In 2023, I was awarded the inaugural Ilan Style Fellowship from the Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies (AIATSIS) to conduct research on Torres Strait Islander knowledge through song. As an Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander musician and cultural historian, my family the Geia’s, herald from Moa Island in the Western Islands of Zenadth Kes (the Torres Strait).
This fellowship gave me the opportunity to deepen my engagement with Torres Strait song traditions and reflect on the role of Songwomen and their songs as living entities of knowledge, identity, and intergenerational connection. The project was specific in its requirement that I work with the Meriam language of the Eastern Torres Strait, of which I am not a representative.
So, my approach was to collaborate with Margaret ‘Nayama’ Gabey (née Akee), a respected Songwoman from the Eastern Torres Strait (Meriam) and my Aunty through marriage. Nayama is a Songkeeper, knowledge holder, and cultural ambassador who sings an extensive catalogue of Torres Strait songs, including Meriam songs. Since connecting on Waiben (Thursday Island) in 2015, Nayama and I have sung together many times, and there have been moments of learning, listening, and guidance from a talented and inspiring Songwoman deeply rooted in her community’s songs and stories. Nayama is also a professional weaver in her community.
L-R: Margaret ‘Nayama’ Gabey and Jessie Lloyd at Horn Island airport.
Pic by Lousie Manas.
One of the most significant learnings from this project was the careful navigation of cultural boundaries and protocols, guided by Songwomen (or Aunties and mothers), who were also my mentors. While I am Torres Strait Islander, my heritage and ancestral connections are to the Western Islands, and I am a student of Kala Lagaw Ya songs. In the Torres Strait, cultural sensitivities exist even within our own communities. Certain songs and stories belong to particular islands, families or language groups, and access to them cannot be assumed, even by other Torres Strait Islanders.
This paper shares my journey and reflections on this process. It is not an analysis of the songs themselves, nor does it seek to interpret or explain cultural material that is not mine to speak on. Instead, it is a story of relational research where I was mentored by Torres Strait Songwomen on how to respectfully work with Meriam songs from the Eastern Torres Strait. Also responding to the AIATSIS fellowship requirements, cultural happenings such as sorry business and ultimately, how I decided to step back and leave Meriam cultural material in the care of those to whom it belongs.
Through this journey, I have come to better recognise the deeper cultural understandings and protocols within my Torres Strait communities, particularly through the lens of song traditions, social responsibilities, and the powerful yet often silent role of women in our Indigenous knowledge systems.
Family, Trust and Collaboration:
The first lesson I learned on my first trip to the Torres Strait in 2015 was this: when you return to your ancestral homeland, the Elders will usually know you better than you know yourself. So be ready to listen and learn.
Word spread quickly through the island grapevine that a Geia girl was in town, and before long I was meeting Elders who not only welcomed me but began telling me about my family roots and their personal connections to me. It was moving and a beautiful example of Indigenous cultural protocol in action. In Western culture, when you meet someone, you ask, "What do you do?" But in Indigenous cultures, the first question is, "Who's your family?" Or, in Aboriginal English, “Who ya mob?”
This approach establishes two core values in Australian Indigenous societies: your connection to Country and your kinship ties. That’s exactly what happened on my first trip to Waiben/Thursday Island (affectionately known as TI), and it laid the foundation for my long-term collaboration with Torres Strait Songwomen.
L-R: Cessa Nakata, Nayama and Jessie Lloyd on Thursday Island 2015
I first met Nayama in 2015 at the HAC Centre, a social hub for Elders in the community. She would regularly attend and sing ailan songs to the aunties and uncles there, ukulele in hand. I was visiting TI at the time as part of my Mission Songs Project, where I travelled around the country researching Indigenous folk songs from the missions era (1901–1967). I knew HAC would be the perfect place to meet Elders and hear old tunes.
I was particularly hoping to meet Aka (grandmother) Cessa Nakata, the last remaining member of the internationally renowned Mills Sisters, known for their harmonies and songs that celebrated Torres Strait culture. While I was fangirling, singing, and making family connections with Aka Cessa, in walked Nayama, ukulele poking out of her handbag, and when she sang, I knew there was magic in the room.
After the singing, Nayama told me we were family. Her maiden name was Akee, and she was cousin-sister to two of my uncles, Jerry and Jimmy Akee. Those two brothers married two Geia sisters, Faith and Lillian, my aunties and big sisters to my father Joe Geia. Nayama and I shared stories, sang songs, and began a relationship that grew stronger with every trip I made back to TI.
Soon after returning to the mainland, Nayama rang me to say she’d spoken to Athe (grandfather) Seaman Dan—the late, Torres Strait Islander tropical jazz singer and ARIA Award winner. On that first trip, I’d had an opportunity to talk to him too but made the rookie mistake of not telling him who my family was.
When Nayama told him that I was a Geia, his face lit up with a big smile. He told her that my grandfather, Athe Albie Geia, had taught him how to play blues guitar as a young man. That story has stayed with me ever since and it’s one of many stories that reflect how family ties carry deep meaning in community.
Over the last ten years (2015–2025), Nayama and I have worked on a range of musical projects. The first official one was what would eventually become the Lingu Karay Women’s Choir. That project began in 2019, when I was invited by the Torres Strait Island Media Association (TSIMA)—also the local radio station—to deliver songwriting workshops for local island women preparing for a national media festival on TI.
