Red dirt, blue sky: Heading north
There’s a softening, a stillness in your mind and body when you leave Perth and head north, where the days are so laid back you may just fall over.
It had been an odd start to September. I learnt that stingrays could be bad despite Steve Irwin being good. Peter Brock sadly reinforced suspicions that speed kills regardless of how good you think you are (both were damn good). And although having grown up in the bush and in regional Australia, I thought I had a grasp and appreciation of Aboriginal Australia. I was just plain wrong.
Getting back into red dirt country, into land where you can feel life around you even though there’s not a living soul within 30km, you can just about hear your brain expanding and your feet becoming part of the landscape.
You start using your eyes and ears, not to look for trucks and cars, but for shadows in the bushes…for life. I was suddenly aware of being in the centre of somewhere very special, part of something I’ve missed in the city.
The red dirt contrasts beautifully with the crystal blue sky as far as your eyes can focus; despite the heavy industry near Port Hedland the sky and earth are clean and clear.
Cultural orientation was something I felt everyone who had never travelled past Kalbarri needed, certainly not me with my country upbringing and Nyoongar mates. I may have to give the next person I hear say “Australia has no history, no tradition” a mouthful, as we have so much history to celebrate and identify with.
To understand where the Blackfellas are coming from, you’ve first got to appreciate that up until very recently, they owned themselves, they were a complete people. Things have changed. They’ve been systematically stripped of their right to freedom, land, lifestyle and language.
Over 30 different language groups originated in the Pilbara, (not counting the actual dialects) of those, only around 10 remain, and yet the culture lives on. Young men still undergo initiation ceremonies, where they are reborn as mature members of their communities.
Sometimes I feel like I am in a different country, and I may as well be. The priorities are different, the family structure is different, but basically we all want to be happy, although the gauge of happiness is different.
Respect for the land and family is an important part of Blackfella culture, and connects their spirituality. When someone has died, their name is not spoken out of respect until it has been released by the tribal elders. This can be anywhere from one year to several years, depending on the deceased’s importance and standing within the community.
If the living share the same name, they must be referred to as Nyaparu (female) or Jukari (men), followed by their last name until their name is released. I met several people referred to as Nyaparu, and everyone accepted the protocol.
The most senior law maker died on my third day in Port Hedland, appointments were cancelled as much of the community went into mourning. His name is quite common; so many men will be referred to as Jukari for quite some years to come.
The tale is told of a teacher into the Pilbara who upon trying to teach was dismayed to find she could not use the words seven, rabbit and a swag of others. All the children seemed to know exactly what she was talking about though.
Marriage is acceptable through skin groups, which refers not to the actual colour of the skin but to a chart whereby people may basically not marry their cousins, but based more mathematically and much more complicated. Avoidance relationships are practiced.
For example men and their mother-in-laws are not allowed to be near or talk directly to each other. Partitioning is setup in places like medical practices so people can avoid each other without one having to leave the room. I can think of a few Whitefellas this might work for as opposed to their current unofficial avoidance setup.
It’s a magic place, this part of Western Australia. It sinks into your bones as soon as you get off the plane. It feeds your eyes and ears, its skies are big enough to let your spirit soar. It’s steeped in living history, a tiny part sad but the majority tells the tale of a rich Australian history, one that should be proudly celebrated openly and frequently.
