Oh Auckland: avoided by some, mocked by most, and home to many. As a tourist, you may get a taste of the grid-lock traffic, sprawling city, and glorious beaches of New Zealand’s ‘city of sails’. But what’s the reality of living here? In particular, West Auckland?

In the summer of 2021, I moved from Dunedin to Te Atatū South (te: the, ata: morning, tū: to stand; place where the morning stands still) in Waitākere/West Auckland. Waitākere spans several suburbs, stretching from the shores of the stunning Waitematā Harbour of the city to the Waitākere Ranges, home to Piha and Te Henga/Bethells Beach. I had a vague idea of what to expect while living in Te Atatū; West Auckland isn’t known as the ‘wild west’ for nothing. The crime and poverty rates are higher than Dunedin, and you don’t need to crunch the stats to believe it. Upon moving into my new house, my landlady related fantastical tales of cops tackling criminals on the front lawn and less spectacular burglaries that stripped the walls.  

 I got my next glimpse into the underbelly of the West by joining the local community Facebook page. As you might expect, posts revolved around free stuff, advice, missing pets, and the odd question like ‘I heard an explosion near X street. Anyone know what’s happening?’ Don’t forget the grainy pictures of ‘suspect persons’ caught on CCTV and reports of vandalizations. To my surprise, it wasn’t always pricey gadgets that were the target of theft. Sadly, the housing crisis and crippling cost of living in Auckland have created an environment of financial desperation. Anything hanging on your clothesline was fair game. Once, a neighbour planted seedlings outside their house only to wake the following day and discover several deep holes in their place. 

Unexpected Encounters

Aside from these second-hand stories, life was beautifully serene for the first month. The police chopper circled by night, and sirens chimed through the windows by day. I studied to an endless soundtrack of traffic, box-beats of walkers carrying speakers in their packs, and cars roaring like a scaly character from Jurassic Park. I began to wonder if the dire warnings of family and friends about safety were nothing more than derlious illusions inspired by watching too much Outrageous Fortune.

And then I started taking the bus. 

Now, don’t get me wrong- public transport has a lot of pros. It’s eco-friendly, you can forget about parking issues, and happily sweep past traffic in peak hour. Auckland busses generally ran to a timetable that was a ‘rough estimate’ to the extent of the definition. However, sometimes it’s not so much the logistical difficulties that put you off public transport, but the other people who use it. 

 One afternoon I was waiting for my bus in Henderson, the local shopping mall precinct made up of pretty creeks and abandoned shopping trolleys. A man wearing dark sunnies, probably in his mid-40s, meandered over from across the road. He sat beside me, and we engaged in polite small talk. Steadily, our conversation became more bizarre. 
‘So, what do you do in your spare time? Do you like having fun?’ He asked with a crocodile grin. 
‘Umm…’ 
‘You should come to Helensville with me. I’ll take you for a ride!’ he insisted. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.’
I nearly burst into laughter to think that such an assurance was coming from one of the dodgiest characters imaginable. Safe? Yeah Right, the famous Tui beer slogan flashed in my mind. Does he really think I’m so naïve? At that very moment, I noticed a policewoman staring at us from across the road. Huh, funny. I leant forward to get a better view of the building. My heart stopped. Out of all the bus stops in Henderson, I’d chosen the one directly opposite the District Court. I glanced at the guy beside me with renewed alarm. So he’s probably a crim… lovely. He seemed to read my thoughts and admitted, ‘Yeah, I went to court this morning.’
‘Oh.’
‘Err… Nothing major, just a couple of minor traffic offenses.’ 
I thought of the Tui slogan for the second time. After more forced conversion and moments of silence, my bus finally arrived. I gave the guy a polite wave goodbye. ‘Good luck with everything! Might see ya around.’ 
His charming façade vanished, replaced by a chilling voice that sent shivers down my spine. ‘No, Holly,’ he replied. ‘You’ll never see me again.’ 
And he was right (thank heavens). Funnily enough, I never did visit that bus stop again.

***

That being said, for every uncomfortable encounter, I’d have three more where kindness beamed into my life at the most unexpected times. When I got myself into a tight spot in town, homeless people offered me help and a protective presence. While I rarely talked to strangers in Dunedin, Waitākere folk actively engaged me in conversion. I found this decidedly strange at first. What do they want from me? Sometimes it was money, but more often than not, it was simply a friendly ear. The Westies gradually melted my frosty mainlander exterior. Before long, I was chatting to the sleepers of Queen Street about the joys of karaoke and discussing recipes in the supermarket, where strangers asked for advice, ‘What would you recommend? Should I get this or that?’ I genuinely enjoyed listening to their stories. Over time, I noticed an enduring theme emerge in every conversation; a yearning for the next ray of light in the tunnel of life, whether it was a nice meal, weekend off , completion of a project, or any other change from menial reality.

COVID-19 in west auckland

Lockdown hit in mid-August. We all knew COVID was coming like the inevitable turn of the seasons, but it didn’t stop panic buyers vacuuming supermarket shelves overnight. As they say, the devil makes work for idle hands. Soon the crack of fireworks resounded across the skies at all hours, and endless party music replaced the drone of traffic. By the third month of lockdown, antics like these were still going, although we’d all gone so loopy from cabin fever we barely noticed. 

In a strange way, lockdown quietly reinforced our sense of community. I came to predict the routines of the neighbours and familiar dogs pulling their humans across the local park. Residents poked boxes of free produce, often lemons, onto the footpath. In fact, all manner of ‘free stuff’ was simply chucked by the curb, and it was common etiquette to grab what fancied. I drew a sense of comfort from the lovely families surrounding home whose antics provided some relief from my hermit-like existence. At dusk, the aromas of dinners stumbled out doorways, and voices of Pasifika families floated down the street to the strums of a lonely guitar.

Lingering thoughts on West Auckland…

Te Atatū South often felt like a land of paradox. A dreamy afternoon walk might be sullied by a chihuahua who latches its jaws around your ankle (true story), or tainted by public warnings to keep off the streets at night (sound advice). On a bright Saturday morning, you might glance outside to the yachts swanning across the glistening Waitematā. A nice morning to pop to the market, you think, only to realise your street has been blocked by police who are raiding *that* neighbour’s house again.

While you do need to be safety-conscious, you can’t let this blind you to the beauty and kindness that Waitākere and it’s people offer. West Auckland wasn’t as ‘wild’ as I imagined, although this undoubtedly varies among neighbourhoods. Although I’m now happily in Dunedin, I do miss things about Te Atatū. My mind drifts back to those sunset strolls along the peninsula or Te Whau Pathway. The residents of the gang house would give me a cheery wave as kids tore down the roads on cycles, whooping hysterically. The golden estuary wove through the mangroves, whilst tūī fluttered between cabbage trees and the sickle moon. Rangitoto Island watched peacefully from a distance, a lonely silhouette framed by fiery skies and seas. It was times like these when I closed my eyes, inhaled the warm north-easterly, and wished time might pause forever.

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