MIRANINY (GRIEF)
As the ngaangk (sun) exits the world, light is swallowed by darkness. In its wake, a warm orange hue leaves Ngoorweel standing in its shadows. Everything is fearfully unfamiliar as he walks alone trying to find his way to the bidi (path) that will lead him back to karleep (camp). As it’s getting dark, every direction he turns is the wrong one and he is panicked by his disorientation. He knows too well through repeated warnings from the bridiya (leaders),
Never stay out in the bush after sunset, or you’ll get grabbed by the mammari (hairy men).
In an attempt to calm his fear, Ngoorweel breathes in slowly. Alert to the distinctively pungent smell that warns him of the presence of mammari (hairy men). He can sense danger lurking in the nearby bushes. Feeling eyes on him, he shivers from cold and fear. Desperately, he searches for a dried flower stem from the balga (grass tree) or even its resin to burn for a firelight to protect him from the warra wirran (bad spirits) that travel at kedalak (night). Without karl (fire), he cannot safely find the path home away from the bad spirits.
Suddenly shadows and shapes begin to move around him. He remembers the woodadji (demon spirit) that moves around at night seeking out young men who wander away from their karleep. He knows he’s in grave danger, reinforced by the sudden cry of the weerlow (curlew). The weerlow bird is a powerful symbol of death and he hears it delivers its sinister message that death is at hand, remembering what the old people taught him,
‘When a weerlow cries, someone is going to die’.
Knowing this, Ngoorweel becomes paralysed with fear, his heart hammering hard inside his chest.
The morning call of wardong (crow) above his mia mia (shelter) suddenly awakens Ngoorweel from his terrifying koondarm (dream). He feels scared. His heart is beating so hard inside his chest that his breathing is short and shallow. For a split second, he cannot separate the dream world from his waking world. Inside his mia mia, he lays silent and still, forcing open his meeyal (eyes) to the djidar (morning light) as he tries to erase the fear from the fading dream. In the distance, his ears become attuned to the sound of a woman’s grief walinj (cry). His koort (heart) sinks in the sad realisation that his koondarm (dream) was a bad omen.
Outside a warm, morning yorga marr (easterly land breeze) is blowing. With the dream’s residual fear close by and with trepidation, slowly Ngoorweel emerges from the safety of his cocoon, bending low to allow his tall muscular physique to emerge from the low lying mia mia.
A wave of sadness submerges him as he looks ahead to see the yorga (women) from his clan kneeling and wailing beside a dead body. As he moves closer, he trembles and begins to cry realising it is me, his beloved grandmother, Karbarli. My body lays lifeless and still, just like the dead leaves that have fallen to the ground next to me. A sudden gust of the strong yorga marr (easterly breeze) suddenly gathers these leaves into a dance around my still form. Proof of the aliveness of my spirit.
Ngoorweel runs quickly to join the community of wailers as his grief and tears begin outpouring for my death and for the loss of one who left such a strong cultural imprint on the clan. I watch him sit alongside my lifeless body and hold my hand. It is still warm from having passed this world at wauloo, the space between light and darkness. He holds my maar (hands) that have fed him, held him and loved him.
Only a short time ago, I promised to bring him neip, his favourite sweet drink, from the white flowering gums and in return, he promised to ease the ache in my joints by hunting me a yoorn (bobtail lizard). He also promised to rub my joints with a paste mixed with mardja (bloodroot) bulbs and goanna fat.
Now Ngoorweel weeps for these empty hands, knowing I can no longer guide him, teach him, nor love him anymore through human form. My grandson Ngoorweel trusts that my spirit is kala koorliny (going home) and that my kadjin (soul) has left to rest on the moodjar tree, before it is carried away in the body of the gurdumit (pied cormorant) across the wardan (sea) to the spirit realm, Kurannup. There my spirit will reach its final resting place.
