Galiwinku Diary

We’ve just landed on Elcho Island and the 12 seater plane sways down the runway reminding me of the old Holden we were once given with the clapped out front end.  With the engines’ roar  now reduced I’m able to ask the softly spoken young man I  met while boarding in Darwin, how long since he’s been home. “Nine months”. My mind goes  ‘that’s interesting –  he’s been studying or working – ”what doing?” I ask . “Jail” he says holding up crossed forearms, without any apparent shame, as if it’s just one of a range of options or perhaps even the most obvious option as to why someone of his age/race/status/ place in the world might be returning home after a lengthy absence on a $500 one hour flight to a remote aboriginal community.

He proudly points to a white Hilux racing along parallel with the plane outside the airport fence – “that’s my brother”. He’s got a big cheering mob of family waiting for him as the plane comes to a stop opposite the Airport terminal  – nothing more than a big roof on four steel posts outside a gate in the fence. Despite the occasion his main concern for a moment becomes helping untangle my backpack strap that’s caught itself on the plane’s ladder. He’s shyly self conscious in relation to the love he’s receiving from the giant family welcoming party. I’m already feeling moved by this valuing of family and tribe aboriginal culture and the humility of this young man and I’ve barely set foot.