Last night was my farewell from Mulga Bore as well as being our usual end of term celebration. Robyn who I work with at the school had put a lot of time and effort into planning a few surprises for me but there are some things you just can’t plan for!
We had gathered outside as it was a very balmy evening and let’s face it that mob would rather be outside than in pretty much anytime. We had just finished handing out all of the certificates to outstanding students and had given everyone a copy of the new Utopia School CD which we are all very proud and every one was very excited about. We had finally settled all the kids down and Robyn had just launched into her very serious and moving speech about me and my time at Mulga Bore when what should I see slithering along the ground towards us but a very small, very fast snake! I pointed it out to Violet who was sitting beside me 2 seconds later the entire 150 people, men women and children had scattered and begun to climb trees, verandahs and each other to escape from the snake. Admittedly Violet and I were the only ones who had seen the size of the snake and once people realised it wasn’t a major threat one of the old women casually walked over and thumped it with a large lump of wood. That crisis averted, we moved everyone inside, just to be safe, and started the speeches again.
What followed was one of the most special hours of my life. The outpouring of love and pride and sorrow at my departure was truly humbling and many tears were shed. The kids had decorated the classroom with signs and paper chains and they had all written little thankyou cards which they presented to me one at a time while shaking hands to say goodbye. The shaking of hands in the indigenous world is a custom usually reserved for ‘Sorry business’, usually when someone dies. While last night was actually a happy celebration in many ways of the relationship I have built with the people of Mulga Bore, there was certainly a lot of grief about it too. The community teachers and adults had a chance to speak too and their effort to express complicated emotions in a language that is hard for them was really touching. Speeches were followed by a Community BBQ and a disco with matt and Kelly from Music Outback doing the musical honours.
Finally at about 9:30pm the evening wrapped up and it was time for me to drive some people and myself home. We were in convoy with another car from 3 Mile community (one of my pick up points) and, predicatably, something went wrong! They got a flat tyre. Luckily they had a spare. You can’t always count on that! Unfortunately the spare was not as inflated as it could have been so we were reduced to driving quite slowly for the 50 or so kms home. Fortunately this meant that when the other car hit a kangaroo were were going slowly enough to avoid hitting it. This also meant that were were going slowly enough to stop and have someone grab it before it limped away. This task fell to Angela who was travelling in the front seat. She fairly leapt out of the car and quick as a flash grabbed onto the tail. The kangaroo, sensing perhaps the fate that awaited him, struggled to free himself from Angela’s grip. At this point Angela decided to call for back up, specifically ME! So I did my bit, jumped out of the car and I too grabbed hold of the tail. Then the cries came from the back of my car ‘Hit it in the head!’ I should say at this point that the kangaroo had been injured when the car struck it and could no longer hop. Out here that leaves you with one option – Ker (meat). So Lachlan, one of my students joins us on the road with a great big tree stump in hand and proceeded to thump the poor old kangaroo on the head a couple of times. I have to admit I turned away at this point, but I was still holding onto the tail. The Ker was then tossed into the back of the other car and we got underway again.
It’s hard to convey the mood in the car after this unexpected hunting activity, but it’s fair to say it was light. People were happy. They had had a good night with all the families together, a BBQ, a disco and now they had tomorrow’s breakfast all lined up. Maybe it doesn’t get much better than that?
It was such a great night and one which in so many ways reflected all the things I love about being out here. I found myself struggling to remember the reasons why I had decided to leave.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Monday, December 11, 2006
Last times
Today was my last Monday at Mulga Bore. Tomorrow will be my last Tuesday. On the weekend as I drove back out to Utopia from Alice Springs I realised that it would be the last time I would drive back to Utopia. Of course I'm being melodramatic. It might not be my last time doing any of these thiings. I might end up back out here. But nothing is sure. I guess if I think about it I have been experiencing Last Times for a while now - last winter in the desert, last time at Ti tree Sports, last Christmas concert, last time wrapping Christmas presents for 50 kids (not so sad about that one!), last hunting trip, last time listening to bad country/gospel music, last time making fritz sandwiches (not too sad about that one either!!) Maybe the noting of Last Times is our way of making sure the passing of a significant moment doesn't pass us by? As we were cleaning the school today and I was joking around with my Senior girls one of them said to me suddenly 'Lisa stop'. I have heard this phrase before, usually when I'm driving the car and someone see's a goanna crossing the road, but the tone was different this time. I said to her 'stop what?'. 'Stop here' she replied, 'Dont go'. 'But I have to go and have a rest' was all I could think to reply, quickly adding 'I might come back'. 'You wont' she answered with the voice of someone who has been promised such things before and been let down. And my heart broke a little bit. And I wonder to myself why I'm not 'stopping'?
Last times are hard. Leaving is hard.
Last times are hard. Leaving is hard.
Friday, October 13, 2006
Paintings
I bought a painting this morning. It's bright and abstract and colourful and I'm not sure yet if I like it. My friend Lucy painted it. She called in at the school office looking for someone who wasn't here. Lucy was perhaps the first Indigenous woman I got to know at Utopia. She comes from a place called Aniltji and I was the school teacher there for a term when I first arrived out here. When I first met Lucy she was almost completely deaf. She wasn't born that way. She made the mistake of marrying a man who drank, alot, and became violent against those around him when he was drunk. Often Lucy copped the brunt of his rage in an effort to keep him away from their children. He had beaten her so many times around the head that she had practically lost hearing in both ears. I remember one time seeing Lucy in town, literally sitting in a gutter. I sat down with her and we talked a bit. She used to get very frustrated by how little she could understand in conversations. What I remember about that time was the palpable sadness I felt sitting next to her. Here was this proud strong woman who had literally been beaten into submission. The day I saw her she was in fact on her way to Adelaide to have an operation on her ears. I cannot believe the transformation it has made to her life. She still struggles to hear some things but can hold a normal conversation if you speak clearly to her. She is painting again (her main source of income) and she is back living on her country with her children around her. She is happy again. I remember seeing here a few months back and we talked about that time I saw her in town. She just shook her head and said 'I was really sad that time, but now I'm good, I feel strong'. It was this strong Lucy who visited this morning, talking excitedly about the sports weekend on at a neighbouring community and how she needed to sell a painting to get fuel for her car to get her family up there. So I bought one of them, because while other people will come to my house and see it as a piece of decoration for my wall, I will always look at it and think of my friend Lucy.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Sports weekend
I have always known how important sport is to the people who live out here. I dont think I fully realised the extent of it until last weekend. The Utopia store was hosting a Sports weekend. This is basically a weekend where small Homeland Communities come together in a central location and hold a round robin Football competition for the men and Softball competition for the women. We whitefellas hear whispers of them when they are about to happen. People start saying things like 'Must be football this weekend'. It's never really clear whether the sport itself will materialise until the actual weekend itself. Sometimes people start the rumour because there was one at the same time last year. Sometimes it's because a particular group have intended hosting one but simply haven't gotten organised in time. But every now and then the rumours prove to be true and the sports weekend happens.
Thus was the case last weekend and the stream of cars heading north up the Sandover highway left a cloud of red dust in their wake. Groups had come from all over the place. Utopia Homelands, like Mulga Bore where I teach, were well represented but there were also teams from Mt Leibig and Areonga which are a good 5 hours drive from Utopia. It was actually the biggest gatehring for a footy weekend I've ever seen.
The action started on the Saturday. It's never really clear who exactly is organising the draw, but eventually two teams start playing when someone toots the car horn siren. At the same time the womens softball starts up with a team listing drawn up on a scrap of paper and someone recording home runs while sitting in the dirt under a tree.
