A picture of kawakawa, a plant with heart shaped green leaves.

Written by Riwhi Kenny. Catch Riwhi in the Māori Creators Panel alongside Liam Stevens (Toa Tabletop), Sascha Stronach (The Dawnhounds), and Te Aihe Butler (Fury of the Small), on the KiwiRPG Twitch at 1pm-2:30pm NZST Friday 10th July  / Friday 2am BST / Thursday 9pm EDT.

Please note that due to many Māori doing Matariki kaupapa (events) around this time, this panel is pre-recorded. It will be put on the KiwiRPG youtube after the week ends, and linked here once posted.

 

Tēnā koutou, he uri ahau nō Ngāi Tahu me Te Ātiawa. Ko Riwhi ahau, my name is Riwhi! If you’ve been paying attention, you may know my name from my account being the one posting all these amazing blogposts this week, and man, I have been loving all of them!

This is a blog post about manaakitanga, and the role it has in TTRPGs, at least to me. It’s a collection of a few different topics that I feel align to manaakitanga. It might be a bit scattered, but hopefully the thread of manaakitanga is made clear throughout.

Te Aka Māori Dictionary defines manaakitanga as:

(noun) hospitality, kindness, generosity, support – the process of showing respect, generosity and care for others.

I was taught that most words in te reo Māori (the Māori language) can be broken into parts. Manaakitanga, I was told, can be broken into mana-a-kī-tanga.

To break these down further:

Mana

Te Aka defines it as ‘prestige, authority, control, power, influence, status, spiritual power, charisma – mana is a supernatural force in a person, place or object.’ (This is just the first few lines, we don’t have all day!)

Okay, I really have not started this off smoothly. Mana is often translated into English as simply ‘spiritual power’, but this is, in my view, a completely inadequate translation. (And don’t get me started on the coopting of the term mana from its Pasifika roots into it’s current use in video games and some TTRPGs to mean magical power. Ew.)

There are two ways for someone to have mana. Mana Tipuna, the mana one is passed down from their ancestors; and mana tangata, the mana they have from acts that they take.

It is a deeply cultural term, and not even just specific to Aotearoa (so-called New Zealand)! It has whakapapa (lineage) across Te Moana-nui-a-Kiwa (the Pacific ocean). Mana is a concept that is genuinely so hard to explain if it is a new term, so I fear I am not at all doing a good job in defining it.

It’s a weight, a duty, an honour, a constant, a privilege, a burden, a strength, a hope, a promise, and more. It ties us all together, it puts us on different levels, it means something different to everyone.

A related term is ‘whakamana’. ‘whaka-’ as a prefix makes something into an action. So to whakamana someone is to, according to Te Aka:

to give authority to, give effect to, give prestige to, confirm, enable, authorise, legitimise, empower, validate, enact, grant.

One term that is still sometimes used is ‘mana enhancing’. There’s some mixed feelings about this one, as you cannot ‘enhance’ someone’s mana, you cannot change someone else’s mana, and also putting this English word next to it is a bit jarring!

Anyways, hardest part of this breaking apart, done, and we’re moving on.

A ki

to, into, towards, on to, upon – indicates motion towards something.

Tanga

I’ve heard two different whakaaro (thoughts) about this part of this kupu (word)! The first is the more traditional: -tanga, as an ending, turns something into a noun. So, using this interpretation, manaakitanga is a noun that is about moving towards mana.

The other interpretation I’ve heard is that tanga here relates to the kupu, ‘tangata’. Tangata means person/people. So, manaakitanga, can be described as mana moving toward the people.

 

While manaakitanga has elements of care, hospitality, generosity, etc etc, it’s a very very deep term that goes far beyond.

One other thing I’ve heard folks say about manaakitanga is that it holds a deep sense of reciprocity. Similar to ‘utu’, which Pākehā often think just means ‘revenge’ (when it’s often used for things as simple as payment for an item, not always that deep!), implies a relationship beyond a kind word.

 

How’s that for an intro? Now that I’ve broken down the word manaakitanga from what I’ve heard (disclaimer: certainly there will be Māori who disagree with my interpretations of the words here! Māori spaces thrive on deep kōrero (discussion) and wānanga (discussion but More) spaces), I’ll get into how I think manaakitanga can look within TTRPG spaces, or at least the ones I’ve been in.

