MANATJ (POLICEMAN) JOOBAITCH
As more and more wedjela arrive each season, our world rapidly transforms and changes the same way my family continues to grow and change. When the wedjela offer me a job as a manatj, a ‘native’ policeman, my world gets turned upside down.
Blue and white. A new police uniform is passed to me to wear when I track escaped convicts and help my people follow these new laws. Despite its initial discomfort, the uniform’s thick navy jacket provides some warmth on cold Makuru days. Although manipulating the jacket’s silver buttons initially proves to be a very challenging task for me.
Wearing the distinctive navy and white cap sets me apart, providing me with a degree of freedom in the wedjela society. More importantly, freedom to return to my boodjar to track escaped convicts using my skills and extensive knowledge of country. While I hunt for escapees, I enjoy the freedom to gather bush foods, hunt yonga (kangaroo) and walk as a free man in my Beeloo district, passing without fear through the wedjela fences and private properties.
When I catch the escaped convicts, I escort them back to the lockup in Mandoon (Guildford) or to the Boorloo (Perth) prison. Other times when I track escapees outside of the Beeloo district, I seek permission from the bridiya (elders) to cross into another clan’s territory. After spearing, skinning and cooking the yonga (kangaroo), I cut off its paw and tie it to my wrist so I can feel safe with my totem spirit. Then I can feel confident knowing I have its protection while travelling away from my karleep (camp).
When working in Mandoon (Guildford), my role is to restore community peace when clan fighting breaks out between the different groups. The wedjela law states that fighting is now a breach of the colony’s peace, but our clans have always fought with each other over women, for breaking the lore, or for payback, especially if someone dies suspiciously, or if magic is involved.
Before my initiation, I learned that our ancient customary practice of payback had become a punishable crime under the wedjela law. Stories circulated about a maam (man) named Weewar, a Binjareb maam (man) from the bilya Moelan (Murray River) nation. He was arrested for practicing payback in his boodjar.
WEEWAR
This is Weewar’s story.
A Whadjuk man from the Mooro clan named Dyung murdered my son. Our lore, given to us by our nyetingar (ancestors) in the Koondarm (Dreaming), expects me, the father, to practice payback on Dyung for murdering my son. An opportunity arose one day when Dyung passed through our clan's Binjareb boodjar (country).
It was the season of Djilba when word spread like fire through dry grass that Dyung, my son’s murderer was walking through our boodjar (country). Whilst still grieving my son and in anger, I went after him late in the day just as the ngaangk (sun) was leaving the world. A strong wind was blowing and being the coldest time of all the seasons, without a fire and the sun, cold shivers racked my body.
The smell of Dyung’s booyi (smoke) from his karl (fire) drew me near. Through the bushes, I watched silently as Dyung prepared a meal of djildjit (fish) and koomal (possum), still plentiful in this season. I noticed he did not sit under or near the Kwel (Sheoak), the judgement tree, in fear of the wind blowing through its leaves and identifying his guilt.
As his back was to me, I caught him off guard. Using my miro (spear thrower), I propelled the long, stone-tipped kitj (spear) through the air. Feeling its speed as it left the miro (spear thrower), it arrived precisely at its target. It penetrated dambart (three) barbs into the flesh in the middle of Dyung’s back. He died instantly.
When the manatj (police) heard about Dyung’s murder, they arrested me. In the hot season of Birak, I was taken to the Boorloo (Perth) Courthouse in hot heavy chains that were shackled around my neck and hands, making my flesh tender and raw.
The courtroom was stifling hot. Airless and brown. The pungent smell of human sweat on hot brown leather was suffocating. This was in stark contrast to the cold stares of the judgemental colonists, hungry for entertainment.
Edwards Landor, my defence counsel, understood my argument that the British law had never been accepted or adopted by me. I argued with him that Dyung’s murder was not a matter of British law. I asked,
If my clan never interfered with wedjela murders, why should the wedjela interfere with our traditional lore?
This case became known as the Crown versus Weewar. Landlor needed to explain its meaning to me as the courtroom’s language was foreign and no interpreters or witnesses were allowed. An Italian missionary Louis Giustiniani (who’d previously volunteered to defend any Whadjuk men in court) argued for our right to have our witnesses in the courtroom, but the law stated,
The evidence of an Aboriginal witness was not admissible in the court of law.
