I am glad I am sitting down. The sadness I feel for my mother is overwhelming. So is the knowledge that family wanted to keep me when I was a baby.
Eighty Three
We resume our lives in the city, and continue our trips to the west coast. One day I ask Aunty if I can call her Mum Lola. I feel so happy in my heart these days, and she is so much like a mum to me. She nods her consent, smiling with her eyes. A few days later Mum Lola gets sick. She has to go to hospital. Minya and I visit her. All her family are gathering at the hospital. Within the week she passes away.
I sit with her children and her grandchildren. They tell me she had waited years to see me, and that now she could go. We reminisce about the time we shared together. I can’t stop crying. It was the best year of my life.
All the family came together to farewell this special matriarch. Even Mum Audrey came. She seems changed. But she still won’t confirm who my father is.
After the funeral I begin to feel afraid. I feel scared that my new happiness will collapse around me. So I decide to leave the city and to move back to the central desert. Minya goes back to the west coast to live with her Mum and Dad. Only Merlin comes with me.
Before I leave I make an appointment at Link Up. It is my son’s eighteenth birthday. I sign the papers to begin the search for him.
Back in the desert I walk among the old gums trees. This time I do not shy away from the families living in the creek. This time I can answer questions about my family now. I know who I am.
Circles and Squares
I was born Yankunytjatjara my mother is Yankunytjatjara her mother was Yankunytjatjara my family is Yankunytjatjara I have learnt many things from my family elders I have grown to recognise that life travels in circles—Aboriginal culture has taught me that.
When I was born I was not allowed to live with my family I grew up in the white man’s world
We lived in a square house we picked fruit and vegetables from a neat fenced square plot
we kept animals in square paddocks we ate at a square table we sat on square chairs
I slept in a square bed
I look at myself in a square mirror and did not know who I was
One day I meet my mother
I begin to travel I visit places that I have already been but this time I sit down with family
We gather closely together by big round campfires we eat bush tucker feasting on round ants and berries we eat meat from animals that live in round burrows we sleep in circles on beaches around our fires we sit in the dirt on our land that belongs to a big round planet we watch the moon grow to a magnificent yellow circle this is our time
I have learnt two different ways now I am thankful for this is part of my Life Circle
My heart is Round ready to echo the music of my family but the Square within me remains
The Square stops me in my entirety.
Eighty Four
Eventually I have secured a traineeship in the only Aboriginal owned-and-operated art gallery in town. It is a wonderful place to work, with energy as vibrant as the artwork. I meet many of the artists from across the central desert regions. Some are my kinship family. I recognise Hida who I worked with in the bush store so many years before. We reconnect our friendship. There are always children around. Everyone loves Merlin. He is a faithful dog, but he loves the extra attention.
I learn so much about Aboriginal art, and I learn so much about the language groups and the artists. Sometimes it is part of my role to visit the art centres to purchase or collect artworks for the gallery. Driving along the red sandy tracks brings back more old memories. I recognise some of the landmarks from my time out here before.
Some of my friends from the pub still live in town. They are still crazy and fun. But I am not as wild as I was before. I don’t want to risk another stay in rehab. And most of my traditional family don’t drink or smoke. They teach me a healthier way to live.
Eighty Five
It is a warm winter’s day. Sunlight streams through the front windows of the gallery, illuminating the colours of the artwork with an ethereal glow. On the side wall hangs a Seven Sisters painting by an old woman from the western desert. It seems to be talking to me.
My boss hands me the phone. ‘We found your son,’ says the voice of my Link Up case worker. I sink to the floor with relief. Tears blur all vision. I feel like I am sitting in thick fog.
I ring both my mums. ‘Aren’t you happy?’ each of them asks. ‘Of course I am,’ I sob. ‘I just can’t stop crying.’
Eighty Six
A car arrives at my camp on the edge of town in the early dawn. I have been awake for hours, sitting on the roof of my car watching the sunrise. I wave, and shake the blanket from my shoulders. My friends have brought a champagne breakfast to share. Today is the day that I will meet my son.
The time comes to leave for the airport. I have decided to wear my favourite faded jeans and black t-shirt, and bare feet. I need to feel the earth this morning, and I need to feel comfortable in order to truly be myself. My hands are shaking so much I can’t insert the car key into the ignition switch. One of my friends drives me, and keeps me company until the plane arrives.
Leaning against the plate glass window I watch Qantas flight 485 taxi along the tarmac. A moan escapes from my heart. It is the ancient wailing of sorrow, the release of my grief and regret. An air hostess walks over to ask if I am alright. I can only nod my head. My eyes are fixed on the people disembarking from the plane. My eyes are searching every face in the crowd. A thousand different emotions are surging through my body. The world stands still for a moment when I realise that in the distance I am looking at my son. He looks so much like me, and a little like his father. As he gets closer I can see that he has my eyes. Not my dead eyes, but happy, vibrant eyes. We hug straight away.