 

The GM is a player too

I know that in a lot of Dungeons and Dragons TM circles (or at least some of the ones that pop up in my facebook algorithm), there’s a view that the DM is there to facilitate the game, and be in service of the players, and that’s all.

I reckon, and I know I certainly am not alone in this, that the GM is a player too! If we look at Indigenous models of leadership, the leader, in Māori spaces, the rangatira (loosely and euro-centrically translated as chief), is still a member of their community. They still are acknowledged to have wants and human needs outside of that role. Just as the rangatira takes care of their people, so do their people take care of their rangatira. While that rangatira often has a lot of mana tangata or mana tipuna if it’s a hereditary role, they are still a part of the community they serve, and deserve to be cared for.

In TTRPGs, we need to think about how DMs, GMs, facilitators, whatever the game’s term is, still deserve to be looked after! Especially the forever GM’s!

Now, I know many of us who play with our friends already do this, but I think we can all make clearer our appreciation for the mahi (work) and effort that our GMs put in! Go flick the GM for that game you’ve been playing for a while a ‘hey you said this killer line the other session, and it’s been sticking with me,’ or a ‘I know that you’ve put a whole lotta effort into running this game, and it is very appreciated’, is always going to be welcome.

 

Games about colonisation

I have been playing TTRPGs for almost 10 years, and it is only a couple of months ago that I had an Indigenous GM or DM. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had wonderful and incredibly enjoyable times with non-Indigenous DMs, and being the only Māori in a game (took me ~9 years to play with another Māori person, speaking to the whiteness of these spaces), can be… interesting. 

 

As I processed my feelings around my Māoritanga in everyday life, it’s only natural that this spilled into my TTRPG playing experience. I wanted to explore and process my Indigeneity through roleplaying. For me, this has gone one of two ways:

 

1. My experience with non-Indigenous DMs:

The theme of colonisation is built into the world, but it is held with caution. It is up to me to engage with this in the ways I want to. I give my character a Māori name. In a scene with an NPC who has also been colonised, I experience strong bleed (see more below!). I work through this, and have a scene that feels cathartic in the end. Between the bleed starting and the working through it, I feel that I can’t bring my distress up at the table. Not for any fault of my friends, but because I have that internal feeling of whakamā (shame/guilt) that I should be better than this. No one else at the table is Māori. My friends support me when I communicate what I can. It is a struggle nonetheless to explore Indigenous stories and themes when I am the only one at the table.

I have discussions with a friend who DMs for a fellow Māori person where we kōrero (chat) about how to tell stories that are meaningful to your Indigenous players while not being Indigenous yourself. We talk about how some stories are not a Pākehā (non-Māori)’s place to tell. You follow the Indigenous person’s lead, about what they want to explore within their character, but do not base the whole game around colonisation.

 

2. My experience with an Indigenous DM:

Colonisation is explicitly a theme. Indigeneity is built into every part of the world. From the naming systems, place names, the colonising force and expressions of rebellion and fighting back, this world oozes indigenous thinking.

I feel no whakamā in tying my character’s backstory to colonisation. I feel no apprehension about exploring that, only an excitement for my explorations of it to be met in ways that reflect what I am giving.

The former has certainly not been a bad experience, as said before! I’ve enjoyed games with non-Indigenous DMs greatly! It is has just meant that I have had to tread lightly sometimes, or choose to verbally express some things and not others, and have felt that whakamā at times. There’s a freedom to playing in a game with Indigenous players and DM. 

 

Manaakitanga is all over this topic.

 

Non-Indigenous GMs who have Indigenous players need to show manaakitanga frequently! Let the player determine to what level they want to, or do not want to explore Indigenous themes. If this means you need to do some research in the background to make sure you’re doing it right, have fun learning new things! This is where safety tools can be very helpful! More on that below. Giving the player that agency is not just showing manaakitanga, going at their pace and level of comfort and interest, but also respecting their tino rangatiratanga (loosely translated as self-determination). 

 

Indigenous GMs with Indigenous players also show manaaki to each other! A TTRPG is often a conversation. Sure, sometimes there are rules to guide that conversation, but any conversation needs manaaki to succeed. Manaaki to check in, to meet the other person where they are at, to respect the edge of where they are willing to go. Intergenerational trauma is unfortunately present for Indigenous peoples, and sometimes it gets pinged by accident or unexpectedly. In my experience though, working through that with fellow Indigenous people means that there’s a base level of understanding there.

