GUNBALUNYA TRIP
Earlier this week a friend, Sue, and I drove to Gunbalunya in western Arnhem Land. We were carrying an iMac, a Christmas gift from Michael and me to our relatives. My daughters-in-law Stephanie and Una accompanied us.
Fording the East Alligator was a little hairy. The water was high enough to wash over the bonnet, of our twincab, and the runout was swift. Luckily we got through that, delivered Stephanie and Una to Una¹s home, picked up our keys and went to the guest house where we¹d be staying.
Amy, to whom we were delivering the iMac, is a smart, strong woman. She¹s had to be. Her mother and aunt both began to drink while in Darwin training as teachers. Soon they were living in the long grass, and within a few years both were dead. The heartbreak this caused their mother, Esther, my sister, was immeasurable. Most of Gunbalunya refused to attend Amy¹s mother¹s funeral, and that caused even more heartbreak. But Amy struggled on refusing to give up. Her children won¹t attend school regularly, one not at all and I can¹t help but think part of that is due to their mother and auntie¹s sad history. But with the computer Amy can teach them various skills at home.
Anyway, Sue and I are standing there talking while two of my teenage grandsons, Josephat and Kyle, are playing with Garageband. Kyle is Amy¹s nephew, and the son of the other teacher who ended up in the long grass. When he was only a baby his mother turned up one night outside our place screaming that she would kill him if we didn¹t let her in. It turned out she had alcohol-induced psychosis. She abandoned Kyle, and then she too was killed. Esther, now in her mid-eighties, brought him up. He¹s a really smart kid and Amy now wants him to go south for education.
I was lost in thought, when I glimpsed, out of the corner of my eye, what looked like a chess board on the screen. I wasn¹t wrong these two ³uneducated² (to some) teenagers were now playing chess. They had been taught on Baby Dreaming, a remote outstation, by another young relative. They told me that they made chess pieces out of bits of wood and torn up milk cartons!
The boy¹s families, along with Una and Stephanie, Esther and others, were part of the Baby Dreaming project, a little tourism project we set up on that country. This was in large part due to an emergency. Elders were singing my male relatives to death, believing that in this way they could scare young people into staying safe on their land (instead of ending up like Kyle¹s mother and auntie). The killing didn¹t stop until the old men realised that we were seriously trying to turn this around.
Instead of treating my relatives like blank slates, I built upon their existing and substantial skills and knowledge. When they felt competent they then trained others. I looked for particular markets that would fit in with them eg American birdwatching couples, students and Australian families and individuals interested in both birds and other wildlife and/or making friends. It worked very well. Apart from anything else their confidence grew to the point where they felt able to report (in one case) police abuses to the ombudsman. Visitors were coming, and best of all the old fellas stopped killing my relatives.
It was too good to last. An international operator wished to donate a couple of thousand dollars, but we weren¹t incorporated. I asked Birds Australia to help, but was told that the amount was too small for them to handle. Still we had a little government funding. Then the NT government agency handling the funds decided that none of us accredited to train (we didn¹t have a certificate 4). The death of an important elder was the last straw – a lot lost hope after that.
However, some are keen to start the project up again whether we¹re funded or not. Stephanie, now paralysed and dying, can no longer help, but Una wants to start showing people birds again (she accompanied Jon Franzen and me to Spirit Dog Dreaming when he was here). She also wishes to start a community newsletter (I taught her how to put a newsletter together under the Baby Dreaming project). Michael and I aim to buy her an iMac next year.
Outside Demed, the organization that looks after outstations, I met Jeremiah, my son (Djedje). I¹d heard he was ill and he looked terrible. He has a lung disease, but what disease is not known yet.
He told me he was smoking too much, and that the reason was worry for two of his sons. School holds no interest for them and he is concerned they will get into trouble. He wanted to take them back to Baby Dreaming, but because work on access needs to be carried out at the outstation he can¹t return till next year.
His children were very enthusiastic about showing visitors birds. I¹ve some great photos of them showing an American birder how to better view a group of Grey-crowned Babblers by crawling on his stomach through the grass. And on speaking with the boys it seems they¹d very much like to be involved again. So I¹ve asked them to start putting a list of bird names together, in English and Kunwinjku, and to work with Una on the newsletter. Then next year we¹ll see if we can start something. Djedje was one of the key guides in the Baby Dreaming project and he wants very much to help. But will he be well enough? Will he still be alive?
Sue used to visit Baby Dreaming with me and caught a sense of how important that country was to the traditional owners. As president of the Country Liberals she joined with Opposition spokesman for Indigenous Affairs, Adam Giles, to convince the party of the importance of funding outstations. Also she and another friend, Sally Thomas, our new Administrator, were great supporters of the Baby Dreaming project.
Can we start it again? How could I not at least try?
Back at the East Alligator the water was even higher and faster there¹d been a huge thunderstorm over the Arnhem Plateau the day before. However, two 4WDs one in front, the other behind, shepherded us across to safety.
