We spent the morning at the Warradjan Aboriginal Cultural Centre. The building is in the shape of a Warradjan, a Pig-nosed Turtle, which is the totem of the local aboriginal tribe. The displays are very well done and informative with lots of artefacts to illustrate the text. The message is that the aboriginal culture has deep roots in the dreamtime and carries with it a complete set of rules for living. For example, the rules for marriage are extremely complicated with aspects of both paternal and maternal descent being important and with a four generation cycle which randomises the genetic outcomes. This is a good deal more complex than the extensive rules in the Church of England Prayer Book which I use to read with some astonishment when I was bored by the services I attended as a choir boys all those years ago.
As we gain more of an insight into aboriginal culture, my mind is being exercised by the parallels between the aboriginal culture and the western religious tradition. The aboriginals believe that the creation beings created all the landscape and its contents out of a formless world and set down rules for behaviour which ensure the survival of the people. This sounds to me to be pretty much the story in Genesis. Maybe human beings have an in-built need for some external reason for living a co-operative and altruistic life.
Later in the morning, we participated in a bush tucker activity. One of the centre staff and her family had caught a goannna and two Magpie Geese and cooked them on a fire together with some damper. The fowl was very tasty, a lot richer than chicken, and surprisingly tender. The goanna was also good eating with light coloured meat much like chicken. The damper was cooked to perfection and went down very well with strawberry jam.
This last point illustrates one of the enigmas of aboriginal culture. The oral history which constitutes the culture is supposed to be handed down without alteration from generation to generation. Clearly this is, to a very large extent true, otherwise the culture would not have survived for many tens of thousands of years which it seems is the case. However, there is an ability to adapt to modern western culture, with the adoption of metal tools for example, without apparently compromising the core culture. Of course, this might not be true and the aboriginal culture may be under severe, and perhaps terminal, threat.
We drove on to the Park Headquarters where the display is focused on the natural history of the region. One is reminded of the uneasy juxtaposition of the aboriginal and western cultures by on exhibit of a gieger counter on a large boulder. The instrument is ticking away merrily indicating the occurrence of radio-active elements in the rock. The Ranger uranium mine is only a few kilometres away. One of the aboriginal laws hereabout is that there exist sickness country where women don't go and nobody stays for any longer than the time needed to pass through. This is clearly a response to birth defects which would presumably have occurred to people staying in the area of the near surface uranium deposits before this rule was developed.
We shopped in Jabiru, a mining town which houses the mine workers, the people who work in the town and the park and some local aboriginals. It is a strange place with some of the trappings of city life but no apparent heart, much like Canberra.
We drove to the East Alligator River to camp in one of the camping areas provided by the park. After settling in, we unloaded the Little Motley and drove to Ubirr, an aboriginal rock art site a few kilometres up the road.
We chanced upon a ranger talk which added considerably to our appreciation of the site. Strangely, the ranger, who was from Adelaide, was of Sri Lankan descent. His message was that it is important that we respect the aboriginal world view just as we expect them to respect ours.
One of his stories related to an explanation of the method used by the painters of some pictures on the roof of the rock overhang ten or so metres (30 odd feet) above the ground. We all have explanations of how it was done. Mine was to remember how Michaelangelo painted the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, lying on a platform on a scaffolding support. The ranger told us of an experience he had during his training on the site. An aboriginal ranger told them that she believed that the Mimis who painted the pictures brought the rock down to ground level, did the paintings, and put the rock back up in the roof. His point was that her belief was as valid as any of ours and should be respected.
When we got back to the campground, a fifth-wheeler was parked nearby and we spent a pleasant hour or so swapping stories with Neil and Helen before the mosquitos got the better of us. Oddly, they had met up with and spent time with the Reeds somewhere on the road and they also did the same river cruise that we had done yesterday. Helen had tried to keep a note of all the birds she had seen with limited success so I gave her a printout of my sighting list.