Theresa

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My big earphone covering my ears, I was thrilled to listen to my beautiful friend Donelle filling me in with her news from far away United States of America. Like many of my beautiful friends, I share with her a huge interest for native cultures from all over the world. It’s a little like falling in love with the most popular guy in school: it’s an almost impossible love. It’s hard to get close to these wounded societies. How to act? Showing too much interest can be felt as an assault and trying to pace the fire of curiosity can have us miss lots of opportunities … How many times did we get lost in the labyrinth of sociological questions, which are related to every topic concerning the First Nations…

So we don’t get lost once again, I’ll go on my story (!). When came my turn to tell stories from Down Under, I got stuck on the prickly topic of Australian Aborigines. The more we go up North, the more we feel their presence and the more people alert us against theft, rape and all other sorts of crimes allegedly committed mostly by the “Blackfellows”. That never deterred us from visiting more and more aboriginal culture centres and from asking what we can do to learn more about this millennial culture. But the centennial wound is there, hurting and felt everywhere through hatred between blacks and whites, even though, sometimes this hatred is drowned in mutual attempts to understand each other’s culture. We always walk on egg shells. Furthermore, opportunities to come closer to aborigines’ communities are rare and not easy to access. I applied to be volunteer on a 2-months project in small communities, but it required to have been an Australian resident for at least 12 months. And the project Marc and I cherish in Arnhem Land is really too expensive: it costs $ 800 dollars per person for a week.

After having shared my emotions with my friend, Marc and I headed for a small local market. Behind one of the tables was Theresa, her big obscure lips reigning over the ochre reflections of her paintings of ancestral tales. I rush over to her, renewing my positive thinking. For months, I dreamt of buying an aboriginal piece of art, but you know me, I won’t buy it until I’m sure it is fare to the artist. Here’s my luck. Theresa starts talking, much like these abundant cascades in the surrounding jungle. She speaks! Almost more than I do! She speaks of her people, from Darwin area. She speaks of her 7 children’s “dreamings”, such as the gecko, and a nice wading bird called curlew. In her tribe, when a child is still young, the entire family watches for signs from nature to find the animal to which the young one will be associated his entire life. Like a totem animal. A wild life spiritual guide. With her, I don’t feel bad to be white. And it’s precious. Her children smile at me and we buy a magnificent canvas, with a reel story, which I hope will contribute to preserve a little more of this dying culture.

See HIS view
See His and Hers Pictures