Read Online Caprice by Doris Pilkington Garimara - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Doris Pilkington Garimara
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not love this warm, caring man who calls me âmy gelâ and who proudly introduces me to his friends and acquaintances as âmy daughterâ. All my life I have always had substitute or surrogate mothersâbut I have never called any other man âdadâ. There were many uncles but only one dad. I realise now that I have a past, a history that I have become extremely proud of. I even have a genuine skin name. I am a Milangga, the same skin section as my grandmother Lucy Muldune. This is my birthright and no one can take this away from me.
I am pleased to say that attitudes towards Aborigines have changed. Their culture, and especially their art and dances, are accepted and enjoyed all over the world. Aboriginal people everywhere are making sojourns to their traditional land, searching for their roots, their history and their heritage.
One thing I find most interesting is that with the resurgence of the popularity and the spreading of Aboriginal culture, many well-known Aboriginal identities have gone to the extent of adopting traditional Aboriginal names, proudly announcing to the world that they have a heritage, a history, and are proud to be recognised as an Australian Aborigine.
There were quite a few children like myself who never forgot some special words. Those in authority were successful in changing our attitudes towards Aboriginal culture. Yet they couldnât remove the words. The words stayed with us. Words remained in our sub-conscious mind despite the intensive conditioning by those in authority. Mardu words such as marmu (devil) and marlba, meaningmalevolent spirits, and mabarn, a term used to describe the Mardu doctor or medicine man. Or it can be any objects that have magical powers to heal, recover lost property and avenge those who have harmed you.
The word mabarn was recalled instantly when my stepmother Winnie mentioned in whispered tones that my father had to visit the Mabarn man. I understood exactly what she meant. Memories of a cold, blustery, windy day at the camps at the Moore River Settlement came flooding back. My friend Shirley Riley and I (both seven or eight at the time) were taken out to dinner by Shirlâs married sister Nora Walton. Two chooks were killed and cleaned for the occasion, and we were given a giblet each. We were absolutely delighted when we saw the unusual geometrical design on them. We rushed to the nearest shrubs where we dug holes and buried them. âThis gunna be our mubarns eh Kady,â Shirley said seriously. I nodded in agreement as we returned to the camp. The aroma of curried chicken floated towards us.
âWhere are those giblets you girls? Bring them here, I want to clean and cook them for yous now,â Nora told us.
â...Clean...â, â...cook....â We looked at each other across the open fire. Shirley was pouting in disappointment, mirroring my feelings exactly, for in that moment all our hopes of obtaining magical powers vanished immediately.
I am pleased that those years of fear and uncertainty are behind me now and my knowledge of my traditional culture is constantly expanding. Although I donât participate in the religious activities, I am well aware of their significance and also of the roles the participants play in them. As a family member I can choose whether to become involved or to remain a casual observer. I now converse and communicate in Mardu Wangka and listen moreintently as the Dreamtime stories are told so that I can share them with my children and grand-children. This is my heritage, this is theirs too.
It wasnât until after my marriage to Kent Williamson, the handsome, charming, garrulous man with wavy auburn coloured hair and the mischievous green eyes, that I began to question the relevance of my Christian values and how to apply them in a negative situation such as a marriage breakdown. Ideally we werenât supposed to fall out of love, under any circumstances.
I fell in love
I am pleased to say that attitudes towards Aborigines have changed. Their culture, and especially their art and dances, are accepted and enjoyed all over the world. Aboriginal people everywhere are making sojourns to their traditional land, searching for their roots, their history and their heritage.
One thing I find most interesting is that with the resurgence of the popularity and the spreading of Aboriginal culture, many well-known Aboriginal identities have gone to the extent of adopting traditional Aboriginal names, proudly announcing to the world that they have a heritage, a history, and are proud to be recognised as an Australian Aborigine.
There were quite a few children like myself who never forgot some special words. Those in authority were successful in changing our attitudes towards Aboriginal culture. Yet they couldnât remove the words. The words stayed with us. Words remained in our sub-conscious mind despite the intensive conditioning by those in authority. Mardu words such as marmu (devil) and marlba, meaningmalevolent spirits, and mabarn, a term used to describe the Mardu doctor or medicine man. Or it can be any objects that have magical powers to heal, recover lost property and avenge those who have harmed you.
The word mabarn was recalled instantly when my stepmother Winnie mentioned in whispered tones that my father had to visit the Mabarn man. I understood exactly what she meant. Memories of a cold, blustery, windy day at the camps at the Moore River Settlement came flooding back. My friend Shirley Riley and I (both seven or eight at the time) were taken out to dinner by Shirlâs married sister Nora Walton. Two chooks were killed and cleaned for the occasion, and we were given a giblet each. We were absolutely delighted when we saw the unusual geometrical design on them. We rushed to the nearest shrubs where we dug holes and buried them. âThis gunna be our mubarns eh Kady,â Shirley said seriously. I nodded in agreement as we returned to the camp. The aroma of curried chicken floated towards us.
âWhere are those giblets you girls? Bring them here, I want to clean and cook them for yous now,â Nora told us.
â...Clean...â, â...cook....â We looked at each other across the open fire. Shirley was pouting in disappointment, mirroring my feelings exactly, for in that moment all our hopes of obtaining magical powers vanished immediately.
I am pleased that those years of fear and uncertainty are behind me now and my knowledge of my traditional culture is constantly expanding. Although I donât participate in the religious activities, I am well aware of their significance and also of the roles the participants play in them. As a family member I can choose whether to become involved or to remain a casual observer. I now converse and communicate in Mardu Wangka and listen moreintently as the Dreamtime stories are told so that I can share them with my children and grand-children. This is my heritage, this is theirs too.
It wasnât until after my marriage to Kent Williamson, the handsome, charming, garrulous man with wavy auburn coloured hair and the mischievous green eyes, that I began to question the relevance of my Christian values and how to apply them in a negative situation such as a marriage breakdown. Ideally we werenât supposed to fall out of love, under any circumstances.
I fell in love
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