Aboriginal Camping Trip

I gained more from the past four days than I have in many… previous groups of four days. I learned about an ancient culture, connected with the land, built something with my own hands, slept beneath the stars, and made new friends that I will remember for a long time to come. But most importantly, I regained my


Manhood

Before we departed Lismore and our homestay families for the Aboriginal camping trip, we had been aboard the SIT train for a month and a half. I like the group, but sometimes the fact that there are 14 girls and only 3 guys wears on me. Despite the robust manliness of Brian, Yoshi, and myself, even we do not have enough testosterone to overpower the lovely ladies in our group. I have been severely lacking in my daily recommended doses of crude humor, chauvinism, and roughhousing.

Driving north from Lismore, we met up with Russell, an Aborigine from northern Queensland, who explained us the history and importance of the Bora Circle that we stopped at. But more on Uncle Russ later. We drove to Minyumai, a piece of forested land owned by Doug Wilson; his family received the land as part of the native title and reconciliation programs set up to return land to Aborigines. We were in Bundjalung country. The Bundjalung nation is a language group of New South Wales, and is comprised of many different clans; Doug’s is one of those clans. Upon out arrival at Minyumai, we also met Pete, a stout, thick, powerful, white man with a fiery red beard, sparkling eyes, and a quick wit. After we set up our tents, Russ pulled out the boomerang he had cut for us, and proposed that we paint and sand our boomerangs; arts and crafts. As soon as I began to numbly walk toward the tarp where the painting was beginning, I was surprised by Doug’s silent approach from behind me, when he thrust a rusty, metal object into my view. I did not immediately hear what he asked, and only understood what I was gazing upon, which turned out to be a wide machete with a worn, wooden handle and sharp, rusted blade with a hook on the dull side. I realized he had asked me, “Want to go use the machete?” I looked from the gift that Doug offered me to his smiling face; there was a mischievous glint in his eye. In realizing I had received freedom from arts and crafts and just been given a sharp object that I was going to be encouraged to swing at things, my balls dropped for the second time in my life. Doug had given me my manhood back.


More

That was a silly story. The experience I had with the Aborigines was invaluable, and I am lucky to have met the likes of Russell, Doug, Pete, Keith, Uncle Tim, and Poppi Harry. This experience deserves a better retelling, as do the many thing I learned about Aboriginal culture. I will write these up soon, and post them when I can.