There’s the leanest slither of a moon as we sit around the campfire, reflecting on our day out in the bush and listening to stories about East Arnhem Land. Marcus is plucking a guitar, underscoring our conversations with gentle melodies – sometimes a Ben Harper or Jimi Hendrix riff, sometimes a traditional song of his land. As the musical accompaniment weaves together the past and the present, and the flames burn down everything into embers and ashes, Marcus explains that this also represents the entwining of different elements of history into one shared history. It’s a recurring motif of our time here; every element of Yolngu life is connected intrinsically to the past, the present and the future, as if they are all one and the same thing.
As we ponder the small moment in time that we occupy, the group revels in the Milky Way overhead, more vivid than usual beside the dark moon. “We call it the River of Stars. It’s a highway for our spirits to travel through when we die.” Marcus says that in Yolngu culture, when somebody dies, you must never say that person’s name out loud. If you do, it will be calling them back to earth, and preventing them from making it through the River of Stars to their spiritual resting place.
The conversation takes us deep into stories of family and community, and the effect that the outside world has on his culture. Marcus explains that once Indigenous communities become displaced, families fall apart – depression takes hold, and there is sadness on people’s faces. But here, back on country, there is a sense of pride and contentment, and old people are sitting with their heads held high.
Here is where the community and family come together, with “old people behind you, young kids in front of you, and you in the middle.” Marcus describes the connection between family, nature, the past, the present, and the future. “If you don’t have these connections, you’ve got no identity, you’re nothing, never remembered. You’re just a leaf burning on the fire.”
I tell Marcus that I feel just like a leaf burning on the fire.
“To me, that sounds so weird,” he says. “Here, we have kinship, we have a code – someone from 1000 kilometres away can know a lifetime of each other’s history. I’ve got family from sunrise to sunset.”
We ask how it’s possible to know so much about family and history, and about each other – this is a culture that is not written down, after all. How is it possible to pass on so many lifetimes of knowledge?
Songlines are the answer, Marcus explains. “They are like a scaffolding that you use as a structure, from childhood. The lullabies come together to form the structure, and as you build more and more, you start to get the concept. And once you get the concept, boom! You’re on your way!”
Learning about this ‘scaffolding’ is enchanting. The more we are told, the more we want to hear. Every story is an enlightenment.
It’s impossible to resist the captivating energy of Marcus and the homeland here at Nyinyikay. At the start of our visit, when we were welcomed with the Dingo dance ceremony, we were told that it was to awaken our souls, to bring us to life on the land. “By doing that performance, we go through the eyes of that person, through the ears of that person, and their soul is awakened. So whatever activity they’re part of here on our country, it’s sinking in. But when they go back, that’s when the true transformation happens.”
It’s only been a couple of days, but our group agrees that it feels like longer – we’ve each learnt so much and we want to stay for more, we are desperate to learn more. In the final hours of our visit, we ask questions continuously, hopelessly attempting to cram thousands of years of ancient knowledge into our remaining time at Nyinyikay.
As we wait on the runway for our aircraft, it is clear from our reflective silence that none of us wants to leave. We came here with open minds, ready to learn, full of expectation. And now we are leaving with our hearts and spirits brimming – brimming with a connection to our planet, to each other, and to our universe. We are leaving with a clearer perspective.
After I return home, Marcus’ words stay with me: “Look, this is not a holiday. This is a learning journey for both of us. This is it, this is the real thing. Yolngu Law. And the rule of the law is: the land will claim us. Because in the end, we go back to it one way or the other.”
The writer travelled on Intrepid's Journey Into East Arnhem Land , a 7-day expedition trip that spends time with the Yolngu people in Nyinyikay, as well as visiting a wilderness retreat in Bremer Island. Intrepid Travel have been leaders in small group travel since 1989, and now run adventures in over 100 countries around the world. For more information on Indigenous tourism projects with Intrepid,visit our website.