They hadn’t seen rain on the farm for seven years. Glenda had tried to tell her father that it was because the wandjina had not been repainted in that time, but he wouldn’t listen. No aboriginal was going to step on his land to do any stupid ceremony of any sort. Besides the weather was due to La Nina or Il Nino, everyone knew that!
Glenda wasn’t convinced. She’d read up on the subject. It made sense to her; aboriginal people had lived here for so long they must have learned to dream with the elements. To work with it. To manipulate it. One day when her father was in town she let the tribal elders onto her property to repaint the wandjina.
Two days after they were painted clouds appeared in the sky. It rained for seven weeks non stop. All the land flooded and the rivers burst their banks. When the sun came out the greening of the land began.
Her father made plans for the farm. “See, it was just the climate changing after all. Il Nino, La Nina, whichever brings the rains!” He went off whistling happily for the first time in years.
Glenda made a note in next year’s diary. A little reminder to herself to remember the wandjina before the next monsoon season was due.
Copyright April 2013