I, Jandamarra

By E.T. Thomas

Jandamarra is an aboriginal warrior of the spiritual Kimberley area of Australia, home to the tribe known as the Bunuba people. Jandamarra is a legendary hero of the 1890s known to his people as a Jalgangurru, a magic man, due to his extraordinary skills and abilities.

He is a cheeky, likeable boy, and a quick learner. At around 12 years of age, Jandamarra, named Pigeon by the whitefellas, begins working on a sheep station, where he learns to shoot, ride horses, and live among the whitefellas. These are skills which will serve him well in his manhood. He is popular among whitefellas and enjoys the excitement and movement of their way of living, but the time comes when he must return to his tribe for initiation into manhood.

Jandamarra is torn between black and white cultures. But how can he belong to two different worlds with each pulling at his loyalties? How can he be accepted by one without rejecting the other?

This powerfully spiritual story of the legendary Jandamarra is based on extensive research of people and events.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Nov 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9781035815845

E.T. Thomas

E.T. Thomas is a family person and a very active grandmother and great-grandmother with great passions for dragon-boating, travelling and outdoor activities, as well as enjoying the more leisurely pursuits of reading, gardening and playing bridge. Thomas has taught children for many years and is now a semi-retired Educational Consultant in Parkes, Australia, where she tutors alongside her husband Bill, as well as running a charming B&B. The novel I, Jandamarra was inspired by Thomas’s travels to the remote Kimberley region of Australia where the land is still imbued with ancient aboriginal spirituality.

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About the Author

E.T. Thomas is a family person and a very active grandmother and great-grandmother with great passions for dragon-boating, travelling and outdoor activities, as well as enjoying the more leisurely pursuits of reading, gardening and playing bridge.

Thomas has taught children for many years and is now a semi-retired Educational Consultant in Parkes, Australia, where she tutors alongside her husband Bill, as well as running a charming B&B.

The novel I, Jandamarra was inspired by Thomas’s travels to the remote Kimberley region of Australia where the land is still imbued with ancient aboriginal spirituality.

Dedication

For my two favourite sons, Jeffrey and Adam. My love for you is enormous.

Follow your songline; cherish what is simple and good.

Copyright Information ©

E.T. Thomas 2023

The right of E.T. Thomas to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781035815838 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781035815845 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

While travelling the Kimberley region of Australia, I was privileged to meet respected Bunuba Elder, Dillon Andrews, who revealed to me the secrets of Windjana Gorge and Tunnel creek through his telling of the story of Jandamarra, warrior of the Bunuba people. Dillon transported me into the spiritual heart of his land and his people. The story of Jandamarra is significant to Bunuba history and it is a story that I felt compelled to tell. But Dillon is the teller of this story—and I wasn’t sure it was my place to write it down.

So I returned later to the Kimberley in search of Dillon and I was blessed to find him again, with amazing timing, right there at Windjana Gorge. I told Dillon I had been researching Jandamarra’s story with the idea of telling it as a novel of historical fiction, but as the story belonged to the Bunuba culture, I needed his respected opinion on whether it would be acceptable for me to write the story.

‘Yeah,’ said Dillon, ‘I think it’s good. I tell the story here, but more people should know. Not just Bunuba people but everyone else. We need to remember what happened in the past, but we all need to get on with one another now. Black and white. We can’t change the past. But we can move forward together now and into the future.’

I thank Dillon for his inspiration and for the sanction to tell you this story.

Prologue

I am Jandamarra. I have lived in your whitefella world. I even tried to belong there, but I could not. I am Bunuba. I belong here with my own people.

Your gun is cocked and aimed. In an instant, the echo of your shot will ring through the caves and along the creek in that valley below me. I stand proud high up on this cliff. I will fall proud when you bring me down. I am Jandamarra. I am Bunuba.

My people do not own this country. Not like you whitefellas want to own it. My people are part of this country. This country is a mother to us and we are one with this mother. A mother who gives life, nurtures, feeds us, cares for us. And I, Jandamarra of the Bunuba people love, honour and respect this mother. Your shot will ring out.

My blood will seep into the red soil of this country and nothing will change because I will live on as part of this country in a way that you have never understood. My soul will sink into these rocks; my spirit will fly with the winds through these grasses; my shadow will embrace this earth; and my blood will flow through these running waters just as it now flows through my veins.

I have been a part of this country since the dreaming time. And I will be a part of this country until there is no black and white.

Chapter 1

‘Jandamarra!’

‘What grandmother? What’s the matter?’

‘I already told you. Many times, I already told you. You not listen!’

‘What? What?’

‘Jandamarra—I try to make you understand. You are special. You are born special,’ my grandmother’s voice is soft, and yet it seems to ring out against the high rocky limestone wall beneath which we sit. Words spoken in the ancient language of Bunuba…the only language that has ever sounded in my ears.