While the adults play sport the kids run around playing their own smaller versions of the games, or clambering all over the playground or shooting hoops on the basketball court.
Mr Whippy has seen an pportunity to make a killing and has set up shop nearby. Sadly the machine isn't too keen on the heat combined with the demand for soft serve and periodically gives up the ghost. There was also the best looking ute competition, this year won by the ute completely done out in Bombers colours, with the Mightly Magpies taking out second place.
Now ordinarily a sports weekend runs over onto a Monday. This is a commonly accepted fact out here and we at the school, being the culturally sensitive and accomodating people that we are, dont try to fight this. We simply drive our cars up to the store and join in the festivities. It actually a really nice time of catching up with all the communities at once.
So Monday arrived and we headed up to the store. Footy was in full swing, as was the Softball. The Mulga Bore women were playing and there was contention when the pitcher for the other team was discovered standing too close and striking out our team far too cheaply.
The main concern came toward the end of the day when it became clear that the Football was not going to finish that day. The solution - keep playing on Tuesday. Not a problem for the Communties, more of a problem for the schools. We dutifully opened our doors only to find all of our students still holed up at the Store. 'It's finals today, must be no school 'gen' was the only comment from the Community Teachers. And clearly the fials is the business end of the season. I heard of no less that 3 major fights breaking out - disputes over umpiring or the outcome of the game. Apparantly even though there are scorers and timers and umpires the done thing is to let the Local side win no matter what - to save face. Apparantly that didn't happen and the Local side were none too pleased.
Finally on Wednesday the carnival was over and school could resume. Except for me. The Mulga Bore mob informed me that they were heading over to Alcoota for Sorry Business. An old man had passed away over there and they needed to go and pay their respects and compelte the traditional grieving rituals. Problem was they had been delayed a couple of days. "We'll be going soon as that footballs finished' they kept telling me. And here I thought everything stopped when someone dies. Apparantly football is the exception to this rule!
Thus was the case last weekend and the stream of cars heading north up the Sandover highway left a cloud of red dust in their wake. Groups had come from all over the place. Utopia Homelands, like Mulga Bore where I teach, were well represented but there were also teams from Mt Leibig and Areonga which are a good 5 hours drive from Utopia. It was actually the biggest gatehring for a footy weekend I've ever seen.
The action started on the Saturday. It's never really clear who exactly is organising the draw, but eventually two teams start playing when someone toots the car horn siren. At the same time the womens softball starts up with a team listing drawn up on a scrap of paper and someone recording home runs while sitting in the dirt under a tree.
While the adults play sport the kids run around playing their own smaller versions of the games, or clambering all over the playground or shooting hoops on the basketball court.
Mr Whippy has seen an pportunity to make a killing and has set up shop nearby. Sadly the machine isn't too keen on the heat combined with the demand for soft serve and periodically gives up the ghost. There was also the best looking ute competition, this year won by the ute completely done out in Bombers colours, with the Mightly Magpies taking out second place.
Now ordinarily a sports weekend runs over onto a Monday. This is a commonly accepted fact out here and we at the school, being the culturally sensitive and accomodating people that we are, dont try to fight this. We simply drive our cars up to the store and join in the festivities. It actually a really nice time of catching up with all the communities at once.
So Monday arrived and we headed up to the store. Footy was in full swing, as was the Softball. The Mulga Bore women were playing and there was contention when the pitcher for the other team was discovered standing too close and striking out our team far too cheaply.
The main concern came toward the end of the day when it became clear that the Football was not going to finish that day. The solution - keep playing on Tuesday. Not a problem for the Communties, more of a problem for the schools. We dutifully opened our doors only to find all of our students still holed up at the Store. 'It's finals today, must be no school 'gen' was the only comment from the Community Teachers. And clearly the fials is the business end of the season. I heard of no less that 3 major fights breaking out - disputes over umpiring or the outcome of the game. Apparantly even though there are scorers and timers and umpires the done thing is to let the Local side win no matter what - to save face. Apparantly that didn't happen and the Local side were none too pleased.
Finally on Wednesday the carnival was over and school could resume. Except for me. The Mulga Bore mob informed me that they were heading over to Alcoota for Sorry Business. An old man had passed away over there and they needed to go and pay their respects and compelte the traditional grieving rituals. Problem was they had been delayed a couple of days. "We'll be going soon as that footballs finished' they kept telling me. And here I thought everything stopped when someone dies. Apparantly football is the exception to this rule!
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Weddings
I have just realised with horror that it is over a month since I have posted anything. Apologies to those of you who check this blog regularly. My only excuse is that I have been distracted by a new man in my life who I met at a wedding about 3 weeks ago. I had two weddings two weekends in a row, the first in Sydney, the next in Melbourne and both were for the loyalest and truest of friends so not going was not an option. The annoying part was having to come back to the NT inbetween. So having braced myself for the onslaught of being in aeroplanes most of my life I headed off to the first wedding where I knew almost no one else who as going. Turns out this is not such a bad thing as you get to make friends once you're there! In fact sometimes they are even sitting on the same table as you!
So now, barely two and a half weeks and about a thousand emails and text messages later, he has booked to fly up and spend a weekend with me in Alice in two weeks time. I'm not sure what it is yet but I like the way it feels!
So now, barely two and a half weeks and about a thousand emails and text messages later, he has booked to fly up and spend a weekend with me in Alice in two weeks time. I'm not sure what it is yet but I like the way it feels!
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Film makers V Politicians
I went to see the film Ten Canoes the other day. Go and see it! In the last few months there have been some pretty damning images and reports about life in remote Indigenous Communities in the Northern Territory,. This has been compunded by some outrageous, uninformed and dangerous claims and solutions offered by Politicians whose idea of visiting a remote community involves a day trip (if that!)
Rolf De heer has obviously taken the time to get to know the people of Ramingining. He has sat down with them and listened to their story. He has realised the humour that exisits within this ancient culture. He has recognised that their way of telling a story is different to our way and while we may be impatient for the story to unfold according to our expectations, that is not how everyone sees the world. He had seemlessly interwoven the hutning story with the Dreamtime story and shown how Aboriginal people have been doing education for time immemorial. Spend 2 hours watching this film and you will learn more about the original inhabitant of this ancient land that any text book will teach you. You will begin to see the struggle of a people who are trying to live in two worlds and you will start to realise why this is so hard for them but what amazing strength of character and humour thay have managed to maintain.
Go and see this film.
Rolf De heer has obviously taken the time to get to know the people of Ramingining. He has sat down with them and listened to their story. He has realised the humour that exisits within this ancient culture. He has recognised that their way of telling a story is different to our way and while we may be impatient for the story to unfold according to our expectations, that is not how everyone sees the world. He had seemlessly interwoven the hutning story with the Dreamtime story and shown how Aboriginal people have been doing education for time immemorial. Spend 2 hours watching this film and you will learn more about the original inhabitant of this ancient land that any text book will teach you. You will begin to see the struggle of a people who are trying to live in two worlds and you will start to realise why this is so hard for them but what amazing strength of character and humour thay have managed to maintain.
Go and see this film.
Monday, July 03, 2006
Airport
It's 3 o'clock in the afternoon and I'm tired. I'm tired because I got up at 4am this morning to meet a plane arrving at Melbourne airport, a plane that carried my parents abord. They had been overseas for 6 weeks, in Europe and the UK and it felt important for me to be there to meet them when they arrived home again. Partly I think I felt this way because of the countless trips to the airport they have done for me - this morning was payback in the best sense of that term. Partly, and more importantly, I wanted to be there because this trip was so important to my Dad. He's 63 years old and this was his first trip overseas. He doesn't like flying and I dont mind telling you that I had my doubts about whether he would get on the plane. But he did, and wouldn't you know it, it turns out he sleeps well on aeroplanes! I can never sleep a wink!
