Dune Flowers

I recently travelled to the Northern Territory, east Arnhem Land specifically. This place is known for dramatic seasonal changes between dry and wet, six meter crocodiles and Kakadu plum, the main ingredient in a multitude of (white owned) skincare companies that boost its high vitamin c content.

However, amidst the natural wonders and cultural riches of East Arnhem Land, a complex reality emerges. It is a place where both incredible strength and subjugation coexist, particularly among the women and girls of the region. They are pillars of strength, embodying resilience and determination in the face of adversity. Yet, it is also important to acknowledge the historical and systemic challenges they continue to confront.

I had the incredible opportunity to be hired by a local land council. Their vision was to co-facilitate a transformative women's business camp alongside esteemed elder women. It was a testament to the strength and determination of these elder women who not only conceived the idea but also pushed forward to make it a reality.

This year, East Arnhem Land faced a profound loss as the community mourned the passing of twelve elders in just one month. This staggering reality served as a stark reminder of the fleeting nature of time and the imperative to ensure the transmission of knowledge to future generations.

The women's business camp became a sacred space where generations intertwined, where the young and the old came together in a shared mission. It was a beautiful and profound exchange, where the elder women bestowed upon us the riches of their experiences, teachings, and ancestral wisdom.

The camp was set in a picturesque corner of East Arnhem Land, right by the tranquil beach. The surroundings were abundant with opportunities for sustenance and exploration. We had access to plentiful fish, black lip abalone, and mussels that could be easily gathered with our bare hands. The sandy dunes were adorned with lovely pink flowers, while the nearby Kakadu trees showcased small budding clusters. The atmosphere was intense and lively as three groups of kids from neighboring islands and schools arrived, flown in and transported by land cruisers to this remote location.

What struck me about the girls who participated in the camp was their endearing blend of shyness and childlike enthusiasm. They were unlike the teenagers I had encountered in the southern regions, where societal pressures tend to dominate. These girls were refreshingly unconcerned with appearances and makeup. It was a breath of fresh air to witness their authentic curiosity, playful nature, and carefree laughter.

It was evident that these young girls were in the midst of their teenage years, as budding hormones occasionally sparked moments of attitude. However, they did not conform to the premature maturity often associated with Western-centric ideals. Instead, they embodied a natural innocence and a genuine focus on being themselves.

The camp was expertly organized by a diverse group of individuals, ranging from archaeologists and school teachers to artists and rangers. Each session offered a unique opportunity for cultural immersion through storytelling and art, and the girls had the chance to prioritize their interests, by which I mean choosing fishing with the elders than attending lessons. But my lesson was compulsory, and it was the one the girls wanted to attend the absolute least. We gathered in the shade, beach in view. As I handed out booklets I watched the faces of these girls grimace or go blank with embarrassment. We were learning about vaginas, and periods.

In the true style of Indigenous Australian communication, a lively group of elders surrounded us, engaging in animated conversations that often overlapped with my own teaching. Multiple language groups were interwoven, with the girls likely understanding and speaking up to five different languages. Amidst this vibrant atmosphere, two elder women sat behind me, wearing grins on their faces as they reassured the girls with the words, "No shame, remember where you come from."

During the lesson, we explored topics such as tampons, immersing them in water to demonstrate their use, and practiced placing pads on a pair of underwear. The elders shared their wisdom, describing how women possess a sacred river within them and explaining that a man's seed can travel upstream to create a baby. They emphasized that women have the power to make choices regarding their reproductive health, boldly stating, "If you don't want a baby, it's your right to say goodbye to your boyfriend."

Throughout the session, one girl repeatedly expressed her discomfort and earnestly asked if we could move on from the topic. Her reaction highlighted a deep-rooted sense of shame, awful shame that has seemingly transgressed past culture and time to affect all women at least once in their lives.

As I observed the girls during the lesson, I couldn't help but feel a sense of hopelessness. However, my perspective shifted when I noticed paintings on seashells that some of the girls had created, depicting babies nestled in their bellies. It was a gentle reminder that although they may not appear fully engaged or absorbed in the lesson, the knowledge imparted would continue to resonate with them in unexpected ways.

One of the archaeologists approached me, sensing my concern. With a reassuring smile, they said, "Don't worry. It may seem like they're not paying attention or absorbing it all in the moment. But what you have taught them will become a topic of conversation for months. I've had experiences where girls bring up things I've mentioned in passing, as they discuss and share their thoughts among themselves."

