Did you know that long before the English brought wig-wearing to Fiji, our iTaukei ancestors used to adorn wigs at the death of a loved one and keep it on for 100 nights?
This tradition was brought back to life via Fiji-born New Zealand-based poet, composer and musician Daren Kamali.
He grew his hair for 25 years with a plan to cut it, bring it back to Fiji and bury it.
But all that changed when he met his good mate and colleague, creative artist Ole Maiava.
The duo teamed up with Fijian artist Joana Monolagi and formed Na Tolu — a creative platform they are using to share the importance of the ancient iTaukei custom of wig ceremonies in times of mourning, which was practised over two centuries ago.
Supported by Creative New Zealand (NZ), their research, titled The Ulumate Project: Drau-Ni-ulu-Tabu (Sacredness of Human Hair) led to the creation of a contemporary ulu cavu wig made from Daren’s hair, which he had grown from 1997 to 2021.
After meeting Maiava, Kamali changed the plans he had for his name after Maiava showed him an ulu cavu exhibition at the Auckland War Memorial Museum.
The visit sparked an idea of a revival research activation (RRA) project.
“We started the Ulumate Project in 2013 when I started working at the Auckland War Memorial Museum.
Ole got us the job and Aunty Joana and I were Pacific educators there,” Kamali explained.
“After cutting 25 years’ worth of my hair growth, Ole and I took the hair over to Aunty Joana at the end of 2020 so she could work on putting the wig together and we picked it up just before New Year’s in 2021.”
He said the project was mainly focused on the sacredness of hair in the South Pacific.
“I believe it’s not just in the South Pacific but in the world because you won’t just go to any hairdresser, or you won’t just tell somebody to cut or touch your hair — it’s a very important place — someone’s head.
“That’s why we’ve called it na drau-ni-ulu-tabu (the sacredness of human hair) and different cultures will have their own thing going.
Like, Tongans would have belts made from their grandmothers or great grandmothers’ hair and they’ve used it to hold their ta’ovala up and I’ve seen some weaved into their mats.
“The Kiribati weave it into their armour and in Papua New Guinea you have headdresses made out of hair.”
Na Tolu’s focus is on the Pacific elements of honour and respect.
“In our communities we face a lot of mental health issues and there’s a lot of things that we’re going through as well. Our kids are also born in diaspora.
“The main thing we’ve talked about is bringing back that respect, not just for our head, but for ourselves and others as well.”
Kamali said Ulumate was traditionally observed in ancient Fiji during times of mourning, when the drau-ni-ulu (hair) was cut and made into a wig, then worn until the hair beneath grew back.
“Normally that’s where the 100 nights comes in and so after the 100 nights, they take off the wig.”
Monolagi, a heritage weaver, completed the wig using island materials such as magimagi (coconut husk) and vau (hibiscus stem).
“The wig cap is woven with magimagi and I had to sew his (Daren’s) hair onto the magimagi,” she said.
“His hair is a different texture to mine, so it was a bit tricky to work with but at the end of the day we managed, and I hand sewed each lock to the top part of the hair and then wove in the vau and fastened it to the wig cap.
“It was challenging work, but enjoyable at the same time. It took a year only because we came into lockdown, and we weren’t in a hurry to get it done as quickly as originally planned.”
Maiava said the interesting part of the project was learning the unknown protocols.
“Because this practice hasn’t been done for over a couple hundred years. What do you do in terms of the protocols around it, and it’s been interesting trying to figure that out,” he said.
“When we took it to the Auckland Museum the Maori people always wanted to karakia (recite a prayer) but they also asked us ‘what do you do with this?’
“So no one quite understood because it is an old thing but it’s revived in this practice.
“So, how do we understand what that is. Back in the past, there’s a whole lot of other questions that remain — like this was a pre-Christian process and so there’s that talanoa as well about how you recognise what it is. The fact that Daren and his sons can actually wear this, that’s again something new because there’s a lot of ulu cavu around the world but you shouldn’t really be wearing them. But for this one you can, so what’s that protocol? It has been interesting with the whole revival process.”
The project has allowed Na Tolu to connect themselves closer to their roots and appreciate the stories from their respective pasts.
“Being a poet myself it has delved into a different side of me and a different writing path for me as well,” Kamali said.
“It’s gone a bit more in-depth and spiritual as well especially dealing with this revival project whereas I do other writings for spoken word and performances, but it has changed the way I see contemporary and heritage mixing, old and new, and city and islands mixing. It has sort of given me more of a direction to take my writing to a different way as well. It’s awesome to have a collaboration of the three of us working off each other, it would’ve been a bit hard if I was by myself, but it’s great to be working with them.”
For Monolagi, on a personal level, the project was always about “the respect of our forefathers and foremothers — the heritage that they left for us, the generations that came after that”.
“As a gift of knowledge and understanding to cherish and nurture us as Fijian people and the wealth they left for us in terms of knowledge and tradition — you can’t buy that anywhere,” she said.
“If you’re a Fijian, you know who you are, standing firm on the vanua with the knowledge.”
Maiava said working on the project was interesting, especially their attempts to revive something that has long been forgotten.
“Daren and I are both performance poets as well, so we actually set this off as a little of a tongue-in-cheek process and we called ourselves the
(UN)Registered Savages of Aotearoa,” he said.
“Because we work full-time, us being artists is sort of during our down time, but we also work within the systems and with a lot of young emerging artists.
“It has been an interesting journey because we’ve done performances together, but this is like another level. Working with Aunty Joana over this process, I sort of thought, ‘wow, there’s a lot of things that we don’t know about’.”
“Our people, our tupuna (ancestors) back in the past they’ve had some amazing stories and maybe this will help revive some of those stories.”