So apart from a couple of phone calls, text messages and postcards, I didn't really have a sense of how the trip went. He has been back only 10 hours and already his enthusiasm for the experiences he had and the larger world in which he now feels a part are both clear. At some point, perhaps when he is less jet lagged, I will hear more stories and see some of the 12 or 13 CD's full of photos he has taken! But for now I'm just proud of him, willing to leave his comfort zone and take on a new thing and open to the revelations that brings. I hope I am so willing at 63!
So apart from a couple of phone calls, text messages and postcards, I didn't really have a sense of how the trip went. He has been back only 10 hours and already his enthusiasm for the experiences he had and the larger world in which he now feels a part are both clear. At some point, perhaps when he is less jet lagged, I will hear more stories and see some of the 12 or 13 CD's full of photos he has taken! But for now I'm just proud of him, willing to leave his comfort zone and take on a new thing and open to the revelations that brings. I hope I am so willing at 63!
Monday, June 05, 2006
The Seventh Generation
Are we seriously having a conversation in this country that suggests that Nuclear power is safe? is environmentally friendly? is responsible?
I feel like I have taken my eyes off the political ball for a moment and the world has gone mad.
There is a Native American saying that says 'In every deliberation we must consider the impact on the seventh generation'. What kind of a world will we be leaving to the next generation, let alone the seventh generation from now, if we go down this path any further than we already have?
Our own indigenous people here in Australia talk of uranium as poison in the ground and that we shouldn't disturb it.
Check out these sites for more information and tell your Member of parliament that you don't want a Nuclear future for Australia.
http://www.rachelsiewert.org.au/files/releases/let-the-facts-speak-3rd-edition.pdf
http://www.7genfund.org/2006_uranium_summit.html
I feel like I have taken my eyes off the political ball for a moment and the world has gone mad.
There is a Native American saying that says 'In every deliberation we must consider the impact on the seventh generation'. What kind of a world will we be leaving to the next generation, let alone the seventh generation from now, if we go down this path any further than we already have?
Our own indigenous people here in Australia talk of uranium as poison in the ground and that we shouldn't disturb it.
Check out these sites for more information and tell your Member of parliament that you don't want a Nuclear future for Australia.
http://www.rachelsiewert.org.au/files/releases/let-the-facts-speak-3rd-edition.pdf
http://www.7genfund.org/2006_uranium_summit.html
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Long shadows hour
My favorite time of day is that when the shadows stretch long across the landscape. When the sun sinks down and casts the shadows of the trees in such a way that they stretch like giant fingers across the road, once again reclaiming the earth into darkness. The time of day when the sky blazes orange, then turns deep red and fades into pinks and purples and blues and you marvel at how no painter on earth could imagine how to pant such beautiful colours. Then you stop watching for a moment and suddenly the colours are gone. When the birds sing their evening songs, reserved for just this moment and we begin our nocturnal sommersault.
Friday, June 02, 2006
Mutaka vigil
On my way to school Monday morning I came across a white Toyota Troop carrier stopped squarely in the middle of the road, jacked up with the wheel resting against the side of the car. To the right of the car I could see two people sitting next to a small camp fire and to the left a bunch of swags rolled out on the dirt and a couple of bleary eyed faces poking out from them. I slowed to a stop and closer inspection revealed that it was a family from Mulga Bore and the bleary faces belonged to students of mine. I hopped out to have a chat and see if I could offer any of my bush mechanic skills (!) to help them. Unsurprisingly the job required surpassed my skills and instead I was asked to inform the people at the community down the road that the wheel bearing was broken so that the men there could come and help, then I was instructed to take the kids with me so that they could go to school. I was more than happy to oblige.
On the way home from school I was largely unsurprised to find the white Toyota unmoved. Someone from Mulga Bore had given me a car part to pass on to Harold, the owner of the 'mutaka'. Harold and Doreen had been sitting by their 'mutaka' all day. They had had visits from various people throughout the day I believe. Old Wendy was there when I arrived, eating her 'tinnameat' that she had just cooked on the fire. Doreen asked if I could bring them some water and I duly returned with that aswell as a billy, some tea, milk, sugar, bread and a few chops. They hadn't planned to break down and had nothing with them.
No one out here ever seems to plan to break down, but very often they do. When I think about the preparations we 'whitefellas' make for a journey of any distance it astounds me how far these people will travel with very little as backup. Often people will set off fully knowing that the car they are travelling in doesn't have enough petrol to get them where they're going, but they set off anyway, trusting that someone will stop and help them out.
Anyway, by the next morning two other car loads from the same family had arrived overnight to keep Harold and Doreen company. It was turning into quite a family gathering. I wandered over to see if there were kids to be picked up today and Violet, one of my teachers, popped her sleepy head up from her swag. Her older sister, who it seems had been awake for longer than Violet, asked her in language if she was going to school. Violet rubbed her eyes and said, "Lisa, I might go tomorrow."
By that afternoon when I drove by again, the Toyota had been moved off the road. It was fixed and they were packing up their makeshift camp ready to head for home. They returned my billy can with thanks and I watched them drive off in convoy.
Cars and family - two of the staples of life out here.
On the way home from school I was largely unsurprised to find the white Toyota unmoved. Someone from Mulga Bore had given me a car part to pass on to Harold, the owner of the 'mutaka'. Harold and Doreen had been sitting by their 'mutaka' all day. They had had visits from various people throughout the day I believe. Old Wendy was there when I arrived, eating her 'tinnameat' that she had just cooked on the fire. Doreen asked if I could bring them some water and I duly returned with that aswell as a billy, some tea, milk, sugar, bread and a few chops. They hadn't planned to break down and had nothing with them.
No one out here ever seems to plan to break down, but very often they do. When I think about the preparations we 'whitefellas' make for a journey of any distance it astounds me how far these people will travel with very little as backup. Often people will set off fully knowing that the car they are travelling in doesn't have enough petrol to get them where they're going, but they set off anyway, trusting that someone will stop and help them out.
Anyway, by the next morning two other car loads from the same family had arrived overnight to keep Harold and Doreen company. It was turning into quite a family gathering. I wandered over to see if there were kids to be picked up today and Violet, one of my teachers, popped her sleepy head up from her swag. Her older sister, who it seems had been awake for longer than Violet, asked her in language if she was going to school. Violet rubbed her eyes and said, "Lisa, I might go tomorrow."
By that afternoon when I drove by again, the Toyota had been moved off the road. It was fixed and they were packing up their makeshift camp ready to head for home. They returned my billy can with thanks and I watched them drive off in convoy.
Cars and family - two of the staples of life out here.
Monday, May 29, 2006
Casino feet
Joselyn is 5. She just turned 5. She's one of our preschoolers and I don't mind telling you she can be a handful . My nickname for her is "Bossy Jossy" because frankly there are times when she is the boss of everyone and CANNOT be told what to do.
I arrived at Mulga Bore this morning and made my usual stop at Lindsay's house. Joselyn came running up to me very excited. She was holding a pair of shiny black shoes that looked to be about her size.
"Lisa, look my casino feet."
She was proud as punch to own a pair of shoes that would gain her access to the Casino in Alice Springs. Sadly, I fear that she knows this phrase only too well because it is a venue frequented by her father. Joselyn mostly stays out at Mulga Bore and is cared for by her aunties and her grandparents. She's happy enough and all in all I have to say that she's better off being a bossy little school girl than a Casino orphan.
