Our languages and culture matters

Minyang nyura wubaliyn?

Nyura yiigu marala barraygu.

Yii barraba barray.

Yii Warrimay barray.

Gathay nyiirun.

What are you doing?

You have come here, to this country.

This is my country.

This is Worimi country.

Let us go together.

I am a Worimi man from the Mid North Coast of New South Wales. My ancestral country is bound by the ceremonial grounds within Hunter Street in Newcastle, following the sandy beaches and the salt water up to Forster and out to the mountain ranges of Gloucester. I am Worimi through both my Mothers and Fathers families, with my Dad’s ancestors traced back to the first recorded birth in a cave in the mountains of Gloucester.

The introduction is a welcoming to my country, Worimi country, words that have been used to greet other tribes passing onto our lands for over 40,000 years.

Before 1788, over 250 language groups covered the continent- 250 stories of hope and spirit, of culture and wisdom. These are the languages that kept dreaming and lore, song and knowledge. Yet over half of them have been forgotten in time, now whispers in the landscapes hoping to be unearthed. Kept in the minds of our Elders, much of our futures and purpose is left in the dreams and the thoughts of our old people. 

The language spoken by my ancestors is called Katthang or Gathang. It is the language whispered amongst the three tribes in my area, each group having slight variance due to the location and tribal traits. They are the words that have tried to be hidden from me, a language that was left on tape by my ancestors, yet still not shared with my family to ever hear. Kept in the timeless bound of some old black and white photos and a tape, my culture and story could have very well been kept from me.

In trying to discover my culture, I am often left wondering what it means in today’s world- what Aboriginality means today, and what will it mean for not just my children, but yours as well. As I have started thinking about children recently, what of my culture and our culture will I want them to learn and share? Will there be anything left for them to learn, or will the fragments of our culture lie in the empty museums across the world, while our hearts beat the black blood of the past?

If we, as Worimi People, want to learn our own Traditional language, we have 2 choices. One, attend a TAFE course, that runs once a year, face to face, or secondly, search the internet and call every black person in our community to find a contact with a book. My language, the words I shared with you earlier, are kept forever bound in this book. A book that shares the interpretations of tapes now lost to our people and a book that has been kept out of the hands of people my age until now. But these books are not found easily. Kept in the arms of the Elders, the book has only recently found its way to one store. Owned by a company on lands where my People don’t belong… 

Before I share more about the importance of language, I want to share a bit more context on my community. Today, many of our People still live on the Mission- a forced settlement in one location. There are about 15, 4 bedroom houses, each housing up to 20 or 25 family members, hosting up to 3 or 4 generations under the one roof. Despite living in Forster, a beach tourist destination for many families, it wasn’t until 2 years ago that rubbish was collected from the houses or upkeep was made on the roads or green spaces. In the heart of prime tourist heaven, my Mission is located on the main street towards the shopping centre, allowing the community to pass judgement through every car window. Such is the reputation of our Mission, the McDonalds 500m down the street is affectionately known as “McMish”.

In the households located on the Mission, and in our schools, language is not commonly used or shared. It is kept waiting, waiting for revitalisation. It was in the late 70’s that my tribe conducted their last initiation, an opportunity now lost amongst the shopping centres and fancy houses on the beaches. A culture lost to the new society and culture of modern technology, money and the pursuit of finding what our purpose as people truly is. But to us today, this means our boys today, me, will never truly be a man. Our culture is now dictated by an identity crisis, of uninformed stereotypes, shattered language and customs and a race now lost in their own place. 

My People are lost, forgotten in time and yet a showcase of an ab-normal and Ab-original race. We are given 10 years less to live on this Earth than our fellow Australians, are being taken away from our parents at a faster rate than the time we refer to as ‘the Stolen Generation’ and are often more likely to be incarcerated than finish school. Yet we live and we are optimistic for a better tomorrow.

Our language is pivotal to our sense of identity. Our language, and its nuances, share the cultural knowledge we needed to survive. It tells the stories and teachings of our bush tucker, such as the macadamia and lemon myrtle, and how traditional medicine is to be used and stored. But our language and stories go beyond sharing the necessities for daily life.

With 40,000 years of Traditional Knowledge about climate change, agriculture and space, Indigenous language and information holds the keys to the next innovations and technologies in the World. Our People are waiting for their chance to share their stories for change, we just need the chance to do so.

One of the greatest opportunities we have to ensure Indigenous voices are heard is by incorporating our language into every day conversation. Some examples of my language are:

·      Biti- make

·      Dha- eat

·      Mitjigan- girl

·      Burray- boy

·      Ngarrgan- morning

·      Bimay- night

I’m obviously not the same colour of my people, I don’t wear the same clothes and I can’t (yet) speak language without it written down. I haven’t gone through an initiation, my dance moves aren’t anything to be proud of, I can’t paint our art and I struggle to play a didgeridoo. But I am Aboriginal, I am Worimi.

We are the same people that we have been for 40,000 years. Black blood fills my veins, I connect with my country when I am home and the wind and waves speak to me when I breathe. We are recognisable through our heart, we connect because we are the same and our language lives to be passed down.