Heartsick for Country

by Sally Morgan

  On cold damp nights, when the dew is heavy, I can still hear my mother’s voice and remember the Seven Sisters. I never questioned her belief or thought to challenge it as I got older. I accepted her story because it made sense to me and made the sisters real, being incorporated into my spiritual belief system. I, too, now say to my children on damp nights, ‘Those sisters, they having a big wee tonight!’

  For Aboriginal people, Dreaming stories offer another way of looking at the world. Christianity has used Aboriginal ways of looking at the world to spread the message of Christ. For example, Hart, talking about the Aboriginal Evangelical Fellowship, relays the story of fire. [46] Hart describes how the fire spirit came down to earth as a person, bringing fire for the people to warm themselves and to cook food. However, the fire spirit was too fiery and everything he touched burst into flames, and some of the animals and people died from the heat. The fire spirit overcame this problem by painting the symbol of the flame on his body and in this way was able to approach people and show them how to use fire. Christianity has used the symbol of fire, explaining the coming of the Holy Spirit on Pentecost Day as the tongues of fire. ‘Like the fire spirit, Kurta, coming to bring fire to the earth, the gift of the Holy Spirit would bring a great change to their lives and social situations.’ [47] Through Christianity, this traditional story of fire has been converted so the flames represent the Holy Spirit. Christianity, identifying a cultural match between the Aboriginal story and the story of the Gospel, has compared fire to the Holy Spirit and applied it to its teachings to convert Aboriginal people. [48]

  Healy says that ‘many religious discourses focus on the non-material world beyond our earthly existence’ with belief in the after-life. [49] Where Christianity focuses on God as a higher being, Indigenous spirituality is ‘embedded in the natural environment ... and may focus on one’s relationship with the land and one’s ancestors, or the “Dreaming”.’ [50]

  According to Healy, a ‘primary purpose of religious and spiritual oriented activities, is to promote spiritual wellbeing’ [51]. This position concurs with Aboriginal people’s beliefs about spirituality and the impact of colonisation on Aboriginal people as a group. Aboriginal people feel the loss of cultural autonomy and the disruption to their spiritual practices and belief systems as having had a major impact on the wellbeing of their communities, families and individuals. Loss of connection to land severed the spiritual relationships of entire communities and groups of people, resulting in loss of identity and spiritual wellbeing. Understanding how spirituality can affect an individual’s and/or community’s wellbeing has huge ramifications for service delivery and people attempting to work in a cross cultural setting.

  In medical settings, for instance, an Aboriginal person could attribute his or her illness to a spiritual cause. Any attempt to heal the person by conventional medical means may fail because the spiritual element has not been acknowledged or addressed. Similarly, a psychological disorder could be interpreted as a symptom of mental illness, whereas the patient’s community or family may believe the individual has been sung, has trespassed on taboo country, or has touched and taken an artefact, or a stone, away from the area.

  The implications for anyone working with Aboriginal people are huge, and unless practitioners acknowledge and allow for spiritual or religious issues to emerge, their work, and its effects, can be seriously limited. Healy points out that ‘understanding the religious and spiritual needs of service users is a key dimension of holistic care for service users, inseparable from attending to material and emotional needs.’ [52] Much of the focus of helping Aboriginal people has tended to centre on the material, the financial and the physical, with little attention to how their spiritual and emotional needs should be met. For a race of people whose existence and identity were grounded in the Dreaming, the impact of the disruption to their spiritual life was catastrophic, resulting in I believe, a spiritual and emotional crisis that has affected the wellbeing of our communities and families. Until this spiritual crevasse is filled, Aboriginal people will continue to fill it by other means such as alcohol, drugs and violence. McLennan and Khavarpour, talking about their research into health and spirituality, point out that a ‘common thread arising from the literature is the need to recognise spirituality as influential, if not the driving force, in the healing of Indigenous peoples.’ [53]

  Regardless of its dark history, Christianity has had both a positive and a negative impact on the lives of Aboriginal people. For some, Christianity has provided an alternative that has filled the gap, enabling them to move on and heal their lives. But for those who do not find solace in Christianity, other means need to be provided to bring back spiritual meaning and wellbeing into their lives.