I arrived at Mulga Bore this morning and made my usual stop at Lindsay's house. Joselyn came running up to me very excited. She was holding a pair of shiny black shoes that looked to be about her size.
"Lisa, look my casino feet."
She was proud as punch to own a pair of shoes that would gain her access to the Casino in Alice Springs. Sadly, I fear that she knows this phrase only too well because it is a venue frequented by her father. Joselyn mostly stays out at Mulga Bore and is cared for by her aunties and her grandparents. She's happy enough and all in all I have to say that she's better off being a bossy little school girl than a Casino orphan.
Saturday, May 27, 2006
Silence
It's after midnight and I find myself unable to sleep. There is a type of silence you discover when you live in the desert, silence that isn't really silence. A silence so quiet that it makes you acutely aware of everything around you. A tap dripping, the fridge as it adjusts to the nightime temperature drop, the house as it creaks and moans, the quiet noises of nocturnal animals. Once you are tuned into these noises that can only be heard in the silence they become as loud as the trams that used to pass by my bedroom window when I lived in North Fitzroy. They keep me awake. And so I stop fighting my sleeplessness and I step outside to breathe in the night air. I'm glad I did becasue it is the most miraculous night for stars. There is no moon in the sky, not yet at least. The Milky Way is a cloudy white blur that stretches from one side of the sky to the other. The sky is glittering from the sheer volume of celestial bodies visible on a night like this. All of a sudden sleeplessness doesn't seem so bad and I am glad for the noises that have kept me awake.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Bush trip
Last Wednesday we went on a bush trip. Now many of you might think that I live in the bush already. But trust me it is possible to go further bush than Mulga Bore. In fact going bush for them means driving out to some very special hunting grounds. I have been there twice now and still dont think I could find it by myself. The track to get there winds through scrub, creek beds and rocky outcrops. Often there is only a faint set of old tyre tracks to guide the way. Luckily for me I just have to follow someone else when I go.
The kids were so excited about our bush trip - running to school when they saw my Toyota arrive and excitedly reconfirming 'We going bush today Lisa?'
After the regular amount of pfaffing around and sorting out who would travel in which cars and which adult members of the community would be coming with us and which of their cars had enough petrol to get there and back - we set off. The kids in my car took control of the tape player immediately and put in the Utopia Songs tape - a complilation of songs the kids have written and recorded during my time at the school. They sang along at great volume the entire way!
About half way to our final destination we stopped at a significant rocky hill and the old men and women took pleasure is showing certain special features to the children - the piece of rock that had been made smooth long ago when the 'dreamtime people' sharpened their stone knives there, the rocks leaning together in the shape of a roof that used to provide shelter for people, the water hole where animals can drink.
Then it was back in the cars and on to the hunting ground. Once we arrived there the kids made a beeline for the huge rock hill and climbed it at great speed eagerly anticipating the views that awaited them at the top. Then back down they came and it was time to do some hunting. Some people went off looking for echidna and goanna tracks. Others took axes and went looking for sugarbag, some took shovels and crowbars to look for honey ants. I went with Maggie to look for witchetty grubs (Tyape). A gaggle of small boys trailed after us. Usually boys don't look for tyape -it's womens work. But these were young boys and still learning all the bush arts so it was OK. It didn't take long for Maggie to spot the first sign of possibility - the shed skin of a grub left at the base of the tree as it has entered the root system. Maggie dug up the roots like a pro but alas only found old cocoons - the grub had long since moved on. Same story at the next couple of trees but eventually we were luckly and dug up some nice, fat juicy tyape.
After a while we got tired and decided to head back to 'camp' where the BBQ was being cooked and two of the old ladies had decided to make damper. Egged on by myself and the kids this quickly turned into a race to see who could make the best damper and in the shortest time. Everyone had a great laugh as these two matriachs of the Community folded and kneaded their damper as quick as they could. Out of deference to both we declared the competition a draw. Both dampers were very good eating!
We found some bush fruits and bush medecine but unfotunately the creatures with feet managed to avoid capture so no goanna or perentie for us that day.
Never mind, I'm sure it wont be our last bush trip!
Sunday, May 14, 2006
Something lost, something found
In my first weekend alone in my house since the start of the year I decided to have a bit of a spring (or autumn) clean. I was cleaning out the cupboards in my spare bedroom when I came across an exercise book with the lyrics to a song I wrote with my class written out in pencil. Above certain words the guitar chords were marked in. I soon realised that the handwriting belonged to my friend Kirk who died last year. I had a token stab a few years ago at learning the guitar. It lasted about 5 minutes but those 5 minutes happen to coincide with a visit to Utopia of Kirk and a bunch of other friends. I remember it being a crazy few days with their 3 or 4 cars arriving out here at about 8 pm one night - they had left town later than anticipated and driving in convoy on a dirt road at night is not easy! I remember all 9 or 10 of use sitting on my front verandah - talking, knitting, doing crosswords or marking of birds we'd seen in Birds of Australia books (not me so much for that one!). I remember Kirk particularly enjoying the hammock. This is possibly because he had called me a couple of times in the week before they arrived up here - to talk about logistics - and each time we spoke I had been in my hammock! I remember going out bush overnight, camping in the river bed, eating kangaroo tail cooked on the hot coals of the campfire - even Kirk the vegetarian bless him! I remember he and Kylie and I singing Closer to Fine and it being one of those moments where your voices connect and become more than the sum of their parts. I remember heading off to the Utopia Sports carnival on what should have been a school day and the boys from the city donning the Magpies jerseys and playing for the Mulga Bore Magpies. I remember Angela taking us to the caves and all of us stading on the top and taking a photo of our shadows all lined up. I still look at the picture and try to figure out which one is Kirk. I remember getting the kids to sing the Hunting Song for all my friends and Kirk loving it so much that he decided to write his own lyrics to the same tune offer the students the gift of a new song telling the story of his journey to Utopia.
And I remember asking Kirk to note down the chords for me so that I could learn to play the song on my guitar. He was only too happy to do it. I'm sorry now that i gave up on the concept so quickly.
The thing is that I could almost count on two hands the number of times I saw Kirk in the last few years - it really wasn't that often. But I think of him so often now.
There was a ceremony yesterday in Melbourne to scatter Kirk's ashes. I was sad that I couldn't be there for it but perhaps by being here I was in a way remembering Kirk for his fearless way of reaching out into distant places and embracing the world he found there.
And I remember asking Kirk to note down the chords for me so that I could learn to play the song on my guitar. He was only too happy to do it. I'm sorry now that i gave up on the concept so quickly.
The thing is that I could almost count on two hands the number of times I saw Kirk in the last few years - it really wasn't that often. But I think of him so often now.
There was a ceremony yesterday in Melbourne to scatter Kirk's ashes. I was sad that I couldn't be there for it but perhaps by being here I was in a way remembering Kirk for his fearless way of reaching out into distant places and embracing the world he found there.
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Anzac Day posting
I have taken advantage of the public holiday to add quite alot of postings to this page. Alot of the postings are stories or anecdotes that I have written over the course of the last few years while living and working at Utopia. Some people may have read these before as I wrote them first as emails to friends and family as a way of helping them understand my life out here.
I have also added photos from our recent trip to Melbourne - which I wrote about in the posting entitled First Times.
I will, of course, add some more current anecdotes as they happen, but for now this seems like a nice way of recording my experiences.