 

Bleed

I wrote something a few months ago that was my answer to a question I had thought about a little bit and wanted to explore: ‘what if something was designed to cause bleed?’ So, I wrote ‘BLEEDING HEART: A Character Creator’, which guides you through making a character, where every single facet of that character is taken from something in you, the player’s, life. 

 

This came after that experience I mentioned above, where I felt strong negative bleed after my Indigenous character met another Indigenous character. This was an overwhelming feeling, and as stated above, I felt unable to say anything to the whole table. Thankfully, one of the other players and I messaged occasionally during the game to make silly jokes where no one could hear us, and I was able to get across a feeling of distress to him somehow, and he called a pause for me, making up an excuse, and then after checking if it was okay with me, let the DM know I was having A Time. We skipped over the rest of the scene, and I was able to rest within the normal flow of the game. A couple of sessions later, my character had a deliberate conversation with that other character, and it became a moment of genuine healing for me, the player. 

 

Obviously after experiencing this strong bleed, the concept interested me. I wrote this character generator. And someone immediately confronted me on social media claiming that because I wrote a game about bleed meant that I thought it was a good thing. The convo spiralled once I brought up Aaron Trammell’s ‘Repairing Play: A Black Phenomenology’, and I realised that this person was simply not ready to engage with the kinds of conversation I wanted to have about bleed.

 

This didn’t mean that many other awesome people weren’t ready instead! So, I had wonderful conversation, and came to the conclusion that bleed is not inherently negative, nor inherently positive. My experience of bleed felt negative at the start, but with support, and care, and yes, manaaki, it turned to a positive one. I healed a part of my internal sense of intergenerational trauma. I got to imagine, through playing pretend, what it would be like if an ancestor was in front of me. What would I say? How would I act? What would I tell them, and what would I ask them to tell me? 

 

Bleed is neutral. It’s the care, the manaaki, that shifts it either to positive, in the holding of you, or the negative, if it is not done well.

 

GM-less games

Indigenous folks tell stories, that’s what we do. At least here in Aotearoa, Māori were an oral society. We didn’t have writing or letters or an alphabet. If something needed to last, we told it in carvings or weaving. If it was ready to be handed down though, it was through waiata (song), karakia (intention setting ritual), or whakapapa (~geneology). Oral communication was just how it worked.

 

Now, I will admit to this sitting slightly uncomfortably with me. I have a genuinely terrible memory, so I would not have been one of the ones able to recite the whakapapa lines. I do think though, storytelling comes quite naturally to me, as it does to many Indigenous people.

 

TTRPGs root in wargames, where there’s a single figure of authority, often lead many people to think that this is just how all TTRPGs work. Thankfully, that’s not the case! I’ve come across many wonderful GM-less games, about a range of different topics. Sometimes, it’s easier to write a game about something when the power is shifted from the head honcho method. 

 

Indigenous storytelling is not static. It shifts. With each telling, a good storyteller reads the audience and what they are reacting to, and will heighten that. They’re still telling the same story, the same content that has been passed down, but performing it differently. And as those people hear that story, they’ll pass it on, and tell it their way, and on and on. 

 

Stories are not isolated, they do not belong to one person. GM-less games bring that collaboration higher than the GM and player model can. Gives players an equal say.

 

Indigenous people are built from stories. What is whakapapa if not a collection of stories of your ancestors? To give room to them to tell stories, you are whakamana-ing them. You are showing manaakitanga. 

 

GM-less stories where control is shared and negotiated sit in a different space of power dynamics. They offer agency, in a world that tries to take it from Indigenous peoples often.

 

While manaaki can exist anywhere, I do think that GM-less games offer a particular spin on manaakitanga that starts from the ground up.

 

Aftercare

What is checking in with something after something difficult/intense/unexpected, if it is not showing manaakitanga? Checking in, asking how they are doing, is showing care, showing concern, showing aroha (~love), showing manaaki.

 

Maybe, using the term aftercare feels weird or gross. Think about that! All I am saying is that having language to describe the action of checking in and caring for someone after something intense is handy.

 

This is a pretty short section, as to me it feels pretty self explanatory, so moving on rapidly.

 

Safety (journeying) tools

If aftercare is reactive, than safety tools are preventative. I actually love the term that Jay Dragon uses in Wanderhome, in place of ‘safety’ as a kupu: journeying tools. 

