Land of plenty

A week in Queensland offers up equal parts adventure and existentialism. By ROCHELLE PINTO.

- By ROCHELLE PINTO. ISAIAH MATHEWS. IMAGE EDITOR: PHOENIX WILSON.

Do you remember the first time you had a conversation about consent with an unknown man? Mine was two months ago in the middle of a Queensland rainforest while contemplating whether I should eat a brightly coloured berry that might or might not have killed me in seconds. And, he was the one who brought it up.

His name was Ben, a young medicine-man-in-the-making belonging to the Kuku Yalanji people, the original inhabitants and protectors of the oldest continuously surviving rainforest on Earth. Over 180 million years of life and knowledge, Ben only its latest interpreter. He was guiding us through this sacred landscape, explaining which plants could be touched and which would punish us for even considering it. That it’s important to hunt in pairs. How to find fresh water. Why his ancestors always built their huts next to termite colonies—nature’s meteorologists can sense when cyclones are nigh and abandon their mud tenements for sturdier refuge. If you see a family of termites hightailing it, you had better run for the nearest cave. His storytelling made me feel like a kid again, exploring the woods in my grandmother's backyard in Goa. We, too, were taught to scale kokum trees to pluck fresh fruits that would stain our clothes beyond salvation and bite into the nectar-filled chambers of garden flowers. To check the inside of your pants before putting them on, in case a red ant had crawled inside for a nap. To cover your arms in coconut oil before dismembering a jackfruit to prevent the sap from irritating your skin.