Part 1: Ripeka Paapu

The notion that receiving or giving oral sex while wearing moko kanohi is tapu reflects a modern discomfort, not the lived realities of our tipuna. To understand moko is to understand that it has always been part of the totality of our humanity, not a restriction on it.

Our tipuna were rangatira, tohunga, warriors, kaiārahi – but they were also lovers, partners, and people who expressed their desires freely. The historical record is full of mōteatea, waiata, and pūrākau that openly speak of attraction, longing, flirtation, and sexual passion. These stories remind us that sexuality was never treated as something shameful, but rather as a natural part of being alive. Our people have always been “horny characters,” to use a modern phrase – unafraid of desire, and unashamed of intimacy.

Moko kanohi, like puhoro or any other tā moko, is a declaration of whakapapa and identity. It represents commitment to whānau, hapū, iwi, and to one’s own journey as Māori. It carries mana and tapu, yes, but it also carries aroha, joy, and the right to live fully. Moko is not carved into us so that we might avoid being human – it is carved so that we embody our humanity with mana.

If a puhoro carved deep into the thighs, across the hips, and around the genitals does not prohibit intercourse, then there is no consistent logic in suggesting that moko kanohi prohibits oral sex or any other consensual act of intimacy. The moko travels with us into every dimension of life: our grief, our leadership, our laughter, our growth, and our pleasures. To separate sexuality out as something unworthy of moko is to impose a colonial discomfort onto a Māori artform.

Sexual sovereignty – the ability to claim and express our sexuality in healthy, consensual ways – is essential to our hauora as Māori. It affirms that our bodies belong to us, that we choose how to give and receive aroha, and that pleasure is not a breach of tapu but a gift of whakapapa. Our moko does not shrink in the face of desire – it magnifies our humanity, reminding us that aroha and sex are part of our living whakapapa.

When two people share oral sex, they are engaging in an act of intimacy and trust. With moko present on the skin, that act is not degraded – it is enhanced. It shows that our moko walk with us into every space: the marae, the boardroom, the classroom, the bed. Far from desecrating the moko, such acts affirm that moko is lived, not hidden away on a pedestal of fear.

To wear moko kanohi is to embody one’s whakapapa at all times. That does not mean abstaining from desire. It means showing that we can hold mana, tapu, and pleasure in the same breath. Our moko are not restrictions on our being – they are the living proof that we can be rangatira and lovers, sacred and sexual, disciplined and joyful. To embrace intimacy while wearing moko kanohi is to embrace the fullness of life, and that can only be a healthy expression of love.

Pūrākau, Moko Kanohi, and Sex: Rethinking Tapu in the Bed

Part 2: Māhia Mete-Smith

In te ao Māori, your tinana does not work in isolation from your wairua. This truth is affirmed through pūrākau, waiata, mōteatea, and other forms of mātauranga Māori i.e. whakairo. Unlike colonial frameworks that positioned sexuality as sinful or shameful, Māori understandings carried nuance: sex is the ultimate continuation of whakapapa – moko kanohi or not.

Today, questions sometimes arise around moko kanohi and whether it is tapu to engage in certain sexual acts once one has received this taonga. To consider this, we must look first to our narratives. What is the pūrākau of moko kanohi, and where do our ideas around sex stem from?

The Story of Niwareka and Mataora

Mataora, a man of the upper world, fell in love with Niwareka, a woman of Rarohenga (the underworld). She was renowned for her beauty, charm, and grace. However, Mataora mistreated Niwareka, and in her pain she fled back to Rarohenga, returning to her people. Mataora, filled with regret and longing, decided to follow her. He descended into the underworld to seek forgiveness and to win her back.

When Mataora arrived, his painted moko had smudged and run with sweat, and the people of Rarohenga mocked him. Unlike his temporary markings, in Rarohenga moko was permanently etched into the skin with uhi. Mataora was later etched with moko kanohi and endured the pain as part of his transformation. His moko became both a sign of reconciliation and a demonstration of commitment to Niwareka.

Eventually, Niwareka forgave him, and together they returned to the world of the living, bringing with them the mātauranga of moko kanohi, a sacred expression of whakapapa, mana, and identity.

The Story of Tinirau and Kae

Another well-known examples of the strategy of “Te Tapu o te Wāhine” is the pūrākau of Tinirau and Kae. After Kae killed Tutunui, the pet whale of Tinirau. Tinirau sought utu, and Hineteiwaiwa gathered a tira of wāhine like Hineraukatauri to entrap him.

These women did not go armed with weapons instead, they used te tapu o te wāhine, tinana, waiata and taonga puoro. Through waiata, haka, laughter, and deliberate displays of play, the women distracted and seduced Kae. Their performance exposed him, made him vulnerable, and ultimately allowed them to capture and return him to Tinirau.

This pūrākau shows that sexuality was never hidden as something shameful or private, but was recognised as a source of mana and agency. It challenges narrow colonial ideas that sex is “dirty” or incompatible with tapu. On the contrary, sexuality could uphold tapu, restore balance, and serve collective purposes.

Reclaiming Māori Understandings

Colonisation imposed restrictive ideas throughout te ao Māori, ideas still felt today. Christianity in particular framed sex as sinful, and disconnected from spirit, and many continue these narratives. Yet when we return to our pūrākau, we see a more expansive view. The wahine who captured Kae did not lose their tapu by using sexuality; they exercised their mana. In that same breath, moko kanohi does not prohibit intimacy. If anything, it increases the mana of both the act and the person.

Reclaiming these narratives is part of decolonising our understandings of body, sex, and identity. Moko kanohi and sex are not in conflict, they are complementary expressions of whakapapa and mana. Constantly inventing rules about what is “allowed” misses the point. If you do not engage in sex, your whakapapa stops with you. Moko is whakapapa, and sex is the potential continuation of whakapapa. We have pūrakau of tūpuna who practised kai tangata, consuming the head, including those with moko kanohi, with the belief that the mana of the ariki or rangatira would be absorbed. Colonisers sexualised our tinana and layered shame onto sex, but our own traditions remind us that moko heightens tapu, and tapu coexists with intimacy. To be Māori is to embody both tapu and noa, head and body, moko and sex. Rather than diminishing each other, they work together to affirm the fullness of our humanity. As the saying goes, Whāia ngā mahi a Rarohenga – pursue the works of the underworld. In other words: live well, be a good person, and honour your whakapapa.