That's my naapa (thing)

The house was starting to overflow with Eleanor's toys. With Christmas, a recent birthday and bursts of unnecessary purchasing on my part, new areas of the house were being colonised by multi-coloured plastic and wood in various permutations. I'm a bit of a neat freak. I also remember the 'pre-kid' days, entering houses of people with young toddlers and making slow work picking a safe path along the floor. As a result, I tend to spend a little time every day doing a small clean and organise. The toys, however, had got beyond that level of organisation. I did a big pack up and removed half of them from the living areas. They are now precariously perched on the top shelf of the study cupboard.

This constant need to manage our ever burgeoning pile of possessions has prompted a few thoughts of contrast with the toddler-life of the locals. Just yesterday I was struck yet again by a common response to possessive behaviour by Eleanor. While in the clinic at Pipalyatjara, visiting some clients, Eleanor saw their niece playing with her 'black baby' doll (a 2009 Christmas present from Blackstone Community). "Miiiiine, my black baby!!" she cried, immediately rushing to get it. The father present replied in an instant, "it's mine, my baby", smiling in claim. Eleanor looked taken aback, worried, clutching the doll closer. "Mine". "My baby", he replied, gesturing to hand it over, smiling still. Eleanor took the baby away for safe keeping. The irony of Eleanor taking a little black baby away didn't escape me.

This response is very common. Whereas we tend to rush in and reassure Eleanor that something is indeed hers, or negotiate with diplomatic tact of international quality when fights break out between cousins and (Western) friends, I have never heard local community members say anything close to the following: "How about you let Eleanor play with it for a little bit, then we'll play with it after... don't worry, it's yours, it lives here". There is one community member who calls out to Eleanor everytime she sees her at the shop, "my car Eleanor, my car." Eleanor will fall for it everytime. "No, Marcia, that's your car there." "My car, give me the keys", gently chiding her possessiveness. "No, it's oooour white car, ours". Then she'll turn tail and head into the shop, every step a righteous one.

I do not claim to know much about Aboriginal parenting styles and cultural values, but these little exchanges do regularly remind me of the constant value placed on sharing and common ownership. From the earliest attempts to assert individuality, little kids are encouraged to think about others around them. Our family - without even a thought to what we are doing - reinforce our possessive, accumulative inclinations. Without a thought too, no doubt, the community members reinforce common wealth in the family. Neither is better, just different. Deeply embedded in our world view, lasting well beyond the period of childhood amnesia. Mine. No, mine.