I have also added photos from our recent trip to Melbourne - which I wrote about in the posting entitled First Times.
I will, of course, add some more current anecdotes as they happen, but for now this seems like a nice way of recording my experiences.
Samuel and his new aunties
My nephew Samuel came along to the Weribee Zoo with us and all of his Mulga Bore aunties were excited to meet him for the first time. He was more taken with the giraffes!
Too cool for school
The first night of the excursion when we were still in Alice Springs, the kids all decided to try on all of their new clothes (and sunglasses!) and then have me take their photos.
Leanne sees the ocean for the first time
It was Leanne's first time in an aeroplane, first time in the city, and her first time seeing the ocean. She loved it. She kept running towards it then stopping herself, then running some more. She asked if she was aloud to touch it. I rolled up my jeans and went paddling with her!
Mulga Bore HLC Excursion to Melbourne
Their first time on a plane was a big deal for many of the students and they were pretty excited. I imagine it was less exciting for the otehr passengers who had to put up with the kids forgetting they had their headphones and speaking at full volume across several rows.
What's in a name?
May 2005
On the way to school this morning we came across a mob whose car had broken down. Angela seemed to know them. We stopped to help. 'Any water?' the old bloke asked. Not unusually for out here the radiator had run out of water and overheated. We handed over all the water we had and wished them well on their journey in the opposite direction. 'Who was that?' I asked Angela. 'They're from Antarraningna, his name is Nextweek'. I did a double take, "What's his name?". "Nextweek" Angela replied casually and then a sly smile spread over her face as she realised my amusement. "Yeah, it's a nickname" she explained. "What's his real name?" I enquired. "Don't know, everyone calls him Nextweek, Nextweek Jones". Further enquiries about his family led me to realise who he was. His brother 'Two-bob' had dressed up as Father Christmas for our School Christmas Party a couple of years ago.
Earlier in the week I had given a lift to an old lady called Kathleen Motorbike. She has one sister called Polly and another called Topsy.
There are a fair swag of Biblical names out here too. I have a Lazarus at my school, very much alive. I also know of an Elijah, a couple of Isaiahs and an Ezekiel.
Then there's the theme names:
Names starting with K - Kennedy, Kaureen, Karina, Keenan, Keaton, Kassidy, Kiara, Kiana, Kerry, Karen, Kevin and Katrina.
Or names that sound the same - Trenedy, Grenedy, Benedy, Kennedy, Gwenedy, Renedy.
I think my favourite is still a little kid from one of the other schools - Amazon Glen. If you can imagine what an Amazon child would look like it would be this kid, pint sized with wild man hair!
The school day over and Troopy turned for home we passed old "Nextweek's" car about 20kms up the road further than we left it, abandoned. About another 2kms further still we found a tired little troop wandering along. We stopped and they piled into the back of an already crowded car and drove them to a nearby family member's house. Not sure how they'll get home from there or what they'll do with the car. Maybe they'll think about that next week.
On the way to school this morning we came across a mob whose car had broken down. Angela seemed to know them. We stopped to help. 'Any water?' the old bloke asked. Not unusually for out here the radiator had run out of water and overheated. We handed over all the water we had and wished them well on their journey in the opposite direction. 'Who was that?' I asked Angela. 'They're from Antarraningna, his name is Nextweek'. I did a double take, "What's his name?". "Nextweek" Angela replied casually and then a sly smile spread over her face as she realised my amusement. "Yeah, it's a nickname" she explained. "What's his real name?" I enquired. "Don't know, everyone calls him Nextweek, Nextweek Jones". Further enquiries about his family led me to realise who he was. His brother 'Two-bob' had dressed up as Father Christmas for our School Christmas Party a couple of years ago.
Earlier in the week I had given a lift to an old lady called Kathleen Motorbike. She has one sister called Polly and another called Topsy.
There are a fair swag of Biblical names out here too. I have a Lazarus at my school, very much alive. I also know of an Elijah, a couple of Isaiahs and an Ezekiel.
Then there's the theme names:
Names starting with K - Kennedy, Kaureen, Karina, Keenan, Keaton, Kassidy, Kiara, Kiana, Kerry, Karen, Kevin and Katrina.
Or names that sound the same - Trenedy, Grenedy, Benedy, Kennedy, Gwenedy, Renedy.
I think my favourite is still a little kid from one of the other schools - Amazon Glen. If you can imagine what an Amazon child would look like it would be this kid, pint sized with wild man hair!
The school day over and Troopy turned for home we passed old "Nextweek's" car about 20kms up the road further than we left it, abandoned. About another 2kms further still we found a tired little troop wandering along. We stopped and they piled into the back of an already crowded car and drove them to a nearby family member's house. Not sure how they'll get home from there or what they'll do with the car. Maybe they'll think about that next week.
Short cut
November 2005
As we were driving back from town today Maggie suggested to me “Lisa you should go short cut way”. Ominous words! A short cut out here is not always the shortest distance between two places. More often than not out here it means something quite opposite. Out here a shortcut could mean:
• Someone at another homeland needs a lift so let’s drive thirty kilometres out of our way to pick them up
• Someone from another homeland owes me money so lets go via there to collect it
• I owe someone money at that homeland so lets go the other way so that I wont bump into them
• I will be driving on that road soon but there’s been rain recently so lets go that way today in your 4WD to see if the roads are alright
• I feel like going hunting and I know there’s more chance of seeing perentie/goanna/kangaroos if we go that other road
• I feel like eating honey ant and I know where there’s a big mob of them if we go that other road
I suspect that these last two were the reason for today’s short cut because not long after we turned off the main road and began wending our way across some immense cattle station the call of “Perentie” came from the back of the Troopie. We gave chase, first by car, then on foot but to no avail.
“ Ah he was only small one anyway” Rosie chimed in as if to make the lack of success matter less.
Undeterred we continued on our ‘short cut’ which took us a good 20-30 minutes longer to reach our destination that the normal road would have. But what matter is time out here? The late afternoon sun made the red sand and the mulga trees glow, the mood in the car was light and a drive along a lesser travelled path seemed a good thing to be doing. Perhaps Maggie summed it up best. “I like to go that short cut way sometimes” she said “just for have a look round.”
As we were driving back from town today Maggie suggested to me “Lisa you should go short cut way”. Ominous words! A short cut out here is not always the shortest distance between two places. More often than not out here it means something quite opposite. Out here a shortcut could mean:
• Someone at another homeland needs a lift so let’s drive thirty kilometres out of our way to pick them up
• Someone from another homeland owes me money so lets go via there to collect it
• I owe someone money at that homeland so lets go the other way so that I wont bump into them
• I will be driving on that road soon but there’s been rain recently so lets go that way today in your 4WD to see if the roads are alright
• I feel like going hunting and I know there’s more chance of seeing perentie/goanna/kangaroos if we go that other road
• I feel like eating honey ant and I know where there’s a big mob of them if we go that other road
I suspect that these last two were the reason for today’s short cut because not long after we turned off the main road and began wending our way across some immense cattle station the call of “Perentie” came from the back of the Troopie. We gave chase, first by car, then on foot but to no avail.
“ Ah he was only small one anyway” Rosie chimed in as if to make the lack of success matter less.
Undeterred we continued on our ‘short cut’ which took us a good 20-30 minutes longer to reach our destination that the normal road would have. But what matter is time out here? The late afternoon sun made the red sand and the mulga trees glow, the mood in the car was light and a drive along a lesser travelled path seemed a good thing to be doing. Perhaps Maggie summed it up best. “I like to go that short cut way sometimes” she said “just for have a look round.”