In the end, despite Giustiniani and Landor being two good-hearted wedjela men trying to support us, wedjela law took precedence over traditional lore.
The courtroom became quiet for sentencing. The Chief Magistrate William Mackie proclaimed that he rejected Landlor’s defence, followed by the whole jury of maam (men) angrily spitting word one word in my direction, Guilty!
I was sentenced to life imprisonment. Even though I’d never broken any Binjareb lore. I was sentenced to transportation to the island prison at Wadjemup (Rottnest) for the term of my life, never again to see my boodjar (country) or my family.
WEDJELA LAWS
On a grey and cold Makuru kedalap (day), I wait outside the Mandoon barracks for the commissioner of police to arrive. He is dressed in his full uniform and acts very stern and serious as he lectures me about the new wedjela laws. Laws that I am now expected to uphold as a 'native' manatj.
As there is a new proclamation that now prohibits any Whadjuk from street fighting or carrying spears, the commissioner presents to me a long list of the punishment for theft, street fighting, hunting on private property, fishing on private property, or carrying weapons into town. This creates more arrests of my people because they would never dare to enter any town without the protection of a spear in case there’s a clan fight or a gun-wielding wedjela looking for trouble. Even as a manatj, it’s difficult for me to stop these fights.
The commissioner describes these laws with an air of arrogance and a clear dislike for my people, upholding that might is always right when it comes to controlling and punishing them. He reminds me about the new laws that ban our nakedness, burning seasonal karl on boodjar, drinking alcohol, spearing livestock or stealing rations. Lashings with a cat-o'nine-tails, working on road gangs, imprisonment, exile from their own country and death are all deemed worthwhile punishments.
While he talks incessantly at me, I suddenly remember one elderly and respected bridiya named Gear who received the allocated forty-eight lashes for theft. He stole wheat for his hungry family, but later the lashes on his back became infected and he died.
After the constable walks away, I spend a moment reflecting under a boorn (tree). I remember how my parents and grandparents taught me their rules around the karl, teaching me to respect, care and honour the lore. I believe that as a manatj who knows and understands these wedjela laws, I can help to protect my clan, and where possible, protect our cultural practices.
Pt. 2 GOOTALAN’S WOONYA WAANGKA (LOVE STORY)
After Gootalan and Joobaitch met at Boojoormelup (Lake Henderson), they fell in love. Hoping to be together as husband and wife, their love grew stronger through their separation. Late at kedalak (night), when the sky fills with djinda (stars) and a thin meeka (moon) rises, Gootalan sneaks away from her mia mia to be with Joobaitch. She meets him at his karleep where they exchange ngambarn (scars) onto each other’s bodies, signs of love and affection.
As a manatj, Joobaitch isn't allowed to publicly fight Weeban, her husband. Despite knowing this, Weeban, her husband regularly vents his anger and jealousy at Joobaitch’s flirtation with Gootalan by throwing his wadi (club) directly at him. Of course, Joobaitch being fast-witted and agile makes it easier to deflect the club from hitting him. This further infuriates Weeban who begins throwing a torrent of kitj (spears) directly at Joobaitch, hoping to wound him. Joobaitch is well known amongst the clans for his spear dodging skills, and even without a shield, he manages to dodge the spears and weapons hurled by Weeban.
A series of private fights between Joobaitch and Weeban occur in the battle to win Gootalan’s affection. This continues for seasons until everything changes one cold, grey day in the season of Makuru.
Early morning, heavy fog settles over Weeban’s camp. When he awakens, he feels unwell. The insides of his stomach are burning up, curling him into a ball as the pain intensifies. He begins to roll around inside his mia mia screaming in agony and loudly calling out,
Kala boolarany! Kala boolarany! (fire magic, fire magic!). Someone is sending this minditj (sickness) through the boylyada maam (medicine man).
Weeban refuses to eat or drink and suffers intense pain. Within two beedjar (sleeps), he becomes still and lifeless, leaving this world for Kurannup.
As part of the grieving ritual, Weeban’s wives cut themselves in grief, covering themselves in white ash. Gootalan refuses to do any of these grieving rituals for Weeban, proudly stating she never wanted to be his koorta (wife) in the first place. She explains to his wives,
He should have let me stay with Joobaitch, who I have loved since I first met him.
