This Isn’t a Briscoes Sale: Bariatric Surgery, Māori Lives, and the Truth Abroad

This week I read an article and watched the documentary Pukunati: Lose Weight or Die.

It follows the journeys of Roihana and Faren, two Māori who had to travel all the way to India for bariatric surgery they couldn’t access in Aotearoa.

Their stories are raw, powerful, and heartbreaking. They open up kōrero we need to have about health inequity, fat stigma, and the reality that Māori bodies are constantly measured, judged, and too often left without real options at home.

Firstly, thank you for being brave, bold and sharing your story in such a vulnerable way. You have inspired. I get agreeing to be filmed may not have been in alignment but know you have sparked courage in many.

The Reality at Home

Bariatric surgery in New Zealand is rationed. Waitlists are long. Private costs are out of reach. And for many Māori — those who could benefit most — the door is firmly shut.

We hear things like: “You’re too fat for surgery.” Or: “Lose weight first, then we’ll consider you.” A cruel paradox that leaves people draining KiwiSaver, taking on debt, or flying overseas for weight loss surgery abroad just to survive.

What Happens Next

With Pukunati out there, I can already see the ripple effect.

Some hospitals in Türkiye — ones I know and many I’d never go near — will seize the moment, pushing “cheap deals” and Māori-targeted ads. And it won’t just be hospitals. Pop-up companies and influencers will jump on too.

Yes, some are genuine and want the best for our people. But too many are eager, complacent, even naïve — promoting gastric sleeve Türkiye packages without the depth of knowledge or accountability this complex industry requires. It quickly becomes about who can undercut who, a competitive price war built on social media likes and follows.

And I know this pattern well. When Whakaata Māori followed me and my people for Te Ao with Moana, it wasn’t something we’d normally do. But we chose to allow it, hoping even the smallest influence might help others step forward with their hauora. For that, I’ll always be grateful to my people who allowed themselves to be seen, even while carrying social media backlash.

What happened afterwards? Pop-up shops posting “follow me,” “I run escorted tours,” “cheap deals.” Hospitals I would never work with grabbed at the opportunity, and sadly, some of our people fell for it.

But this isn’t a Briscoes sale that ends at midnight. This is about people’s lives. Lives that need long-term support, accountability, and people who will stand by them through the hardest moments.

Why Do I See It This Way?

Because I live here. Türkiye has been my home for five years. I see the hospitals pitching partnerships, the calls when things go wrong, and the marketing crafted to reel our people in.

Profit is part of it, sure. But what are we chasing? Clicks? Quick fixes? The appearance of success?

I’ve seen pop-ups rushing to sell gastric sleeve deals — shameless, shallow, risky.

And how would I know? I’m just Moana from Koutu, Rotorua — but Türkiye is also my home. Just as I’m protective of Aotearoa, I’m protective of my whānau and colleagues here who genuinely care about our people.

Because let’s not forget — my Turkish whānau, the nurses, surgeons, and hospital staff, work tirelessly to uphold standards. They’re not just doing a job; they’re putting kai on their tables, caring for their own families, and taking pride in providing safe healthcare. They work diligently to support our people while sustaining their own.

Do our people back home see that side? Or even care to know?

Sales Opportunity or Supported Journey?

Weight loss surgery is not a quick fix. It’s not a social media storyline. It’s one part of a much bigger hauora journey — one that needs safety, wraparound care, and accountability.

When bariatric surgery becomes a market, Māori health becomes a sales pitch. And our people deserve better than that.

Hauora First

When hauora is reduced to BMI numbers, when surgery access is rationed, or when overseas hospitals push quick deals without long-term support — are we truly honouring those four walls of the whare?

Too often, the answer is no.

The challenge is clear: to build pathways that are safe, accountable, and grounded in aroha, manaakitanga, and whanaungatanga. Pathways that honour our people as more than numbers, more than sales, more than a “risk profile.”

Because hauora is abundance, resilience, and dignity. And that’s the future our people deserve.