The wail of the women
Australia Day, 2005
You know, as soon as you enter a community out here, when something is wrong. It was not the first time I had heard the wail of the women but for some reason when I arrived at Mulga Bore this morning it hit home harder than it ever has before.
At first all I noticed was people sitting under the trees, sheltering from the hot summer sun. It was unusual for them not to be under the veranda of their homes but not completely out of place. Then once I left the cocoon of my Troopy, I heard it; the unmistakable sound of grief.
When a person dies out here, the women wail. It is no crying, it is a noise unlike any other I have ever heard. Their wail comes from a place deep inside them, so deep that it connects with a place deep inside me and for a moment I relive every moment of grief I have ever experienced. It is not the wail of one women but the wail of many women sitting together in their grief.
I pull up in front of Lindsay's house and he sings out to me from under a nearby tree. I am invited to sit with them and for a while we sit in silence. Long ago I realised that in a situation like this you don't ask questions but wait to be told when the time is right.
A man has died this morning. He had been sick for a long time, in hospital in Adelaide. The doctors had said he was alright. "Why they don't tell us properway what's wrong. They can't say he's right, then next he bin dead." Old Lindsay makes a fair point. I didn't know him, although I may have met him before. But I have sat with his wife on several occasions, and I have watched his children grow and learn and laugh and play in my school. They are part of my story now and I am part of theirs.
It felt different this time being in this grieving community. I felt less out of place than I have in the past. They know me well and I know them, but I also know their customs now and can respond in appropriate ways. So I went and shook hands with everyone. Not the powerful ‘whitefella’ handshake of hello, but the soft handshake of compassion only used during times of grief out here. I gave them a bottle of iced water, welcome relief on a hot day in the desert. And I was able to provide access to services like the school phone and ring up the hospital on Lindsay's behalf to get the full story.
And while it was not the happy start to the school year I had anticipated, it said just as much (maybe more) about my place within and relationship with the people of Mulga Bore.
You know, as soon as you enter a community out here, when something is wrong. It was not the first time I had heard the wail of the women but for some reason when I arrived at Mulga Bore this morning it hit home harder than it ever has before.
At first all I noticed was people sitting under the trees, sheltering from the hot summer sun. It was unusual for them not to be under the veranda of their homes but not completely out of place. Then once I left the cocoon of my Troopy, I heard it; the unmistakable sound of grief.
When a person dies out here, the women wail. It is no crying, it is a noise unlike any other I have ever heard. Their wail comes from a place deep inside them, so deep that it connects with a place deep inside me and for a moment I relive every moment of grief I have ever experienced. It is not the wail of one women but the wail of many women sitting together in their grief.
I pull up in front of Lindsay's house and he sings out to me from under a nearby tree. I am invited to sit with them and for a while we sit in silence. Long ago I realised that in a situation like this you don't ask questions but wait to be told when the time is right.
A man has died this morning. He had been sick for a long time, in hospital in Adelaide. The doctors had said he was alright. "Why they don't tell us properway what's wrong. They can't say he's right, then next he bin dead." Old Lindsay makes a fair point. I didn't know him, although I may have met him before. But I have sat with his wife on several occasions, and I have watched his children grow and learn and laugh and play in my school. They are part of my story now and I am part of theirs.
It felt different this time being in this grieving community. I felt less out of place than I have in the past. They know me well and I know them, but I also know their customs now and can respond in appropriate ways. So I went and shook hands with everyone. Not the powerful ‘whitefella’ handshake of hello, but the soft handshake of compassion only used during times of grief out here. I gave them a bottle of iced water, welcome relief on a hot day in the desert. And I was able to provide access to services like the school phone and ring up the hospital on Lindsay's behalf to get the full story.
And while it was not the happy start to the school year I had anticipated, it said just as much (maybe more) about my place within and relationship with the people of Mulga Bore.
Ceremony
March 2005
I have had a pretty intense week. The men down at Mulga Bore started some initiation business. This means a number of things. It has meant that a couple of mornings this week we have interrrupted school so that all men women and children of the community could perform the ceremony for the 'start' of business for a couple of the young fellas. Cermonial business of this kind also requires the women to dance at night time. I didn't really have a concept of what this meant but was invited to come along and feeling honoured by the invitation I of course accepted. So on Wednesday morning I packed my swag in the back of the Troopy and headed down to Mulga Bore uncertain of what lay ahead. When the kids saw that I had my swag they became excited. "You sleeping here tonight?" they asked and giggled when I said I would be. "You inape?" was the next question - roughly translated inape means to dance ceremonial dances. I do love the brevity of the Anmatyerr language! "Yes I am going to dance with the women" I told them and they seemed pleased if a little surprised.
School over for the day I headed over to Lindsay's house to wait for whatever was going to happen next. At about sun down a cardrove by and gave some signal that spurred everyone into action. On mass the community began hping in cars or walking towards the bush camp the men had made. We found them by the fires they had already lit. With our back to the men, all the women and children sat on the ground facing the setting sun. As the first stars appeared the women began getting up. Some took branches of trees to clear the ground as they walked and slowly we formed two lines circling the men's camp fire in opposite directions. I started heading one way but Mavis was watching out for me -"You gotta come this way Lisa". It was the first of many directives I would receive that night, none of them given in frustration but all of them given with the tolerance and understanding of a parent teaching a child something for the first time.
The boys who were old enough sat with the men around thefire and the women sat in groups according to their skin relationship to the boy going through business. I sat with all of his "mothers and sisters".
The men began to sing. To try to explain what it sounded like would be like trying to explain how it feels to watch a sunset. It is something I will never be able to expalin to anyone I think. They sang to the spirits of the land to protect the boy as he becomes a man and they call upon the women one group at a time to get up and dance and 'sing out' for him. When instructed I joined in and used the other women's actions as my guide. The kids pointed and softly giggled to each other as they realised I was up there dancing too, but once again, it was not done in ridicule but in pride that I was there and being part of their ceremony. The men called each group in turn, always in 'language', always in song, sisters, mothers, aunties, daughters - everyone was included from the youngest child to the oldest women. This is how they teach their children, this is how they pass on their traditions.
They just as surely as it had begun Lindsay calls out "culla" and the women and children are up and walking home again.
We have a few hours slepp after this but are awoken by the singing of the men again. It is time to begin the all night vigil. W move our swags close by and it begins again. The old men sing and the women dance a short distance away from the initiation camp. The purpose seems to be to keep the men awake and the women take it in turns to sleep and dance. I am told to sleep for a while and I will be awoken when it it my turn. At 4am Colleen leans over and gently says "Lisa, wake up" Once gain I am instructed when to go forward and dance and am encouraged to momic the chants the women utter. I do my best, and strangely do not feel self conscious or weird. No one is judging me, everyone is teaching me. As it starts to get light in the East the singing and dancing stops and the women begin to form two lines facing each other. Some branches and coolamon are placed in the middle and the boy is brought in - painted up and weak from no sleep and whatever else he has had to endure - secret business. He kneels down and once again that is our cue to leave. Our part of the ceremony is over and we head for home.
For much of the night I remember thinking to myself how privileged I am to be invited to witness and participate in such a ceremony. I am overwhelmed by the ancientness of it but also by the sacredness it still holds for these people.
It has made me pensive about the lack of ceremony in my life now and the lack of connection I have to sacred practices in my life and my culture. I am lucky to be witness to theirs but I am still an outsider, it does not belong to me and I will never be fully part of this world. It seems funny that the deeper I go into indigenous community and the more accepted I feel the less I feel I belong. Why is that I wonder?
