01/09/2026
Statement of Truth: Kai Manahau Café
Small towns love to talk in corners because gossip is easy. Facing the mirror is hard.
People see a storefront. They see whether the lights are on, whether the doors are open, whether the café is busy.
What they don’t see is the person behind it.
They don’t see the work it took to get here. The early mornings. The long days. The pressure. The mistakes. The sacrifices. The times I had to keep going when stopping would have been much easier.
They don’t see the woman who built something from nothing because she believed this community deserved something more.
My life has never been simple, and it has never been comfortable.
Long before Kai Manahau, I learned what it means to keep standing when life gives you every reason to sit down.
I have worked in the dairy industry under enormous pressure. I have worked alongside people who made it very clear that being Māori and being a woman could make you a target. I have been in environments that tried to silence me, isolate me and make me question my place.
But I kept standing.
I kept working.
I kept learning.
And I kept moving forward.
That is the woman who built Kai Manahau.
I didn’t build this café for money, approval or small-town glory.
I built it because I wanted to create a place where people mattered.
For the young people who needed someone to believe in them.
For the people who don’t always feel welcome.
For the people who are easy for a community to overlook.
For the ones who walk through the door carrying things nobody else can see.
I wanted Kai Manahau to be a place where people could come in, sit down, eat something good, have a coffee, and for a little while feel like they belonged.
And perhaps that is why this next part is so difficult to write.
Because sometimes life doesn’t ask whether you’re ready.
It simply stops you.
Right now, my body has forced a hard physical stop.
I am preparing for major neurosurgery before the end of this year to remove a tumour pressing directly against my brainstem.
There are things about that sentence that are difficult even for me to comprehend.
I am used to being the person who finds a way through.
The person who fixes the problem.
The person who keeps everyone else moving.
This time, I have had to accept that my own body needs me to stop.
That doesn’t come easily to someone like me.
And while I know there are people who will have their opinions about what they think is happening with Kai Manahau, the truth is much simpler.
I am fighting to get well.
I am fighting to be here for my daughter, and her siblings.
I am fighting to protect what I have built.
And I am fighting to make sure that the work, sacrifice and belief that went into Kai Manahau are not defined by one difficult chapter.
So to those who think they know me:
Please don’t mistake a temporary medical pause for weakness.
I’m not asking for your sympathy.
I’m not asking for permission.
And I don’t need anyone to tell me that I am strong.
I know what I’ve survived.
What I am asking for is something much simpler:
Understand that there is a real person behind these doors.
A mother.
A business owner.
A woman who has spent her life working, fighting, building and trying to create something meaningful for the people around her.
Right now, she needs to stop.
The storefront might pause.
The future of Kai Manahau is still being written.
And whatever that future looks like, I know one thing:
I am not finished.
My daughter still needs her mum.
My community still has work to do.
And I still have a vision worth fighting for.
The grind may look different for a while.
But it does not stop.
To the people who didn’t just talk about me, but actually stood beside me when things became difficult—
to those who checked in, helped, listened, showed up, or simply reminded me that I wasn’t carrying everything alone—
thank you.
You know who you are.
And I will never forget it.
— Tamsin Radick