This insight brought me comfort, knowing that the impact of the lesson extended far beyond what met the eye. However, the archaeologist's reassurance didn't alleviate the specific concerns that weighed on my mind.

My concern wasn't these girls getting pregnant by a boyfriend; it was the fact that, statistically speaking, some of them will experience rape before the age of 15. It was the reality that indigenous girls often refrain from reporting such incidents due to cultural taboos surrounding abuse disclosure. Additionally, girls may not even realize they are pregnant until it's too late for elective abortion. Disturbing stories emerged of girls being forced to leave their island homes due to partners threatening unimaginable violence, putting their lives at risk.

Further amplifying my unease was the unfortunate circumstance of one of our elder artists, who was unable to attend as she was hospitalized. She had suffered a brutal assault, resulting in a broken arm caused by a violent blow from a chair. This distressing incident served as a stark reminder of the pervasive violence endured by Indigenous women.

The disheartening realities continued to unfold. During our time at the camp, a car arrived, and a group of men callously confiscated all our lunch supplies, leaving us shocked and vulnerable. This act of blatant theft further highlighted the vulnerability and systemic injustices faced by Indigenous women.

I couldn't ignore the stories shared by camp facilitators, recounting the desperate pleas of Indigenous women to their bosses and coworkers, urging them to hide their hard-earned money. "I can't tell you how many bank cards I've hidden and cut up, or how many times I've processed paychecks on Friday, only to have women return on Monday, asking for an advance because their husbands took everything," shared one camp facilitator with a heavy heart.

I taught self love, that the girls were worthy of love. My concern was that the words that came out of my mouth, a white womans mouth I’ll say too, did not match their physical reality. The fact is that I can teach women when not to have intercourse to avoid preganancy but I cannot teach men not to rape underage girls. I can teach women to eat foods rich in vitamin e to fix breast pain, but I cannot teach men not to steal their money.

“My husband was good, a good man. He took care of me didn’t even raise his voice. He built me a ramp when I cad the baby to get the pram in the house.” An elder told me, and kept telling all the girls. I think what she was trying to say was ‘it hasn’t always been this way, good men are real and you shouldn’t accept anything less’.

Indigenous girls have a higher rate of being victims of abuse, sexual assault, and rape. Education plays a crucial role in reducing these rates, highlighting the significance of reproductive health education for Indigenous women. When a young girl is educated and informed that the absence of her period for two months requires a visit to the clinic, she has a better chance of accessing elective abortion services. Similarly, educating young women about cervical discharge and distinguishing between what is normal and abnormal can enable them to detect bacterial infections early on, preventing potential harm to their reproductive organs. Despite the efforts of remote schools, even the most progressive schools in Australia struggle to provide up-to-date reproductive education for young people, resulting in severe consequences.

Teaching the anatomy of the clitoris can encourage remote women to explore their sexuality within their own internal world before engaging with partners. Reproductive health and sexual wellness education can also help women understand that they carry not only their children but also their grandchildren within them. If someone is abusing them and they find it challenging to stand up for themselves, doing it for the sake of their future generations can be a powerful motivator. Empowering women in terms of reproductive health has historically proven to be effective in advancing communities. For example, the introduction of birth control played a significant role in the sexual revolution, and stories from Ethiopian folklore highlight how women collectively refusing sex with their partners ended wars.

Indigenous Australian women, like dune flowers, embody resilience and strength in the face of adversity. They possess a captivating beauty that thrives in harsh conditions, much like the vivid colors of flowers that boldly display their existence in a scarce landscape. Just as flowers have evolved defense mechanisms, indigenous Australian women have developed their own ways to navigate and survive in a world that often fails to fully recognize and support them. Their identities and cultural heritage are asserted unapologetically, reflecting their tenacity. The wisdom, knowledge, and strength of indigenous Australian women are highly valued and sought after by their communities and society as a whole. Seemingly fed by nothing by their own tenacity the flowers that surrounded our camp represented the elder women and the girls emerging into womanhood. Life is tough, but they are tougher.

Women are the power, the trailblazers and the key to uplifting remote indigenous lives. We cannot merely focus on educating western women in built up resource rich metropolis, if one woman is suffering we all suffer. If one woman is under educated, we are all responsible. At this moment in time there are no organisations at the fore front of this issue, and primarily focussed on the eDucation of reproductive health and sexual wellness of indigenous woman. So watch this space.