Tête en bas

New day, new talk, with two aboriginals this time, at Uluru culture center. They talk about the plants and the seeds they use, about their history too. A little. They tell us some stories about the place. If the guy seems to be happy and to enjoy the situation, the woman looks sad and nostalgic. I can easily understand why. The day before, the ranger told us “there’s no more ceremonies at Uluru. Now, ceremonies are held in Kata Tjuta. Because they can last for up to 3 months, which doesn’t work with tourists. A part of Kata Tjuta is forbidden to white fellows. It’s a compromise”. The word staid in my mind. Trying to see where was the compromise. I’m trying to imagine, telling catholics “you have to leave the Vatican, but instead, we leave you a little bit of Notre Dame for your mass”. I’m trying to see the compromise, but I can’t see it. I just see that aboriginal are doing their best to keep a little bit of a really important place for them. Uluru is “cultural patrimonies of the world” according to Unesco. We’re not talking about a natural wonder or something like that. We’re talking about culture. “Uluru is like the bible of the aboriginal people, except we can’t print it, we can’t move it”. It has been build by their own ancestors. Every holes in the rock, every color on the rock, have a story that link them to the past. We’re talking about the “creation time”. We can’t say “dream time” anymore. It’s not politically correct. Because “dream” does not sounds as real as “creation”. I don’t care. I still prefer talking about “dream time”. I find it much more beautiful. During the dream time, aboriginal ancestors were living here. They were much more bigger. And polymorph. Sometime animals, sometime humans, sometime plants. You can see here the python eggs. There, it’s an impact of a spear. And there it’s the burning skin of a snake.

Aboriginal did not live in Uluru. They were living in the plains, nomads following the food. When children were old enough to be initiate to the rite that will made them adult, they had to go to the rock with there grand parents. Uluru was frighting them. Uluru was impressive. Going there meant that you were about to leave childhood. But also that you were going to spend time inside the rock. Lessons were giving in small cave on the side of the rock. Imagine that you’ve been living outside all your life, and that you’re suddenly inside this huge symbol. You can’t see outside anymore. You’re cut from everything you used to know…

I’m writing a few days after being there. I’ve been sleeping in a swag for a little bit more than 10 days now. Looking at the stars. Days after days. And enjoying the taste of the first sunshine every morning. After only 10 days, I declined an invitation to sleep inside, in a warm place. Because I don’t want to sleep inside anymore. I’m just really happy outside. After only 10 days.

Australian government decided to help the aboriginal, to “civilized” them. They built communities. They built houses. Aboriginal didn’t understand what it was. They kept sleeping outside. Still today, lots of the aboriginals who come to town (Alice Springs) still sleep outside. In the dry bed of the river, with a fire on there side.

The first time I came to Uluru, with Cassie, I was planning to climb to the top. I wanted to enjoy the view we can have from there. It was, for me, a way to have a communion with the rock. To feel it all around me. And it’s also because I can’t see a mountain without climbing it. It’s not forbidden. There’s a way to the top. Lot of people take it. But at the beginning of the climb, there’s this sign “please, don’t climb Uluru. It’s a sacred place for us, and when there is accident, it makes us very sad”. “Sad”… that’s the word that changed my mind. It was not about being chocked, or aggressed, or frustrated. It was just sadness. But why not completely forbid the access to the top? One of the back fellow explains it really well. “You can’t force people to respect something with a law. You can have people respect by teaching and education. By asking people to make a choice. Not by forcing it. That’s the reason we don’t want to forbid climbing the rock. We want people to understand and respect our culture”. What aboriginal also try to explain to tourists is “Tjukurpa”. It’s the basement of the society, of the religion, of the law, of the moral and the culture of the Anangu peoples (the aboriginal tribes leaving in central Australia). Aboriginals learn it slowly. Starting when they are young, and learning it, year after year. What tourists learn is the children stories. They are teaching the link between the human, the plants, the animals, and the earth. Tjukurpa tells about creation of all the living species and the landscape. Tjukurpa teach aboriginal how to behave all together. Tjukurpa is the Law. There way of life. There way to be. They just ask us to understand it. Because as one of the aboriginal said, “white culture is number one. Black culture is number one. Because there’s no culture more important than the other. They are all equal”. But on this point, I think tourists need much much more education…

The first time I went to Uluru, it sounds absolutely normal for me to come here, to walk around, and to check there sacred site without asking myself any question. I was even planed, as I said, to have a look to the top. And then, they taught me. I’ve been listening with my eyes and my ears wide open. Fascinated, as I was discovering the oldest still alive culture. A culture who, even being 40,000 years old, still change. “The inside of the rock is black. The outside is red. Uluru knew that white men where coming” (white men who are really often red, indeed, in the middle of the desert). The rock is amazing from far away. From closer, the contact is different. Much more intimate. At least, intimate when you don’t have those flows of tourists walking around, chatting, shooting, laughing. What they want is just a picture of them, in front of the most famous monolith in the world. I realize, today, that I hope Uluru will be closed to tourists one day. Or open only with a long brief before. I wish the aboriginals have this sacred place back to them. So amazing, so important for them. We can enjoy the rock from far away. Just being amaze by its beautifulness, so that black fellows can keep it for them. No one would say “no, sorry, you can’t tell mass anymore, because people must be able to visit the cathedral any time”. But no one is chocked that it happens here. I’ve been educated, and I understand. And I’m a bit sad. That’s one of the reason I wanted to work as a tour guide. To share this knowledge. To educate people. The ranger who gave the talk yesterday doesn’t go to the place who use to be for men only. People here are learning. Some tourists too. But definitely not enough.