February Contest Submission #5: Welcome
words: ca. 3,100
setting: mAU
lemon: no
cw: no warnings apply
<I would like to acknowledge the Traditional Custodians of the land in which this story was written and shared, and pay my respects to their Elders, past, present, and emerging, for they hold the memories, the traditions, culture, and hopes of all Indigenous Australians. I acknowledge that this land is, and always will be, the land of the Jagera/Yuggera people, and that sovereignty was never ceded.>
*
“A snake made the world?”
Anna inhaled, then exhaled through her nose. Kristoff scratched idly at his stubble while they waited for their coffees to be made, standing around the uni café.
“It’s a mythos, Kris,” she said after a moment. “Just like Christian God, or Allah, or- I dunno. Whatever specific being any other major religion thought made the world.”
“But a snake.”
“Rainbow Serpent, actually. And it’s really interesting, if you bothered to listen.”
He opened his mouth to retort, but was cut off when their names were called and two coffees placed on the counter. Anna took the chance, moving forward and grabbing her own cup and a few extra sugar packets. By the time Kris had caught up to her, she’d already dumped two into her drink, gently stirring it with a paddle-pop stick.
“I did listen,” he said, clearly intent on continuing the conversation. “And doesn’t the story go that the land and shit already existed but the big snake made mountains and valleys and stuff?”
Taking a sip of her drink, more to waste time than anything, Anna had to concede that he wasn’t wrong, per-se. He was just missing all the nuances of the topic, though!
“Look, I just thought it was cool, is all,” she said once she’d finished the mouthful of, frankly, fairly mediocre coffee. Nice and sweet, though. “Like, out of the seven-hundred-ish tribes– uh. Mobs. Most of them have an origin story that’s so similar. Across the whole country! But the languages they use are completely different – did you know the name of the language is traditionally based on their word for ‘no’? I just… thought it was cool.”
“It is cool, Anna,” Kristoff said, shooting her a small smile. “And I know learning about all this stuff means a lot to you.”
Swallowing again, though more from the dryness that had suddenly appeared in her mouth, Anna nodded. “Well, Mum isn’t around to teach me this stuff anymore. But I don’t wanna miss out and regret it forever.” Suddenly, she perked up. “Hey, did I tell you? I’m going to a thing today!”
“A thing?”
Nodding – so emphatically that she spilled her coffee, the brown liquid sloshing over the side of the cup and landing with a splat on the floor – she grinned up at her friend. “Yeah! It’s this traditional Indigenous show-thing? I can’t really remember what it’s about, but it wasn’t too expensive and they’re doing everything – a Welcome to Country, and stories and bush tucker, and I think they said a corroboree at the end?”
“That sounds really cool, Anna,” Kris said, just as his watch beeped at him. “You’ll have to tell me all about it. Uh. After class.”
Sighing, but this time with a smile, Anna waved him off – spilling her drink again in the process. “See you later, dude,” she said. She probably had to start getting ready, anyway.
Throwing the remnants of her coffee in the bin, Anna made her way back home. A forty-minute bus ride home, only to take a quick shower (how fortunate the drought of her youth had trained her in the art of 3-minute washes…) before heading back out again. It was cooling off, but she knew the evening wouldn’t get cold by any stretch of the word. It smelled like it was going to rain, and she heard the kookaburras again as if to confirm the thought.
Kookaburra laughing means it’s gonna rain, she thought to herself.
It was another forty-minute ride on the bus, and Anna felt herself becoming giddier and giddier with excitement. It’s one thing to learn about this sort of stuff in class. Now, she gets to experience some of it.
Even the first few splatters of rain on the window of the bus can’t dampen her mood.
*
By the time she arrived, the small drizzle had turned into a full-fledged shower. It wasn’t a storm – it felt a little early in the season (or late in the year) for that – and it would probably pass soon. She was glad she wore closed-in shoes, though, because it turned the earth into a sticky, muddy substance that stuck to everything.
There was only one other girl her age, and though Anna didn’t want to seem too invested, she was also cognisant enough to recognise that she’d rather interact with her than with any of the other people. A glance at the assembled crowed, standing under a large tent as protection from the rain, only confirmed her suspicions: there was at least one tour group, mostly made up of retirees; a school group, probably from the city’s Boys Grammar school, judging by the pretentiousness (and the uniforms). And the girl.
Not that she needed to worry about it. It was very much a group thing in that they weren’t asked to find partners or actually even talk to each other – not at first. First it was a respectful silence – and for Anna, a respectful reverence – as an Elder stood before them to give an official Welcome to Country. He described the land, before White colonisers; the shape of it, the boundaries between Turrbal Country and Jagera Country; the Meeanjin people, who weren’t able to claim Native Title for the land that still was theirs. Even the private school boys were silent, weren’t even fidgeting. Anna had to blink a little harder than usual, and she didn’t stop until he’d finished his piece.
No one clapped, but then, they weren’t supposed to.
A sudden flash of anger overtook her, and she had to face the ground just so she wouldn’t ruin this moment for everyone else. Why had her mum kept this from her? Why did she have to go searching, find out herself? How could they have grown up, let her grow up, not knowing a thing about her heritage??
