Kijana (13 page)

At one stage Ian stopped abruptly, pointing to the sandy sea bottom about 10 metres away. ‘Stingray, you see.' He launched his spear into the sand and pulled it out of the water to reveal a flapping baby ray. ‘It's too small,' he declared.

A little later he bent down and swept something up in his hand.

‘These shells here we use to make necklace. We boil them, then put them onto fishing line. Then we sell them.'

I inspected the shells. Each was the size of a corn kernel and covered in the most intricate patterns, with colours ranging from purple to yellow and black. I grabbed a handful and pocketed them.

After we'd collected half a dozen good sized mud crabs it was time to turn our hand to netting some fish. Our drag net was 40 metres long by 1.5 metres wide. At each end of the net was a pole. Two people would each grab a pole and drag the net through the water until it made a D-shape. It worked a treat, but was bloody hard work. We took it in turns dragging it through the water. The water ahead of the net teemed with fish desperately trying to swim away from the approaching trap. Many would leap into the air, some making it to freedom, but most were trapped. The net was angled towards the sand and pulled up onto the beach, where everyone pounced on the fish. The small ones were thrown back and the big ones kept. Most were mullet or garfish, which are good eating fish.

By the afternoon we were hungry and exhausted, so we gathered our catch of fish and crabs and headed back to camp. I couldn't wait to show the girls what we'd caught. I was sunburnt, hungry and exhausted, but a lot happier than I'd been that morning. The girls had no idea what they'd missed!

Our return to camp was met with cries of delight from the young ones. We passed the catch to Gayili, who immediately put them on the fire. Mika and Nicolette were sitting by the fire with Gayili. They asked what our day was like, so we enthusiastically recalled our conquests, as all good fishermen do.

The catch was shared among everyone, which meant the equivalent of one crab claw and half a handful of fish flesh. Nonetheless, the thought of having provided the catch for dinner was enough to satisfy me.

The next day, as I sat watching Mika and Nicolette weaving with Gayili, I remembered the shells I'd collected. Gayili admired my collection, then explained how to boil them for a few minutes, pick out the little creature within, puncture a hole, then thread them onto fishing line to make a necklace.

Banduwa was making progress with the yakala. He'd transformed the sawn-off branch into a smooth and rich-sounding yakala, or didgeridoo. The time, effort and care he put into making it was astonishing. Every swing of the machete seemed perfectly controlled to leave the desired rounded effect over the natural burls in the branch.

‘What do you do with them once they're finished?' Beau asked.

‘We sell them,' he answered, glancing warily at Beau.

‘How many yakalas have you made?' Beau asked.

‘Maybe ...'

I waited.

‘One ...'

I waited again. I presumed he was going to say one hundred once he'd thought of the word. It couldn't be one
thousand
, surely. That would be one a week for 20 years. Then again, at his age, it was possible. I stared at him, willing him to answer. But it didn't come.

‘One
hundred
?' Beau asked expectantly.

He was nodding his head as reassuringly as he could, but still no answer. I followed Beau's gaze back to Gayili.

‘One,' she said.

Later that day we decided to go in search of yams – a type of native potato – and mangrove worms, and also took the opportunity to have a wash at a freshwater swimming hole. To keep in the spirit of our experience, we would have ideally walked to find yams. But I hadn't seen Gayili move from her sitting position near the fire unless absolutely necessary, so I doubted she was about to embark on a trek. Secretly, I didn't have the energy either.

Instead, everyone piled into a trailer hitched to a tractor which seemed to have appeared from nowhere, driven by Banduwa. I had no idea where this bit of rusting machinery came from, but I was damn glad to see it.

We followed a small track for more than an hour, ducking our heads to prevent the tree branches that swept across the trailer from slapping us in the face. Despite the bumpy ride, the younger girls fell asleep until, without notice, Gayili barked a command and we rolled to a stop. Angela and Salomi jumped off and followed the direction of Gayili's outstretched arm. A few minutes later they returned with a bunch of leaves.

