difference between a Màori and a Pàkehà 
wedding is the speeches.  Everyone is welcome to speak at a Màori 
wedding, and each speech is usually supported with a waiata (song).  
My mother and her sisters planned to sing a waiata after my grandad's 
speech, so whenever they got together before the wedding, they 
practised like mad.  My brothers, cousins, and I learned a waiata as 
well.  We were to sing it after my brother, Daniel, had said a few words 
welcoming Temuera into our family of cousins.  I would be playing the 
guitar.  Our aunties made sure we practised like mad, too! 
As the wedding day got closer, there were lots of jobs to do.  We 
worked with Leo and with Phillippa's family, digging up potatoes and 
preparing food for the hàngi.  One thing I didn't like was shelling the 
kina.
The day before the wedding, we heard that because of the drought, 
there was a total fire ban in Hawke's Bay and nobody was allowed to 
put down a hàngi.  The food would have to be roasted in big ovens 
instead.  
That night, I went with my family to help at the marae.  The men 
peeled vegetables, the women arranged flowers, and the kids helped 
decorate the whare kai with streamers and bows.  It was awesome. 
No one could believe how cold the weather was next day.  For the 
first time in weeks, it rained.  The wedding ceremony, which was 
supposed to have been held outside, would have to take place in the 
wharenui – –the marae sleeping quarters – instead.  All the mattresses 
in the wharenui were piled up around the walls so that chairs could be 
brought inside.
"Take your shoes off if you're coming in here," a man called out to 
me.  "I know," I grinned back.  Leo had told us about that rule.  He'd 
also said that we weren't allowed to take our cameras inside the 
wharenui.  
During the wedding ceremony, I stared around the room.  The walls 
were lined with pictures, family photos, and carvings.  The rain was 
beating on the roof, and everything seemed dark and a bit spooky.
After the ceremony, there were photos and drinks while we waited 
to be invited into the whare kai.  When the doors opened, there was a 
wonderful smell of food.  The kids (about twenty of us) all sat at one 
long table.  We had pàua, fish, crayfish, mussels, chicken, wild pork, 
potatoes, pasta, corn, kùmara, pumpkin, salads, rèwena, and delicious 
desserts.  I loved everything – except the kina.
Straight after the meal came the speeches.  Heaps of people spoke, 
and some of them seemed to go on for ever.  Some speeches were in 
Màori.  I couldn't understand them, but I enjoyed the waiata, and I 
especially liked the haka.  
When it was our turn to sing, I was really nervous.  Daniel wanted 
to change his mind and not speak, but Phillippa's Uncle Blackie kept 
him calm.  Daniel welcomed Temuera into our family and wished 
Phillippa and Leo well for the future.  Then we sang: 
Te aroha,
Te whakapono, 
Me te rangimàrie, 
Tàtou tàtou e.
When all the speeches and waiata were over, the tables were moved 
back, and the dancing began.  I don't usually dance, but as everyone 
else was having a go …  
I've thought a lot about Leo's wedding since then.  It was really  
different, and I liked the way we all had special jobs to do.  Playing the 
guitar made me feel like I was part of things instead of just watching.  
Best of all, now that the wedding's over, Leo's got time to play cricket 
again!