‘You know I tell you many times about the ancestors,’ voices in the rush of the winds, that tell me about that before you were born…and that big bright burning star in the sky just while your mother was birthin’ you…and I knowed then…I knowed you was special.’

We are sitting on the sandy ground in front of the water hole between the high rock walls of Windjana. The grasses are vivid green; the water bright turquoise. The shadows are long and cool. Soon the hunters will return.

My grandmother had told me many times about the voices and the star. The bright star with the long burning tail which had streaked across the length of that milky white serpent which spread from horizon to horizon in the dark night sky. And it was in that very moment when the country was lit by that streaking light that I rushed with my mother’s blood headfirst into this world.

For a long moment, I stop chipping my piece of splintery stick which is taking the shape of a nulla-nulla, and I watch the deftness of my grandmother’s beautiful black fingers as they weave the grasses into matting for our mia-mia. Since I was a baby child, I have loved nothing more than to sit by the side of this proud strong woman and learn from her wisdom. I love her with all of my heart. I love my mother, Jinnie, too. Giving love is natural among my kin. We are same skin family.

‘But I don’t know yet if I want to be special. It scares me what I might have to do. Like make some kinda sacrifice or something. I don’t know…I just wanna do manhood ceremony…go huntin’ with the others…with Ellemarra and them. Go to special men’s places and do them things that are secret to me now. I wanna find out all that stuff and just be like Ellemarra.’

Ellemarra is my grandmother’s child, same as my mother, Jinnie. We have very close kinship tie. He is my closest uncle.

‘Jandamarra!’ My grandmother looks closely into my eyes with her fathomless black eyes, deep with unbounded wisdom. ‘You cannot decide whether or not you want to accept this gift. This is given. Can that sky-fire sun say I don’t wanna be lightin’ this sky no more? Can the moving wind say I don’t wanna be blowin’ these grasses no more? You cannot change this Jandamarra. You cannot say I want…I don’t want…You just be. You just are. You been picked for something special Jandamarra and you got no choice in this.’

Now she is quiet. She lets those words descend into our silence, lets them surround my brain. And in that familiar beloved place sitting beside that wise old woman those words are embedding themselves into my mind, just as she is intending. I know too that it is true. I have known for a long, long time already. I know I have special gifts. I can disappear in front of my friends into the shadows, and they cannot find me.

Like I be invisible. I can move like a bird from one rock to another and not move a grain of sand on the ground. I can be still as a stringybark on a hot dry day and meld into the rock-face. And, although I try hard not to listen, I too have heard the ancestors’ voices in the wind of the stars, through the dark moving shadows of night. Jalgangurru, they whisper…You are Jalgangurru Jandamarra…magic man.

‘But why?’ I would ask them. ‘What do you want me to do?’ And I would feel an ominous warning in the silence that always followed.

I get up and walk away from the group of women and children towards the crevice of the gorge wall, from where I know I can climb easily over the sharp, jagged rocks, picking my way to the lofty height. I am feeling the eyes of my grandmother on me as I go. Without having to glance behind I can see the look that is on her proud and thoughtful face, her lips puckering as she is slowly nodding her head knowing she has made her impression.

Yuwa will also be watching. I like Yuwa. She is strong and spirited like me. I will talk to her later. Yuwa is just a bit younger than me, but she has a wise understanding. We have grown up together in this clan after she came here with her mother before she could walk yet. Just two kids playing together. But now Yuwa looks at me different. With a light in her eyes that stirs the manhood that is developing in my body.

I soon reach the top and look out over the black soil plains of our beloved land. Bunuba country. The fire of the setting sun is lighting the blueness of the sky with red and yellow and crimson. It is dry season, so there are only a few long skinny streaks of cloud making straight lines along the far horizon across the face of the glowing sun. In the far distance, my sharp eyes pick out the men, like moving shadows, spears held low, returning with their kill. Despite the distance, I can make out the figure of my uncle Ellemarra, a big old kangaroo slung around his shoulders.

It had been from this very spot on this high crag that I had spotted the hunters one dry season past walking downheartedly, without my father among them, his body left long way back high on top of a rocky ledge. His name has not been spoken since that day. Speaking that name that had been his when he lived would disturb his spirit. We had travelled much later to that rocky ledge when only his bones were left there in that spot. Then those bones were painted with red ochre and were buried in special, sacred place. That was a long time, but I still miss that fella.

I leap across the rugged ground of the steep downward slope, leaving every one of the strewn stones in my path unmoved, making my way down to the flat land below and I am bounding off to meet them returning hunters. I am not yet initiated into manhood. I will have to wait another three cycles of seasons. Then I will start my first ceremonies of initiation. I will proudly wear my scars. I will hunt with Ellemarra, Dibinarra, Muddenbudden and the others. I will discuss men’s business and go to secret places.

