The old Aunty sits, watches scientists scrabble about caught up in the endeavour, the yield of the dig ‘Why all the trouble to see some old tools … we know they’ve been sittin’ there forever’ worn flints, broken shafts cast aside by generations ‘We like staying forever, we buried there too’ They sift the sand, find bones of giant kangaroos huge wombats buried close to the Ancestors ‘Everytime the balanda dig, the land grows older’ Ochres used in Ceremony line the deepest layers link with dynamic figures painted in celebration dancing forever on the Madjedbebe shelter * ‘We show our kids, teach them the Old People’s story feel shame when white people are deaf to our voices’ They ask about djang djang, sacred Mirrar stories stored in deep time, lore held in cultural memory ‘You don’t have to write it down to be true’ See the People anxious for someone to sit and listen protect the land from poison, mining in Jabiluka valley ‘My Country gotta’ stay normal like this, long time’ They ask how the Ancestors arrived here long ago how they made the long journey by open sea ‘You come here, everywhere digging, cleaning up’ ‘Why all the fuss, we told you we were always here’
From: Vol.09 N.01 – A Poetics of Rights
Madjedbebe
by
Brenda Saunders