Description
Back at my homeland at Djawaḻ’ŋur there is a giant python who lives deep in the ocean. We call the ocean Gapu Murrupu and the python has the name ‘Matha Yambal’. It is connected to lots of similar ancestral pythons, really maybe they are all one.
A long time ago, this python travelled from Gurwana, a Durruŋa clan place. The python travelled to its gutharra (maternal grandchild) country at Djawal’ŋur. That’s my country, Djambarrpuyŋu country. Today us Djambarrpuyŋu, we still call Durruŋa märi (maternal grandmother) because that’s how we are connected though this powerful python.
When it travelled to my country, it changed its name and language to Djambarrpuyŋu. It could hear some noises. Curious, it rose from its coil to stand up and then it saw a reflection in the saltwater.
Way, yol dhuwal?! Narrapi?
Ahh, who is this?! Myself?
Ŋarra bon raynbuŋal.
Ah, yes it’s me. I am here uncoiling and standing and this is my reflection.
Ŋarra makarr-Djambarrpuyŋu. Ŋarra Matha Yambal
I am Djambarrpuyŋu. I am Matha Yambal.
As Matha Yambal stood up it could hear all the other Dhuwa moiety pythons talking about where they were and what they were eating. Some were eating sea snails, some were eating Blue Tusk Fish. Matha Yambal said it had been eating Burrumitpa (Rock Cod). But there was one python who was being quiet in shame. This python was living in a deep billabong on Ḻiyagalawumirr Birritjama country, at a place called Mirarrmirna.
Nah nhe lukan? Märrma Yolŋu?! Nah, nhe yatjkurr?
What have you eaten? Two Yolŋu?! What is this, what bad thing have you done? Spit it out!
He had eaten two Wägiläk sisters who were camping by the billabong. This Dhuwa moiety python had eaten Dhuwa moiety Yolŋu – no good. He was sick, this python. Matha Yambal and the others shamed him, saying it’s against the law. Finally, feeling sick, the python vomited up the two sisters.
That is a big story, and there is more there, but it’s not for here. But we are all connected now with these pythons. Especially Durruŋa, Ḻiyagalawumirr Birritjama and us Djambarrpuyŋu mob from Djawaḻ’ŋur.
Today that Matha Yambal still lives there in the deep water at Djawaḻ’ŋur in the Gapu Murrupu, at his djalkiri (foundations). The tide still goes in and out around Matha Yambal. Everytime the tide turns, the guk’guk (Bar-Shouldered Dove) will call out and sing. Then bul’manydji will turn and follow the turn of the tide. These three – guk’guk, bul’manydji and Matha Yambal – they are all there, belonging to that country at Djawaḻ’ŋur, just like me.
For myself, I sing that Matha Yambal. I will start with cloud, then sing guk’guk watching the tide pass by the python. Watching bul’manydji follow the tide.
Bonbarrmirri… Djarrimirri… Warrarraymirri…
These are the words I sing that we share, us Durruŋa, Ḻiyagalawumirr Birritjama and Djambarrpuyŋu. It’s about the shining water at night. Not just the moon shining, but inside the water, like a rainbow. I have heard Balanda call it big words like inflorescence, or bio-luminance, but we use our own yindi yäku (big names) for this water.
Today, Matha Yambal is there, standing as rock in the deep Murrupu water. But she’s not dead, or not really even asleep. Matha Yambal is alive. If you listen carefully you can hear.
I learnt this painting from my father, Colin Yerilil. He was a big ceremony man. When we had his funeral, Yolŋu came from all over Arnhem Land to pay respects. I sang all of his songs like this one here. Him and his brother Fred Ŋanganharralil painted this story. They learnt it from my gandfather Mark Manuwa.
Lots of their paintings are in museums today. I see them here at the art centre at the Djalkiri Keeping Place. We have photos of these paintings that are in Sydney and Melbourne and Canberra, even oversees in faraway places. I know the song, the story, the ceremony, the country, and now I can see my fathers’ paintings again. It makes me happy and feel strong.
