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?