I have had a pretty intense week. The men down at Mulga Bore started some initiation business. This means a number of things. It has meant that a couple of mornings this week we have interrrupted school so that all men women and children of the community could perform the ceremony for the 'start' of business for a couple of the young fellas. Cermonial business of this kind also requires the women to dance at night time. I didn't really have a concept of what this meant but was invited to come along and feeling honoured by the invitation I of course accepted. So on Wednesday morning I packed my swag in the back of the Troopy and headed down to Mulga Bore uncertain of what lay ahead. When the kids saw that I had my swag they became excited. "You sleeping here tonight?" they asked and giggled when I said I would be. "You inape?" was the next question - roughly translated inape means to dance ceremonial dances. I do love the brevity of the Anmatyerr language! "Yes I am going to dance with the women" I told them and they seemed pleased if a little surprised.
School over for the day I headed over to Lindsay's house to wait for whatever was going to happen next. At about sun down a cardrove by and gave some signal that spurred everyone into action. On mass the community began hping in cars or walking towards the bush camp the men had made. We found them by the fires they had already lit. With our back to the men, all the women and children sat on the ground facing the setting sun. As the first stars appeared the women began getting up. Some took branches of trees to clear the ground as they walked and slowly we formed two lines circling the men's camp fire in opposite directions. I started heading one way but Mavis was watching out for me -"You gotta come this way Lisa". It was the first of many directives I would receive that night, none of them given in frustration but all of them given with the tolerance and understanding of a parent teaching a child something for the first time.
The boys who were old enough sat with the men around thefire and the women sat in groups according to their skin relationship to the boy going through business. I sat with all of his "mothers and sisters".
The men began to sing. To try to explain what it sounded like would be like trying to explain how it feels to watch a sunset. It is something I will never be able to expalin to anyone I think. They sang to the spirits of the land to protect the boy as he becomes a man and they call upon the women one group at a time to get up and dance and 'sing out' for him. When instructed I joined in and used the other women's actions as my guide. The kids pointed and softly giggled to each other as they realised I was up there dancing too, but once again, it was not done in ridicule but in pride that I was there and being part of their ceremony. The men called each group in turn, always in 'language', always in song, sisters, mothers, aunties, daughters - everyone was included from the youngest child to the oldest women. This is how they teach their children, this is how they pass on their traditions.
They just as surely as it had begun Lindsay calls out "culla" and the women and children are up and walking home again.
We have a few hours slepp after this but are awoken by the singing of the men again. It is time to begin the all night vigil. W move our swags close by and it begins again. The old men sing and the women dance a short distance away from the initiation camp. The purpose seems to be to keep the men awake and the women take it in turns to sleep and dance. I am told to sleep for a while and I will be awoken when it it my turn. At 4am Colleen leans over and gently says "Lisa, wake up" Once gain I am instructed when to go forward and dance and am encouraged to momic the chants the women utter. I do my best, and strangely do not feel self conscious or weird. No one is judging me, everyone is teaching me. As it starts to get light in the East the singing and dancing stops and the women begin to form two lines facing each other. Some branches and coolamon are placed in the middle and the boy is brought in - painted up and weak from no sleep and whatever else he has had to endure - secret business. He kneels down and once again that is our cue to leave. Our part of the ceremony is over and we head for home.
For much of the night I remember thinking to myself how privileged I am to be invited to witness and participate in such a ceremony. I am overwhelmed by the ancientness of it but also by the sacredness it still holds for these people.
It has made me pensive about the lack of ceremony in my life now and the lack of connection I have to sacred practices in my life and my culture. I am lucky to be witness to theirs but I am still an outsider, it does not belong to me and I will never be fully part of this world. It seems funny that the deeper I go into indigenous community and the more accepted I feel the less I feel I belong. Why is that I wonder?
A hunting story
April 2005
Well I'm happy to report that I have graduated to the big time in terms of hunting. I have now been involved in a proper Perentie chase. For those of you city slickers who don't know what a perentie is, it's a big monitor lizard. The one we saw today was about a metre and a half from head to tail. They are about the same colour as tree bark and have big, sharp, nasty claws designed to help them avoid being hunted and caught.
Up until now I have mainly been involved in the hunter/gatherer tasks that involve digging eg. Witchetty grubs, honey ants, sugarbag (although that involves more chopping than anything). I have also been involved in a number of successful goanna and dragon lizard chases, but until today the Perentie had been thought "too much for the white girl". Perentie is bigger and faster and more vicious than goanna. No more kids stuff, perentie is adult hunting! So perhaps it was because I found myself driving home with no Angela in the car and Loretta and Veronica (two 12 year olds) in the front that when we saw the perentie on the road in front and came to a halt just shy of it that I found myself being encouraged to join the hunt. "C'mon Lisa, go this way, do like this". The instructions as always came thick and fast. Time is a factor is hunting. The pesky lizards have a habit of running away! Although, I learnt today that the trick to keeping them in one place is to tell them a story. One does this by calling out in a high pitched voice "bee, bee, bee, bee, bee". When the perentie hears this sound it stops, amazingly, and parts of the neck which almost look like ears perk up. It is just as though the perentie is listening to you tell it a story!
The cunning hunters then use this moment of weakness to throw large rocks, wood and whatever else they could find to pelt at its head. While feeling the rush of my first real perentie chase I was still reminded of my junior place in the team. Veronica and Loretta circled around the perentie crouched under a tree. They commanded that I continue to 'do like this..bee bee bee' which I dutifully did. They commenced the rock hurling and my only other job became retrieving the rocks that they had thrown and missed. Loretta had a diret hit, but unfortunately was unable to capitalise on it because Julie, Angela's sister who had stayed behind in the car to look after the little kids arrived on the scene. Apparently the arrival of a third adult was enough to break the spell of the story i was telling and the perentie was off, outta there.
We tracked him for a while. Well I say we, but really it was Veronica and Loretta finding the to my eye indistinguishable footprints of the lizard while I trailed along behind searching the ground with no clues what i was looking for.
This time the perentie was the winner but it provided us with enough fuel for conversation for the rest of the journey home, a bit of post hunt evaluation, bragging about how we had it surrounded and we would have had it too if only Julie hadn't come along. Then the priceless suggestion for how to achieve success next time, "We should get crowbar and put'em in Toyota and next time we see perentie, we bin take that crowbar and hitem like that on perentie's head!" Yes Veronica, that sounds like a plan!
Well I'm happy to report that I have graduated to the big time in terms of hunting. I have now been involved in a proper Perentie chase. For those of you city slickers who don't know what a perentie is, it's a big monitor lizard. The one we saw today was about a metre and a half from head to tail. They are about the same colour as tree bark and have big, sharp, nasty claws designed to help them avoid being hunted and caught.
Up until now I have mainly been involved in the hunter/gatherer tasks that involve digging eg. Witchetty grubs, honey ants, sugarbag (although that involves more chopping than anything). I have also been involved in a number of successful goanna and dragon lizard chases, but until today the Perentie had been thought "too much for the white girl". Perentie is bigger and faster and more vicious than goanna. No more kids stuff, perentie is adult hunting! So perhaps it was because I found myself driving home with no Angela in the car and Loretta and Veronica (two 12 year olds) in the front that when we saw the perentie on the road in front and came to a halt just shy of it that I found myself being encouraged to join the hunt. "C'mon Lisa, go this way, do like this". The instructions as always came thick and fast. Time is a factor is hunting. The pesky lizards have a habit of running away! Although, I learnt today that the trick to keeping them in one place is to tell them a story. One does this by calling out in a high pitched voice "bee, bee, bee, bee, bee". When the perentie hears this sound it stops, amazingly, and parts of the neck which almost look like ears perk up. It is just as though the perentie is listening to you tell it a story!
