15 August 2024
4 mins Read
It was serendipitous that our family holiday fell during the For Our Elders, National NAIDOC Week in 2023. Here we were, myself and my wife Lea, returning to Anangu Country after 30 years, with our two children and their spouses who now have three children each of their own. Three generations – six adults and six grandchildren, aged between four and 10 – celebrating a two-week safari through Uluṟu, Kata Tjuṯa and Mparntwe/Alice Springs, before setting out on a guided 4WD tour of Litchfield and Kakadu national parks. The journey would take us deep into West Arnhem Land to a campsite right on the edge of the Cobourg Peninsula – around 100 kilometres below the latitude of Cape York.
As a journalist, I’d snowmobiled with Inuit people in the Arctic, woken up to a view of Mt Everest outside my tent, run with the bulls in Pamplona and slept among lions in Africa. I’d also been to Uluru numerous times, including during the handback in 1985, a symbolic moment for Aboriginal land rights.
This trip was a personal celebration of family, something I never had as a lonely child growing up in a monastery, where my single mother worked as a housekeeper. We were captivated from the moment we stood at the base of Uluṟu and stared into the tranquil Mutitjulu Waterhole.
The next day, one of the most important Elders in the entire Northern Territory, Tjama Uluṟu, took us onto Anangu Country, showing the children how to find witchetty grubs from the roots of mulga trees and teaching them how to throw a spear with the woomera. He mesmerised the kids with his stories while we roasted the witchetty grubs. To see this well-respected Elder – the grandson of Paddy Uluṟu, recognised as the legitimate principal owner of Uluṟu – digging in the red soil where his Ancestors have lived for thousands of years, felt like a true celebration of culture.
This intimate experience at Uluṟu perfectly prepared us for that night’s unforgettable drone light show in the desert. With more than 1200 drones, Wintjiri Wiṟu is the largest ongoing light show in the world: an aerial ballet that acts out the Mala people’s ancestral battle with a devil-dog called Kurpany, all in a kaleidoscope 200 metres in the air with Uluṟu towering in the background. The six children sat open-mouthed as they recognised Tjama’s voice booming out over the desert, narrating the battle. Above us, the drones morphed into a fearsome dog, trees and wind. Lasers turned the desert floor into blue ocean waves.
We always knew this was going to be a special family journey, but none of us ever dreamed just how close it would bring us all together. It certainly drew us oldies much closer to our grandchildren and deepened their love of this country and its Traditional Owners. I’m confident after this profound experience that this deep respect will stay with them for the rest of their lives.
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