But I will need even more seasons for my full wisdom to come before I am truly accepted as a Bunuba man. Then I will make Yuwa my woman. She was born in different place to me. Her mother was from skin-name of Warrwa from up near place of big salty water. Much later I will learn that this place is what whitefella call Derby. So Bunuba law says she can be with me. She is good on the outside and the inside and she makes me laugh. And I like to look at her.

I have long reached the men and have turned back with them, walking among them, carrying Ellemarra’s spear, by the time my cousins, Ilaji and Darrudi, catch up. They too are longing for the time when we will all be men.

‘You too fast Jandamarra! You fly over that ground like a bird!’ They are dancing around me with mocking movements in their friendly teasing. The men just laugh—and I am feeling very proud at the shining look in my uncle Ellemarra’s eyes.

Back at the gorge, the big hole is soon dug and the fire inside it is lit. Ellemarra is removing the flesh and the tendons from the feet of his kill. The leg bones of the kangaroo are bared up to its hopping joints. These bare bones will change colour during the cooking, telling us when the kangaroo is ready to eat. The flames are soon twirling high, and the acrid smell of singed fur is filling the air around us. Beside that fire hole is another fire hole with smaller stones. In the smaller hole, them stones are getting pretty hot; the women are laying leaves and grass and some big yams on top. Over the top of that they are laying more leaves. They are sprinkling it all with water and then putting more grass and they are covering it all over with thick dirt.

Soon enough that big kangaroo fella is naked-black and he is being lowered into the intense heat of the fire-pit. Now we wait. The wait is always long, but we are not impatient. We rest and we listen to stories. We always love to hear about the hunt, because one day we will be the hunters.

We hardly even notice the passing of time, but soon the stars, those ancestor spirits, are shining down on us. I can feel a great contentment that glows from the inside of me. It comes from being not just among my kin but being part of them. I am not a single being—I am part of a whole. Of an ancient tribe anchored in the earth of the Bunuba land.

Dibinarra, an elder and lawman of the tribe, is singing quietly while old wise man Marralam is beating a rhythmic sound with clapsticks…As we listen to his sing-song voice, I can sense his spiritual connection with the very energy that springs from the Bunuba earth…a deep connection with the great ancient ancestors…and he begins to chant a story of the Dreamtime…

Before time began…before this world that we see now…great powers slithered through the skies…moved with the stirring winds of the stars. These were the spirits of our ancestors, the great creators of all. Still now they continue to be present. We hear the echoes of their wise voices. They tell us the traditions of our land, the wisdom of nature, the thinking of the animals, of all living things they have created, of the lore of the Bunuba.

As Dibinarra chants, the shadows are growing deeper, and the old-man moon is peeking over the top of the limestone ridge, lighting everything around us. Yilimarra joins in the chanting, and they sing us the story of Yilimbirri Unggud.

Him live in a sacred place that big rainbow snake, that Yilimbirri Unggud. Him made all this country. Him be like the big boss of everything. And when he finished all his work he went to live quietly, to rest in that big sacred waterhole where the fresh water springs from outta the mud. We gotta respect his place. We gotta leave him in peace and not go disturbin’ his rest. We gotta obey him and we gotta show care for each other or that Yilimbirri Unggud he will get cross. He will make the Windjana cliffs grow red with his roaring.

We know that place of Yilimbirri Unggud. We know not to ever go there. It is taboo.

The elders are finishing their story and I look towards the fire-pit. I see that Yuwa’s eyes are on me. It feels good when she looks at me like that. The bared leg bones of that kangaroo have turned pure white. That means he is ready to eat. And the yams are ready to get from their cooking hole. We sit around in our circle and we are all given food…from the oldest men, like Tarrodie to the young kids like Jenulla and Lambardoo…first a section of the tail. I pull off the scorched ring of charred fur surrounding the meat before I pass the first choicest piece to my young brother, Barranarra.

This is our custom—look after each other. Do not take for yourself first. It is second nature and I hand him the morsel without a second thought. It is a tasty bit, but not tender like the men say the liver is. We will not eat that liver until we be proper men. Now everyone is getting a slice of the thigh. This is essential because eating from the leg strengthens our own legs for walking. Ellemarra is waiting, as he must, until last. It was his spear that brought down this old-man kangaroo, so he must see that all his clan are fed first from his kill.

Now the eating, the singing and the storytelling are done, and the big, long milky serpent has travelled a bit of a way across the night sky, so we make our way to the sleeping-caves Not so much caves as rocky overhangs, where the sun’s fiery breath does not reach the deep shadows all day, keeping a cool place for sleeping. Soon, when it is later into the dry season, the nights will be cool. Then we will need the shelter from the cold night breezes. I lie down on the cool earth of the cave, and turn a little to find my good spot, my comfortable place.