The cunning hunters then use this moment of weakness to throw large rocks, wood and whatever else they could find to pelt at its head. While feeling the rush of my first real perentie chase I was still reminded of my junior place in the team. Veronica and Loretta circled around the perentie crouched under a tree. They commanded that I continue to 'do like this..bee bee bee' which I dutifully did. They commenced the rock hurling and my only other job became retrieving the rocks that they had thrown and missed. Loretta had a diret hit, but unfortunately was unable to capitalise on it because Julie, Angela's sister who had stayed behind in the car to look after the little kids arrived on the scene. Apparently the arrival of a third adult was enough to break the spell of the story i was telling and the perentie was off, outta there.
We tracked him for a while. Well I say we, but really it was Veronica and Loretta finding the to my eye indistinguishable footprints of the lizard while I trailed along behind searching the ground with no clues what i was looking for.
This time the perentie was the winner but it provided us with enough fuel for conversation for the rest of the journey home, a bit of post hunt evaluation, bragging about how we had it surrounded and we would have had it too if only Julie hadn't come along. Then the priceless suggestion for how to achieve success next time, "We should get crowbar and put'em in Toyota and next time we see perentie, we bin take that crowbar and hitem like that on perentie's head!" Yes Veronica, that sounds like a plan!
Friday, April 14, 2006
First times
It is a week exactly since 19 tired Anmatyerr speakers and one very tired 'whitefella' arrived back in the desert after an 11 day excursion to Melbourne for the Commonwealth Games. I am almost at the point now where I feel I can eliminate the afternoon nap from my daily routine. Honestly, I was as tired as I have ever been upon my return, and there were moments where the 10 days in Melbourne tried every fibre of me.
However, with a bit of distance now I can reflect happily on what was an amazing 11 days. The Games themselves were great. We saw Jana win, we saw the best night at the gymnastics and we saw an Aussie win gold in the discus on his last throw. We saw some amazing Kenyans run a long, long way and we cried with them as they received their gold medals. We met people from all over the world and the students of Mulga Bore are now experts at identifying just about any flag from the Commonwealth. We also consumed more hot chips than I thought was possible and if I never hear the phrase 'Lisa, I'm hungry' again it will be too soon!
But what I will remember most are all of the first times that these kids experienced during those 11 days.
First time in an aeroplane - taking off, ears popping, in flight meals, movies and radio, flying above the clouds, turbulence and then landing with a bump.
First time seeing the ocean - running towards it with joyful excitement then stopping at its edge unsure of its dangers and perils. Showing the kids how to roll your jeans up and go paddling, racing the tide and laughing when the tide beats you. Someone picking up a shell and asking me 'Lisa, what's this?'
First time on a tram - waiting at the tram stop and looking for the right number, hoping it wont be standing room only, getting on anyway when you think it's full, loosing your balance when the Tram jerks forward, talking to strangers interested in this group who obviously live a long way from Melbourne.
First time going over the Westgate Bridge - gazing out over the port and seeing the enormous ships that are resting there, seeing the skyscrapers and realising just how far the city stretches.
First time on a boat - feeling the gentle flow of the river rather than the hard, bumpy surface of the road, being rocked by the wash of other boats, hanging out up the back and ducking to avoid hitting your head on the low bridges, getting up close to the big boats they saw from the Westgate bridge and realising just how big they are.
First time in a crowd of 83,000 at the MCG - soaking up the enormity of it all, never realising that this many people existed in the world.
First time meeting, really meeting, non-indigenous kids from another school - being shy at first, bonding over a game of basketball and a footy clinic with Collingwood ruckman Josh Fraser (Go Pies!), teaching these eager new friends some Anmatyerr language and wanting them to get on the bus with us when it's time to leave.
There is no price I can put on those kinds of memories, and when I put everything into perspective, it is actually worth every ounce of hard work I put in. I'm pretty glad it's another 2 years until the next one though. Then it will be time for a whole lot of new kids to experience their own 'first times'.
To those of you who came along to something or helped out in some way a huge THANKYOU! Thank you from me and thankyou from the whole group. They don't really ever say thankyou, it's not their way, but they haven't stopped talking about you all since we got back.
Thanks to Julie and Janine for the hard work you both put into our day together. You are legends for life in Mulga Bore Community and they are now forever convinced that I have some magical connection to the Collingwood football club!
Biggest thanks to my Dad - you know why!
Lisa xx
However, with a bit of distance now I can reflect happily on what was an amazing 11 days. The Games themselves were great. We saw Jana win, we saw the best night at the gymnastics and we saw an Aussie win gold in the discus on his last throw. We saw some amazing Kenyans run a long, long way and we cried with them as they received their gold medals. We met people from all over the world and the students of Mulga Bore are now experts at identifying just about any flag from the Commonwealth. We also consumed more hot chips than I thought was possible and if I never hear the phrase 'Lisa, I'm hungry' again it will be too soon!
But what I will remember most are all of the first times that these kids experienced during those 11 days.
First time in an aeroplane - taking off, ears popping, in flight meals, movies and radio, flying above the clouds, turbulence and then landing with a bump.
First time seeing the ocean - running towards it with joyful excitement then stopping at its edge unsure of its dangers and perils. Showing the kids how to roll your jeans up and go paddling, racing the tide and laughing when the tide beats you. Someone picking up a shell and asking me 'Lisa, what's this?'
First time on a tram - waiting at the tram stop and looking for the right number, hoping it wont be standing room only, getting on anyway when you think it's full, loosing your balance when the Tram jerks forward, talking to strangers interested in this group who obviously live a long way from Melbourne.
First time going over the Westgate Bridge - gazing out over the port and seeing the enormous ships that are resting there, seeing the skyscrapers and realising just how far the city stretches.
First time on a boat - feeling the gentle flow of the river rather than the hard, bumpy surface of the road, being rocked by the wash of other boats, hanging out up the back and ducking to avoid hitting your head on the low bridges, getting up close to the big boats they saw from the Westgate bridge and realising just how big they are.
First time in a crowd of 83,000 at the MCG - soaking up the enormity of it all, never realising that this many people existed in the world.
First time meeting, really meeting, non-indigenous kids from another school - being shy at first, bonding over a game of basketball and a footy clinic with Collingwood ruckman Josh Fraser (Go Pies!), teaching these eager new friends some Anmatyerr language and wanting them to get on the bus with us when it's time to leave.
There is no price I can put on those kinds of memories, and when I put everything into perspective, it is actually worth every ounce of hard work I put in. I'm pretty glad it's another 2 years until the next one though. Then it will be time for a whole lot of new kids to experience their own 'first times'.
To those of you who came along to something or helped out in some way a huge THANKYOU! Thank you from me and thankyou from the whole group. They don't really ever say thankyou, it's not their way, but they haven't stopped talking about you all since we got back.
Thanks to Julie and Janine for the hard work you both put into our day together. You are legends for life in Mulga Bore Community and they are now forever convinced that I have some magical connection to the Collingwood football club!
Biggest thanks to my Dad - you know why!
Lisa xx
First post
Who knew that a couple of bottles of red wine and some interesting conversation on Good Friday would end up in the creation of a blog. I wont write too much as the red wine is still influencing my typing, but I hope that some of the friends who encouraged me to set up this blog actually bother to read it now - Cheryl, Cam, Geoff, Sue, Sam that means you!!
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