“Hey, you okay?”
Jerking her head up, Anna found herself having to blink once more to force the angered tears away. The girl she’d noticed earlier was standing in front of her; everyone else had moved on, walking over the red land and towards a building.
“Y-yeah,” she responded. “I’m just…”
“It’s a lot, isn’t it?” The girl looked over her shoulder at the crowd. “C'mon, I don’t think you want to miss this next part.” With a quick, but sincere, smile, the girl turned around and began the return to the group. Anna followed, a few steps behind.
“I don’t?”
The girl shook her head. “I’m Elsa, by the way.”
“Anna. Nice to meet you.”
Elsa just smiled at her, slowing down enough to let Anna fall into step beside her.
*
Elsa was right: she did not want to miss this.
Once they regrouped, everyone was led into a darkened room. There was a star projector in the centre, a surprisingly real-looking, but definitely fake, fire built around it. They’d lit incense, or something, and when the door behind Anna closed and she was asked to sit on the floor, she found it really easy to imagine being here, back in the long ago.
It wasn’t the Elder who spoke this time. Another man, several years younger, came to sit in front of everyone. He had no shirt on, but his chest was painted in various pigments of ochre and white, only just distinguishable in the dim light of the fake fire and stars (and, Anna realised when she turned around, the fire exit sign). Elsa was sat behind her; she lifted her eyebrows once, still smiling, and Anna hurriedly turned back to the speaker in front her her.
And boy, did he speak. He told the story of the Rainbow Serpent, who carved the mountains and the valleys, and who tickled the frogs until they laughed, and the water that had been kept in their fat bellies burst and filled the tracks that had been made. He spoke about the animals that followed the Rainbow Serpent, who obeyed her and were rewarded by becoming human; those who did not would be made stone again.
But he spoke of other stories, too, ones she hadn’t heard before. He spoke about the Three Brothers, who were found mixing with women of another skin-group – a serious offence – and found their lives forfeit, as there were strict rules around marriage and mingling. Another person came up after that, a young woman, who told the story of Mundiba and they Honey, which was a cautionary tale against greediness and selfishness, as he had been asked to collect honey but had kept it for himself. A spirit had grown suspicious, and upon witnessing Mundiba taking the honey, had sung to the trees to trap Mundiba, where he had perished.
The last tale that was told, just as the retirees were losing focus and the boys began squirming, was the tale of the two wise men and seven sisters. Another origin story, Anna thought, and enjoyed it all the same because it spoke of people who weren’t people. This story, the audience was told, was from Wong-Gu-Tha country.
In the beginning, it says, the Creator sent two spirit men, Woddee Gooth-tha-rra, to shape Yulbrada, the Earth. They came from the far end of the Milky Way, and were tasked with making the hills and valleys. They made the cliffs and the oceans, the plains and the mountains. And when their work was almost complete, the Creator sent seven sisters, who were stars of the Milky Way, to make the land beautiful with flowers and trees, springs and billabongs, and all the birds and animals and all the creepy things.
Anna had to stifle a little smile when the woman said that. Not that she had to – the woman was smiling, clearly enjoying telling the story, perhaps more than Anna was enjoying hearing about it.
The sisters were making the Honey Ants when they became thirsty, and asked the youngest to find some water for them all to drink. She dutifully took her dish and went off, in the direction her sisters had sent her, to find water.
The Woddee Gooth-tha-rra were in the bushes, spying on the women, and followed the youngest went she went for water. They did not hide, and she fell in love with the two spirit men, and they her. The six sisters left became worried because the youngest had been gone so long.
They had all been warned by the Creator that, should such a thing happen, they wouldn’t be able to return to the Milky Way. The youngest sister remained on Yulbrada with the two men, and became mortal. They became the parents of the earth, and made the laws and the people of the desert.
The woman fell silent as she finished her story, and Anna was left thinking. It was a creation myth so similar to Eden, but different. People came from the Heavens, but it wasn’t a punishment to remain on earth. They weren’t cast out for the knowledge they gained, but instead had to embrace it. It was love that made the people, not the wrath of any god.
It was a comforting thought.
*
After the stories, they were treated to a didgeridoo player, as well as a demonstration of spear-throwing, weaponry, and warfare stuff. They returned outside, the storm having passed and the remaining clouds providing just enough cover from the would-be blistering sun Anna was less invested, but the school boys definitely perked up. Actually, regardless of her open interest, she still found herself perking up. The storytelling, while interesting, had little action and more atmosphere. This had action.
She found herself sitting next to Elsa again, a question burning the tip of her tongue. When there was a short break while some of the boys asked questions about the weapons, there was a window to actually ask.
“How did you know I’d like that?"
Elsa hadn’t been paying attention, naturally, and looked a little surprised when she turned to Anna. A smile graced her face; she looked comfortable.
"Everyone does. Even the kids, even if they thought it was a little boring.”
“Well, you were definitely right,” Anna said, an easy smile lifting to her own face. “Have you been here before?”
