It’s Sunday night on the waterfront. At dusk the haunting Siren’s Call brings us together. Tonight is the last official night of Dark Mofo, though there’s still the nude swim at dawn on the Solstice. The excitement builds as the sky darkens. Children wave lanterns decorated with cyclopean eyes. Then to throbbing drums, grotesque figures begin to bob above the gathering crowd – evil spirits we are told – a hobgoblin, a black razorback pig, a loathsome dreadlocked red female. Some distance behind her is the Ogah Ogah, the giant papier maché Tasmanian Tiger in which we placed our slips of paper with our regrets and fears the previous Saturday. One of the wiggling, jiggling demons goes by - possibly some kind of demented fertility goddess More people stream in from the side streets as we swarm, shuffle and trip along the waterfront. As we pass by the blood red Museum, Ogah Ogah obliges by stopping in the middle of the street and putting on a little dan...
Practising Geographer - nature culture places people