 

To me, this feels more aligned to Māori ways of playing. Our ancestors traversed an extreme distance, and must have had things in place to ensure that haerenga (journey) was as safe as it could be.

 

Still, journeying tools, to me, implies a sense of curiosity and movement. You journey to seek something, or leave somewhere. Either way, things will change. 

 

Beyond the linguistic discourse of what we call these tools, they are ways that we keep each other and ourselves safe. There’s a lot of discussion on the role of these – some people argue against them in some circumstances, and some use certain ones religiously. 

 

This is the role of a session 0 if playing a longform game! Which, if any, will you use.

 

Setting these up is an act of manaakitanga. Acknowledging that pain exists, and attempting to define the edges of it, to ensure that those soft squishy places are not hurt is manaaki!

 

When these are respected in game, that’s manaaki! When they’re invoked, and you have already figured out how to solve/cope with that issue, that’s a wonderful preventative sense of manaaki.

 

Showing manaaki, and keeping someone at the level they want to be at to play a game means you get to play more game, yay!

 

He whakakapi – the end

Manaakitanga is foundational to Māori. It guides our relationships to each other, to ourselves. In this post, I’ve outlined a few ways that I think manaakitanga can show up in TTRPGs, and also started with defining the word. 

 

I invite you to reflect on how you can whakamana and show manaaki to the people in your TTRPG games and spaces, Māori or not. 

 

It is the season of Matariki, the Māori new year. KiwiRPG Week always aligns with it, and it offers us a wonderful invite to reflect on our lives in the past year, those we’ve lost, and what we want to do in the next year.

 

I personally, want to tell cool and interesting stories with my friends. I will be showing manaakitanga to my friends, and they will show it to me. Maybe sometimes we’ll stumble. Something will be done clumsily, or trauma will pop up unexpectedly, but I know that through showing manaakitanga to each other, we can work through those bumps, and tell wonderful stories once more.

 

Mānawatia a Matariki.

The words “TTRPGs Are Just Pōwhiri” beside a drawing of a figure with pink hair spray painting the words “F**K OFF”

Catch Iwā running a session of her game ‘Yous are Broken Too?’ as a part of KiwiRPG Week 2026 live on our Twitch on Saturday 4th July, 1pm-4pm NZST / Saturday 1am BST / Friday 8pm EDT. The VOD will be linked here after the panel.

Telling a story of the story of how even when broken, we can find connection and meaning. Through narrative based discussion, “Yous are Broken Too?” guides the players through complex themes, and seeks to understand them from a holistic indigenous perspective.

 

This blog post uses te reo Māori throughout. There’s a glossary at the end, or you can find Te Aka Māori Dictionary here.

 

It’s a wild idea, that something so mechanical, western, and focused on entertainment can emulate something so ancient and cultural. But it can. Because while pōwhiri are super cool and cultural, they’re not ancient; culture evolves, shifts, and is fluid. Culture is meant to change with the times. Its meant to grow with those it is intended to be used by. As a takatāpui Māori wahine, its difficult for me to not embed myself and my people in the games I play and create. So when I play D&D, yeah for sure, it’s a Māori game just for the simple fact that I am Māori and thus everything I do is Māori. But the idea I’m attempting to posit is that the whole structure of TTRPGs as a whole is as ancient as any form of story telling that has ever existed, we just took the tried and true formula and added dice.

During a pōwhiri, there are multiple stages, each one dedicated to a different bit of the welcoming ceremony, each one existing in a different bit of Te Ao Māori. And like a pōwhiri, the TTRPG tables are the same; there are different parts to the structure that guide the flow of play. To explain everything, I’d need to write a whole new masters thesis, so I’ll only cover a few pieces of the overall puzzle; just the parts that sing out to me most as a GM.

Part one: The Carpark.

The Carpark exists as a funky new space. It never really existed until recently when communities became less of a group that traveled around together. In western society most people live individual lives, and arrive separately as opposed to the old days when we wandered around as one big group. In the old days, prior to arrival at a marae, you could talk at length about who does what during whatever part of the pōwhiri, cause you had the time. In our modern day, sometimes there just isn’t time, or sometimes the aunties aren’t on facebook or whatever, so the only opportunity to actually discuss what to do is the twenty minutes before you step through the waharoa; the time you spend in the carpark. It shows a certain level of cultural competency, to rock up on the day and be able to decide which of those gathered has the most mana? Who can karanga or whaikōrero? It takes a lot of courage, confidence, and knowledge to just wing it and decide twenty minutes before go time who the heck can lead you in a badass as hell ritual.

