“It’s big enough to be able to get whatever you need here, but still small enough to remain a friendly little country town. Just the way I like it.” a young female shop attendant so rightfully pointed out on our first day here. Kalgoorlie certainly is a prosperous mining town. Many young mums with toddlers in pushers, often expecting another little addition, walk together with their girlfriend, who is also pushing a pram, or will be soon. As Greta, another friendly soul who was named after her grandmother, said: “They say that there must be something in the water in Kalgoorlie. It makes all the women pregnant.” She wasn’t kidding.
There are many, many children here. And hence, many a kindergarten and primary school, practically one on every corner. And from what I can see, a great deal of little girls. There is a little body wearing pink (and purple) just about everywhere I look. ‘Thank heaven for little girls, for little girls get bigger every day.’
Young teenage girls walk together, their hair coloured black with a few streaks of pink or deep violet, goth-style, through long straightened tresses. They would appear to be all grown up, as they furiously sms with their friends on their mobiles and window shop for the latest fashions, but for the lolly-pops in their mouths, or the skate boards some skillfully negotiate along the wide footpaths. They wear hipster jeans and skimpy singlet tops that accentuate their perfect youthful bodies. The mid-afternoon sun can be quite warm. And, if it’s a bit too cold in the morning, then ugg-boots seem to appear indiscriminately on everyone.
Teenage boys hang around together in small groups rolling back and forth on their BMX bikes, close to the takeaway shops. (Growing young men need the security of food close at hand.) And then there are the working men. Miners, truck drivers, the guys in utes, and all the others that enable this town and its main activity to continue and prosper. They are strong and tough. But you’ve got to have your wits about you, for they always have a joking remark at the ready.
I love to sit and observe the passers by. Today I am parked just outside of a bakery and a baby store. Since Chewie left me here not more than a half an hour ago, 3 new prams have walked out and a proud grandad has just fitted a new baby seat into the back of his 4-wheel drive. In goes another pregnant young woman and her mum to get that all important stuff for the expected new arrival.
The aboriginal people here are in a minority. A couple on a Sunday morning walk with their toddler in a pusher, dad at the helm. They are obviously not ‘well off’’, but they are certainly clean and neatly dressed. Talking and laughing together as a young family should. They wave a happy ‘hello’.
Somewhere else, on the outskirts of town, in the midst of old truck tyres, scrap metal, old chairs and mattresses a group of aboriginal people surround a large fire. Most of them with a paper bag (bottle or can inside) in their hands. They get a visit by the local police, as we pass by. And no doubt, from the body language of the young officers keen to assert their authority, get asked to ‘move on’. Their greeting to us confirms that: ‘mind your own business, you bloody whities’.
In the heart of town an elderly couple is drawn to the intriguing depth of sound and rhythm and search for coins to drop into a wicker bowl on the pavement, when they round the corner and see a young boy standing outside the supermarket playing his didgeridoo. It is almost as tall as he is.
Kyle and Keenan both think it’s quite funny, judging by the smirks on their faces, that we are so interested in them. Kyle also paints “Nanna taught me. That’s my hand, to say ‘hello’.” And he points to his works of art.
‘Kyle plays his didgeridoo to earn some extra money while on school holidays’
‘they think it’s funny that we are so interested’
‘Kyle’s work of art’
1 comment:
We will have to park there by the bakery again. It was most enjoyable, watching the locals and enjoying the good conversation. Thanks for the description.
Denny
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