Maybe Tomorrow...an excerpt

Your blackness is always there. Nothing has to be said. You dont just wake up one morning and say, 'Hey. I'm an Aborigine!'

In our family, you always knew you were different, but you knew we were strong. Even when I was a young boy, I knew that I was Kunggadji on my mothers side, from Yarrabah, and Birri-gubba on my dad's side, from the Bowen area.

We're a pretty big family, seven girls - can you believe I have seven sisters?- and only four of us boys. The relations from both my mother's and father's sides together form a pretty big mob of people. Questions are always asked of me about relationships within family groups. White people try to put people in boxes like cousins, second cousins, third cousins and so on. But to us a cousin is a cousin, an uncle is an uncle and an aunty is an aunty. We know we all belong to each other and that is our strength, you see. Because of this big mob that we are part of, the impact of attitudes when I was growing up was lessened because we had each other and we knew where we came from.

Listening to the old people is the true way of respect. That's the main message I like to get across when I speak about my culture. I say, 'There's three things that you have to remember. Three things that you have to do in life: respect your elders. Respect each other. And respect the things that are living around you. If you dont do those three things then you're stuffed.' People laugh at the way I say, 'you're stuffed', but they get the message.

You have to live with each other. You have to learn off your elders and you have to live off the things around you. If you make the points short and sweet they stick in peoples minds.

I tell the kids, if you dont listen, then you're never going to learn. Like, for example, in their class, if there is a kid playing up, the teacher might say to that child, 'Okay you go over and stand in the corner and see me after school. Then go out and pick up papers in the yard and after that you can go home.' Or something along those lines.

But if you are in the bush and you dont listen, then you die. There's no picking up papers, there's no, 'Go and stand in the corner'. If you eat the wrong berries, then you die, and if you dont know how to hunt the right way, then you die. If you dont listen, you die.

Aboriginal culture was intense, it was very strict and it was very strong. To survive this long it had to be strong. There was a lot of love as well but that strictness was there and it still is now.

Children in Aboriginal culture dont have a say, as such, but they have a role to play, as does everyone within the group. By having this role to play they do actually have a say within the circle of life. Being a part of the group is all important. If one falters then everyone suffers. That's what you are taught as a kid. My dad used to say to me, 'You've got the rest of your life to be a grown-up. Now's the time for you to be a child.'

Even though in some cases we got a clip behing the ear or a whack on the bum with a stick for not listening, the important messages always got through to us. I can never remember any of us kids getting bitten by a snake or standing on a stone fish or getting stung really badly. That's pretty incredible when you think we lived in the tropics where there are many things that can harrm you. But we were taught where to go and what to look out for.

There is a fine liine between enthusiasm and respect. Having no respect can get you into troubloe or even cost you your life. Enthusiasm without respect, just rushing into a situation head-on, can be equally as dangerous. Once, enthusiasm nearly cost me my life.

We were down the Bohle at Uncle Arhur and Aunty Joyce's. They had fish traps and they told us we could help ourselves to whatever was there. The traps consisted of tree stakes stuck into the sand. There would be a row of them going way out across the water. There were three enclosures each about two metres square with chicken wire covering them. Once the fish swam into the trap, they couldnt get out because of the way the wire was facing into the enclosure.

When we arrived we would always go and check the fish traps first off. I could never wait to see what was caught. This time, I ran out ahead of the others. The water was up to my knees but I knew the tide was going out and that within minutes the water would be around my ankles. It was still early morning and quite dark. I pushed my way into the trap through the chicken wire and waited for my dad, who had the hurricane lamp, so then I could see what was caught in the trap.

Suddenly I heard my dad calling me urgently. 'Stop there. Dont move. Come back slowly. Dont take your eyes off that one there' I looked, and sure enough there were two eyes poking up from the water on the other side of the fish trap. It was a crocodile. My eyes never left it as I pushed myself back through the wire. That wire scratched me and it hurt, but I suppose it would have been more painful to lose a leg or an arm or maybe everything. Eventually, Uncle Arthur went back to get his rifle, then he came back and shot the crocodile and we all had a good feed. For years later, the head of the crocodile sat on a tree stump down there. Over the years the skull turned all white. Everytime I walked part, I patted its head and thought, 'Unlucky you. Lucky me.'

You see, as a young fulla you learn not to go in front. Always walk behind your elders in the bush. You dont do anything unless your elders tell you. If you do something that you're not supposed to, it could be trouble not only for you but for someone else as well.

I see those ads on television and in tourist brochures, 'Where the rainforest meets the sea'. They have these romantic images with people lying out on the beach, relaxing. I have a good laugh to myself. They never show you the stingers, the sharks or the crocs. On dusk, the mosquitoes that come out are big enough to carry you away, not to mention the sandflies which attack in great numbers and eat you alive. We used to put cow manure on the fire and that smoke would keep the mozzies away. The old people used the bases of different trees that give off powerful smoke when they burn. That smoke keeps everything away.

I remember those nights by the fire when we would curl up with our bellies full and listen while the adults told us stories. They were the best times. Having lots of aunties and uncles meant that there were a lot of tricks played on us younger ones. Lots of scary stories about Quinkins with red eyes, which was really my Uncle Neil walking towards us, smoking a cigarette. They would say he was the one eyed quinkin and all us kids would believe them. Sometimes we'd be in the tent with Mum telling us stories and, I suppose like all children, we loved the scary ones. Right on cue, my uncle would scratch the tent and make groaning noises.

They say our people traditionally told scary stories to their children to keep them close to the camp and not go wandering off where they could get hurt or lost. By the time this tradition got to our family, our uncle in particular seemed to think it was just for a good laugh, I reckon. At the same time, there were some spirits that really did come to our house, some bad spirits, some good spirits, and we were very aware of these as young children. These stories by the fire served a very important purpose in my life.

I know I draw on those experiences I had as a child when I perform now. When I'm performing I can feel the power of my family there with me. It's not just me standing up there telling stories. It's all of us.

The way we look at it is that everyone is part of a circle and everyone is important to that circle no matter what you do. My strength is that I am a story teller, a communicator. I can play the didjeridoo and sing and dance, but my purpose is to be a story teller.

LISTEN TO AN EXCERPT FROM THE BOOK (COMING SOON)

copyright meme mcdonald 2002