Elcho 3 - Flying to the Homelands

Looking out my window, I see the sun sinking below the horizon, splurging a red glow across the sky. The moon and evening star already hang in the clear sky, as a rare cool breeze washes the remaining heat from the air. The last week has flown by, and it is with some sadness I realise that I have only a little over a week left here on Elcho Island.

Thanks to all of you, who have written to me during my placement, much appreciated. Until next time, Enjoy!

Flying out to the Homelands
Last week I had the opportunity to join a community nurse on a trip out to Mapuru, a remote Homeland across on the mainland. Sitting shotgun with the pilot in the 5-seater plane, the views were simply breathtaking. As far as the eye could see stretched red plains, covered sparsely with tall Eucalyptus trees. Occasionally, the black streak of a river, or the treeless streak of a road, would break the monotony. Disembarking the plane into a cloud of red dirt, I stepped into the welcome of one of Arnhem Land’s many beautiful Homeland communities.

Mapuru is home to around 60 permanent residents. However, hundreds more drift in from surrounding camps for community occasions such as funerals (which are unfortunately all too frequent). The dozen tin-sheet buildings provide residences, school and store for the Mapuru community. A recent addition has been a small 2-room building for clinic visits (which occur every fortnight or so).

The local guys jumped at the chance to see a male health worker, and my morning was spent seeing a steady stream of patients. The health of the Mapuru community was very encouraging – alcohol was absent, kava and cigarette use minimal, hygiene relatively good, and health skin highly prized. The latter gave me much amusement as guy after guy requested moisturising cream to keep their skin positively glowing.

With us on our flight back to Galiwin'ku was a young boy with a tender, inflamed knee. Possibility of infection or rheumatic fever meant he would need observation and, if necessary, evacuation to Nhulubuy or Darwin. Fortunately this did not eventuate, but it once again highlighted the challenges of living in a remote community.

Real-life Cowboy
Among the array of characters I met at Mapuru, was Alfred – an original Aboriginal cowboy. His lanky frame decked out in tight jeans, flannelette shirt, cowboy boots, big buckled belt and broad-brimmed hat perched on his bushy white hair, he certainly still looks the part. As he talked of breaking in wild broncos and hustling cattle overland, the loss of horse and saddle was obvious.

Alfred epitomises the many “warriors” who have lost their role and value to society. The host of traditional knowledge he and the Elders hold, its value unrecognised, is sadly being lost forever. The welfare mentality is now an entrenched part of the worldview of almost all my generation and beyond. As Aboriginal leader Djiniyini Gondarra said, “dependency is the biggest disease that is killing Yolnu today”. The reward of hard work, so valued by their Grandparents, makes little sense in the current welfare state.

As I watched Alfred sitting cross-legged in the sandy shade of a tree, I realised that he was one of the lucky ones. For so many others, this loss of roles and self-value have led to the destructive clutches of alcohol and other drugs, gambling, and violence towards themselves and others. And sadly, those who opt for suicide are not the “no-hopers”, but people who could make a difference, but have seen all hope disappear before their eyes.

Yolnu Heart
Children have a way of revealing reality in such a naked, honest way. One afternoon I walked down to the beach, my mind a jumble of thoughts, as I tried to clear my head of the heavy feeling of loss that seems to blanket Galiwin’ku. Settling on the hot sand, I watched a group of a dozen young boys splash about in a large rock-pool. Noticing me, one of the older boys trotted over and struck up conversation.

I spent the next hour swimming, being half-drowned, rolling in the sand and reclaiming the innocence of childhood with these 12 Yolnu boys. Hearing me struggle with Yolnu Matha, they eagerly taught me all the important words – water, boat, shark, crocodile... They left the beach with me, accompanying me back home, where they quickly set to work raiding raiding my fridge, before becoming engrossed in some ABC Kids TV program. As their visit came to an end, and I settled down to clean the fresh layer of red dirt through my entire house, I felt a sweet reinvigoration. And as I remember their sea-swept hair, big brown eyes and gleaming smiles, I am convinced that the Yolnu heart is still beating as strongly as ever.

Plans
Plans are all progressing well.

• More Homeland visits next week.
• Going bush again this weekend.
• Footy and basketball are on hold – my ankle is giving me grief again.
• Still not sick of the beach and, croc-willing, plenty more to come.
• Men’s cultural centre is still on the cards.
• No time to go to school, but plenty more community contact to come
• Hep B management and screening protocol in action