Milingimbi Art and Culture Centre

I met up with the team after both parties had travelled for more than 10 hours. The famous redeye to Darwin. I had a toddler behind me who kicked the back of my chair the whole flight. It was 1.30am by the time we got our room keys. I hadn’t eaten dinner as I’d had to run to catch my connecting flight – there’d been no time to stop for a feed. Three hours sleep at the airport hotel in Darwin – next to the bottle shop where a young man had been stabbed the night before for refusing service to hostile customers. The crime scene tape was still strung around the outside of the shop. Flowers stacked up next to the front door, the plastic sleeves rustled in the soft warm wind. The cemetery behind the accommodation is where some of my family members have been laid to rest. Hello Ancestors.

At 7am my father delivered me vital camping gear and much-appreciated coffee and ham and cheese toasted sandwiches. We ate them out the front of the hotel, sitting in the ute tray. My legs swinging and hitting the tow bar.

The charter plane isn’t in the normal airport, it's off to the side. The pilots never look a day older than 30. Ever. Most young pilots come up this way and charter small planes to communities all over the NT to get their hours and experience up. Our pilot had a moustache, aviators and a crisp white shirt. He weighed us and our gear. I clocked in at 65 kg. Mandi King, Milingimbi’s art centre manager, met us and joined the flight back to Yurrwi (Milingimbi Island). She had just got back from a break and jumped straight into with us. The plane was a six-seater, pilot included, single engine. With all the gear stacked up there were now five seats. Someone needed to squish in the back with the luggage. I was probably the smallest of the women in the party and not scared of planes like this even though I know I should be, so I offered. Sweating in between a tiny window and a pile of heavy luggage that fell onto me every time Miriam shuffled a little.