"Don't Waste the Water!"
by Jill MacGregor

Between the large Samoan islands of 'Upolu and Savai'i lie two small islands:  
Apolima and Manono.  On Apolima, there is a river.  But on Manono, fresh 
water is scarce, with just one small spring to feed the wells on the southern end 
of the island.
Elisapeta Mafaitu'uga Manupò lives on Manono in the village of Faleù.  
Today, as the sun rises, she wakes to the sound of the conch shell calling the 
men of the village to prepare for their fishing expedition.  She climbs out from 
under her mosquito net and puts away her sleeping mat.  Today it's her turn to 
collect the water from the wells.  
Elisapeta balances the family's plastic water buckets on a wooden pole across 
her shoulders and sets off along the winding path.  "'Aua le fa'amàumauina le 
vai!" calls her mother – "Don't waste the water!"
There are no roads on the island of Manono, and no vehicles, horses, or dogs.  
It's very quiet as Elisapeta follows the path through village gardens and past 
the school, the church, and the small village trading store.   She meets her 
neighbours sweeping the path, her aunty weeding the garden, and college 
students hurrying to catch the ferryboat that will take them across the lagoon to 
'Upolu.  She passes her school friends returning from the wells with their daily 
water supplies.
The vai'eli (wells) are sheltered from the sun in a clearing alongside the path.  
The water from them is too brackish for drinking, but Elisapeta's sister will use 
it for rinsing dishes and washing clothes. 
To protect the edges of the wells, a layer of concrete has been laid around 
them.  Elisapeta sits across a well.  Avoiding the leaves and twigs that have 
fallen in, she scoops out the water with a can and ladles it into the buckets.  
Then she hangs the buckets from notches on the end of the pole and takes the 
weight on her shoulders.  
It's not easy walking home with the heavy load.  Elisapeta treads carefully.  
Every drop of water is precious, and she doesn't want to spill any.
This is not Elisapeta's only water-gathering chore for the day.  Each evening 
she collects water from the sea.  It  is used in preparing food for the evening 
meal:  for scaling fish, scrubbing breadfruit, washing vegetables, and boiling 
eggs.  Salt water is good for cleaning teeth, too.
Providing fresh water for drinking is the responsibility of Elisapeta's father, 
Manupò Mafaitu'uga.  Manupò is building a concrete water tank, but until it is 
finished, a trough is used to catch rain running off the iron roof of the family's 
fale.  From here it feeds it into a barrel.  When there is a drought, Manupò must 
order containers of fresh water from the mainland.  
Elisapeta hopes that the island's rainy season will come soon.  It's fun 
standing under the eaves of her house and washing her hair as the rain pours off 
the roof.  For a while, there's plenty of water for everyone and no need to carry 
buckets.  
But until then, or until the government repairs cyclone-damaged water pipes 
from Manono to the mainland, Elisapeta will take her turn at making the early 
morning trek to the vai'eli.

Hedgehog Bread
by June Walker

It is said that when food was scarce in Europe, gypsies would bake 
hedgehogs.  They would coat the prickles in clay and cook the 
animals over campfires.  I wouldn't like to eat a real hedgehog, but 
here is a way to make bread hedgehogs.  

This recipe makes about eight hedgehogs.
Ingredients
3 cups plain flour
1 tablespoon sugar
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon dried yeast
2 teaspoons oil
warm water
a few raisins or currants
1 beaten egg

Making the dough
1.  Wash your hands thoroughly.

2.  In a bowl, dissolve the sugar in 1 12  cups of warm water.  Add the 
dried yeast, the oil, and 2 12  cups of the flour.  Stir well.  Leave 
the mixture in a warm place for about an hour (or longer if you 
can).

3.  When the yeast mixture is ready, add the rest of the flour and 
sprinkle in the salt.

4.  Mix it well until a rubbery lump of dough forms.  If the dough is 
wet and sloppy, add a little more flour.  If it is too dry, add a 
little more warm water.

5.  Knead the dough on a clean board for at least 10 minutes.

6.  Divide the dough into 8 balls.  You are ready to make the 
hedgehogs.  Turn your oven on to 220°C to warm up.


Shaping the hedgehogs
1.  Point one end of a ball to make the nose of the hedgehog.

2.  Take clean scissors, and snip the back of the hedgehog to make V 
shapes.  These will be the prickles.  Pull up the points of the Vs 
so that they look more prickly.

3.  Put a raisin eye on either side of the pointed nose.

4.  Snip a slit under the nose to make a mouth and pull it open 
gently.

5.  Do this for all the balls.  Then put them on a greased baking tray 
and cover them with a tea towel.

6.  Leave the shapes in a warm place for about half an hour so that 
they can rise.

7.  Brush the backs of the hedgehogs with beaten egg.

8.  Put the hedgehogs into the oven.  After 10 minutes, turn down 
the heat to 200°C and cook until light brown. 

9.  Place the hedgehogs on a wire rack until they are cool enough to 
eat.


