I sit by the fire on my last night before going down to talk to these newcomers. My friends Magra and Cook have gone up into the mountains. Tomorrow I will be the one who confronts these white strangers, or Europeans, as they’ve described themselves.
Or perhaps we will just watch them and see if they depart again.
It might then be many, many more years before more white men come.
Sitting by the fire that is dancing to a silent rhythm, I remember so many things. I remember when I first saw the strangers who now live with us, before I had undergone initiation, and was forbidden to speak of many things.
I smile to remember how we had thought them spirits rather than men. How one had cried when a gaambi (flying fox) landed on the ground near him.
But there was also the spilling of blood on our sacred ground, which was dealt with according to lore.
Those white people we had taken into our clans had become part of our clans, whom we were proud of.
My thoughts wander to what our future will look like if white people come who do not want to become a part of our clans, with those firesticks that can kill from a distance.
Will they come in peace or not, I wonder.
Magra told me that if more white people come it would be like a wild bushfire, wiping out species endemic to this area, and likely they would be hunted without proper respect.
Will they be like that, or will they come in peace and respect, like the freshwater that runs into the ocean becoming one?
I now have a son to a ngurraar (black cockatoo) woman.
His name is Diirrarrdu, meaning not belonging from, because he belongs to both White and Black Cockatoo. The white people call him Peter.
They said that he is named for one of twelve great men who was like a warrior for their god, and a leader to his people.
They believe Diirrarrdu will be a leader in years to come, because he will learn about white man ways, to safeguard his people from others who are motivated by greed without respect for the people of this country.
The fire dies down as I lie next to my wife and child. I call upon our spirits to keep my family safe, and without hesitation I ask their god also to keep my family and people safe.
Because the white people said their god listens to everyone and shows love. As the white men we have taken into our clans have shown us. I like their idea of love.
But they also warned us that not all white people will seek to understand us like they do.
I will go and watch the newcomers in the morning, and will discover if it is my time to carry the stories of my people and the bama lore to the white men in their language. But if they just scout around and leave, I will not make myself known to them. Magra has warned me well enough of that.
It may be something I have to ready my son for. Perhaps it will be Diirrarrdu’s story to discover if our people will be shown love or not when more white-skinned strangers come to us from the sea.