Hard for lots of reasons. For the diversity of views, the wondering what is going on, the unpreparedness for daily life.
Even walking to the shop can raise small challenges. Should I worry about that shouting, or just keep on walking? What if a car suddenly starts spinning, or an iron bar is picked up - am I safe? (rare as this does happen to me, thoughts like this will pop into my mind unbidden if there seems to be some upset about).
Mostly these daily issues are noted, dealt with and life continues apace. There is, however, rarely an easy familiarity.
The kind of familiarity you have with old friends. Family. Loved ones. The sort where you can wander into their living room and flop down on their couch. Shoes spread along the way. Feet tucked under. Maybe an unspoken but acted on request for a cup of tea and a biscuit.
Yet, after six years, I finally feel like I am starting to reach that point with a few families. After six years of being in the same space, with the same heart for living out here, with occasional intersections in our lives.
I find that (for a few) I can just wander into their open family camp area. Flop onto the dirt, feet tucked under. Have a laugh, joke, ask about family. Wander to the shop for sandwich and a drink. Back again, the pressures of whitefella time set aside.
Family drive in, flicking smokes, handling small items, checking whereabouts. Kids in sight, crouched over smartphones, facebooking. Ashes of a fire, ready for later in the day when lunch appears. Artefacts lined up for decorating.
We exchange news. Still in Blackstone. Yuwa, Eleanor-nya pulkarringu (she's got big!). Phone numbers handed over, the usual requests for photos. Reminiscing road trips long gone. Or the time I cried when a baby flew in, the grandmother and I wiping tears at the little devil with his upturned eyebrows.
Sweet, this easy familiarity. A rare sweetness to sustain. Succour for the soul, and our deep shared humanity.