In one of the coldest Makuru seasons in her memory, Gootalan wraps herself in her yonga booka (kangaroo skin cloak) and begins to walk towards Joobaitch’s karleep singing a joyful song. When she arrives at Joobaitch’s camp, near bebo (a bend in the river), she finds out Joobaitch has been away for almost a season tracking the convict Grey as part of his duties as a manatj. She waits outside the camp for a few days to let Joobaitch’s family know of Weeban’s passing, before being greeted by his moort with joy and love. Finally, she can fulfil her dream to be Joobaitch’s koorta (wife).
MINDITJ (SICKNESS) IN JOOBAITCH’S KARLEEP (CAMP)
Throughout the wet and bitterly cold Makuru season, Gootalan waits patiently at Joobaitch’s karleep for him to return from tracking Grey, the convict. Around that time, a convict ship named Racehorse arrives at the port at Walyalup (Fremantle), packed with a large cohort of convicts and new wedjela settlers. While travelling between Portland and Walyalup (Fremantle), many die from a minditj (sickness) they call measles.
Just as heavy rains and damaging winds blow in this season, this minditj blows through the karleep, spreading like a raging fire on a windy kedalap (day). The Whadjuk clans now have little resistance to this new minditj due to the wedjela limiting their access to medicinal plants and nutritional foods in their boodjar.
Gootalan weeps as she watches members of Joobaitch’s moort become minditj. She does her best to heal their skin rashes with the limited plants she can access, such as mixing the fat from the karda (goanna), or koomal (possum) with the leaves and flowers from the kurren (camphor myrtle).
She pours cool water from the bilya (river) onto their feverous skin or walks the stronger ones to the cool waters of the Derbal Yerrigan (Swan River) to try to reduce their fevers. She becomes gravely concerned for one of Joobaitch’s young wives, Welberan who feels unwell, coughing and complaining how sore and watery her eyes are. Worry sits like a rock in the pit of her koboorl (stomach) as Gootalan hears her say,
Yoowart ngany minditj (I’m not feeling well).
As family members die from these inexplicable sicknesses, haunting wails are heard coming from the nearby camps. Gootalan questions why their traditional medicines can’t heal this minditj, and she begins to wonder whether this sickness could be caused by the destruction of their sacred sites by the wedjela. Many families speculate whether this sickness is the work of a boylyada maam (medicine man) from neighbouring tribes.
Boylyada maam have the power and skill to see into the future, to create and heal illnesses, to hurt their enemies, or sometimes even bring gnoytj (death).
Just after nanga ngnardog (sunset), a dark grey sky begins to grumble, spewing icy cold, prickly rain onto the camps and extinguishing their karl. Inside her mia mia, Gootalan protects herself from the icy wind, while holding Welberan in her arms. She sings healing yedi (songs) for her, bathing her in the cool water infused with crushed leaves for her fever. Despite her efforts, Welberan’s marp (skin) burns and red rashes develop all over her face and neck. Gootalan lays awake at kedalak (night) longing for Joobaitch to return from tracking convicts because, without his support, she begins to feel scared and alone.
Welberan’s frail and wasted body is as thin as the new meeka (moon) that rises in the night sky. The evening’s stillness is soon broken by Gootalan’s grieving wails as she holds Welberan’s lifeless body in her arms. Wunmygne, Joobaitch’s other koorta (wife) comes running in, just as Gootalan cries,
Warra boolywar (bad power). Warra warra wedjela warra (no good, white people, no good).
The day after Welberan’s funeral, Gootalan stirs in her mia mia, awakening from deep sleep to the sweet, joyful song of koolbardi (magpie). The kep booroonginy (heavy rain) is easing and as she opens her eyes, she witnesses one of the most beautiful sunrises she can ever remember.
The pretty pink and orange sunrise transforms the whole sky into a rich warm glow, reminding her of the tjangari lily flowers which are the same vibrant, pink colour. These flowers were once gathered by Gootalan and her mother when she was younger, then the fleshy roots were steamed, roasted over the coals, or made into delicious cakes.
