I don’t have a bucket list of things I want to do in my life. But, when I developed an extreme fear of flying late last year, there suddenly appeared a whole host of things I worried I would never be able to do. And one of those things that I couldn’t get out of my mind was visiting the two islands, both threatened by rising sea levels, where my aka (grandmother) was born and grew up: Poruma and Warraber.
They are two islands in the central Zenadth Kes (Torres Strait), the Kulkalgal Nation. My aka was born on Poruma where she began her schooling, but moved regularly between both islands.
When I started writing and thinking about this piece, I called my aka and asked her what these two islands were like when she lived there.
...one of those things that I couldn’t get out of my mind was visiting the two islands, both threatened by rising sea levels, where my aka (grandmother) was born and grew up: Poruma and Warraber.
“Warraber was big and round,” she said. “You could get lost in the bush. Poruma was long with bush mostly on the Eastern side. Our family’s land was called Gaigal Kuth (sunset end).”
Aka explained that children, who were everyone’s responsibility, mostly played on the beach, building sandcastles and using their imagination because there were no toys. They shared stories around the bonfire, learned traditional dances, singing and copied the adults. The church had a strong influence on their daily lives. During her childhood, Christmas was about the birth of Jesus and not Santa Claus and toys and Sunday was strictly observed as a day of rest. Although the government controlled all aspects of life, our people still learnt about respect and traditional values and tried to make the most of what they had.
Ten years ago, when I was 15, me and my family visited Warraber. We met family, walked the island and took plenty pictures. I took one standing on the main road where I could see both ends of the island. Another was of me and my family sitting by a tree near the lapping water.
“That tree is dead now,” Aka told me. “All eaten up. Its roots have come out because of rising sea levels. The island is on a sandy cay, on coral. The erosion has worsened in many areas. Nothing and no-one seem to help."
My race to get back to these islands is against two enemies. One is my mind: the fear of heights, of confinement, and specifically planes. It’s a phobia that has undone a lot of me, consuming my mind in life and in my dreams. And the other fear, far more upsetting and impactful, is the battle every other Torres Strait Islander is facing. Climate change.
“That tree is dead now,” Aka told me. “All eaten up. Its roots have come out because of rising sea levels." Source: Supplied
The rising sea levels are changing the landscape of these islands, changing what was once an island where you could get lost, into a place where people are moving their homes further inland. There is not an infinite amount of land.
The rising sea levels are changing the landscape of these islands, changing what was once an island where you could get lost, into a place where people are moving their homes further inland.
When we flew to Warraber in two small charter planes, where, if I wanted to (and I really didn’t) I could have leaned over and touched the pilot’s controls, I remember noticing the beauty of the turquoise ocean, spotted with white foam, and darkened by rocks and coral at its bed — magical. I remember looking at the plane’s wing and noticing a loose screw.
I wonder now, what I will see when I can next get myself on an aircraft. Will I see the same shapes, the same dancing lines? When I land, will I see the same houses edging the shoreline?
COVID restrictions made travel to the Torres Strait Islands impossible for some of this year. My family events were cancelled or postponed. I worried what would happen if the sickness reached my people there. For my studies I planned on traveling to the islands to research what young people want to see in fiction books, but changed my plan when things converted to online.
As I write this, there is currently a case against the Australian federal government brought by Torres Strait Islanders to the Human Rights Committee of the United Nations.
As I write this, there is currently a case against the Australian federal government brought by Torres Strait Islanders to the Human Rights Committee of the United Nations. A has been circling on my socials, asking for support. Read about it. Sign it.
I feel I could write endlessly about this; it’s definitely something I’ve spent a lot of time thinking on. Last time I was in the Torres Strait was Christmas 2019. I sat between my mother and partner, the rest of my family sitting throughout the two-by-two-seater plane. I avoided looking at the propellers, forcefully and loudly pushing us through the air. I avoided looking out the window at all. But when we landed on Horn Island and ferried over to Waibene (Thursday Island) where my mother was born, a calm came over me. A knowing of safety and peace. We spent barely a week on T.I. that Christmas but it was one of the best holidays I’ve had in a long time. Though leaving it left me wanting, it left me hoping for a quick and safe return.
Jasmin is a Torres Strait Islander and African American working as a junior editor at while studying writing. This story is edited by Mununjali author for SBS Voices and is part of a essay series inspired by the 2020 theme 'Always Was, Always Will Be'.
National NAIDOC Week (8 – 15 Nov 2020) celebrates the history, culture and achievements of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples. Join SBS and NITV for a full slate of NAIDOC Week content. For more information about NAIDOC Week or this year’s theme, head to the official NAIDOC Week website. #NAIDOC2020 #AlwaysWasAlwaysWillBe