My moort (family) begins the preparations for my funeral. As a sign of mourning, the female bridiya (leader) takes some white wilgi (ochre) clay to paint the women’s faces. Then a bridiya cuts off some of my kaat djoomboor (hair) to add to the hair belts they wear, joining the hair taken from so many generations of their nyetingar (ancestors). The elder women sing yedi (songs) as they begin to prepare my body, covering my moolymari (face) with wilgi (ochre), folding my legs and tying them together, singeing my hair and tying my little finger to the thumb.
On this warm Bunuru day, my grandson Ngoorweel’s salty sweat merges with his winyarn (sad) tears as he helps the men dig my grave. While my grave is prepared, my body is guarded by an elderly man and woman and smoked with gum leaves. A karl (fire) will continue to burn at my grave for one moon cycle.
The maam (men) carry my body to the grave on a tray made of leaves and wood and lay my body deep into the grave facing east, towards the rising sun. Next to my grave, Ngoorweel places my yonga booka (kangaroo skin cloak), my wanna (digging stick) and tjoota (bag), leaving merenj (food) and kep (water) nearby for my long journey to Kurannup. I watch as he falls to his knees and weeps for my passing, grateful I can die in my boodjar, knowing my spirit will return to boodjar to become one again with the hills, rocks, plants, animals and trees. He remembers my words,
Ngoorweel, everything is alive. You hold the same energy as all living beings. Treat everything in nature as if you are caring for me and yourself in ngulla boodjar (our country).
He can no longer hear my name used for a specific time to assist my spirit’s journey to Kurannup and to ensure my spirit stays away from their karleep (camp). His koort (heart) will always miss me, but he gathers up all the katitjin (knowledge) I have offered him to ensure these same lessons can one day be passed to his koolangka (children).
I let go, allowing ngaangk boodjar (mother earth) to take me home. I merge my human form with her in oneness, creating kwoonert (seeds) for the next generation.
NGOORWEEL AND THE WAM (STRANGERS)
As I get closer to my initiation, I begin to witness more changes in our Beeloo boodjar as the wedjela numbers continue to grow. When I was young, I remember how members of my moort (family), especially Karbarli, treated the wedjela with kindness, sharing dartj (meat), werrany (yams) and yonga (kangaroo) with some of the neighbouring farm families. It isn't long before we start to avoid contact as the stories circulate about the violent attacks, retaliation and massacres. We hear many stories of the Whadjuk being murdered at Nanook (Success Hill) in Boorloo (Perth) and around the new settler colony. Tragic massacre stories reach us from further afield, among the Binjareb, Wardandi, Minang (Kukenarup) and Ballardong clans.
Some families argue the wedjela are returning nyetingar (ancestors), coming back to their boodjar (country) and moort (family). One warm, sunny kedalap (day) our moort (family) visit Kartagarrup (Kings Park) in Yellagonga’s Mooro boodjar (country) where, driven by hunger, more and more of our moort (families) visit the wedjela ration stations. The Mount Eliza ration station was established after my grandfather Munday and his friend Migo met with Governor Frederick Irwin. They insisted Irwin give our people a fair share of their food after taking our boodjar, causing starvation amongst the Whadjuk clans.
When we arrive at the ration station, our attendance is recorded by a wedjela man named Branji or Superintendent Francis Armstrong. He is an interpreter who understands our wangkiny (language) and translates for us. While we wait for our names to be taken, an elderly Whadjuk woman who is my mother’s sister, tells us her story. This story lingers in my memory, reminding me that there is a possibility that wedjela (white people) could be djanga (returning spirits).
Nginyeran is a member of the Mooro clan group and Yellagonga, my tribal father, leads this clan. She believes that a wedjela explorer and leader named Sir George Grey is the djanga (returning spirit) of her gnoytj (dead) son’s spirit. He died after being speared in his chest koora koora (long time ago). She cries unceasingly trying to get close to Grey knowing he is her son’s spirit. As Grey passes through Boorloo (Perth), he allows her to approach him and she embraces him crying,
Boondoo, boondoo, bala nganya koolong (True, true, he is my son).
She strokes his moolymari (face), crying with happiness to be close with him again. I reflect on this story, wondering if the wedjela are djanga (spirits) returning to our boodjar. If so, why would they hurt our people?
