Wobst and World Archaeology

Abstract

I have a clear memory of Martin Wobst during the Congress dinner at the Fifth World Archaeological Congress (WAC-5) in Cape Town, South Africa. Hundreds of people were dining in an enormous, palatial tent, entertained by fascinating dancers and enchanting musicians. During the dinner, an old Aboriginal man, Peter Manabaru, needed to leave. Though the entertainment was at its height, Martin immediately abandoned the dinner to escort Peter through the darkened tent. I have a strong visual memory of the two of them holding hands, picking their way through the dimly-lit tables—two very senior men from two very different intellectual traditions, joined by friendship, respect and the pleasure of each other’s company. Prior to the Congress, Martin and I had spent a couple of weeks with Sven Ouzman, Bob Paynter and 16 Australian Aboriginal people, visiting rock art sites in South Africa. We stayed in budget accommodation or camped out on the farms of Sven’s friends. The sunsets were stunning and the trees on the horizon scribbly. Every night we dined together or sat around a fire. Often, Martin and the two senior Aboriginal men, Peter Manabaru and Jimmy Wesan, would sit up late, chatting together. The murmur of their voices was comforting. Over this period these three senior men became more than friends. They became family, with the life-long ties that family entail. Martin was given the ‘skin’ name Balang (I call him uncle), in a process by which gossamer threads blended him into the kinship system of Ngalkbon people from central Arnhem Land, Australia. I suspect that these interactions had a profound influence on him. Martin has a strong sense of social justice and a great desire to turn destructive hierarchies on their head. I think with the old men he found a hierarchy based on knowledge and good sense and occasional humour. Travelling in post-apartheid South Africa as a multi-racial group of black, brown and white people, we had experiences that illuminated what it is like to discriminated against, and also the joy that comes when you are freed from discrimination. Total strangers would come up to us in the street and shake our hands, or point to us and laugh to each other. These were mostly black people, but sometimes white or coloured. On the other hand, some white people seriously disapproved of our ethically diverse group and would try and make life difficult for us. At one motel, the owner singled out Peter and Jimmy for making too much noise with their radio, even C O M M E N T A R Y