Tag Archives: Cable Beach

Get a Life

Eric, I hope I got the name right, a Yawuru man, told me this story.

“Let’s say I come to your house and take a spot on the sofa in your sitting room. No invite was sent to you and neither did I write to inform you of my arrival. One day, I just opened your door and made myself comfortable. You probably are perplexed and having never faced this type of problem before, you would be busy looking for a socially acceptable way to get me off your property, right?

Before you could say hey, I opened your door and invited more folks of my kind in and now I have more of my folks than you have people of your type occupying your property. Space becomes an issue and I moved my folks to take over some of your rooms since the sitting room is no longer adequate for our needs. With that, you and your folks get driven to the backrooms. You started to fight back, just trying to lay claim to some ownership of your property that has suddenly come to be classified as “terra nullius” by me.

Just then, I dropped the salvo,  going forward there are a few rules that I will like you to abide with and then I took your toilet and turned it into a jail. One in which I will lock any member of your family that doesn’t keep my laws. Now, I make the rules and you are, for your sake, constrained to the backyard of the house. You cried for justice, no one listens to you. You fight to get a piece of foothold on your property back and I put you and the rebelling members of your family in jail. Having perused your circumsttance, you cameout of jail reformed and see the futility in kicking against me. All you want now is to live your life the way you have been doing before I arrived but I would have none of it. All you could hear me say, to every complaint of yours, is that you should go get a life and stop crying over the past.”Go figure and thereafter tell me how you’ll feel, he said at the conclusion of his story. It was a sombre learning experience and one that I kept ruminating about for the day.

Broome Regional Prison

As we made our way to the Courthouse market, seeing the Regional Prison close by gave me the jitters. I couldn’t stop thinking of how many Aborigines are locked away therein and what the gravity of their offenses might have been. I wondered what opportunities become open or closed to them upon release, never knowing that I would get an answer to this in an encounter later in the day. The constant patrol of the streets by police vehicles was also not lost to me. All these, i observed, made for a complex relationship between the first nation people and those of us that have come much later tocall this land home.

The marketplace shows the difference in the races. Close to the entrance, we watched an aborigine artist busy working on a canvas in the open sun, no tent to provide him with cover from the elements. His works, all brilliant pieces, were displayed on the green lawn of the courthouse and there were a couple of people examining each piece with interests. On the other hand, on the main ground of the market were a couple of tents that bear insignias of galleries. The sales persons were comfortably seated on the chairs, with the arts framed, placed and arranged with the idea to command some good prices from potential buyers.

Courthouse Market

Walking around the market gives one an insight into the economy and therefore, political power, in this north-western city. It goes without saying that commerce is entirely in the hands of non-Aborigines, we could not find any business owned or represented by an indigenous person. The only “black” business we saw was a cloth stall manned by someone of African ancestry. The food stalls and pearls tents were mainly Asians with the Caucasians holding forth on everything else. The market was crowded and many stalls have people queuing to patronize them – the juice and food stalls especially. Kids were engrossed in playing on the grasses at the foot of the courthouse and, soon, they were being entertained by a group of Aborigine guitar players who were dishing out melodious tunes.

We checked out a couple of pearls, these weren’t cheap by any standard. Thereafter, we ordered our meals from the food vendors. One of the vendor, barbequing beef on a charcoal grill talked to us about his unique italian grill, one that has been custom made for his use. With nothing more to be done at the market, we walked the short distance from the courthouse to Chinatown. We sat near a make shift stage where two siblings were trying theirskills out on the keyboard and singing out lines scrolling from an ipad. Passer byes in attempts to encourage them of a future career in music were dropping coins in their guitar case and there was a fair bit of coins in it by the time we left.

It seemed that all tourists, without announcing to us, had converged here. We walked past the Sun Picture theatre, a theatre that claims to be the world’s oldest picture gardens still in operation. It survived the 1942 Japanese World War II attack on the city. The irony was, during this attack, the city had its fair population of Japanese working in the Pearling industry, yet this did not deter the bombing from Japan. The contributions of the Japanese to the city is encapsulated in the tombs of the individuals buried in the Japanese Cemetery located on Port Drive, an area that we were later to drive past in the evening.