With less access to boodjar, the influence of the wedjela is seen more and more in the way some clan families begin to wear their clothes and use their blankets. I start to see their canvas materials used in the family mia mia (shelters), their metal utensils used in cooking and their glass used in weapons. With less access to traditional meats, clan families start eating the kookendjeri (sheep) and dordok (pig) but quickly learn it's against the law to take them without permission.
Wedjela koolangka (white children) run into the bush to play with us from their farm properties that were once our clan’s traditional hunting grounds. Initially, my brothers and sisters are shy and nervous, but gradually we begin to include them in our games, sharing our animal tracking skills with them and teaching them which bush foods are right to eat. In return, the wedjela children teach us the odd sounds of their wangkiny (language) and share sweet hard toffees, much sweeter than our bush foods.
NGOORWEEL’S TRANSITION BEGINS
Ngoorweel begins to stir from his sleep with the song of koolbardi (magpie). He loves their playful and happy songs and learns to cleverly mimic their calls in his yedi (songs). Ngoorweel’s mia mia is situated some distance away from the married people’s camp and upon waking, he can hear dogs barking and the moort (families) stir as they begin a new day.
In the coolness of a late Bunuru djidar (dawn), a light dew has formed on the external eucalyptus branches that cover Ngoorweel’s cosy and warm sanctuary. The morning light has transformed these dew droplets into sparkling jewels. The branches, bent and woven over tree trunks and arranged in a half-circle, create a base for Ngoorweel to place dried mindarie (grass tree leaves) to cover and waterproof his shelter. He also uses these leaves for a soft mattress, after first waving them over the fire to rid them of any ticks. The fur from the skin of a koomal (possum) or yonga (kangaroo) is finally laid over the leaves for a comfortable night’s sleep.
As he sings along with koolbardi (magpie), he opens his meeyal (eyes) to see Munday, his daambart (grandfather) poking his head through his mia mia. Through his bushy white narnak (beard), Munday smiles lovingly at his grandson but his dark, brown eyes look serious. Without saying a word, Ngoorweel sits up. He knows exactly what is happening and that this is his initiation time. He feels nervous and excited all at once, as on many occasions he’s seen his older ngoony (cousin brothers) disappear from their karleep (camp) with the senior men and elders. Now it is his turn to learn more about his cultural responsibilities as a young maam.
As the morning ngaangk (sun) filters a soft, warm light through the boorn, Ngoorweel walks away from his karleep leaving behind his boyhood games and sleeping family. He knows when he eventually returns in many bonar (seasons), he will have begun the katitjin (knowledge) needed for his adult life. Over many bonar (seasons), his initiation ceremonies teach him about the Koondarm (Dreaming) and the lore handed down from the nyetingar (ancestors).
He will spend this time learning about yonga maam ngardanginy (the men hunting kangaroo), how to make and use his kodja (axe) to cut footholds high in the tree trunks to hunt koomal (possum), how to make the kylie (boomerangs) and most importantly, how to care for boodjar. He will learn the protocols for ceremonies and dances, learning how to accurately mimic birds and animals for his totemic dances. He will learn to compose his special yedi (songs) to sing as he travels the songlines.
As part of his initiation into adulthood, Ngoorweel learns how to make a yonga booka, a possum skin cloak and animal skin wogga (blankets) to warm himself and his family through the cold Makuru weather. He is shown how to prepare the skins of the yonga by first laying them out on the ground to dry, before cutting them with a sharp stone. The inside of the skin is then scraped until it becomes soft and supple. Yonga tail sinew is used to sew the skins together and then a kangaroo bone birnt (cloak pin) is used to wear the warm cloak over one shoulder, leaving an arm free to carry weapons.
This yonga booka cloak is waterproof when worn with the fur side innermost against the skin, and the waterproof hide facing out to protect against wet weather. Ngoorweel learns how to tan the kangaroo skins with either balga resin or the gum from the marri tree, and when travelling far away from waterholes, he learns how tanned and waterproof skins make excellent water bags. He is keen to learn these skills for benang (tomorrow) to be able to provide for his future koorta (wives) and ngoolja (in-laws).
