Fragility

Something caught the corner of my eye - something was jumping on the outside furniture. I walked to the window, half-ready shout out and tell whatever it was to 'fuck off'. The unflattering yellow fluorescents sketched out two kittens in the darkness, busy exploring the verandah. I couldn't help but watch them. My mood was suddenly one of levity.

Their inquisitive eyes narrowed in on a gecko. Though it was well out of reach, they made a playful ploy at him - a jump and swipe and a stumble. Something else finally captured their attention and they wandered off into the night. They'll be dead before their first birthday, there's no doubt in my mind. It's just the way it is. Maningrida is no place for two unprotected kittens.

Katie sent a group e-mail - photos of a baby, framed by an ever-loving mother. I'd met the child for the first time in May, she was about 9 months - not at all like the kid in these photos. A little blonde person, walking around, surefooted and curious - a far cry from the drooling, crawling, charismatic twinkly-eyed shit-machine I'd been hanging out with. In just a couple of months someone had gone and got all grown up - it wasn't me.

She looked happy and secure in that kind of oblivious way that only kids do - perhaps that only kids can. Where the only thing in the universe is the biscuit in your hand, the bug on the leaf, or Mum's big hug. She'll be fine. At some point she'll hate her parents, then hate her boyfriends, her job, perhaps dabble in hating global politics. But in the end, she'll be OK - there's no doubt in my mind. It’s just the way it is.

My best friends here are a couple of kids. They visit me in my office and we chat about stuff. I draw pictures, they colour them in, we pull silly faces at the camera and make hilarious music videos. One of the girls, a regular sidekick off mine, must be about 7, I figure - when you ask no one seems to give you a straight answer. 'She teasing you!' a gaggle will giggle. "That's alright," I sob mockingly, "I can take it."

One day me and my sidekick were drawing, then spelling out the names of the animals we'd drawn. With much cheeky prompting and playful cheating, we got it done in the end. She smiled a massive proud smile. Only 35% of school students here are literate - that's 35% of the kids who actually go to school. That's not counting the mass of kids that don't bother to enroll. There's one kid, the rumour goes, in year 10 that can read at a reasonable standard. Just one.

One of the older boys is about 10. His father is a respectable member of the community, but he wants to be a gangsta like every other boy around here. Ma and him have talked about boys his age - his mates - smoking pot, drinking, attempting suicide. He is lucky to be from a good family - he'll probably do what he sees and follow in his father's footsteps. Probably. Even if it means giving up his dreams of being a rapper. We used the new microphone and cut a demo on the computer, just in case...

Things are different here. People have different aspirations and ideas of success. I see that. There are no doctors or lawyers here - there are good parents and strong leaders. What I don’t see (yet?) is the structure of security. What gives one child any better chance at life than the next? Who gets to have a future? And where is that future? One ‘good family’ might have 10 kids. What happens when Maningrida finds it can not support its own social growth?

It has started to rain outside, and life just became a little bit harder for the two kittens - it's not called a tropical downpour because it contains ham and pineapple. I make light of the situation because I have to. It takes a lifetime to save a life. In the end, they're just cats. It's the way it is. Maningrida is no place for the unprotected. Sometimes it feels like it is no place at all.