common goal, it’s a beautiful expe-
rience perhaps something we in the
cities could all aspire to embrace.
I invite myself to sit with a group of
ladies busily weaving coloured strips
of Pandanus into circular patterns to
become mats, baskets and nets. I’m
intrigued, their fingers move with the
skill of a surgeon. Christine looks up
and smiles at me, motioning that I try
the weaving. I’d hate to destroy her
work and shake my head; she chuck-
les and returns to work as if sensing
my reasoning.
Fingers continue to move in a
controlled frenzy, I feel my eyelids
drooping, mesmerised by the activity.
It’s hypnotic, therapeutic. Christine
smiles again … she knows the affect
her work is having. I’m beckoned
away.
A nearby tree has an ant colony
running up and down its limbs. A
hand darts from nowhere, quickly
picking one of the little green insects
from its path. I watch with interest
as the ant is touched gentle on the
tongue by the owner of the hand. It
happens again as I’m shown how
to take the ant, seemingly without
harming it. I place an ant’s rear end
on my tongue, citrus instantly erupts
in my mouth. Not sweet like an or-
ange. Tangy, refreshing like a lemon
or lime. Delicious. Apparently great
when boiled into a tea. I still have an
addiction to these little buggers.
I’m saddened to leave Gunbalan-
ya, there’s a feeling of serenity, that
includes a sense of being. I could live
here, perhaps let me assess after a
wet season.
Another outcrop of the indigenous
rock reveals more history. A crack,
between two facing right angled cliff
faces, reveal several ironwood spear
tips. Thirty metres up, the spears
have been thrown from around thirty
metres back. Some are suggested
to have been there for hundreds of
years. It’s part of an initiation ritual
that sees boys become men, one part
of three, the easiest of the three. It’s
TRAVERSE 38