Yirrkala, April 2026
This week we’re in Yirrkala for a Corrugated Iron holiday program. Yirrkala is nestled in beautiful East Arnhem Land, 22 kilometres away from Nhulunbuy/Gove. The population is around 650 and the local
language groups are Yolngu Matha based.
I’m travelling with my good friend and colleague, Nat Lesley (Miss Nutella), who will be supporting our circus activity and running the dance program. We both get to support each other and learn some skills in the process.
We’re staying at accommodation on community, which is managed by the Arts Centre, walking distance from here. I have a room upgrade due to a mix up with the booking system, so I have a large aircon space with a clock that stopped at 4.13pm, some time ago. Time is less important here. We live in the now. In language there isn’t even a word for “the future”. There is just; now, later today, or later indefinitely.
Our program begins softly, with young people popping in to share some time with us to see what we’re about. It’s drop-in style, between the hours of 3-8pm. They come, check us out, have a little look-see and a play, maybe they’re interested, maybe they’re not. Then the whispers ripple out through the community that something is happening in the Rec Hall, a Torres Strait Islander lady and some chick from up North of the world with some toys.
It could be fun.
The heat of the day makes it hard to learn new things, so dance goes well in the first instance. Familiarity. Everyone knows how to dance and move, that’s part of life, part of culture. Circus gear, less familiar, involves being bad at something for a while, involves concentrating, making mistakes, takes focus. It’s 34 degrees with 73% humidity, they’d rather be in the shadows under a tree, in the cool embrace of the grass and the welcome breeze dancing its comforting fingers through their hair.
Some come and stay a little longer, feeling out the safety of this space and these new blow-ins. Do they have a connection point here? Nat is a clear entry point because she has culture, she's from the Torres Strait. One of the young girl's dad is from there. They’re maybe related? Within minutes, she has three young women bustin’ some moves in a smooth bit of choreo she’s spun together. They’re in and looking sharp.
Me? I’ll take a bit longer, but I’m getting some serious side eye and they’re asking where my parents are from. I can show them some tricks of the trade, and they’ll stick with it a little longer once they've sussed me out.
By 5.30pm, the dying embers of sunset are streaming through the chainlink on the side of the building and there is no place to hide from the heat. We get a reprieve from brokering skills and swig on some Gatorade to replace all the sweat we just lost over the last three hours. Everyone else is back under the tree.
Sundown is a different story. The girls have started to learn backflipping and now the younger fellas are interested. The tramp comes out, and it goes off. Young folks jumping and flipping through the cool evening air. I look over and there’s a heap of new youngsters, bustling around Nat, clamouring for spinning plates. It’s a forest of arms and sticks, raised high, spell casting plates into a cyclone of colour and movement.
Theres’s one young fella, a master flipper, who knows his limits, and his worth. He’s starting to relax in this space, stretching into his strengths and using it as a vehicle for his physical dexterity to have a quiet but clear voice. Others are watching, absorbing the detail.
By the end of the session there are over thirty young people with dancing eyes and racing hearts, energising the space; balancing and flipping, groups congregating in the corner - running the new moves they learnt this afternoon, it’s electric. At 8pm, they leave under duress, but ready for some more fun on the basketball court. This night is only just getting started.
