ISSUE 2

RED DUST

I held out my arm to her, palm up and she pointed to the blue tinge under my wrist where the

veins could be seen.

”It’s so fragile,” she said, looking at my arm but holding her own,

“I feel like it would break if I touched it.”

SISSY LOOK, SHE HAS SKY IN HER EYES.

They stared at my skin, my freckles and strangely curly hair, they noticed my

eyes were blue. One of the girls gasped and came close, peering

into my eyes.

Gently, she put one small hand on my

cheek and pushed my face toward her

friend...

TORRES STRAIT WATERS TO RED DUST COUNTRY

TORRES STRAIT WATERS TO RED DUST COUNTRY

Age old markings decorated their bodies, dust thickened the air as the dancers feet met the

ground of the sacred meeting place and songs of language and dreaming stories hung on the air,

drifting through the silently watching crowds and trees.

In other years the festival was held as a competition, with one group named the winner based on the act’s aesthetic style and

cultural fidelity.

However last year communities came together as one, in the

spirit of unity, to dance and share their culture rather

than compete.

There were many newcomers, including our own New Mapoon troupe, a group of youngsters

who only the week before were shy to dance in front of their

community.

SPIRITS IN THE DUST

Their newfound sense of pride spread like wildfire. Here they were, part of

a community, part of a representative body, carrying on their shoulders the stories and history of their people.

What a thing to be part of.

Then suddenly, there they were alongside elders, adults, youths and children from clans across

the state, representing their own bloodlines and community.

After the first performance we couldn’t get them to stop!

If they were moving, they were dancing. The campsites would

fill with dust as the childrenpractised their ‘shake a leg’,

dodging smacks and yells from the adults who were opposed to having dust in their tents

and cooking.

At night our tent cities would come alive with campfires, fluro

lights and the smell of food cooking.

“This is how we do it,” Aunty Nandy would tell me, teaching me to make island scones or

cook enough rice and yam for a horde of hungry dancers. She would tell me to practise or I

would forget the way.

I guess that’s why these festivals, these celebrations of culture are so important. It too needs to be practiced, else we

forget the way.

LAURA ABORIGINAL DANCE FESTIVAL 2013

IINJINOOUMAGICOBAMAGA

NEW MAPOONSEISIA

Mina big eso (thankyou) to the communities of the NPA for taking me in, sharing language and culture and for their love and kindness.

In the land of the Red Dust I learned

to listen for the sound of the drum to bring you home.

I AM WILDRICEJOURNALISM

PHOTOGRAPHYCULTURE

STYLEWild Rice, est. 2013, was created by Jessica Rhian as an exploration of the world and the stories of wonder within.

Articles/ Images / Zine Design by Jessica Rhian Logo Design by Natalie

at Harper House

wildrice-online.com / @wildricetweets / jessica.rhian@gmail.com