What does a place need to feel like home?

It’s been 12 weeks since I left the South Coast of New South Wales, an area that I called home for 20 years of my life. For a new season of life on Elcho Island, in the East Arnhem Land of the Northern Territory. Life on an island is so beautiful, but at times can be quite isolating. At the end of my first week I was feeling frustrated by a few miscommunications, difficulties with understanding the local Yolŋu language and different experiences to what I was expecting. In these moments in my life, I have found it incredibly helpful to talk with God as a close friend and tell him my thoughts and feelings. As it says in His word, ‘He will never leave us nor forsake us’ and ‘will answer us and bring comfort to us when we cry out to Him’. Through prayer, I felt peace, was able to sleep and rested into the discomfort.

In these moments, a friend who called this island home for a few years, compared his experience to a square peg trying to fit into a round hole; when we’re in a different culture and environment full of unfamiliarities and new opportunities to learn but relating everything to our ‘balanda’ (western, white or non indigenous) world view and society. It takes time to feel like you ‘fit’ or know your place within the community and the place you are in. It’s about embracing into the challenges and accepting that it will be different, but different is good. Losing your edges is sometimes uncomfortable or challenging, but it is beautiful to see a different perspective or way of viewing things.

The following day I got to spend some time yarning with some of the older local lads over at my new tiny house. One of them was the young man who adopted me as his brother (wäwa). His name is Wiŋ Wiŋ. It was nice to welcome these guys in, share some coffee and talk about how I was feeling. 

Something which the locals have regularly asked me is “nhämirr nhe” (in what condition or how are you). They have held interest in how I am adjusting to life on Elcho and looking out for how I am doing. I usually respond with manymak (good) or yaka manymak (not good), if the latter, I am often encouraged to rest or take time to slow myself down. This has always made me feel comfortable and find my place within community.

The following few days the staff (who I am working and living with) and I got to share a meal, have good conversations, play Catans and consider the year ahead. These moments of small comforts also set nerves at ease and allowed me to relax. The couple who are leading the school I am teaching at are Cam and Rach. They are an amazing couple who have lived on Elcho for over 9 years. God drew their heart to the people here years ago and it has been a privilege to work alongside them and learn from them, but it has also been refreshing to hang out with them and chat about life.

Across the next few weeks my freight arrived with my stuff (including some fave mugs and artworks), I caught my first coral trout, saw my first croc and got to meet each one of the incredible young men I’ll be working with and teaching across this next season.

Each week brings new challenges, opens up new adventures and I miss something different, but each week it continues to feel more like home.

Djutj djutj nha (see you later).