Me, Antman and Fleabag was fruit pickin down south when we run across a bunch a dreadlocked ferals in an old beat-up panel van. They was doin some pickin to git enough money to go up north to what they reckoned was gunna be a dreamin festival. They reckoned we should go along. They reckoned it’d be real ‘trippy’.
Even though me and Ant is blackfullas, we aint ever been to a dreamin festival. Anyway, cos it was up north and we aint ever been up that way, we reckoned if we went, we could git ta meet all our bruthas and sistas from the coast and the mountains; git ta hear bout their mob and their ways. So we thought what the fuck, let’s just cruise up there and check it out.
So when we finished up work we headed up that way. We weren’t used to all those mountains, windin roads, all that thick forest. We both reckoned there’d be a lot of powerful spirits livin in there in the damp and the dark, so we only travelled during the day. We liked the ocean and the beaches and camped out on them for a few days. But cos we aint used to the ocean, we didn’t swim out too far and Flea give it a miss altogether, which was funny cos he loves swimmin. Ant reckons it’s cos he’s a freshwater mutt that he didn’t trust the ocean and never stopped barkin till we was outta the water and safe on the beach.
Anyway, we gits up to this little town. It was lousy with hippie and feral fullas. They was all headin out to the festival so we just followed em. There was camps everywhere and all kinds of em. Some was in trees, and there was teepees, tents, lean-tos, campervans, and some people just had swags on the ground, and some were campin in caves. They all had dreadlocks and dressed in cheesecloth and old tie-dyed shirts, t-shirts with Che and Mao on the front, ragged old trousers and skirts that twirled round the women’s legs when they moved. Some had no clothes on at all. All their kids were dressed the same and had dirty faces. They was all gittin in touch with nature and livin on mung beans, home-made wine and yahndi. Ant reckoned a lot of em could afford to starve for a while cos they probably had trust funds and could rely on mummy and daddy to send money if they needed to.
There was fullas playin guitars and sitars and bongo drums and funny lookin Japanese flutes. Some were dancin to the music you could hear, some dancin to music only they could hear. There was some fullas just whirlin round and round in the same spot. Ant asked someone what they was doin and he said they was whirlin dervishes and followed some ancient religion from the Middle East.
There was all kinds of stalls sellin all kinds of shit. String bags, crystals, hand-made jewellery, painted rocks, clothes, hand-made flutes and other kinds of musical instruments. We walked round for a long time lookin at things, and listenin to the different bands. One thing for sure, there was no country music and sure as fuck there was no other blackfullas.
Ant said ta me, ‘If this is supposed ta be a dreamin festival, where are all the fuckin blackfullas?’
While we was wanderin round the stalls tryin, in vain it turns out, ta find a food stall that sold tucker with meat in it, we come across a stall sellin didjeridoos, or yidakis as the fulla sellin em liked to call em. They was decorated with Koori symbols and dot paintins so Ant asked who painted em and who he was sellin em for. Proud as punch the fulla said that he made and painted em. Said he’d lived up in the Territory with ‘real Yolngu people’ and they adopted him into their tribe and give im a skin name and give im permission to make the yidakis and use their dreamin to decorate em. He asked me and Ant if we’d ever been to the Territory to meet ‘real Yolngu people’. He told us it would be nice for us to know about our black side. He said he pitied us fullas who weren’t full blood and what a shame it was that he probably knew more about Aboriginal people than we did. Me and Ant was dumbstruck at what he was sayin to us. He reckoned because he’d been adopted into the tribe he had what we didn’t. His own dreamin place. Ant told him if he didn’t shut his fuckin mouth he’d be back there before he knew it.
The fulla looked like he was gunna shit himself and he stammered, ‘Hey, chill out man.’
Anyway, we decided to leave before things got ugly. It takes a lot to rile Antman. I don’t remember im ever bein that pissed off before. Later he reckoned he was glad he didn’t belt that fulla. He reckoned it wasn’t worth it. I reckoned he was right.
Cos there was no other blackfullas around, everyone was fascinated with me and Ant and Fleabag. A lot aint ever met any of us before and they made a big show a comin over and talkin to us and sayin stuff like ‘right on’ or ‘I hear ya’ and callin us ‘brutha’ and ‘sista’ and makin sure we noticed the land rights stickers on their old Kombis and station wagons.
They played Archie Roach, Kev Carmody, Tiddas and No Fixed Address on their CD players.
Anyway, we started gittin sick of all the attention. We didn’t feel like answerin any more questions bout whut it was like bein black. We was particularly sick of bein told we wasn’t proper blackfullas too. More to the point we was sick of all this gammon whitefulla dreamin. We was just on for chillin and livin in different country for awhile. But all the mountains and the forests and sticky air and the drizzlin rain was different to anything we ever knew. We never felt dry. And we never did meet any other blackfullas at the festival.
So anyway, we’d had a gutful and was sittin in a pub discussin our next move when this feral fulla, with dreadlocks down to his arse and wearin a Bob Marley t-shirt and carryin a big string bag full a shit, comes skippin over to our table.
He plonks himself down at our table and says, ‘Hello Aboriginal people.’
We look at im and say, ‘Hello Anglo man.’
He looks a bit upset about that. Ant reckoned later that he expected us to be able to see that, despite his white skin, he had a black soul. But he pulls himself together and says, ‘So, I would be deeply honoured if you told me about your culture.’
I could hear the sigh come from the very bottom of Antman’s guts as he said to the feral, ‘Mate, ya gittin a bit personal, aint ya? Besides, me doctor aint got the results back from the lab yet.’
The feral gits up and moves away. Me, Antman and Fleabag head for the car and the back country. We drive all night. We aint afraid of the spirits in the damp, dark green country anymore.