Week Seven

Now to begin where I left off...

Last Tuesday I was hurriedly finishing the last post to go and have honey chicken with the island's police Louie and Christian. Well, the dinner was divine and actually tasted like Chinese take-away. Asian take-away, whether it be Chinese, Thai, Vietnamese or Japanese is something I'm craving here. There's a distinct lack of any take-away, even some hot chips and a burger (not that I need that!)... Anyway the point of my digressing was that the evening was fabulous with great food and great company.

For the rest of the week school was pretty routine. The kids were fabulous, as usual. My star pupil has now gone up to reading level 8 and another one moved up to level 4. Another read all 12 of his golden words correctly on Friday morning. It was a first ever, as he usually gets stuck on the word 'the.'

On Friday we had 'Jump Rope for Heart.' For anyone attending school in the 1990's (and apparently 1980's) you'd remember this annual activity. I for one hate skipping with a complete blind passion. To me all skipping has to offer is uncomfortable, bouncing boobs and sore ankles, plus a hell of a lot of coordination which I think I fail at. The students however with this superb athletic ability that they all seem to have, don't join me in my disgust for the game. Basic skipping proved too easy for most of the students and soon there where more athletic variations of the skipping activities designed by our PE teacher. Boys were backflipping in time with the rope, girls were doing cartwheels and others were jumping while doing handstands. I can't get over most of the students athletic prowess. It makes me feel completely inferior, even as a child I couldn't do a handstand! And I've only just got the nack of backflipping into the pool without my swimmer bottoms coming off!

While school continued with its endless progress towards the end of term, we are of course in the middle of 'sorry business' for an elderly gentlemen. Most evenings Jen and I headed to the 'funeral place' to watch and I even partaked, in the dancing, to honour the gentleman. With a little girl as my chief instructor, I was taught to sway my arms with the music, minimicking cradling a baby, picking berries and then digging for yams. The men seem to have a lot of more complex moves to dance, including stamping, yelping, mock fighting and others. Kinda jealous I'm not a man...

I have also learnt some of the symbolic nature of the funeral place. There are numerous flags surrounding the main sandy dance floor. These represent the peaceful nature of the gathering groups. For example we have groups from Warruwi, Croker Island, Elcho Island, Maningrida and Darwin and probably other places that I am not aware of. Each group has a flag that is representative and when placed alongside eachother symbolises that the gathering is for cultural and peaceful reasons rather than warfare.

There have also been two Christian services for the gentleman. One is being held today and another was on last Wednesday night. To me, this is an interesting fusion of culture and history. After all Warruwi was a missionary site, therefore the inhabitants were subject to Christianity. Pastor Watson I dare say did not only preach, as there are a few children with the Watson surname. But I digress (again!), while Indigenous traditions are upheld, there are aspects of Christianity maintained, including services for the deceased.

Last night, there was a huge number of people at the funeral place. Numbering near 200 I believe. Five planes came in yesterday bringing elders from Croker Island. We believe that the burial will take place tomorrow. There was so much joy last night. After every performance all of the audience yelled 'yoww!' which is a mark of respect, similar to how clapping is for Western audiences.

Also last night, my little teachers again were trying to teach me Mawing, but as usual I failed. The linguistic patterns and the way they roll their tongue with each word, is proving difficult. I did nevertheless provide some light entertainment for some little scamps! I told them I would have to go to school for ten years to learn Mawing, just like they have to go to school to learn English. I've got a little list of words that I've been taught. However as Mawing is not a written language, I've spelt everything phonetically. Mostly the list serves as a reminder for me.

Here's a couple:

mom-wang: Mum
nan-goa: Nanna Goat (derived from English maybe??)
sharr: Piss Off
ee-rai: Go away (nicely)
dorock: Dog
nui-bal-cart: don't dig
gun-biddi-biddi: saltwater crocodile
gin-ar: freshwater crocodile
bal-lai-rei: I'll come
balanda: white person/people
yalunga: foreign person (used to describe Louie who is Filipino)

Again I realise how lucky I am to be privy to the sacred nature of the funerals and Indigenous culture. I am so honoured to be able to watch and be wanted at, the nightly dances. On Warruwi, unlike most Indigenous communities, it's a mark of respect to the Indigenous community by the balinda to attend the cultural activities. It is known if you do and do not attend.

Oh and I almost forgot last Wednesday, I went for the first time to the community radio station. It broadcasts Monday-Friday 9am-4pm to Warruwi and surrounding communities and outstations. It's full of easy listening and announcements relevant to the community, including activities, tide times, weather updates etc. If you're ever up this way tune into 102.1FM.

Well, that's about it for today. This morning I went on a lovely early morning ride with the teachers to Bottle Rock. Again it was fabulous with sparkling water, bright colours and landscapes. Made me realise again that I'm currently living in paradise! Nevertheless only 2 weeks to go then I leave and 10 days until Aaron's arrival on Warruwi. I'm so looking forward to seeing him, nine weeks is simply too long to be apart!

Croc watch: Still no bloodly crocs. I declare they don't actually exist, it's just a rumor designed to stop us going in the water.

Until next week!!

xxx