Three feet long and colored with intricate swirls in vibrant hues of crimsons and warm yellows, the wooden didgeridoo stood proudly among the other instruments in my room. It displayed illustrations of large rainbow colored serpents that wrapped up all the way to the wide beeswaxed covered opening where one would blow in. It has been three years since my uncle brought back a didgeridoo from Australia, yet the steady humming sound that fills the air when I play still mesmerizes me.
I heard the didgeridoo again this summer, upon my travel to the mountainous terrains of Cairns, Australia. I spent my days in the forests at Tjapukai, an Aboriginal Cultural Park, lugging around film equipment for my documentary and interviewing the indigenous people. While conversing with an Aboriginal woman, I heard a familiar droning sound. Following the sound, I encountered a man covered with body paint in designs of swirls and stars playing a didgeridoo. I smiled, ecstatic that I already had a glimpse into the Aboriginal culture long before I was consciously aware of it.
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The man, nicknamed “Fox,” looked up and grinned.
“Play?” He asked, pointing to the didgeridoo.
I nodded as he handed me another one. Together, we began to create a fast paced rhythm, and noticed the small children dancing to the beat. For the next few days, Fox became my tour guide, and introduced me to the other locals, where I immersed myself in their culture.
“How come you and your family have decided to live in the mountains?” I asked a woman named Georgina, who was showing me how to make tortillas.
She chuckled and replied, “It’s not as if we had a choice.”
From a distance, Fox played long and heavy beats. He had previously mentioned to me the systemic exploitation that had brought the Aboriginals to the verge of extinction, and how they were shunned from society and confined to the hidden forest bushes upon steep mountains. As I watched the indigenous people calmly go about their daily tasks, I felt saddened and angry because of the ongoing injustice that still occurs against the Aboriginals.
Once I returned home, Georgina’s comment continuously replayed in my mind. As I went back to my room, I sat down, facing the wall of instruments and noticing my didgeridoo. The Aboriginals’ last attempt to preserve and share their culture with the rest of the world all came down to an instrument, and after days of listening to the steady beat of the didgeridoo, the sound of silence from it bothered me.
The didgeridoo did not just represent the indigenous people of Australia, but the silent voices of all the disenfranchised. The rights of the invisible sufferers are constantly violated, and I want to change that. I have never been more determined about incorporating my passion for advocacy of human rights into my future profession, and I believe that the study of global affairs and international rights would help me in that endeavor.
In a sense, this is not a story about the didgeridoo or a declaration of my general adoration for music. It is, however, a thank you to my friend Fox, the Aboriginal people and my didgeridoo for setting me on a journey towards attaining a cohesive sense of self that shaped my moral development, etched a mental picture of the meaning of global citizenship and facilitated me to envision my purpose in this world.