Before Elsa could answer, their attention was called for the next activity. A small wave of disappointment urged through Anna – she wanted to talk! – before she chastised herself. She had come here to learn all this stuff, even in this vaguely touristy way. She did not come here to make friends.
But… perhaps that would just be a happy bonus as everyone was led to a fire-pit and she realised that the next activity was lunch. An activity in which everyone was able to – nay, encouraged to – talk to everyone else.
Anna wasn’t going to talk to the school kids, and she held little interest in talking to the retirees. She didn’t even have to seek out Elsa; the other woman had left a spot next to her open, and was already looking at Anna and smiling.
They didn’t speak until after the food had been distributed: damper and dukkah – and a plate of different dips and chutneys on the side; skewers of kangaroo, crocodile, and emu; as well as more typical roasted meat. Potatoes and gravy, and all flavours she’d never tried before.
“This looks amazing,” Anna said to herself, eyes as round as the plates in which the food had been served. There was a light laugh from next to her, and she turned to find Elsa smiling.
“It tastes even better," she said. "And I know because I have been here before. Only once or twice, but it was enough to get me to come back.”
Anna thought back to how much this had cost her – well worth it, but it wasn’t cheap either – and then to the woman next to her. “It’s been amazing so far,” she agreed.
“And it gets better and better. This is probably the best one I’ve been to.” She said it without taking her eyes from Anna, who felt her cheeks burning. Was this woman flirting with her?
And then Elsa bit her bottom lip, still smiling, and nodded towards the food. “Go on, try it. I bet it’ll be the best you’ve ever had.”
Okay, yep, definitely flirting. Probably as red as a beet, and a shade that couldn’t just be blamed on the sun, Anna ducked her head and focussed on the damper. It came apart easily in her hands, and she dipped it in some of the… chutney?
“So, is this your first time here? What made you want to try it out?”
Elsa asked the questions just as Anna lifted the bread to her mouth. She’d definitely taken too large a bite, and probably looked silly. A possum in the headlights, with bulging cheeks and wide eyes. With some difficulty, she swallowed.
“Y-yeah,” she said, reaching for her cordial. “My um. My mum passed away recently and when I was going through her stuff I found some pictures and documents about where I- where she came from. Wanted to… reconnect, I guess?”
Elsa nodded along as Anna spoke. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said, and she actually sounded like she meant it. “How are you finding it?”
It was impossible to tell if Elsa were talking about the death, or the discovery, so Anna chose to focus on the latter. “Well, I was really excited at first. I wanted to learn the language and talk to the Elders – I’m already doing Indigenous Studies at uni, so the chance to learn about it all from a personal perspective was really nice.”
“But…?”
“But Mum was Nunukul, so there’s no more language. I know they have the Quandamooka centre over at Straddie – uh, Minjerribah – but I don’t know if that’s the same. Jandai is not my people, or my language.”
Elsa nodded, taking another bite of her food. She was already half-finished, while Anna had been so focused on talking she’d barely started.
“I know what you mean,” Elsa said when she swallowed. She spoke slower than Anna, more thoughtfully; it gave Anna a chance to catch up with her food, at least. “My father is Tjungundji, so all I really have for that is some stupid word lists by old white people, sealed away in Canberra and gatekept by those same old white people.”
A bitterness seeped into her voice; a tempered fury that Anna was]s only just learning exists in her, too. A righteous anger over how much had been taken, not just from her, but from her people, and all other peoples who had been here before.
But she needed to look for the positives. She didn’t know much about Elsa’s mob, but she had been researching her own. She was lucky enough that not everything was taken or destroyed.
“It’s amazing what we’ve been able to recoup,” she said softly, thoughtfully. “I don’t think my grandma, or even my mum, really, could have imagined that their culture could be separated. It’s why they didn’t pass it down. But it is; it’s here and alive. Even though no one speaks Nunukul anymore, and it wasn’t really written down, we have the songs and stories of those people, even in English. I know the snake is my totem, even though I’m terrified of snakes. And I just think it’s amazing how much we’ve been able to put back together even after it all shattered. Things like this, today, are amazing, honest attempts at reconciliation.”
Elsa snorted gently, a smile on her face. “’Reconciliation’, eh? That’s the buzzword of the century.” Anna laughed and nodded.
“I like to think it’ll keep getting better. Two years ago I’d have never even thought to do this – Indigenous history was just a boring subject in school. But next week I’m getting a snake tattoo, which is terrifying, and it’s been designed by an Indigenous artist and it’s something on me that they can’t take away.” She sighed. “We need to stop taking so much away.”
They fell into silence for a moment, finishing up the meals on their plate. It was a thoughtful silence, comfortable, before Elsa broke it.
“So, you’re terrified of snakes and tattoos. Why are you getting both? Why not choose another design?”
She asked the question so sincerely, honestly. That was all that was really needed, Anna realised. A genuine desire for understanding that, as wonderful as she believed Australian culture to be, she often found sorely lacking. The “she’ll be right” attitude that blinded people to problems. To truths and solutions.
“Because,” Anna said, smiling. Elsa looked right back at her, the expression mirrored on her face, and regardless of the flirting earlier, Anna thought that, at the very least, she had made a friend. “A snake made the world.”
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