‘These we use as medicine for sore eyes or skin,' Gayili said. The girls threw a few branches in the trailer, then the tractor started again and we continued on our way. Shortly after, we arrived at a beach and everyone jumped off the trailer to explore.

For the rest of the afternoon we followed Gayili in search of the heart-shaped leaves of the yams, then into the mangroves for the mangrove worms. While it seemed the yams required eagle eyes to spot, and a fair bit of effort to dig up, the mangrove worms required little skill at all. All one had to do was grab a branch of a mangrove tree and hack into it, until you reached the centre, where hopefully a mangrove worm sat waiting to be pulled out.

Most were as thick as my little finger, but the big ones were the thickness of a thumb and up to half a metre long. And they were disgusting. Despite my extreme hunger, I couldn't come at a slimy sheath filled with crunchy dirt. I mean, I ate one for the experience, but it tasted like mud. And it was as about as satisfying as picking my nose and eating it.

We came to a beach, where we lit a fire and Salomi showed Mika how to cook the sea snails that we had gathered from the sand. After they had sizzled on the coals the meat was picked out with a small twig and the chewy morsel popped into the mouth. They were good, but the three I got were the equivalent of a taste test at a supermarket. I needed a trolley full of them.

With a total of two yams, 30-odd sea snails and a dozen mangrove worms, we called it a day and headed for a swim in a nearby waterhole. Three days of salt, mud and sand were washed away, leaving our skin fresh and covered in goose bumps as we wallowed in the shade of the waterhole. Of course, the return trip on the tractor stirred up enough dust to cover us again.

Back at camp Gayili crushed the leaves we'd collected earlier, then mixed them with water in a bucket. After half an hour the mixture had turned thick, like papier-mâché glue, and we were instructed to smear any sandfly bites or abrasions with the goop.

We cooked the two yams, which amounted to little between the adults, while the kids happily gobbled down the mangrove worms. I was bloody starving.

Before it got dark, Gayili set to work making a damper for the kids, so I grabbed the net and asked who wanted to help trap some fish. Josh filmed while Beau and I dragged the net through the shallows. We were getting desperate and most of the fish we caught weren't big enough to eat. My body had no energy left to continue. Each time we dragged the net slower and slower, which meant we caught less fish. With a handful of barely edible fish, we returned to camp as an orange moon rose from behind the clouds which sat low on the horizon. Everyone had finished eating the damper and the few fish we had to show for our efforts weren't worth the energy to cook them. We left them with Gayili for the morning and crawled off to bed.

As we prepared to retire, the burning logs began to hiss with the onset of rain.

We offered Gayili and Banduwa a spot with us in our tipi so they wouldn't have to sleep outside by the fire, as they'd done every night since we had arrived. They never took up our offer. Within five minutes I was sound asleep, but outside our tent, sitting by the fire in the drizzle, Gayili felt uneasy. After Banduwa had nodded off, Angela, who was sitting with Gayili, pointed out a cloud in the sky that was in the shape of a crocodile. Then, a short while later, on the other side of the sky, another cloud formed, this time in the shape of a snake. For Gayili, these were obvious signs of bad news, compelling her to remain awake all night.

The next morning, the fourth day on the beach, I got up feeling more energised than I had been the previous afternoon. I discovered Gayili at her usual position with Banduwa asleep beside her.

‘Did you get very wet last night?' I asked, as she slowly lifted her eyes from the fire.

‘No. It only rained for the first couple of hours,' she told me in a weary tone.

She then informed me that David had fallen ill and she wanted me to take him back to Nhulunbuy. Also, we were running low on supplies, so Angela would return with us to buy more flour and tobacco. It was implicit that I would take them back.

Beau helped me sail David and Angela back. I watched David during the trip and he looked all right to me. There was obviously a reason to head back, a reason I'd only understand once we returned.

We arrived in Nhulunbuy midmorning. David didn't seem in a hurry to race off for medical attention, choosing instead to hang around under a tree. Beau and I followed Angela to a ute where an old man waited. He drove us to the supermarket for the supplies.

