Princess Parrot

As we stood on the road, waiting, the woman asked me as if from nowhere “have you seen any Princess Parrots in this area?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

She elaborated, telling me she was a keen birdwatcher and she had heard there were lots of Princess Parrots in this region.

I hadn’t the faintest clue what a Princess Parrot might look like and so wouldn’t have recognised one if a flock had flown right by me that very minute but I replied simply ‘no I haven’t seen any.’

Not put off by my lack of birdwatching talent, she did what any devoted twitcher might do next and pulled out her camera and asked to take my photo. 

I imagined for a second, the woman back in her house, uploading my photo into her Facebook page. 

What comment would accompany the photo?

 “A man we came across on a bush road in remote WA after he had just rolled his car. We were looking for a Princess Parrot and we found him instead.”

Dangling feet from window frame
Will I ever ever reach the floor?

More, give me more, give me more

The sensation of rolling a car, or more precisely being in a car as it rolls, 

is as you probably imagine most about loss of control. Losing control and then the agonising sense of slow motion as you and your belongings are thrown, tipped and shaken inside the four walls of a metal box with wheels. 

The open bottle of Diet Coke is thrashed about and its sticky black juice coats the dashboard. 

The books, papers and my modest bag of clothes are flung around the vehicle. 

The roof rack detaches swags and all and skids some ten metres away. 

My particular experience is haunted by the song which was playing on the stereo as my white bush Troopy rolled that day.

Back home in Sudan many people believe in the power of song to rid possessed people of spirits. 

If someone is believed to be possessed they are played song after song after song until the person reacts to a particular song, which is seen as the song the evil spirit needs to hear to get out of the person’s body. 

I once asked a man from the Ngaanyatjarra Lands about songs connected to the Country on which we were standing. 

He said to me “I can sing this song for you, but if I sing it something bad will happen.”

Crushed and filled with all I found
Underneath and inside Just to come around
More, give me more, give me more

Once the car had rolled and then landed on its side, driver’s door down, the agonising sense of slow motion continued, 

as I assessed my body for broken bones, cuts or bruises. 

The few seconds it took to unbuckle my seatbelt and then struggle awkwardly against gravity to open the passenger side door felt like eternity. 

Perhaps we are programed to imagine everything as scenes from movies with some hyped up the Hollywood star yelling ‘get out! It’s about to blow!’ 

But of course the movie star never tells you to turn the engine off first. Instead, as if a necessary soundtrack to the whole thing, 

you leave it running, the songs ghostly vocals echoing along the lonely road as your isolation sinks in. 

But in true Hollywood style it isn’t long before an ageing middle class couple in their decked out 4WD coast along and discover the scene. 

We use their vehicle’s winch to lift the car back up on to the road again. 

By the time the vehicle is back on all four wheels the CD has played a further eight tracks. 

They call the closest community clinic on their Sat phone, ask me a few questions about birds, snap my photo and leave me waiting for the tow truck.

Since that day I only listen to audio books whilst driving. At the moment I am listening to ‘The Art of Happiness’ an audio book by his Holiness, the Dalai Lama.

This will never end ’cause I want more
More, give me more
Give me more

Ahmed Adam

MixTape Memoire-NT Writers’ Festival

19/05/17