featured-image

Judith Lacy is the editor of the Manawatū Guardian. She has been writing Judith’s Jottings for more than three years. OPINION All I had to do to become a New Zealand citizen was pop out of my mother’s lady parts early one morning at Whanganui Hospital 20 or 50 moons ago.

Poor Mum was haemorrhaging and says I was “chucked in a corner” while the obstetrician, midwife and other medical staff worked to save her life. I prefer to believe I was safely put in a crib, but either way, hey presto, I was a New Zealand citizen. My parents were born in New Zealand, as were three of my four grandparents.



Gran was born in the hardly exotic England and came to Aotearoa as a young girl. I reflected on my journey to being eligible for a silver fern passport at last week’s Palmerston North citizenship ceremony. I haven’t been to one yet where I didn’t know someone making the journey to the stage to shake Mayor Grant Smith’s hand and become a New Zealand citizen.

This time there were former students, all of who had come to New Zealand as refugees, and my beauty therapist Munu Karki, who also came to New Zealand as a refugee. What a delightful surprise. It was hard to know where to turn because there were so many people to congratulate.

One of my former students greeted me with “long time no see teacher”. How Kiwi is that. My pride had no bounds.

When I taught at English Teaching College many of my students had been in the country for only a few months and had years to wait .

Back to Beauty Page