Broome is the pearl capital of the world, so we expected some good bargain. At the intersection of Carnavon and Shorts Streets, we saw the Paspaley Pearls Broome showroom and went in. The jewels were all lovely and we got educated on the significance of pearls and the differences between the salt and freshwater pearls. We were told that pearls are the only jewels made by living organism. Saf was, by now, so much interested in getting a set of these pearls for herself and I was lost in reconciling the astonishing high prices on display with the low sense of value that I have for the sight I was beholding. When asked why the prices seemed high, the attendant told us of the hours of labour it takes to farm a single pearl over a 2 year period and informed of a set that had taken two generations to produce but recently sold for over two million dollars. An elderly man, within hearing distance, retorted saying that is enough reasons for anyone without deep pockets not to come into the store and advised that a signboard should be placed outside – “Poor people, do not enter”.

Still interested in a bargain, we turned to Dampier Terrace and entered a few shops with these jewels in dazzling displays and more dazzling prices. In one, Saf was actually encouraged to put some of the necklaces on and take some pictures with them. They looked good but I still couldn’t fathom why they are ridiculously costly. Thirsty, we turned into the Roebuck Bay Hotel bar for a drink only to be met by scantly dressed ladies in their underwears, the girls were especially nice and having taken our lime, lemon and bitters, we left the bar. The crowd here shows that this will be a great watering hole at night time but the night crawlers were still sleeping at this hour of the day.

Women of Pearling

Walking back to our accommodation, we stopped for a break and sat on a roadside bench directly in front of Bedford Park, the location of Broome’s War Memorial. Hamersley Street separates us from the “Women of Pearling” statue, a 3 metre bronze cast statue of an indigenous woman diver coming out of the water, pearl shell in hand that is dedicated to the women who have contributed to Broome’s pearling history for over a century. It was another way through which Australia is confronting its past. Here, the monuments acknowledges the exploitation that occurred during the ‘blackbirding’ phase. “Blackbirding” was  the forcible kidnapping of Aboriginal women to pearl luggers, where they dived for pearl shells in deep water, often without breathing apparatus. Unsurprisingly, many of the women drowned. We were absorbed in taking in all this information when a group of Aborigines passed by. The women called out to my wife “Hey Sista” to which she replied courteously. One of the men coming behind extended his hands in a gesture of friendliness to me.

After a very refreshing sleep, we made for Cable Beach to watch the sunset. We stopped, along the way at Woolworth’s to pick some groceries. My wife had gone inside the mall and I was a little behind her. In the little pathway that leads from the car to the entrance of the mall, I was stopped by a mid-aged Aborigine man, I guessed he must be in his early forties. With a friendly mien, he had called out “Hey, Brother”. To which I answered, “Hi, how are you”. That  response caused him to stop on the path, blocking my way.

Broome War Memorial

“You know, this path is not big enough for me and you to pass”, he said.
I was a little scared but responded “Is that so?”
“Yes and that’s why I have shifted left so that you can pass” and as he said this, he moved sideways to create a way for me.
“Oh, that’s kind of you but I will also shift aside for you to pass as well” I responded and then shifted to the other side.

He had a cigerrete in his hand, about to light it.”Where are you from, brother”, he said.
“Nigeria and you know we are all the same”
“You know, I just got out of Prison man. In there, I met a man, a good man, just like you. He really was nice to me”
“Oh, okay, good to know that. So how are you?” I asked.
“My name is Aaron, what is yours?”
“Olu is my name”
“That is a difficult one to pronounce”, he said and made effort in pronouncing something that sounded like Orlu. So I spelt it for him.
He extended his hand and we shook and parted ways.

We made it to Cable Beach just in time to see the first camel train commencing tits walk up the beach and were fully setup by the time they returnied, treading close to the beach for that amazing picture with the sunset as a backdrop. Everywhere we looked, people were busy enjoying this natural environment provided by the calm sea. Not too far a distance from us, there were a couple of people riding ATVs up and down the sand dunes. Humanity had been locked in by Covid19 and was now released! The young, old and not so old were everywhere. The low tide of the ocean turns the beach into a solid flat land that runs for more than a kilometer from the point of entry near a set of weathered rocks precariously laying scattered. We took our cxhairs and watched the sunset, it was all peaceful here.

