Page 87 of The Break Down

Exactly what she means.

Coach gives the nod, and the rest of the team starts lining up behind me.

Every muscle in my body is tight with anticipation—not from nerves, not from the game.

From what I’m about to do.

The crowd’s restless.

Curious.

The anthem ends.

The field goes quiet.

Then I step forward.

And I perform the haka.

Our haka.

My haka.

I breathe deep. In and out. My hand twitching at my side. I increase my stance. My expression changes.

This is part of it. Part of what the haka symbolizes and means.

We perform the haka to challenge our opponents. To express power, strength and unity. And to mark significant occasions.

Like this one.

Every beat of my chest, every stomp of my feet, every guttural cry from my soul is hers.

“Ka mate, ka mate! Ka ora! Ka ora!”

This is important. What I do now means everything.

“Ka mate, ka mate! Ka ora! Ka ora!”

My voice is loudest.

It’s a war cry.

A declaration.

A promise that I will fight for her, with her, beside her.

The team joins me.

We bellow and beat our chests.

“A upane, ka upane, whiti te ra!”

We finish and stand panting.

There is a prolonged moment of silence.

Then the stadium loses its mind.

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