Another language, another land, another Australia

Within WWF-Australia, Tanya Vernes lives in the most remote region of us all. Up in the Kimberley it is almost like another world, with its own customs, lifestyle and even - as she explains - its own language.

I have to remind myself that things are done differently up here. I get so used to it that I forget it can cause some sort of culture shock for those who come from ‘down south’ or ‘over east’ as we refer to anyone outside of the Kimberley. 

 The languages are different - Kriol sneaks in to everyday English and there are creative definitions for old words: you don’t ’submerge’ something, you ‘drown’ it, and you might get away with ‘yelling’ but you’d probably ’sing out’ instead, unless you’re criticising someone in which case you’d ‘growl’ them. 

‘Liar’ is used for anything fake or imitation, so margarine would be ‘liar butter’ which, when I first heard it, gave me a good laugh.

 Using “deadly” might be understood if you were talking about a king brown track you’ve just picked up in the sand, but it is more likely to be used to describe something awesome: “That music is deadly!” 

 A teacher friend of mine in Halls Creek, new to the Kimberley, once asked her primary students to draw ‘deadly’ animals as part of her lessons on Australian ecology.  There was a snake, a crocodile and even a jellyfish…but there were also quite a few benign creatures.  Picking up the beautifully sketched picture of a cute, furry possum, she asked, “Why did you draw this?”

 The young Aboriginal student replied, “That’s a possum Miss, I like it the most, I reckon it is real deadly, that one!” 

 I asked a close friend of mine one day when he was talking, what does ‘dakarnd’ mean in his language. 

 ”Dakarnd?” he repeated, and looked at me for a minute, then realising my Kriol wasn’t up to scratch, said ‘that kind’. 

 I should have realised, for it’s the same with “thackaway” for “that way” or ‘deejay’ for ‘this way’.

 I heard a man talking to another yesterday. As he walked away he said something in English that my colleague found undecipherable.  I translated for him “Ok then, I’ll keep going”.  It was said all in English but words running into each other. I thought nothing of it but my colleague couldn’t understand one word. 

 It reminded me of when I started my job at WWF eight years ago, and was sent almost immediately out to the remote desert community. I felt like I’d arrived in a new land within my own country I never knew existed, where they spoke a language I’d never heard before.  I remember asking people to repeat themselves so often that in the end I would just nod and smile as much as I could get away with it. 

 It was the heavy accent, and also the mix of Kriol, Walmajarri and Kukatja often thrown in which made it difficult for me to distinguish when they were speaking to me and when they were talking to each other.  But, we persevered - the locals and I both and I can say I’m definitely the better for it. 

 I never tire of the landscape, and I frequently remind myself of how privileged I am to work with such dedicated and accepting people.  The differences that shocked me when I first arrived are still here but I’ve grown so used to them that I often forget they exist. It takes an outsider to remind me, through their questions or perplexed mien, that it’s still another country, with another language.