Is the Australian book Whitefella Wandering (2001, Fremantle Arts Centre Press, 262 pages) full of mysticism and spiritual experiences? Or has Phil Thomson, the author, packed its pages with nonsensical accounts of what could only be hallucinations? Readers must decide.
Sometimes humorous and insightful, Thomson, an actor, director and playwright, tells of his encounters with “blackfellas”, the aboriginal people of Australia and Papua New Guinea. There’s plenty to tell because Thomson has devoted much of his career to staging dramas, often together with indigenous performers, in small communities.
“Wherever we performed there would be a hundred kids at the front with a pack of dogs (and even a pig at one place). The older people tended to stay back in the darkness. They listened and enjoyed the show and found it valuable.”
Thomson refuses to make the same mistake as many travellers. “The tourists were just as shy of the local blackfellas as the blackfellas were of the whitefellas. It takes a little daring to make contact, and patience to stay around long enough to allow relationships the chance to develop. People travelling too fast across the country, or being too precious about their property, will never meet the people.”
When not writing or on stage, Thomson devotes much of his time to lying on his back and staring at the sky to contemplate ways of the world, notably the spirit world as envisioned by the aboriginals.
Readers witness unusual situations and funny moments. When the author visits one clan, “There were 10 adults in the house and countless kids. Meal times were quite peculiar: the food itself was a strange mix of local garden and tinned supplies, but it was the eating which was really weird. Everyone was using their knives and forks in completely different fashions. Some squeezed the implements between odd fingers, others twisted their wrists….
"A few days later, after eating with some fellow actors, I realized what was going on at home. When we next ate, I pretended I had trouble with my knife. I threw it and the fork down on the floor on which we sat and reached for the food with my fingers. Everybody’s cutlery tumbled down in unison…. Laughing with relief, they reached out and took handfuls of steaming greens and sweet potato.
“It was Momma who had demanded the family buy knives and forks for me, to make me comfortable at meal times, and insisted everybody use them. It was a lovely gesture.”
Old ways clash with new ones. “A war-painted, spear-carrying warrior had taught me how to control a four-wheel drive. That’s modern Papua New Guinea – the world’s greatest repository of unique cultures and languages turns to master the modern.”
Along the way, Thomson discovers “the secret power of the white man. We have far more influence than we deserve and we must be careful.”
When one of the author’s plays fails to win laughs, it’s because a local chief “in the island lauguage, which none of my fellow actors spoke, had said: ‘These people have come a long way to tell us a story. One of them is a white man so it must be important. If anybody laughs, there is going to be trouble’.”
Too often, “weird stuff” happens: “Lightning flashed across the horizon, green and orange…. The certainties of science became chimera. My trained mind snapped a few sprockets and I began to accept things I had long rejected and reject the accepted.”
On another day, “As we cut through surging green waves towards a smoking volcano, I saw the heads of old men gliding across the sea…. Clouds grew on a massive scale, not just piles of friendly fluff but tangible shapes of noses, chins and eyes. A string of busts of ancient men streamed across Hana Bay and into the mountains on the mainland.”
There’s much more: “A cat! This was a conservation zone, and domestic pets like cats and dogs were taboo…. I looked closely at the feral, but as I looked at the thing it shape-changed. Its nose shrank back into its face, and I sensed another body beneath. Not a curled feline shape, but something… manlike? I looked closer, in wonder, and poof! It disappeared.”
Luckily, wandering spirits can be ignored. “If any spirit ever bothers you, you should stand up to it, tell it to go away. It has no power over you unless you give it power.” Plus “most whitefellas are safe. Without belief the magic doesn’t penetrate our thick skins.”
Ultimately, Thomson’s yarns about his experiences with wandering spirits, “breathing caves”, magic necklaces, “red flickering demons” and aboriginal legends stretch too far and his credibility fades.
When non-fiction isn’t believable, it fails.
Approval rating: 19 per cent.
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