This story is edited by Mununjali author Ellen van Neerven for SBS Voices and is part of a NAIDOC Week essay series inspired by the 2021 theme 'Heal Country’, elevating the voices of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander writers.
A new SBS show, Strait To The Plate, premiered across Australian TV this year. It is a show about cooking - about connecting to and learning about Torres Strait Islander peoples through our food. In episode three, host, Aaron Fa’aoso, travels to Poruma (Coconut Island), where my Aka was born, to learn “the connection between Country and kaikai (food)”. The small island hovers delicately, just two metres above crystal blue water. The cameras pan out to show the airstrip taking up a great deal of the land and the sandy edges of the island easing into the light blue sea.
One of the main topics the episode delves into is the sustainability my people infuse into every part of living, particularly when it comes to food sources - a sustainability that is important for survival. The episode also touches on the revitalisation of language by Phillemon Mosby, and the very real fear of the island washing away due to the rising sea levels.
These words of sustainability and regeneration come up again and again in the episode. My people have and continue to use resources in a way that encourages life and continuous growth for generations to come.
My people have and continue to use resources in a way that encourages life and continuous growth for generations to come.
This circular mindset is something I’ve been trying to encourage in my own learnings. To learn about the seas and lands and also the language. To learn language and how I might use it as a strength in these times, as we fight the climate crisis.
In April 2021, I took my first plane trips since before the COVID lockdown in 2020. My family, partner, and I flew north - to Zenadth Kes (Torres Strait) for a tombstone unveiling for an Athe (grandfather) of mine.
On a night-time ferry between two islands, I realised the sea spray, the place, and the people around me were healing - shuffling away the stresses of my life back down in the city.
The sea cat, a yellow ferry that held around fifteen or more of us, left Kirriri (Hammond Island) close to ten at night. When I looked out the windows, I couldn’t see a thing - just the vague shimmering lights of Waibene (Thursday Island), buoys, and maybe a few other boats. Our captain, an Awa (uncle) of my uncle, had one hand on the wheel, and instead of looking out the foggy windows, he stood in the doorway, watching for reef and for other boats. He turned the lights off inside the ferry and we were all consumed with darkness, the ferry headlights just barely lighting the way for us passengers to see. The gentle sea spray splashed against the windows, the boat sped with a loud engine, and behind me someone started singing.
Beating the warup and twining words in language, central island singers sang as we journeyed through the night. I am typically a person prone to fear, and I would have thought a ferry ride in the dark would have scared me. But it didn’t. I closed my eyes and wondered how I could take this peace back with me to Brisbane.
Language and Country - the saltwater and the land - felt healing to me. I want to know how to return this energy and play my part in healing and protecting the islands of my people and our culture.
Language is key - or rather, a part of it.
I want to know how to return this energy and play my part in healing and protecting the islands of my people and our culture.
My mum, a teacher in Zenadth Kes, often questions how our languages are not upheld for the strength they are by most curriculums. Children are assessed on English and with English. But most know more than one language, English sometimes being the second or third in their lives. Many of our people are bilingual, our traditional languages being a vital element to culture and living.
My bala (brother) and I each bought ourselves a copy of the Dictionary of Torres Strait Languages to take home. We’ve promised to start learning together, with the help of our cousins, parents, and of course our Aka (grandmother).
When we returned to Brisbane, my partner and I stayed with my cousin for a week. We talked over dinner about our time there up north, and the world we would be heading back into. We had the realisation, one I have every time I come from Zenadth Kes, that we had shared a special moment being up there. My cousin talked to me about language and how it might be harder for me to learn down here. Where not many people are speaking our language or creole. Where there aren’t as many Torres Strait Islander people. But still, she promised to help.
I recognise that I am lucky to have access to people who can help me learn more. It is a strength I am grateful for.
On Strait To The Plate, an episode guest, Awa Yessie, noted the shift in the seasons on his island and the new trees and wildlife the island has recently seen.
“It’s scary to think the island might wash away one day… You’ve got loved ones buried on the island,” Awa Yessie said.
Some of my family is buried on the edge of Hammond Island and the water gets closer to them as sea levels rise. Where I stood during the tombstone unveiling just this year, listening to songs in language and watching island dance, is close to the water.
I believe that the survival of culture, language, and the physical survival of our lands is an interconnecting conversation.
I believe that the survival of culture, language, and the physical survival of our lands is an interconnecting conversation.
Music, language, the water, and my time spent up there was healing for me and was urging me to return the energy. To return the energy through learning culture and advocating for the fight against the climate crisis.
As the episode of Strait To The Plate neared its end, a clip of sand bags around the edges of Poruma was shown, where Phillemon Mosby and Aaron Fa’aoso sat to talk.
“We’re kinda faced with a reality where we’re not in control,” Phillemon said. “But what we are in control of, as Porumalgal people, is to make sure that our voices are heard by people who are responsible and legally obligated to us as Australian citizens. And that we do not become the First Australian refugees.”
Jasmin McGaughey is a Torres Strait Islander and African American writer and editor.
The illustration for this piece is by Tori-Jay Mordey, an established Indigenous Australian illustrator and artist based in Brisbane. Growing up she openly shared both her Torres Strait Islander and English heritage, which is often reflected in her contemporary Indigenous art practice - producing work based around her family and siblings as a way of understanding herself, her appearance and racial identity.
National NAIDOC Week (4 – 11 July 2021) celebrates the history, cultures and achievements of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples. Join SBS and NITV for a full slate of , and follow NITV on and to be part of the conversation. For more information about NAIDOC Week or this year’s theme, head to the .
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