Some people think pōwhiri are boring, they just don’t know whats going on though. Cause if they did, theres no way they’d think that. Imma explain it to you.

Let me preface this: a lot of what I’ve learned I’ve learned from various aunties and uncles, from various visits to various marae. A lot of what I’ve learned is anecdotal, unique to myself. So my specific understanding, as well as everyone’s understanding of Te Ao Māori, is unique to each person. There is no one way, there is no black and white with Māori culture. Māori people are not homogenous, there are so many ways to do things, as long as we respect the whenua we are on, respect the tangata whenua and their ways of being, then we’re doing alright. Then when it’s your whenua, you can show others how you do things.

This is a long story, and a lot of this understanding can only be taught through story, like so much of Te Ao Māori. But I’m trying to teach you about Te Ao Māori and D&D and them meshing together, so I’m not gonna feel whakamā waffling on a bit, because if I do I’ll just end up not explaining anything particularly well and none of this will matter. I’ll try to keep it concise, but at the same time, there’s no amount of words that could correctly describe all the moving parts of this stuff. Imma try my best, fam.

Part two: Te Kore.

To be called onto a marae is to be called from Te Kore. Te Kore is the void, the great nothing. Beyond the waharoa of a marae, everything is in Te Kore space. In Maōri culture, the void is the best (at least I think so). The coolest baddest bitches come from and rule over the void, namely Hine-nui-te-pō, the goddess of death (I adore her). That being said, most people live in fear of Te Kore, and fair enough too, it is the domain of death. But it is also part of where life is born. In Te Kore, exists all wairua, spirit. When your mama is hapū, when your mum is pregnant, she calls your wairua from Te Kore and brings it into you as a foetus. This is one of the steps to making you a whole person. And when you die, your wairua will return to Te Kore. Only a woman, a mother, can call to the wairua in Te Kore. Which is why only a woman, normally a woman who has given birth, can call to you whilst you stand beyond the waharoa. Only someone that has pulled wairua from the void to create life can call people beyond a waharoa out of the void and onto a marae. At least that’s what I’ve learned. These women, those who call to you during pōwhiri, are known as kaikaranga. I believe all Game Masters to be kaikaranga.

Think about it, all GMs create life. They create narratives from those that have lived, those that are with us today, and those that will be here one day. GMs bring life in from the void, they call to those beyond the normal bounds of reality, and bring them into a new part of the world. Even if that world is built on fiction and imagination, that world still exists spiritually for so many of us who play in TTRPG spaces. To me, that means that these worlds we create around a TTRPG table are not for escapism, they do not exist outside the bounds of reality; they are as much a part of our lives as any other thing that occupies the thought processes of our minds.

Part Three: Tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou katoa. It means wassup to those past, present, and future.

The idea that time becomes compacted, that the wibbly wobbly timey wimey fluidity through which time and space interweave between each other means that the ways in which stories have historically been passed from generation to generation and change, either through tone, or context, or content, the story grows to fit the needs of the people that are hearing it. This introduces the idea that the handing down of stories from generation to generation is a collaborative process, one that stretches over potentially thousands of years. D&D is exactly the same, only the process is compounded into a few hours around a table, with people who are all there for one express purpose: to tell a story together.

In essence, people around a table are constantly doing the tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou of constantly talking to the past present and future. There is an innate ability, I believe, that is unique to storytellers and thus TTRPG players; most of us can see, anticipate, and are excited for, cause and effect; we love seeing our actions have consequences. It’s a unique part of our medium, we want to see the heroes have impact, we need to see the world change around them and because of them.

That ability to queue up a narrative action, to let it simmer for a bit and let it hit months down the road for maximum narrative impact is that dialogue of the present, becoming past, and speaking to the future. It’s a dialogical style of writing and communing with the many temporal phases of one’s self that makes actions around a TTRPG table really matter; a dialogical style that is so similar to the ways we speak in Te Ao Māori, especially during pōwhiri.