After living off nothing for four days, the supermarket was a fantasy world. The temptation was incredible. I knew I could pocket a chocolate bar without anyone knowing. I sure as hell could do with it. But I couldn't go back and face poor Josh knowing I'd stuffed my face while he continued to starve. Besides, I couldn't face the girls if I indulged.

I decided to get away from all that wicked food and head across the road to the post office. I had five minutes to write a note to Maya and post her the shell necklace I'd made.

Beau and I then made our way back to the beach where
Kijana
was anchored. We were waiting by the dinghy for Angela to show up, when a man with a lazy eye suddenly appeared and confidently strode toward us. He had a menacing and creepy look about him. I'll admit I was actually scared as he bore down on us. Such was his presence, I failed to see Angela and a younger man following him until they were virtually standing in front of me. The crazy-eyed man explained that he was Gayili's uncle and the owner of the land we were staying on. He said that he and Ricky, the younger man, wanted to come across with us.

‘Sure,' I said, knowing that I really had no choice. ‘Are you ready to go now?'

The two men carried nothing but a plastic bag full of frozen reef fish, and a pair of clapping sticks. They were ready!

It was a fairly quiet return trip. Few words were exchanged as we motored along. I could sense a heavy mood hanging over Ricky and the crazy-eyed uncle.

When we arrived, I secured the anchor while Beau dropped Angela and the two men on the beach. By the time he returned to collect me and we'd hauled the dinghy above the high-tide mark, the men were already sitting with the group around the fire.

I casually strolled up the beach and slumped down in the circle where everyone sat. There was little conversation, and certainly no explanation as to why they were there, except perhaps to check out their real estate. I suddenly felt uneasy. Maybe the uncle was upset that we'd eaten so many of his mud crabs.

My imagination was getting out of control when Gayili abruptly ordered everyone to be quiet. Ricky grabbed the sticks he'd been carrying when I first saw him and began to clap them together to a constant beat. Josh reached for the camera but Gayili shook her head.

Uncle, as he was known, then began to sing. It was a wailing, haunting melody, made even more sinister by the accompanying clacking of the sticks. His singing rose and dropped, following none of the musical rules I was used to hearing on the radio. He sang how you'd expect a 70-year-old man with no musical training to sing. It was croaky and rugged but in a beautiful, soulful way.

Uncle sang for several minutes, then put his head down to signal he had finished. His task was done. It was only then that Gayili felt relieved enough to offer us an insight into what had begun the previous night as an omen, and had now been completed. The two men had come to the camp to fulfil a role bestowed on them as relations to Gayili. During the singing Uncle had told her the bad news and she was almost visibly relieved. A distant uncle had died the previous night. The relief came from the fact that she had feared for her sons' wellbeing the moment she'd seen the strange clouds.

That night Gayili enthralled us with stories of the sacred land we were sitting on. She pointed out the natural ochre mines further along the coast, where her ancestors had collected their painting materials from, and even treated us to a poem she'd written, describing the shimmer of moonlight dancing across the sea.

With the crabbing experience still fresh in my mind, I asked if there were any saltwater crocodiles around. Yes, lots she said. She knew of a big croc who lived at the next point along, right where we had collected the mangrove worms. The local word for crocodile was ‘baru'.

I asked if many people were ever attacked by baru. She told us the story of a local boy who had disappeared not long ago. She explained that when something tragic like that happened, the bad spirits were blamed. There was always a reason for the bad spirits to do such an awful deed. Maybe a family member had ignored a taboo and the young boy's death was the spirit's revenge. I shivered as I thought about it. It was bad karma of the worst type.

Despite the abundance of crocodiles in northern Australia, many Yolngu children still swim in the rivers where crocodiles are often seen. I wondered how safe we had been following the kids through the mangroves.

‘Is there any danger when we fossick in the mangroves?' I asked her.

‘Just do not think on it,' she answered. ‘Do not think of anything bad. Only think of what you are looking for. When I am collecting in long grass I only think of the yam I am looking for. It is the same with the baru. What you think about will happen.'

Our last full day on the beach dawned a beauty. Gayili suggested we make our final night one of celebration. Her mood was decidedly more buoyant since Uncle had performed his ceremony.