Bonar (seasons) later, Ngoorweel returns home to his karleep from Booroloyn (his initiation ground), riding high on the shoulders of an older relative. All the moort gather in a long line, through which he parades, proud and djiripin (happy). They are singing yedi (songs) to celebrate the rite of passage that he and the other young men have recently undergone for them to become men. Deep down inside he wishes Karbarli was still alive to stand with the other yorga (women) to celebrate his initiation celebration.
Before the crowds and riding high on his brother’s shoulders, he laughs as he is thrown down into a pile of yonga booka (kangaroo skin cloaks) filled with powdered red wilgi (ochre). They have been covered with gifts such as pearl shell, kylie (boomerangs), shields and spear throwers, gifts from those who have gathered for this great celebration. As Ngoorweel lays there laughing, he feels dizzy with all the attention and love he now feels as an initiated Beeloo maam. He is djirpin (happy).
NGOORWEEL’S BABBIN CEREMONY
As the season of Bunuru comes to an end and Djeran nears, our moort visit the nearby Ballardong clan in a place the wedjela now call York. Here many families are gathering around the Googoolyar Bilya (Avon River) for a babbin (friendship) ceremony. This is when two individuals, male or female, mark a special friendship and choose to formally initiate a relationship that lasts a lifetime. This bond brings responsibilities, such as being obliged to always offer and exchange hospitality, food, hunting and goods with each other when visiting each other’s country.
This ritual is usually performed by a neighbouring clan, such as our Ballardong neighbours, to mark the transition into adulthood. To become a babbin (friend) means sharing names and kooboorn (totems), as well as performing special ceremonial roles towards each other, such as nose piercing which is seen as an initiation into manhood. Now as a young man, this is the time for me to receive another totem animal or species for which I am given responsibilities.
At malyarak (midday), I prepare to exchange a special babbin (friendship) ceremony with a young Tonderup girl called Jubutche. I take her name, changing my name from Ngoorweel to Joobaitch, as it closely aligns with her name Jubutche. This is also the time to have a moolyart (kangaroo bone) pierced through my nasal septum, as part of my initiation into manhood. I feel nervous about the pain of piercing my nose cavity. My cousins advise me how to manage the pain by holding my nose towards the fire and by regularly placing ash on the bone and nose. Nervously, I ask my older cousins will it hurt? and they laugh, describing how their eyes watered and how I should hold my breath during the piercing.
A Ballardong bridiya (leader) approaches me carrying a small sharpened bone from the front leg of the yonga (kangaroo). I close my eyes. I can feel my heart hammering in my chest, but refuse to let this fear be shown to Jubutche, my babbin. I take a deep breath, as guided by my cousins, and surrender to the twist and push of the pointy tip of a kangaroo bone, driven through my septum to hold the bone. When it is done, I smile in relief, with blood dripping from my nose down onto my lip. I feel strong and proud of my courage to endure the pain like a maam, rather than a child. I am now Joobaitch. A man ready to start his own family.
JOOBAITCH AT BARRAGUP MUNGAH
Boorna-wangkiny (message sticks) are wooden sticks etched with messages used to pass information amongst the different clans. They pass on messages about tribal conflicts, deaths or ceremonial gatherings.
Each Bunuru, after the first rains, boorna-wangkiny are circulated amongst the Whadjuk, Binjareb, Yued and Bibbelmen clan groups, inviting us to gather along the Serpentine River where a wooden weir, a mungah (fish trap) has been constructed over the bilya (river). Here many gather to catch the salmon as they pass through this weir, a time for feasting on the abundance of salmon and sea mullet. Apart from fishing, other activities of trade, giving gifts, ceremonies, games and marriage betrothals also take place at Barragup Mungah.
It’s always an exciting time to watch the clans layout their different and interesting items for trading. The Binjareb clan usually trade their spears, dingo tail skins, feathers for hair ornamentation, possum hair girdles, tools, weapons, quartz knives and wilgi (ochre).
