western australia: derby, mowanjum

Derby (pronounced der-bi not dar-bi)

The prison boab tree which was used by police as a lock-up during the transportation of Aboriginal prisoners. It is also considered a site of spiritual significance for the people who lived around Derby. 

It was one of those serendipitous days that had us watching traditional Warroora dances by a billabong just out of Derby. 

We'd arranged to meet our friend Donny in Mowanjum after lunch but the day didn't quite turn out as planned. 

Realising we'd be too early J drove us down to the Derby jetty with our packed lunch. The kids were intrigued knowing that salties linger in the mangroves just by the jetty. We ate our lunch under a shelter where other tourists gathered. All of us were avoiding the humid heat of the day. As often happens, we each shared where we were from and whether we were going "over the top" or "around the bottom" of the country. 

It wasn't long before I established that fellow traveller, Anne, was from Canberra. It wouldn't have been surprised me if we had some friends in common given that a significant number of family friends live there. We spoke about travel and grandkids until my husband came over and in order to introduce Anne I asked her name, introduced my husband and offered my own name. 

I do have an unusual name and Anne remarked "I've only ever known one other person with that name" and she used my first and maiden names. "That's me!" I said, stunned. "That's me." Well, Anne said, "I knew you as a baby." 

This, and the following half hour conversation by the Derby wharf, was the reason we were late in meeting Donny in Mowanjum. When we arrived he'd already left to watch the rehearsals for the festival. Performances for the festival were to include a song by Donny's father. 

After asking around someone told us to just go out and see Donny. We followed the mud map he drew us until we found ourselves by the edge of a lily covered billabong. Kids (of all ages) and adults were singing and practising their dances - which told the stories of the people of Mowanjum - spanning across country and time. 

There is much written about the people who now call Mowanjum home and their journey from the north. While Mowanjum is a temporary home they often speak of returning to country. 

I sat there, on the bank of that waterhole, the dirt being kicked up by feet in the last shards of sunlight, knowing that there'd never be a moment like it. What a privilege.