  McLennan and Khavarpour confirmed that, from their study in New South Wales, which looked at spirituality and wellbeing, spirituality was central in the lives of the people they looked at:

  The strong connection between spirituality and wellbeing was expressed by feelings of protection, energy, confidence and pride. The spiritual connections within the community, such as those with ancestors and with the tribal area, help to maintain a sense of belonging, community cohesion and wellbeing. [54]

  The diversity in the Aboriginal community today means that while spirituality may mean different things to different people, as a central value it plays a critical role in Indigenous wellbeing. Its importance cannot be ignored.

  For Aboriginal people like me, who now live in urban locations and whose children are growing up in the mainstream community, maintaining a connection with country is difficult, because we are living in someone else’s country and it is not as familiar as our own. Teaching our children about culture is also more difficult in the mainstream community, where the focus is on different aspirations and values. As a parent and grandparent, it is a struggle to hold and balance the traditional Aboriginal values that were handed down to me and to pass them on in an urban environment of bricks and mortar. Nevertheless, as I grow older (though I am not at this stage yet), I am beginning to understand what it means to be an Elder, the responsibilities that will come with that status, and the importance of passing on my knowledge and understanding to my children. Children take in information in different ways and at different times throughout their lives, so we cannot always be sure that what is being taught has been understood and remembered. Fortunately, as Aboriginal people become more comfortable with putting their thoughts onto paper through anthologies, handing on their stories is made easier. If we have done our work well and laid down strong foundations, in their own time and when the time is right, our children and our future generations will be able to read what we have written and their learning will occur.

  In conclusion, the importance of spirituality and the impact of its presence or absence on the lives of Aboriginal people cannot be underestimated. What must be recognised is that Aboriginal people, whether they live in cities, rural communities or in remote country, have a different worldview and understanding of spirituality from Western people. If workers are to be effective in Aboriginal communities where social, emotional and health problems are rife, this must be considered, especially in communities where social cohesion and wellbeing have been severely disrupted.

  LEN COLLARD

  is a descendant of the Whadjuck and Ballardong Nyungar of the South-West of Western Australia. He is Chair of Australian Indigenous Studies at Murdoch University and a highly respected academic leader in the field of Nyungar culture. (Image 3.1)

  Image 3.1

  Kura, Yeye, boorda‘from the past, today and the future’

  Pindjarup Nyungar boordier Mr Joe Walley said ‘so these old stories, White people don’t believe them; they think are not true. Well, how many stories going right back, can you say is true? I am a firm believer in the old Aboriginal ways. How many stories can you say is true? The Bible, because it is written down? When we speak, it is verbally a handeddown story. They say they are just words, you make it up. What is
the difference between a man’s written word and a person’s word that is not written down? There is no difference. Well, one is written down and one is spoken. Yes, but it had to be spoken for it to be written down, ha ha ha. There is no difference at all. [55]

  Kaya noonankoort[56], my name is Len Collard and I am a Whadjuck/Balardong[57] Nyungar man and my Nyungar katitjin[58] has been passed on to me by many of our Nyungar Elders, family and extended family members. However, the katitjin I am going to share with you comes from a few of my moort, or in other words from my Nyungar relations who gave me the privilege of recording a few of their oral histories about country, family and knowledge. I did these when I headed up a Nyungar research team doing some work here in Perth a couple of years ago. I chose to talk about them here in this book because our oral histories are central to how we pass on our knowledge and they also highlight how the lives of Nyungar people are intrinsically linked through our connection to boodjar, moort and katitjin [59]. These are at the very heart of defining who we are, for our identity and our sense of belonging, they help us to make sense of who we are as Nyungar. [60]

  To me, this type of research work is important because since early colonial times in Australia, wedjela [61] have largely controlled the documentation of the history of Nyungar. Up until recent times there have been few attempts to undertake a comprehensive understanding of how us Nyungar create and interpret our worldviews.