In that exact moment we are linked. We cannot be separated any more.
Eighty Seven
My son’s adopted name is Jonnie. He asks to come and live with me. I hesitate before making a decision because my camp is very basic. I live in an old caravan on the edge of town. The rent is cheap, all I can afford. Some of the windows are broken, and there is no fridge or stove. I buy fresh food each day after work, and I cook all my meals on the open fire.
The caravan sits under a large escarpment with a very beautiful view, and the rocky ridge changes colour every hour of the day. Behind the van, the large claypans that have formed in the ground are filled with water. The area teems with bird life, and sometimes a large goanna visits my small flower garden. It is a peaceful place. Merlin and I are happy here.
It takes a few weeks for Jonnie to arrive. I realise I have nothing to hide, and that I should just be myself. We spend many hours sitting around the campfire. We swap stories about our adopted families and about childhood. He tells me that his older adopted brother was killed in a hit and run. I tell him that his sister Minya suffered the same loss. We ring her on the phone, and she welcomes her new brother to the family. She tells him she is going to have a baby, and we promise to visit her soon, so they can meet.
Jonnie often comes to the art gallery with me during the days. He likes sitting with the old women, who treat him with such kindness. Sometimes their wailing freaks him out, but they are celebrating the fact he has returned to family. Sometimes he helps them do their shopping. Sometimes they sit talking, cooking kangaroo tails on the open fire. Sometimes he accompanies them to the casino. He is not often alone.
Sometimes it is hard for Jonnie. He has always grown up with money, and now we have so little. Sharing is the biggest lesson.
My sister Valerie comes to stay with us. She is from another language group, and we are related through the desert Dreaming tracks. So now Jonnie has two mothers. Valerie teaches him to trust and to heal. Valerie uses traditional knowledge she learnt from her grandmother. She begins to teach him language, and tells him lots of stories from out bush.
Eighty Eight
Merlin pricks up his ea
rs as the phone rings late at night. I climb out of bed. ‘Aunty, they want to take the baby away,’ Minya is screaming down the phone line. I am wide awake now, and can’t believe what I am hearing. I can’t believe I am finding out about my granddaughter this way!
Jonnie and I and Merlin drive south immediately. Most of our family gather at the welfare office, to protect this little baby girl and to keep her in the family. Minya is a teenage mother, and we show our support for her. She names her beautiful daughter Shakaya. I love this baby so much. Her birth teaches me every child is a blessing. There is no need for shame. I feel some of my own shame for being a teenage mother beginning to disappear.
I look into Shakaya’s baby eyes, and let her look into mine. Our eyes share the message that we are family for each other. I let her tiny fingers wrap around mine. I laugh when she yawns and pulls faces. I leave when her nappy needs changing.
Minya and the family tell me I have family responsibilities to this baby. They tell me I need to be one of her teachers. They know I know other ways, and they trust me.
Eighty Nine
After several months Jonnie moves out to share a house with friends his own age. I apply for a job out bush, the manager position at an art centre in the desert. My application is successful. It is the same desert that I travelled across, catching wild camels, years before.
It is a vibrant and strong community. The families are proud of their art centre, and have developed an international tourism venture. Everyone seems busy and happy. It is hard work, and I have learnt much from the community women. They have insisted that I continue my cultural learning, so we head out bush every chance we get. I feel safe. My life is content again.
A cloudless, blue sky highlights the redness of the sandhill at the end of the track that I walk along to my house. Camp dogs race to the fence-line at every house I pass—barking, and wary of the stick I have in my hand. A voice yells out over the sandhill, ‘Ali, we didn’t know you was the baby!’ I check my ears. I can’t work out what the words mean.
Changing direction I spot Mavis, one of the senior women. She is walking towards me. She is alone. All of a sudden I remember that there was a Mavis staying with Grandma when I was a very little girl. I remember because she had carved her name on a tree outside the old house. ‘Mavis, is that you?’ I asked in disbelief. ‘Uwa,’ she replies with a big grin.
We complete the walk to my house together. I dial Mum Frieda’s number, and hand the phone over. ‘Hello Frieda,’ she says, ‘it’s Mavis.’ They talk for ages, and the smile in Mavis’s eyes is priceless.
Ninety
I meet my father. It turns out a friend of mine knows him and had planned to visit him before she left for Melbourne. She had heard the rumours about me and my search for family, and she agreed to take me along. I am anxious about meeting him and finding out the truth of my paternal parent. I am a nervous wreck by the time we get to his house. I have decided not to tell him who I am. I just want to see his eyes.