Looking up at the sunrise, Gootalan becomes aware of her eyes. They feel sore and prickly and her throat burns like hot embers in a fire. Remembering these familiar symptoms, a dread rises in the pit of her stomach.
As she sits up slowly inside her mia mia, she listens to the djert (birds) offer their joyful morning yedi (song). Instead of feeling their joy, Gootalan’s eyes fill with winyarn (sad) tears. She simply isn’t ready to leave this world without fulfilling her love for Joobaitch.
Despondent and powerless, knowing what is to come, Gootalan lays down on her balga (grass tree) leaves mattress, surrendering to it, knowing this may be one of her last sunrises because there is no boylyada maamam (medicine man) who can heal this minditj.
JOOBAITCH MIA YENINY (COMING HOME)
I awake with a cold shiver in my mia mia. Something feels wrong. I can feel Makuru’s cold breath on my skin, draining my body’s heat despite my booka (kangaroo skin cloak). I lay quietly, awaiting the djidar (sunrise) and the return of ngaangk (sun) to warm me. Grey, the convict, is tied to a giant boorn and snores loudly outside my mia mia (shelter) As I listen to the call of ngoolark (white-tailed black cockatoo), I know kep booroonginy (heavy rain) and stormy weather are on their way.
My grandmother taught me about the powerful sorcery of the wardong (crow) who brings unpredictability and uncertainty in nature. The wardong is the messenger of the earth’s winds, sky’s rain and thunder beings. When kep booroonginy (heavy rain) is approaching, wardong tells the creatures of what is to come and then ngoolark (white-tailed black cockatoo) calls out the message. The biddit (ants) respond by moving quickly in the excitement of the upcoming storm.
Before the fury of this storm hits, I’m eager to return the convict Grey to the Mandoon (Guildford) jail cell where he escaped last season. When I finally tracked him down, I found him in my Beeloo boodjar near the winter camp not far from Djerban (Lesmurdie) falls. After finding him almost dead from a lack of food, water and exposure to cold nights, I cook him some yonga dartj (kangaroo meat), mereny (damper) and a few remaining djida (tuber roots) found nearby. Grey’s strength has now returned for the long walk to Mandoon (Guildford).
As we walk in silence, my thoughts naturally return to my beautiful Gootalan and the feelings of love I feel for her in my heart. I am full of anticipation for our togetherness. In my koondarm (dreams), I see her as a beautiful bindi bindi (butterfly), light and free.
After returning Grey to the lockup, I continue travelling to our camp near the bebo (bend in the river). As I approach, a maam marr (southerly wind) blows its icy nails under my skin and I can hear the womens' grieving wails being carried on the marr (wind). I stop in my tracks. My heart is pounding in my chest and my stomach contracts in fear. Suddenly I feel exhausted from the long journey and a deep sadness begins to overcome me. In fear for the lives of my koolangka (children) and koorta (wives), I run towards my karleep (camp) but my legs feel slow and heavy.
With tears and hugs, my moort (family) come out from their mia mia into the pelting rain to greet me. They share the sad news about my wife Welberan passing over from the minditj and I begin to weep for her loss. I’m not alone in my grief as I can see many families preparing for the funeral rites.
Up ahead, I see more of my moort members walking towards me. They approach slowly and cautiously with their eyes cast down. They share the story of how Gootalan’s husband died, and how she joined our camp at the beginning of Makuru, awaiting my return. My heart sinks. In barely a whisper, shaking my head, I force myself to ask, Not her, too?
Holding my breath, I await a response from those who are gathered around me. Seeking eyes that are courageous enough to deliver the sombre news. I listen to the thunder grumble impatiently as the storm begins. A senior yorga (woman) Ngoogup, deals the truthful blow to me in one slow, solemn nod.
I cannot breathe despite the force of the marr (wind) and I collapse onto my knees, dropping my head to my boodjar. In the pouring rain, I dig my icy cold fingers deep into the wet, cold earth, and release a haunting wail, thick with grief and anger. Gnoytj (death) has separated me from Gootalan, my true love.
I call out to my nyetingar (ancestors) for strength, just as the bright strikes of babanginy (lightning) flash silver into a darkening sky. In the blackness, loud koondarnangor (thunder) claps awaken a dark grief within me that envelops me like the heavy clouds over our karleep.