Old women tell tales

Despite having yet to immerse ourselves in any activity in Broome, we decided after our first night to extend our planned stay by two additional days. For two reasons. First, and the more important, medically I was scared. The toothache that I started nursing in Port Hedland was still an issue, very sensitive and painful. If I needed to go to an emergency for a fix, I don’t want to be in the middle of nowhere. Secondly, in some ways that I was yet to fathom, Broome is appealing to us. My first trip to Broome, a couple of years back, left me with the idea that it was just one over-hyped Australian town. It seems I am in a different Broome this time. The sights and the busyness that we saw from our arrival at the town till we got settled in the lovely room that will be our accommodation during our stay are inviting.

Again, we woke up late. Not because we didn’t have things planned to do but more as a result of the comfiness of the bed and the room we slept. This morning, the idea is to have a good breakfast and then leisurely stroll along the closest beach, the town beach. It took us some time before we made it to the beach, following google map direction was awry today. As we pulled the Explorer to a vacant parking slot, next to the hill, we found ourselves next to the pioneer cemetery consisting of graves, some dating back to the 1800’s. Truly, Broome has a lot of history tucked up in various areas of the town. Hunger would not allow Saf to do much exploring, so we hasted towards the little cafĂ© with the commanding view of the ocean and the large expanse of mud flats, the Town Beach CafĂ©. Unfortunately it was closing in some few minutes time and wouldn’t offer us enough time to savour our meal so we chose to go somewhere else.

However, prior to leaving, the coconut trees along the beach and the sights of families playing in the mud at a distance were inviting, so we took to the beach. The most captivating one was that of a woman, backing us, seated on the sandy shores in a camping chair with her sight on the beach and the happening there. She cuts a sight of sereneness and I immediately fell in love with her unique definition of the essence of living, all expressed in the way she had chosen to spend her time. We soon passed by her side and made for as close to the flats as we could get, intent on not getting our footwears soiled. A few pictures here and there and we soon found ourselves not far from her front.

“Can I take a picture of you two”, she called out?
“Yes, please”, we answered, “we will like that”
She was soon off her chair and with a little prepping we handed our phone over to her. I lifted Saf up with all the strength I had, after all “Igbeyawo” in the yoruba land where I come from, interpreted as marriage in English, literally means a man carrying up his wife. She really took her time and all these while all the alarm signals in my body were telling me to drop the load I was carrying. Saf was enjoying it and I was determined to get a shot of me carrying her up. The woman finally did the task and beaming with laughter asked “Where are you two love birds from”? This is a question that we are constantly asked, everywhere we show up. Sometimes, we choose to be upfront in providing the answer and other times we’ll like to leave people guessing. This time I answered “We are from Nigeria but currently live in Perth”.

The mention of Nigeria prompted some discussions about skin colour and I told her that, all our way here we’ve not been in any position where we felt discriminated or treated untowardly because of our skin colour. She mentioned that she doesn’t see colours and sees us as wonderful people.

With that the lovely lady went into telling us how beautiful Western Australia is and wonders why more West Australians fly to Bali, Singapore and the sorts without getting familiar with the with the adventures in their backyard. Aged 71, she talked of having moved here almost 52years ago from new South Wales and just wouldn’t go back. She mentioned she has been coming to Broome since then and just like me, Broome did not appeal to her initially but eventually sucked her in. We were enjoying the dialogue with her and encouraged her on with a few clarifying questions here and there. She told us of her annual drive, pulling her caravan, to spend the summer months here in Broome away from the cold, chilly winters in Mandurah. Saf’s hair was attractive to her and she pointed out a few places such as the crocodile farm, the courthouse market, the walk around the coast etc, all areas where we can spend some time exploring.

