Daku, Bush Tucker Dreamer [Short Story] [Part 1 of 2].
Defying the wisdom of the elders, Daku, an Aboriginal teen, pushes cultural culinary boundaries as he tries to find his place within his clan against a backdrop of life and death in the Australian bush.
Author, Nick Morphew.
Daku, Bush Tucker Dreamer.
I smell and taste the untamed, earthy flavours of my Country. The landscape around my clan is our buffet. My mouth is full of white, stringy goanna flesh, so hot I blow out a plume of steam in the direction of the children by the campfire. Tastebuds electrified in anticipation, I plunge a small wad of crushed, steamed leaves into my cheek while I savour the reptilian meat. Rich, deep and previously unknown flavour combinations diffuse across my tongue. A secret I am yet to share. The children’s faces glow in the evening firelight, their youthful smiles contagious. We burst out laughing and flecks of the masticated mess of green and white spray outward from my lips in a haze, sizzling on the coals in front of me. Uncle Abbagan taught us to use fire to shape our landscape so that food will be here again next season. Right now, we sit and wave glowing sticks in the air. Tiny orange embers fly off our wooden wands and swirl in the darkness above camp like entranced lightning bugs. Eyes transfixed, we wait for the finger-sized, white witchetties to roast on the smouldering ashes.
Finally finished our meals, our stomachs contented with hot food and mildly intoxicating nectar brew, Uncle and I tend to the small surrounding fires among our camp, making sure they are stoked for the night, providing sources of warmth amidst the cold.
I lay dreaming of tomorrow’s delights, hunting on the banks of the Murray for turtles, hoping that Aunty and the children find enough of the pepper seeds and lemon myrtle I yearn for. I grow tired of familiar flavours. I am on a sensory journey. My journey defies the Spirits of my Ancestors that have kept us well fed and safe. Safety breeds stagnation. With stagnation comes disease and disrepair. I want to uncover the hidden secrets that lay at the core of my Country - the seeds discarded, the berries left unpicked. Even the sloughed bark of wooden towers overhead lay ignored to become habitat for the bugs. New flavours await discovery, while existing ones crave permutation. I am on a pursuit to unlock the gastronomic connections between my culture and my Country. Risking my life is part of the deal.
Fire
Snaking fires slither through the drying tufts of hummock grass. Controlled, purposeful. Our people have met with the neighbouring clans, working as one to maintain our landscape. We all understand our interrelationship on Country. We graciously take for our desire to thrive and maintain harmony and Country takes back from us that which is due to generate future nourishment for us all.
The Dreaming spoke of an almighty fiery fiend crossing the landscape, leaving nothing untouched. When our Ancestors first saw the great beast, Her double appeared as a salty reflection in their reddened eyes. They mourned for days over the deaths of the animals around them. They were their friends. Black Cockatoo would lead them to watering holes when moisture became scarce and Gamhuhm, the small black ant would signal storms not yet seen in the sky, his enlivened activity would shout, seek shelter! Fire Serpent emerged from a glittering flash seen high above the trees. She was born. Her fall into the soft, dry grasses gave her a padded landing, but She was hungry and needed sustenance. She had no mercy and ate everything around her - the plants and the animals. Nothing was spared. Her plate was Country and she would dine for three days and three nights. Emu lay prone, her feathers blackened and her body stiff in the smouldering, scorched dirt. She was gone and so was her family. All except a young chick. She was all but a fledgling, long gangly legs and a head stretched as if to peck the stars from the sky. She had leapt into the reduced mud of a billabong. Her feathers became sticky and damp, shielding her from the flaming teeth of Fire Serpent who sprang from bush to tree in supernatural splendour. Her ferocious attacks were deflected by the chick’s encrusted, ochre armour. However, despite her resistance and will, the chick was unable to summon Emu’s Spirit to return. Fire Serpent had burnt out the plain and fled in search of more life upon which to consume. Upon witnessing the horror of her mother’s fate, shock sent the small, brown bird to her knees, convulsing, until she fell upon the charred remains of her mother. She felt her body ripple with the pain of sadness until she became overwhelmed by it. As her eyes penetrated the horizon, her final breath leaving her, the chick’s heart stopped beating to be with her mother’s once more.
The stars glinted in the sky above, winking at the children who lay on their backs staring up at them. “Uncle, why did Fire Serpent hurt Emu and her family?” asked one of the children, trying to comprehend the mind of the merciless creature. “Serpent must eat. If she doesn’t eat, she dies.” Uncle Abbagan answered with knowing, having performed the ritual dance to Fire Serpent many times when the thirst and weariness of the dry season had begun to subside. The ritual marks the beginning of firestick farming, where sections of the land are systematically burned to create favourable hunting conditions. The deliberate burning would also serve to prevent the uncontrolled return of Fire Serpent, consuming Country once more as She moves across the plains. Uncle Abbagan tousled the youngster’s mop of hair as the boy’s head slumped in respect, avoiding the eyes of his senior. “You good child, Munga. Good questions are important part of learning.” Wincing, Uncle propped himself up and removed a burr from his backside. “Fire Serpent need to clean up ‘round here!” The cackles of a pair of Kookaburras swept across the camp as if simultaneously approving Uncle’s humour and at his expense.
Cultural Reflections
That evening, my mind traversed a path I had wandered before, but previously stopped short of further exploration. I couldn’t help but analyse the prism through which we view Country. I felt pains in my stomach when Uncle would recite the Dreaming story of when Fire Serpent arrived, witnessing the events in my mind’s eye as She took the lives of the innocent creatures around her. Uncle explained it was her uncontrollable hunger. It makes complete sense. A baby will drink milk until it is asleep. When Fire Serpent arrived from the sky, she was a mere infant. Country and all those a part of it were her mother’s milk. Fire Serpent was primitive. The Dreaming is full of Ancient Spirits of vast power that shape our land, just like Fire Serpent. That immense power of change - creation and destruction, come at a cost. The price that was paid was a trade of wisdom for instinct coupled with immense, raw power. When I see my hands, I see the colours of Country, rivers on my palms and the bush beyond my knuckles. I am not primitive. I am not ravenously hungry in perpetuity. My people enjoy the pleasure of our food, delight in our senses and use our remaining time to prosper, learn and cherish one another. My people were granted a gift. We are the guardians of Country and feel pain for both our clan and Country. We empathise for Emu and her chick, just as we show love and concern for our own people. My Ancestors wept billabongs for the animals, but over time, songlines deviated, losing track of our compassionate origins, and my people lost the memory of who we truly are. We are not primitive; we are the guardians of Country.
Stay tuned for the conclusion!
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All content is original and belongs to @nickmorphew [11 May 2019].
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