In 1993 I was working as a young criminal lawyer for Aboriginal Legal Aid in the Northern Territory. One day I was sent to the remote community of Yirrkala in north-east Arnhem Land to pay our respects at the funeral of Roy Dadaynga Marika, the father of land rights. Overwhelmed by the beauty and richness of the ceremony and the shock of seeing my first dead body, I staggered out of the funeral shelter and turned back for a moment to take a photo of the pomp and colour of the scene, including the beautiful woman sitting right in front of me.
The moment I pointed the camera at her she turned towards me with a look of disgust that seemed to say, Who is this ignorant tourist? I later found out she was Merrkiyawuy Ganambarr, Marika's adopted daughter. Some months later I was back in Yirrkala, fishing at the local beach. An old lady had shown my dad a foolproof secret fishing spot on my previous trip.
Merrkiyawuy was on the beach with her friends, assuring them I would never catch anything. Just then, to everyone's surprise, I caught a massive cod. Merrkiyawuy and her friends rushed over to congratulate me and offered to help me cook it, but I was so shy in front of this beautiful woman that I grabbed the fish and took off.
A couple of months later we ended up at the same party in Darwin where everyone was dancing on the lawn. When the music slowed down Merrkiyawuy asked me to dance but I told her I didn't know how. She dragged me to the centre of the lawn as the song changed to Anne Murray singing Could I have this dance for the rest of my life? I slumped on her, the way we did at primary school socials, as that was the only step I knew.
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