The Yued clans come to trade quartz for kitj (spears), kylie (boomerang) and miro (spear thrower). While the Whadjuk clans offer to trade our booka (kangaroo skin cloak), boyi (grinding stone rocks), bururo (possum hair neck ornament), booyi (zamia nut), djardark (white clay), kodja (axe) and wilgi (ochre). Once these serious trade negotiations are over, then the fun begins.
At Barragup, I always look forward to displaying my skills and prowess in throwing kitj and kylie (spears and boomerangs), including my skills in my favourite childhood game, Mitja Boma, which becomes more competitive with the other young men here to attract a koorta (wife). This kedalap (day) at Barragup, I feel strong and invincible, proudly dressed in my yonga booka (kangaroo skin cloak) with my hair and body greased with animal fat and my hair slicked back with grease and ochre. With a strong physique and positive reputation as a skilful hunter, I know its time to arrange my future marriages with ngoolja (in-laws).
JOOBAITCH’S KOORD-KATAK (MARRIAGES)
The time eventually arrives for my koord-katak (marriage) ceremony. I’m expected to provide gifts of dartj (meat) to all my future ngoolja (in-laws), offering them gifts of fresh djildjit (fish), kooya (frogs) and booyi (long-neck turtle).
When I was young, two koolang (babies) Woweelyan and Woojeeral were formally betrothed to me. The betrothal obligations state that I needed to hunt and fish for these girls' parents until they were elderly. Sadly this lore is no longer applicable as both the girls and their parents died from the new sickness that arrived with the wedjela.
Our lore states that I must marry yok (girls) from the right kinship system. As my skin group is Ballaruk Wardong (Crow), I can only marry a manatj (cockatoo) Tonderup or Diddaruk woman. This teaching was taught from the Koondarm (Dreaming) lore.
In the Nyittiny (creation time) when the ancestors created the lore for everyone, a situation occurred where a man named Nyoongar and a woman named Yorga fell in love. Despite their affections, they were not allowed to marry as they belonged to the wrong skin group. Although the elders continually warned them about their wrong skin groups for marriage, this couple was stubborn. They insisted on being together.
For their punishment, they were both exiled from their community. Many believed this punishment was not enough, so they demanded their death, singing for warra wirran (bad spirits) to torment the couple while they were in hiding. Despite their attempts to hide, the community leaders soon found them.
Yorga and Nyoongar awoke one morning to find the men’s kitj (spears) hovering above their heads. They quickly grabbed hold of each other tightly and kissed for one last time. As punishment for their forbidden love, Nyoongar was speared to death and Yorga took her own life in shame.
This strong love and final embrace were forever embedded in boodjar (country). Today the Bimban boorn (kissing trees) touch and entwine one another as a reminder to always marry a woman from the right skin group.
When it's my time to marry, the clan leaders arrange for me to wed a Tonderup woman named Welberan from Ballardong boodjar. Having many wives is an acceptable practice under the lore and each marriage ceremony involves gift exchanges for the strength of the family networks and their kinship structures. The marriage ceremony is complete when I take some hair strands from my koorta (wife) and weave them through my arm-band.
Over many bonar (seasons) I marry Wunmygne, a Diddaruk yok (girl) from the manatj (white cockatoo) kinship group. She is a happy yorga (woman) with high energy and a loud, hearty laugh that matches her love of life. Wunmygne and I have a son together. Ngeerbill is a tiny brown bundle for whom I hold such deep love and tenderness.
I also inherit Wunmygne’s children from her previous marriage. I then marry a second wife Welberan, a girl from the Tonderup manatj (White Cockatoo) skin group. She is a thin and tall yok (girl), with a quiet disposition. She grows to love the antics of her loud sister, Wunmygne. Our lore states that when a man dies, his brother must care for his wives and children. After my brother's death, I inherit his Tonderup wife, Yoolyeenan (also called Fanny Shaw) and her children. Each season, my moort (family) grows bigger and bigger.
