However, whilst I was up there, it had occurred to me that, in the two and a half years that I was living up there, I had never visited Kakadu National Park. I'd visited other places, such as Berry Springs, Litchfield National Park, and even Katherine Gorge, but never Kakadu. I guess it had been because (a) I figured that it'd be crawling with tourists, and (b) it was a few hours away, and you needed to spend a couple of days out there to make the most of it.
However, I found myself in Darwin with two days to kill, so I hired a car, woke up with the sun, and drove out to Jabiru - the main township that is located in the middle of the national park. My hotel was shaped like a crocodile.
After visiting the visitor centre, and working out where everything was, I headed south to Nourlangie Rock. I was fortunate enough to catch one of the ranger's talks at Anbangbang Shelter, and she talked about this history of the site. In the tropical heat of the Top End, the rocky outcrops of Stone Country provided nature's air-conditioning, and this was the first thing I noticed as I entered the shelter - it was nice and cool and you completely forgot that you were up in the tropics. The shelter was used by the local indigenous people predominantly during the wet season, when the floodlands were inundated, and shelter was needed from the rain.
Other than being an obvious place for shelter, there were other signs that the place had been inhabited for generations. The rocks on the ground were dotted with small round bowl-shaped hollows - the result of thousands of years of grinding local seeds and lily-root for making food.
And, on the walls, was the rock art. Rock art provided a number of purposes. Firstly, it acted like a menu for the area. It let people know what food you were able to find locally. This was apparent, both at Nourlangie, as well as Ubirr, which I visited later on.
Secondly, it was a way of storytelling and preserving their culture. There were a number of dreaming sites, where indigenous people went to learn the various dreamings, and it's interesting to note that, whilst many consider Australian Indigenous cultures to be a "oral tradition", the visual is also very much a part of the storytelling tradition, whether it be through rock art, or bark paintings, etc. A dreaming such as the Rainbow Serpent, as shown below (located at Ubirr), provides not only the basis for preserving culture through storytelling, but also dictates the cultural laws that are necessary both for survival in a somewhat-hostile environment, but also to maintain social harmony within indigenous nations, through kinship laws.
And, of course, the librarian in me noted: Aren't these all things that libraries aim to do in this day and age? Provide safe and inclusive community spaces. Provide opportunities for the free flow of information and preservation of culture and knowledge, whether it be local mythology and storytelling and / or the local knowledge, and "secret business" (there were places in Kakadu that I wouldn't be able to visit, due to secret women's business, etc). To create a space where somebody can express themselves. To be able to immortalise yourself through the act of making a hand-print on a rock that would remain for thousands of years, through which time civilisations have risen and crumbled.
Most importantly, it's been through these sites that Australian indigenous culture has remained alive for thousands, if not tens of thousands of years. Some of the sites have been dated as having been used by local people for at least 20,000 years, but possibly up to 60,000 years. And it's the same dreaming that is being taught in indigenous communities these days.
For a culture to be maintained for that period of time is awe-inspiring. It highlights the importance of the relationship between a place and its community, and how strong communities can maintain a culture of storytelling. I wonder if our current library spaces will have the same role in preserving modern culture, when people look back at us thousands of years from now.
