As we drive in everything is quite and still, a hot breeze pushes the mango trees into a sluggish dance. First person we see is Patrice who runs the FIM office there. She is on here bike on the way to the airstrip. Mavis, Hersey and others are on a plane at 3pm to Cairns to go to a stolen wages trial. When the state controlled all the wages coming into aboriginal communities they robbed most of their measly wages before handing them over to the people. The trial continues.
We stop to say hi to Uncle Kenlock who, with his family sits on benches in the shade, about to head off to the airstrip too. Kenlcok like most people 50 and above already have great grandchildren toddling around. One of these beautiful brown faces was named Claudia. Claudie they called her too and to our excitement we both wore a temporary tattoo. We jumped back in the car after a chat and picked up Mavis and Hersey. They too were waiting in the shade of a tree with one humble bag of luggage. Mavis was wearing a striking green dress and Pat had just last night died her grey hair black. She carried with her a photo album picturing her with a succession of Westpac secondees. She showed us proudly, cackling loud at past memories as she described the smiling faces. Hersey, a woman with a wrinkled wise face and skinny limbs sat up close to me in the car and spoke to me, sparse words almost in a whisper and stroked my arm with her baby soft hands. A crowd waved the five passengers off in the little craft then everyone dispersed back along the wide red dust covered bitchamen roads.
We stop to say hi to Uncle Kenlock who, with his family sits on benches in the shade, about to head off to the airstrip too. Kenlcok like most people 50 and above already have great grandchildren toddling around. One of these beautiful brown faces was named Claudia. Claudie they called her too and to our excitement we both wore a temporary tattoo. We jumped back in the car after a chat and picked up Mavis and Hersey. They too were waiting in the shade of a tree with one humble bag of luggage. Mavis was wearing a striking green dress and Pat had just last night died her grey hair black. She carried with her a photo album picturing her with a succession of Westpac secondees. She showed us proudly, cackling loud at past memories as she described the smiling faces. Hersey, a woman with a wrinkled wise face and skinny limbs sat up close to me in the car and spoke to me, sparse words almost in a whisper and stroked my arm with her baby soft hands. A crowd waved the five passengers off in the little craft then everyone dispersed back along the wide red dust covered bitchamen roads.
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