  My research team started out by discussing how we could help other people understand who we are and how we understand our Nyungar world. We thought about how religion can actually help other people define their universe, and give them a sense of who they are and where they belong in the world. So, we began with a Nyungar cosmology and used it as one of our guiding principles to develop a theoretical and cultural framework for our research work. My team then engaged a set of propositions that enabled us to look at how Nyungar knowledge is constructed, passed on and supported in creating history narratives. The foundation of our theory is the trilogy of boodjar, moort and katitjin, which provided the structure for our cosmology, or, in other words, the Nyungar universe which began kura kura. [62] Our approach shows that the three are intrinsic; one cannot apply our Nyungar theory by using one of the major components without the others. On this basis, boodjar is the first major theoretical component, Moort is the second, and katitjin the third. If you want to learn more about this, go to the Murdoch University website and you can read all about it in our Nyungar website. [63]

  Waakal, or Nyungar Rainbow Serpent

  In our Nyungar cosmological theory, the Waakal is the Creator, the keeper of the freshwater sources. He gave us life and our trilogy of belief in the boodjar—the land—as our mother and nurturer of the Nyungar moort—family and relations—and our katitjin Law—knowledge so that we could weave the intricate tapestry known as the ‘web of life’. Nyungar believe the Waakal is the giver of life because of its role in maintaining freshwater sources. My old pop passed away kura, he was a Whadjuck/Balardong Nyungar and he was the keeper of the stories; his name was Tom ‘Yelakitj’ Bennell:

  There are two different sorts of carpet snake. If anybody ever see them, the old bush carpet, he got white marks on him. The old water carpet snake, he is purple and oh, he ís pretty. He is purple. I saw them myself. I saw them, oh, up to fourteen or fifteen feet long, very pretty. But the old forest carpet snake, he is only just an ordinary old carpet snake. But the real water snake oh, he is pretty, that carpet snake. I don’t think too many people have seen him. They wouldn’t know he was a carpet snake, but he is a carpet snake all right, but the Nyungar call him Waakal. [64]

  The Rainbow Serpent is always connected and associated with tracts of water in specific country. An old wedjela writer from kura provided an insight into the power of the Rainbow Serpent’s connection to man through ritual. Coming with showers and storms, which fall from above onto a thirsty land, the Rainbow Serpent is credited with a causative role in rain and depends on it. [65] Another wedjela, whom most us have read about, was old George Fletcher Moore, an early Swan River colonial who described the Nyungar Rainbow Serpent, or Waugal, as:

  ...an imaginary aquatic monster, residing in deep dark waters, and endowed with supernatural powers, which enable it to overpower and consume the natives. Its supposed shape is that of a huge winged serpent. [66]

  Rainbow Serpents are said to be powerful entities and hold control over life and death. They live in deep rivers or water sources and there is protocol that must be followed when anyone visits the abode of a Rainbow Snake.[67] These yarns are clear examples of how Nyungar are bonded historically with land or country in a cosmological and spiritual way.

  Nyungar boodjar lies in the south-western corner of Western Australia. It extends eastward of Esperance, or Wudjari Nyungar boodjar, moving in an arc to the northwest, close to the small Wheatbelt town of Nyoongah, in Njakinjaki Nyungar boodjar, and west-north-west towards Coorow, or Juat Nyungar boodjar, and south of Geraldton across to the west coast of Western Australia. These are the general boundaries of Nyungar boodjar, where all Nyungar moort have geographical and moort affiliation.[68] For Nyungar, your moort is your family or your relations. The Waakal gave us the foundation of our Law, knowledge about kinship systems and how we relate to one another, for instance, whom we could marry and what our obligations are to one another. As Nyungar descendants, we suggest ‘nitcha ngulla Whadjuck un Pindjarup and Balardong Nyungar boodjar’, which, in wedjela language, means, ‘These are our relations and our ground.’