I don’t let myself think any more now about my grandmother’s words. I don’t listen to the night spirits whispering ’Jandamarra you are Jalgangurru…magic man.’ My belly is full. My heart is light. My soul is happy. I press the arch of my foot against the sinewy calf of my mother, Jinnie, and I feel my brother pressed against my back. The contentment of belongingness washes over me in its familiarity.

I stir, half-awake in my sand mould, at the first light of dawn. The pale grey colourlessness is soft. Soon the colours made by that rainbow snake, that Yilimbirri Unggud, will wash over the whole landscape. I lie there only a moment listening to the bird calls ringing out from treetop to treetop across the vastness. Such a mingling of whistling, twittering and chirping from blue-faced honeyeaters and white-winged trillers, now the magpies are joining in, but the rainbow bee-eaters and the figbirds don’t want to be left out of the chorus, and the strident voices of the white corellas are blasting the air to be the loudest.

Now the daylight is stroking my face, waking my whole body. I cannot sleep any longer. It is a new morning…a new day! An excitement for this day is welling inside me like unbridled energy. I always have a feeling in my soul that each new day has so much to give me. A day where I will walk with my tribe through the red pindan and the black soil of this land; a day where I will watch the movements and hear the sounds of birds and animals.

A day where I will see the trees, the moving grasses and the waterholes, the hot sun and the thin wispy clouds making shadowed patterns on the land, and all the beauties of nature that Yilimbirri Unggud and the old ancestors created. When I see and feel these things, their spirit voices talk to me. Tree spirits; bird spirits; snake spirits; all them living spirits of my country. They pass on their knowledge to me, and a greater awareness grows within me. They recognise me, just as I recognise them, and they pass on their wisdom deep into my soul. Every new day dawns with the anticipation of its own special gifts.

The days of my childhood, the same as this new one, are tranquil and carefree. In the cooler part of the day, before that big sky-fire sun climbs up over our heads, I collect firewood for cooking with my brother Barranarra, with my cousins Ilaji and Darrudi, with Yuwa and with the other kids. And lately with young Lambardoo and Jenulla who love to tag along with all of us other kids. They are still little, but they are determined not to get left behind. And they can keep up with us older ones for a long time. And when it gets a bit later and they are a bit worn out, we pretend to be getting tired too and we slow our pace just a bit.

We dig roots and collect lily bulbs in water holes, we find rock figs and gubinge fruit, and bush nuts from the coolamon trees and sometimes we eat them where we find them, the kernels tiny, but very, very sweet. We always make sure we have enough to take back and share. And sometimes we let the others eat them all. We have already had some, so it is only fair that they get their share. We help our mothers gather and winnow grass seeds, crushing them with grinding stones.

Sometimes I spend the hot afternoons with the other kids sitting by our grandmothers’ sides, listening to their wise old stories, learning the lore of our ancestors, the stories of the Dreaming. Those stories teach us that we have to obey the Bunuba Law. We shift our places on the sand as the shadows slide along, cooling the sun-warmed ground. Sometimes we play and splash around in the water or else we just sit on the water’s edge dipping our toes, rippling the water and stirring the shadows to tease the fish.

Just back from gathering food we place our woven carry baskets in the shade and we are sitting by the water’s edge. It is the warm and lazy part of the afternoon and we are enjoying watching the cycles of life all around us and seeing who can imagine the most pictures in the patterns of the leaves that have fallen along the fringe of the waterhole.

‘Let’s play that game you made up Jandamarra,’ Jenulla says.

‘Which one? Jandamarra is always thinking up new stuff,’ Ilaji answers.

‘That dragonflies one. Look at them all. The air is filled with them!’

As we watch, crowds of dragonflies are hovering, flashing and darting all around.

‘OK. Pick your dragonfly,’ I say, and everyone chooses one in particular from the red, blue, yellow and grey flitting dragonflies.

Once chosen we must predict where our dragonfly will land and then watch with immense concentration to keep it in sight. But it doesn’t matter which one wins. We just all have fun playing.

We love to watch the dragonflies skim the water’s surface to lay their eggs and there have even been some times when we have been really fortunate to watch the magic of young dragonflies break the surface and fly out into the air for the first time.

Now we have finished our games and that sun has already gone off the edge of the world. The stars are coming into the sky as we sit here at a new campfire and listen to the old stories of the wise ones. My uncles Ellemarra and Yilimarra they are telling us the stories that we can see in the stars.

‘See them three stars there in that straight line…’ Yilimarra is pointing up high to direct our gaze. ‘Well, them stars once be three young brothers who were fishing in their canoe. But all they caught were kingfish. Them boys had been told not to eat them kingfish, but one brother got hungry and he disobeyed. He ate one of the kingfish. That sun got angry about that and made a big waterspout that blew them into the sky.’

‘That be a warning for kids to obey, or you be disappear like them three young boys,’ Ellemarra’s tone is serious as his head is nodding