Waru 2017

On the day Waru dies at the hands of his caregiver, the film centers on his tangi and threads eight interwoven stories through the morning, all beginning at 9:59. This is a community-wide reckoning where grief, memory, and responsibility ripple outward, shaping conversations, choices, and quiet acts of resilience. Each segment shines a different light on how people carry loss, how they speak up or stay silent, and how a single tragedy can redraw the lines of family, friendship, and obligation.

Charm, Tanea Heke, directs the food preparation for the funeral at the kāuta in the local marae, turning the kitchen into a space where nourishment meets memory. The choreography of meals becomes a language of care, with small decisions about who cooks, what gets plated, and how the trays travel between the fire and the hall reflecting a shared responsibility to honor Waru. In Charm’s stead, the community gathers, and the weight of absence is felt as much in the steam rising from pots as in the stories spoken between bites.

Anahera, Roimata Fox, Waru’s kindergarten teacher, processes the loss with her class and colleagues, weaving moments of routine and tenderness into a day saturated with sorrow. She guides young students through questions they don’t yet have words for, offering a steady hand as the classroom becomes a space where grief and learning collide. The adults around her lean on one another, and the room’s soft chatter sharpens into a chorus of shared memory.

Mihi, Ngapaki Moetara, a single mother, struggles to care for her kids with nothing left for gas or food, while the world’s judgments press in from every corner. The daily grind—paying bills, keeping routines, balancing fear and hope—tests her strength, yet her quiet persistence threads through the day, revealing a stubborn, stubbornly human resolve to protect what matters most. Through her eyes, the film asks how communities respond when money and dignity hang in the balance.

Em, Āwhina-Rose Henare Ashby, a young singer, comes home after a wild night out only to find she’s locked out while her baby remains inside, forcing a collision between art, impulse, and responsibility. The moment reframes her priorities and pushes her toward decisions that are both practical and painful, illustrating the tension between self-expression and the obligations of parenthood.

Ranui, Kararaina Rangihau, and Merehaka Maaka as Hinga, two great-grandmothers, argue over where Waru’s body should rest so that his wairua (spirit) can find peace. The disagreement exposes generations-long perspectives on death, memory, and honoring a child, as practical concerns about space and ritual collide with deep emotional needs. Their exchange becomes a window into how families negotiate sacred duties when grief is freshest.

Kiritapu, Maria Walker, the anchorwoman who holds the camera on the day’s events, endures microaggressions and overt racism alike while her colleagues discuss the murder of Waru. Her professional composure is tested as the room’s power dynamics shift, and she remains a steady observer—even as the noise around her intensifies—reflecting the heavy toll of reporting tragedy in a world quick to judge.

Mere, Acacia Hapi, a young teen armed with a tokotoko, plucks up the courage to talk back to her abuser, turning fear into a moment of quiet, defiant strength. Her stance is a small but potent beacon of resistance, illustrating how youth can assert boundaries and demand safety in the face of harm. The scene sits beside others that emphasize the cost—and necessity—of speaking up within a layered community.

Titty, Amber Curreen, and Bash, Miriama McDowell, two sisters, drive to reclaim Bash’s children from an abusive household. The journey traverses car rides, conversations, and the emotional terrain of guardianship, highlighting the unbreakable ties that endurance and care can forge even when the path forward is uncertain. Their resolve underscores the film’s broader meditation on protection, voice, and the ways families fight to keep each other safe.

Together, these eight vignettes compose a tapestry of a community’s response to a child’s death: a mosaic of voices, perspectives, and rituals that honor Waru while laying bare the social pressures, personal traumas, and enduring compassion that bind people to one another. The film remains a compassionate, unflinching look at memory, justice, and the quiet courage it takes to keep moving forward after an unimaginable loss.