My skin name is Napaltjarri. I spent an hour or so one day last week, sitting in the dirt outside the office with some elders and a traditional owner while they taught me all about the P kinship system. I'm Tjappaljarri's brother, Naparrulas mother (that's all I can remember), oh and I have a few sons and daughters for those who thought they'd never see the day - Eat ya shorts -. Skin names are given at birth (unless you're a white fella) to distinguish relationships between family groups. There are 8 male and 8 female skins I learnt. My second lesson is to come this week when we meet in the dirt out the front. It's moments like these that see me through another day.

It's a world of contradictions out here. I better not elaborate on that in writing....., but lest I say the RSPCA and the ACF would have a field day out here. I don't know where the media get their information from but "they liars".

This week myself and C took 5 kids to Alice Springs for a sports carnival at the Lutheran indigenous school there, plus 2 kids to drop off along the way at "B As" which is a detox joint for severe petrol sniffers. It's actually an outstation in the middle of somewhere too far to run away from - though I'm told there are those that try -. I got myself "A learners guide to P La" in Alice before I came to K so I spent the 7 hour drive getting some lessons from the kids. When I realised there didn't appear to be any translations for please, thank you, goodbye or hello I enquired with Lizzie what the word is for 'goodbye', she thought about it for a few seconds, looked at me with a tilted head and said "See you". It was pretty funny! Boy does the beer taste good, I've taken "tes leck an englche dut up men tonga pist" out of the closet (It's like an angel pissing on my tongue in Flemmish). aaaah the useless things I remember.. .......

Hi Everyone,

Well this is all very new to me, the whole Blog thing so I trust as guinea pigs you'll tell me how it goes if it's wrong.

It's Sunday afternoon in my 3rd year, I mean week in K. This morning was a particularly intriguing experience, as I, for the first time in my life, attended church out of choice. Church in K is what one might label as interesting indeed. I'm not sure what 'mainstream' church is like, but one thing I do is that it can be nothing even remotely like K church. It starts anywhere between 9 and 10.30am in the morning depending on how the pastor is fairing. The first bell signals that he's out of bed. The second bell follows when he's ready to think about his sermon and the third, we'll be starting soon.

Church - A tin shed with what one would consider to be 4 walls, though it really is an open air church. Open to flies, ferrel dogs, children, babies and adults alike. Some take their places on the dirt floor and some on the tin bench seats in front of the alter.

The Alter - A concrete slab with what looks to be an old 1970's desk with a wooden cross nailed to the front of it. Depictions from bible scenes hang behind the 'desk', corners curling and orange with age and what is probably only days worth of dust.

The pastor- (It's a lutheran church) - a big burly W man called R. R wears Blundstones ( I'm impressed- shoes a rarity), an old pair of blue jeans, his white gown with a blue sash around his neck (sorry I don't know the lingo) and a red head band around his forehead.

The service - P L is not an easy language to follow, even when you have a translated hym book in front of you. The entire service was in language, which one had expected. Amazing Grace like I've never heard it before. Dogs barking, growling and fighting under my 'pew'. Dirt flying. Flies in my ears and eyes. A chorus of Phlegm and spitting as people and dogs wandered in and out.

Church in K. I think it's safe to say 'I bin' been there, bin done that'.
I don't have photos of church to share, but there are some others to look at.

Stay Tuned. Al