Other people support the tour. Some of them say sport shouldn’t be mixed up with politics. Some reckon we should invite the South Africans here so they can see how New Zealanders get along together.

There’ve been arguments in the paper, on radio and TV. Not just arguments: fights between marchers and rugby fans. When the Waikato game was stopped, the television showed bottles being chucked at the protestors; guys kicking and punching one another. One woman had blood pouring down her face where something had hit her. Mum and Nana Florence were crying as they watched. Even John went silent. I felt sick. And I made my mind up I was going to do something. That’s why I’m going to Auckland.

John says the Springboks have got a black player in their team. ‘Yeah,’ I went. ‘One!’ He glared at me. Luckily, he works on a couple of farms down the valley, so he’s not home very often to have rows.

I’m a bit scared about what might happen at the third test, but I’m excited, too. Some of the kids in my Form Four class at high school wish they were coming; others reckon I’m stupid. The tour has really divided people. There’s families in the Waimoana Valley who’ve stopped speaking to one another.

Dad says there are black rugby organisations in South Africa working to get into the top teams. (He knows those sorts of things. Teachers usually do.) It was embarrassing sometimes, being in his class at primary school, or seeing his name on my report: Alan Hohepa, Teacher. But he made lessons interesting.

Mum’s a teacher, too; she met my father at teachers’ college. She comes from a part of New Zealand where my Great-great-great-Aunt Janet used to live. So when Dad went to teachers’ college, he was supposed to say ‘hello’ to this girl called Beth. He reckons he wasn’t very interested — until he met her. She helps teach Standards One and Two at Waimoana School.

I felt nervous during the couple of days before we drove to Auckland. Nervous and excited. I was going to show how I felt about this tour. So I went for walks down the riverbed, past the old orchard and the new bridge that crosses the Waimoana where the swing-bridge used to be. There’s no other girls in the valley my age. Dad’s friend Tipene and his wife, Pania, (she’s neither pronor anti-tour) have eleven-year-old twins, Marika and Marama. But I quite like being by myself.

I like the valley, too. I know it’s special. Tipene’s father, Robert McDougall (I call him Grandad Robert), used to teach at our primary school, and he’s writing a book about the Waimoana area. He’s found out all sorts of stuff. But I’m going to leave here sometime. There’s a big wide world out there, and I want to see it!