Rockin the Didg

A guitar might be an axe, but a didgeridoo is an axe handle....or a beating stick.....ok so maybe it's a log that makes cool noises. One this is for certain, I suck at it, but at least I have one now.

One of our fieldies, Jules Inaarmidir Gulamuwu, is an aboriginal from Arnhem Land. He lives in Oenpelli and when he was a young lad he was raised in the old ways by his grandfather. He was taught how to paint, how to make a didg, how to play the didg and most of all, how to survive in the bush. During some down time he's shown me a bunch of cool stuff. He showed me how to find water and several plants that I could eat if I had to. There's a sugar grass where you can chew on the root and it will energize you and quench your thirst. He also found some bush potatoes. Only the size of a pea, but if you're hungry enough you'd need 'em.

"The bush potato is sitting at the bottom of the hole I dug. When it's buried you can tell it's there by its stem (the thing that looks like a death mace and is just as pokey) to the left."

I asked him what sort of trees were around us and he started rattling off aboriginal names for them. Once I told him I couldn't pick up any of what he was laying down he told me some english names. A particularly hard one is the Iron Tree. They get used for spears and apparently also for defence, "If you're being chased by a buffalo, hide behind an iron tree, it will not break. You see that tree? (points to one beside it) That one will break very easy and then you in big trouble." - Jules

Toward the end of our little bush discussion I mentioned that I really wanted to pick up a didgeridoo before I head home. To which he simply said, "I'll make you one brother." The people of Arnhem Land were the first to use didgeridoos and they spread the knowledge to other tribes throughout Australia. So while they are found in souvenir shops everywhere in this country, they only truly belong to his people. I hope to sweet mother Mary of Christ that I can get it safely back to Canada. I consider it an honour to be given a traditional didg from the birthplace of their use. Of course, like everything in life it comes at a price. A 30 pack of Carlton Mid (tough to come by out here and useful for bargaining back in Oenpelli) and the deal was struck.

"Within 48hrs we'd cut down a proper sized branch and he'd shaved and sanded it. This is the before photo. I have some more photos of the tree that it came from."

Voila, I have my very own genuine didg (pronounced 'dij'). Evidently this one's name is Mago (Mah-go) and if I call it that I will have no bad dreams and the ancestors will respect my use of it. It took me a while to figure out how to make the proper sounds. I still don't really have the sort of range that an aboriginal can hit...and never will. Another cool thing about it is he made it the size that's normally played by his people. So when they'd have gatherings, funerals or dance, my size of didg is the one that's used. And now for the main event....