  A piece of history my old Pop recounted went like this: ‘The old Nyungar, the tribal Nyungar, they used to have their mob and travel in tribal mob. Your tribal mob would have been your moort, that is the Nyungar name for ‘relations’. Nyungar, they used to call their [69], when she was carrying a baby, doordajee doordajee. Now that means she is going to have a baby. Kooboorl, kooboorl, koombar kumbariny. That means the belly is getting big.’[70]

  In Nyungar culture, all koorlangkar [71] take their mothers’ gnarnk gnoorp.[72] This is because ‘Nyoongar culture is matrilineal and our cultural identification is recognised through our mothers’ heritage, not our fathers’ affiliations.’[73] If a Nyungar knows who the koorlangkar ngarnk [74] or the child’s mother is, or if the mother does not have a partner, the Nyungar always knows who the moort of that koorlangkar is and therefore knows to whom he or she belongs. In moort theory, a Nyungar man might have had several yok and inherited many koorlangkar, and thus becomes the maaman, or father, but through the birthmother of the koorlangkar their heritage is always ‘true’. Therefore, a koorlangkar knows who their ngarnk is even if the maaman of the moort is not their biological father.

  As you can see, I have used a fair bit of Nyungar wangkiny or language because the commitment to our knowledge is central to our history and identity. Much of our Nyungar wangkiny and katitjin has been rejuvenated by and among Nyungar, but in my family our wangkiny and katitjin were part of our life and we still continue to use our language and knowledge in everyday conversations. Our katitjin and wangkiny are part of our identity, so we must keep them and use them and teach our kids, because this is our cultural heritage and it is a very powerful way of letting people know that we are Nyungar. An old wedjela [75] said this many years ago about our wangkiny:

  [Nyungar] retain only those characteristics of man which it is impossible for him to lose, under any circumstances; namely, the power of language. The language of Derbal [of the Perth waters] seems to possess a great deal of originality. But there is something very peculiar in its construction; or, it is characterised by great irregularity in the declension of its nouns and conjugation of its verbs. In either case, to acquire it accurately, and commit it to writing correctly will be no easy task.

  I can certainly agree with Mr Lyon, because I have struggled for many years in trying to decide how to spell our language; but I believe I am pretty consistent with the spelling when I use Nyungar wangkiny in my writings. The most important issue here
, though, is to try to make sure it is spelt how it sounds. I am not a linguist, so I leave it up to the experts to tell people about sounds, spelling and so on.

  The katitjin, or Law knowledge, that the Waakal gave to the Nyungar included all things connected to our boodjar. The Waakal gave us our knowledge about the sacred sites such as Boyagin Rock, Mandikan, Karta Koomba, Pinjarra, Mundaring, Walwalyalup, Waakal Mia, and the Derbal Yerrigan or estuary, and our relationship to them. [76] Waakal gave us our knowledge about Nyungar and our relationships, responsibilities and obligations to one another. The Rainbow Serpent gave us our katitjin and law about the animals, plants, bush medicines, trees, rivers, waterholes, hills, gullies, the stars, moon, sun, rocks and seasons, and their interconnectedness in the web of life of the six seasons in the Nyungar world [77]. (Image 3.2)

  Image 3.2: Len Collard Courtesy of Len Collard

  The Nyungar Rainbow Serpent also gave us our katitjin about the spirits or wirrin in our boodjar, wirrin and moort in the cycle of life. Some Nyungar people were given boolyada, or magical powers, to heal or kill and to protect all things sacred created by the Waakal. The Waakal also gave us our koorndarn, or kaarnya, which are the fundamental and underlying principles that give all cultures their values and belief system or their ‘commonsense, respect and shame’. [78]