Before she will let us depart, she would want us to listen to a story about her encounter with an Aborigine man on one of her 32 trips across the Nullarbor. She talked of having picked up the man in Ceduna, in South Australia, where he was stranded and helped him as far as he wanted to go on the trip to Western Australia. At a roadhouse along the way, the man came down, thanked her for her generosity and warned her of a coming encounter that she would have with a wombat by 4pm that very day. He told her not to attempt killing it but allow the wombat to go its way. According to her, exactly 4pm, as she continued with her journey, a wombat crossed the road in front of her and made for the other hedge of the road. She said she was awe struck and disquieted. How could this have been and such a precision in timing? Her later discussions, according to her, with Aboriginal elders informed her that the wombat was the totem of the man he had earlier carried.

With that story, we thanked her and made our way back to the Explorer. She was very delighted that we listened to all she had to say and sent back to take her seat. I had my various thoughts on what I have heard and whether there were some colorations in the story to show some love for people of my skin colour. I am used to that and have developed a thick skin towards such hidden biases and prejudice.

We made it to cable beach and settled for lunch at the iconic Zanders situated just right on the beach with its splendid view of the ocean and the sun. A young lady was playing on her guitar on the green lawn outside the restaurant with three little kids gentle seated by her absorbing her sonorous voice. The restaurant was moderately full, it wasn’t yet the evening time when all seats become unavailable.

As we were about entering, we encountered a couple, holding hands and walking towards us. We chatted them up, commenting on how lovely it was to see them holding hands at their age given that the marriage institution is almost dead in Australia. They acknowledged this and got interested in knowing where we are originally from. Nigeria, we said and this made them to delve into details about all the unfavourable news they have watched on television. The most recent being life in Lagos where many live in floating slums on water. I saw it as a great opportunity to correct the single story narrative.  I took time to explain that what they have heard and seen were all true, even the scams as well, but these represent a tiny fraction of the Nigerian story. I talked of how my children are complaining of the lower accommodation standard they’ve had to put up here in Australia compared with what they had in Lagos. Talked a bit about the other stories that are not making the news, the ingenuity of the Nigerian, the ongoing contributions of people of Nigerian ancestry to the Australian story and more important, the care and concerns that Nigerians have towards family.

I talked a little bit about population, telling them of the fifteen million people in Lagos and how that compares with the twenty five million that Australia has as a whole. Yet the whole land mass of Nigeria at a little over 900,000kms is just about a third of that of the state of Western Australia and less than one-eighth of the entire Australia. They were surely more enlightened and grateful. It was then they revealed the secret of their holding each other’s arms. They are doing it not purely out of love but necessity. Each one has had a knee replacement surgery. The man, on the right leg and, the woman on the left. So, to steady each other, they’ve resorted to holding hands. They further informed of their quest to journey upwards from Broome to a solitary spot by the ocean, an escarpment located within an Aborigine settlement where they plan on camping for the next three months. However, there are still restrictions in place regarding travels to Aborigine community. With a hint that smacks of cynicism, they mentioned how there is a fear that the indigenous population will be wiped away if Covid19 were to enter into these remote villages. They just don’t have the resistance that we have, that was the way they ended it.

It was a late breakfast that we had, something akin to lunch. By the time we were done, we took a leisure walk on the beach savouring the beautiful sight of the ocean and the broken rocks that have been washed ashore over time by it. We got back into the Explorer a little much later and headed to the beach, clearly marked as something allowed only for 4WDs. Many more vehicles were already here to catch the sunset and take pictures of the Camel Trains as they carried tourists on their backs using the red sunset as a great backdrop, with their shadows reflecting back from the low waters on the edges of the point where the waves break.

Watching the camels, their passengers, the leads and guides holding the ropes was awesome. The wheel of commerce, well camouflaged as tourism, was in full motion. There were a lot more activities going on in different areas of the beach and at the very end is the nude area. Humanity comes in different shapes and sizes and for nature lovers, they would rather bare it all. Afterall, naked we came to this world and naked we will all go. For many, however, in-between our entry and exit points to the earth, it is a good thing to cover it all.

With the camels gone, and the sun having disappeared from the horizon, it was now operation find Saf. She had been gone for more than 40 minutes and should have been back. I got in then Explorer and started scouting the beach for her. As soon as I caught up with her, it was bye-bye to Cable Beach for the day.