Now that the cold Djeran season is almost here, I ensure our mia mia (shelter) is waterproof and faces the north-east direction to allow the morning sun to warm us. I use the dried flower stems of the balga boorn (grass tree) as poles for the hut frame, and the dried balga (grass tree) leaves as thatching and a floor covering, ensuring everyone gets a restful sleep. For the comfort of all my wives and children, I also hunt for kwenda (bandicoot) and yonga (kangaroo) to offer them warm skins in the coming cooler seasons.
In Djeran, my wives have responsibilities to contribute to the family food collection by gathering bulbs and kwoonert (seeds), hunting small animals as well as spinning fur for rope and repairing the family’s mia mia for the cold weather ahead. Each day my wives and koolangka (children), Ngeerbill, Warbuk, Gwayjil and Ngeenaban, head off together talking and laughing, carrying their tjoota (bag) woven or made from koomal (possum) or yonga (kangaroo) skin. These tjoota can also be used for carrying their koolang (baby) in warmer seasons when they don’t wear the booka (kangaroo skin cloak) or for keeping handy some botting (scarlet bracket fungus), useful to relieve the symptoms of a teething koolang (baby).
Singing happy yedi (songs), the group of women and children head off together to explore the freshwater lakes, wetlands and pinja (swamps), looking for booyi (long neck turtle), tuberous roots from the yandjidi (bulrush) and kooya (frogs). They wade deep into the swampy waters, looking for breathing holes, signs of booyi. Before the kep booroonginy (rains), when the swamps are still dry, they kneel low in the mudflats with arms deep in mud, kawiny (laughing) covered in warm mud, looking like crusty mud crabs.
Pt 1 GOOTALAN’S WOONYA WAANGKA (LOVE STORY)
Under a hot Bunuru ngaank (sun), boorna-wangkiny (wooden message sticks) arrive bringing news to the Weeip, Beeliar and Beeloo clans to attend the beedawa (initiation) ceremony and celebration at Boojoormelup (Lake Henderson) in Yellagonga’s Mooro district. Here the lakes’ districts still offer abundant food for such a gathering. Attending this feast is Gootalan, a beautiful young Whadjuk Tonderup yok (woman) from the town of Toodjay who is visiting Boojoormelup with her koort (husband) and moort (family).
Gootalan is loved by everyone because of her passion for life expressed through her high energy dancing, singing and laughing. This passion for life is amplified in her dark eyes which burn with a fiery hunger for all that life has to offer. This desire to live fully and experience all that life brings is infectious to those who know her and love her. That is, everyone except her angry koorta (husband) Weeban, a Ballaruk man who is known by all for his cruelty to his wives, making Gootalan very unhappy.
Light cloud feathers paint the sunny blue sky, making Gootalan feel djiripin (happy) to be at Boojoormelup (Lake Henderson). As she chats and laughs with the other yorga (women), they decorate their hair with bidang (emu feathers) in preparation for the yorga keniny (women’s dance). Suddenly, Gootalan’s eyes are drawn towards a very handsome, tall, and strong maam walking her way. For the first time in her young life, she feels alive as this attraction for Joobaitch surges through her veins. She knows she has met her one true love.
Joobaitch smiles, looking directly at Gootalan and their eyes lock, lingering for a moment. A sudden exchange of electrical energy and attraction charge through their hearts making them race. They both smile, hesitate and then look away shyly. In her koort (heart), Gootalan believes that Joobaitch is the one she wants to be with for the rest of her days. Being a Tonderup woman and Joobaitch a Ballaruk man, they both belong to the proper skin group for marriage.
Gootalan has many strong and courageous brothers who love their little sister and would do anything to protect her, but unfortunately, they cannot interfere in this unhappy marriage she endures with her husband, Weeban. According to the lore of her father’s family, Gootalan was betrothed as a baby to marry Weeban and when she became a teenager, she fulfilled the marriage ceremony, moving to her husband's karleep (camp). Gootalan knows, even though she is unhappily married, she cannot change her circumstances without breaking the lore. She must wait for the right time to be with Joobaitch. During the Boojoomelup ceremonies, the lore states there cannot be any quarrelling so, despite the rage and jealousy inside Weeban over Gootalan’s flirtation with Joobaitch, no fight with Joobaitch is allowed.
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