In pōwhiri, we are innately aware we are standing where our ancestors, or someone’s ancestors once stood, and we speak with them, welcoming others or being welcomed, in a way that is culturally appropriate and competent. During a session of a TTRPG, there is a pattern to talking that I believe follows the structure of a pōwhiri so accurately, that I’ll explain in my final part.

Part Four: Tūmatauenga, the god of war.

In a pōwhiri, we start in the carpark, move through the waharoa, the big gate, across the ātea, the grassy bit, to the paepae, the place with all the benches for the whaikōrero and waiata tautoko, the big talks and songs to support. Then to finish off, we have the hongi hariru, the hongi how-do-you-do, then head to the whare kai for some kai, head to the dining hall for some food.

I think the table top space is so similar. We meet in the carpark (the kitchen) to decide who is doing our karanga and our whaikōrero (we hang out, see each other after a long week, catch up, and decide how long we play for, sort out the logistics of the game, get ready for the game). We are then called by the kaikaranga (the GM) to pass from Te Kore (the normal world) onto the marae (into the game world) and walk through the ātea, the realm of Tūmatatauenga, the god of war.

Its here that most of the game takes place. A return to the wahaora, a journey across the area, to be called by the GM to cross the realm of the war god, to be guided by the call of those who know the land. To then sit on the paepae, sit around the table, and talk with one another about how best to solve the situation, to sit and whaikōrero with one another till you know where you are, who you are, and what you’re doing. And then your whānau, your fellow players, stand and waiata tautoko you, they sing in your support.

A lot of this is almost poetry, and can feel almost pretentious. But we’re talking about culture, and pretentiousness is a tool of colonisation, used to remove the beauty of culture and make us feel whakamā about the true nature of our cultural practices.
I think it’s normal to want to see myself and my people represented in the ways I play my game. I think it’s beautiful to do so with people who are not so confident in Te Ao Māori, but are willing to learn. Most people that sit at my table know that there’s going to be some wild mātauranga Māori based holistic practices to the way I’m doing things, they just don’t know exactly how. But they feel it. They know why I do it. And often, my want and need to embed my culture in my game makes them want to do the same; it’s like they see me being cringe about my culture and know that it’s okay to be cringe with theirs, “Iwā is way more cringe about her culture than I could ever be about mine, I’ll just be a lil cringe about my culture”. It’s cool. I like that me being connected to my culture, or seeking to connect in every way possible, even through the new age medium of TTRPGs, it’s clear that me doing things indigenously is good for everyone, for so many reasons. The most important being that it makes me happy to feel closer to my tūpuna, my ancestors, especially in a gaming world.

Anyway, thats probably enough for a blog post. Thanks for reading it, it meant a lot that I got to write it, and got invited to post it for others to see. Ngā mihi nui, ngā manaakitanga e hoa mā, keetz ✌🏽

– Iwā Kingi

 

Glossary of te reo Māori words

Takatāpui – Someone of the rainbow community
Māori – The indigenous people of Aotearoa New Zealand
Wahine – Woman
Te Ao Māori – The Māori world
Pōwhiri – A traditional Māori welcome onto a marae
Marae – a formal meeting grounds in front of a wharenui
Wharenui – Ancestral meeting house
Karanga – A formal, or ceremonial call
Whaikōrero – Formal speech
Whenua – Land
Tangata Whenua – People of the land
Whakamā – To feel shame or embarrassment
Te Kore – The void, land of darkness, the world of death
Waharoa – Entrance or gate to a marae
Wairua – Here is an excerpt from Te Aka (Māori dictionary): spirit, soul – spirit of a person which exists beyond death. It is the non-physical spirit, distinct from the body and the mauri.
Mama – Mother
Hapū – Pregnant
Kaikaranga – The women that lead the call and response during a pōwhiri
Tēnā koutou – Hello! (The three or more people)
Tūmatauenga – The God of War
Ātea – The grassy bit outside a wharenui that belongs in the realm of Tūmatauenga
Paepae – The threshold of a wharenui
Waiata – A Song
Waiata tautoko – To sing in support of someone or something
Hongi Hariru – To hongi and shake hands with someone at the end of a pōwhiri
Hongi – To press noses with another and share a breath
Ngā mihi nui – Thanks a lot
Ngā manaakitanga – To some it means best wishes, but I believe it means to send manaaki to others
Manaaki – Support, care, respect
E hoa mā – Friends
Keetz – A colloquialism, a shortened version of “Ka Kite”, see you