Excerpt: When most New Zealanders hear the term “marae” they think of the typical Māori meeting house. The angular facade, decorated in red and white carvings, and the open space for the “encounter” where guests arrive in the warmth of welcome, in the grief of a tangi (funeral), or in the uncertainty of a disagreement. Technically, the “marae” refers to that open space, but most people assume it means the meeting house. In most parts of the North Island, marae – taking the common meaning of the meeting house and the open space – dot small, rural communities. In Te Teko, where I trace my whakapapa (ancestry), there are four marae within a couple kilometres of each other. Each marae on that golden mile in Te Teko acts as a physical statement – this is Māori land. Marae embody deep connections to the land and to the ancestors who exercised rights and responsibilities in respect of it. They make perfect sense in New Zealand. But in Australia, where the Sydney Marae Alliance are preparing to construct that country’s first marae, they make no sense.