He greets us at the door and gives hugs all round. In that instant there is no doubt he is my father. I feel I have known him all my life. There is a familiar glow in his eyes and an uncanny likeness in the way he moves.
We are invited to sit in the lounge room while his wife makes us all a cup of tea. It is easy to see that she loves him very much. He has a great sense of humour, and I know now where I get mine from.
He tells us he is dying from emphysema. In the short time we sit together he reminisces about his life. He tells us about being stolen as a young boy from the central desert area, and growing up in a home for boys in the city. He tells us about his football career, and how he met his wife, and about the children they raised together. He tells us about the sadness of losing their youngest daughter.
I try to keep my body small. Inside my body I am celebrating hearing his life story first hand. But I still don’t tell him who I am.
When it is time to leave, he offers another hug, this time with a kiss on the cheek. I feel overwhelmed and sad. I know I will never see him again.
Ninety One
The phone rings. I recognise the broken voice straight away. It is my foster brother. He apologises for not being a good brother. He pleads forgiveness for not protecting me when I was just a little girl. I can’t believe it! I can hear sincerity in his voice. He says he has told Mum Frieda everything that happened.
Mum Frieda is turning seventy, so I fly interstate for her celebration party. All my adopted family is together. It is the first time we are together since Dad’s funeral. A touch of sadness can still be felt. We all miss him so much.
After the party I decide to stay with Mum for a while. We drive to her favourite beach and watch the sun set over the water. Mum holds my hand. She says she is sorry she didn’t spend more time with me when I was a little girl. She says she knew I was often unhappy, but she didn’t know what to do to help me. She says her biggest mistake in life was not supporting me to keep my baby son. She says she is so happy that I am happy now. I give her a hug. Some of my hurts seem to fade with the sunset.
I tell Big Brother about what Mum said. He tells me he found out from our aunty that Mum was ridiculed for raising Aboriginal kids. We reminisce about the happy times on the farm and how Mum loves us as her children. She has never let the attitudes of others detract from that.
Mum Audrey finally remarries. She is so happy and totally in love. Her husband is a good friend to me. He helps me to understand that Mum always suffered for giving me up. I realise that she never stopped loving me either.
Ninety Two
A letter arrives from out of the blue, from one of my teachers at primary school. She has written to say how wonderful it was to catch up recently at Mum Frieda’s seventieth birthday, and to say that she remembers me as a lovely, kind, and thoughtful little girl. I cry because I can’t remember myself as that little girl.
Immediately I ring Jonnie, then Minya, and have a quick chat with Shakaya. She has grown into a lovely, thoughtful toddler, with a cheeky sense of humour. We all arrange to gather at my house for Christmas. Minya’s mother Thelma will travel with her. Jonnie and Minya will have two mothers at Christmas this year. Shakaya will have two Nanas. And I will have my sister to laugh with. She is my main language teacher now.
Together we will be there always, to keep Shakaya happy and safe. Together we will be there always, to keep each other happy and safe. Together we will be there always, turning the past hurts into healing.
Acknowledgements
This manuscript resulted from a mentorship through the Australian Society of Authors in 2006, with Palawa writer Dr Terry Whitebeach as my mentor. Terry was my lecturer at the BIITE Creative Writing course in 2001. She remains a strong mentor and special friend to me, and I credit my early career to her guidance. The love and friendship shown to me by the Titjikala community, where I was Art Centre Manager between 2006 and 2008, provided the safety net to write this memoir. My thanks also go to to my friends in Alice Springs, Harold Furber, Kate Lawrence, Katie Allen, Sue Dugdale, and Jeremy Drew, who shared their campfires, hearts, and homes during the process of editing. And I am grateful to my special friend, Lionel Fogarty, who kindly encouraged the poetic licence of this story and always believed in me as a storyteller.
About the Author
Ali Cobby Eckermann enjoyed great success with her first collection of poetry, little bit long time, which was followed by Kami and Love Dreaming and Other Poems, published by Vagabond Press, and more recently, Inside My Mother, published by Giramondo.
Her first verse novel, His Father’s Eyes, was published in 2011 by Oxford University Press. Ruby Moonlight, her second verse novel, won the 2013 NSW Premier’s Literary Award for Poetry and the 2013 Book of the Year Award.
Ali’s writing reflects her journey to reconnect with her Yankunytjatjara / Kokatha family. Her much anticipated memoir, Too Afraid to Cry, was awarded the Tangkanungku Pintyanthi Fellowship at the 2016 Adelaide Festival Awards for Literature. To
o Afraid to Cry has also been published in India, where Ali delivered the 2015 Navayana Annual Lecture in Delhi.
Copyright © 2012 by Ali Cobby Eckermann
First American Edition 2018
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