Lingu Karay Women’s Choir, Thursday Island 2019
Nayama was one of the workshop participants and quickly emerged as a key creative contributor. Already active in the local arts scene, she regularly sang at community events and had an impressive repertoire of ailan songs. A couple of others in the workshops were working semi-professionally in the arts like she was.
During one session, Nayama suggested we write a song about the Torres Strait flag; its colours, its meaning, and what it represents to our people. And so, we did. That day, we wrote a song called "Zenadh Kes", a favourite of mine that I now often use when teaching school children on the mainland. It is included in my Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Songbook for classrooms. (More on the permissions process of using this song later.)
While Lingu Karay slowly found its shape over the next five years, I also launched another initiative: Ailan Songs Project. With ‘ailan songs’ (from Torres Strait Kriol for ‘island songs’) referring to folk songs that express cultural identity, connections to land and sea, and everyday Islander life. This project followed the Mission Songs Project and focused specifically on the historical songs of the Torres Strait and songs I grew up hearing around the kitchen table or at family gatherings.
Naturally, I turned to Nayama, who I knew had one of the most extensive ailan song repertoires in the region. She contributed stories and songs to the project. One unforgettable moment was when I sang her an old song my family sings from Palm Island and she responded by singing a second verse I’d never heard before! That song is called "Loka Keni" or "Lau Kakeni," and it has become one of my all-time favourite Torres Strait song riddles. She also shared the story of her family’s connection to the song, and she features on the Ailan Songs Project album performing her version.
As I collaborated with Elders through both the Mission Songs and Ailan Songs Projects, I began another initiative: the Aunties Recording Project. This gave senior Indigenous women who had been sharing cultural and historical songs with me, the opportunity to record their own songs professionally. For family, community, or future opportunities. Naturally, Nayama was one of my first recording candidates. We recorded three songs together, two in Meriem Mir and the other being "Lau Kakeni." She was joined by her son and her best friend, Aunty Patricia Nakata, daughter of Cessa Nakata. Although Nayama wasn’t feeling well at the time and felt her voice wasn’t at its best, I thought she sounded beautiful.
L-R: Jacob Gabey (Nayama’s son), Patricia Nakata and Nayama in Cairns 2021
In 2024, the Lingu Karay Women’s Choir finally came together to record the songs we had composed back in 2019. Nayama played a pivotal role—not only as a creative force, but also as a representative of Eastern Torres Strait and Meriem cultural content. The choir’s songs feature lyrics in Kala Lagaw Ya, Meriam Mir, Torres Strait Kriol (Yumplatok), and English.
Because most choir members are from the Western Islands, there was an imbalance in the representation of Meriam Mir, just by numbers. For example, the choir’s name, "Lingu Karay," is from Kala Lagaw Ya, meaning the strap of a woven basket. During the recording sessions, Nayama raised the point of Meriam representation in the group, and I listened as a student among mentors as they explored how to make Lingu Karay representative of all Torres Strait women. All choir members were proactive about ensuring Nayama is consulted when any Meriam subjects arise, and she does very well to represent.
At this time (2025), it is important on Thursday Island to ensure the representation of Western and Eastern cultures and I’ve seen mergers such as ‘Mura Kosker’ which is both East and West words merged or ‘Maiyem’ and ‘Sew Ngapa’ is both meaning ‘welcome’ are both used on local signage. Even the new name of Zenadth Kes is to represent East and West as it was originally ‘Zenadh’ which is of Western origins and the adding of ‘Kes’ is to include Eastern.
L-R: Jessie Lloyd and Nayama recording in TI Motel for Ailan Songs Project in 2021
Nayama also says in her interviews, she was born and raised on ‘TI’ and back then, everyone was one big family, and now we see the separation of groups. I would assume that historically, the social segregation was between islanders, mixed islanders and non-islanders under the White Australia Policy. But this is a discussion for another paper.
Following the discussion with the choir, Nayama privately asked if I would consider recording her Meriam songs. At the time, I was only partially interested as I had already recorded with her through the Aunties Recording Project, and I was deeply involved in my Kala Lagaw Ya learning songs. But I always follow the music, and she is a real talent. Six months later, AIATSIS announced their inaugural Ilan Style Fellowship and the path forward became clear.
AIATSIS Fellowship: Family, Flexibility and Cultural Guidance:
Around early 2024, I saw that AIATSIS was partnering with Ilan Style to offer a new fellowship supporting Torres Strait research. When I looked more closely, I saw that it prioritised the Meriam language, and at first, I wasn’t interested as I had no direct family ties to the Eastern Islands and was fully immersed in my Kala Lagaw Ya learning songs.
Not long after, I was liaising with Kerry Arabena, Director of Ilan Style and donor to the fellowship. She asked if I might be interested in applying, considering my ongoing work with Torres Strait songs. I explained I was preparing to start a PhD at the University of Melbourne, focusing on using songs to teach the basics of Kala Lagaw Ya. Kerry suggested it could be worth exploring a similar approach for Meriam. I mentioned that Nayama had expressed interest in recording her Meriam songs. I also told her I had no need to use the AIATSIS archives as I had direct access to my own living library on TI – Nayama.
Side note: The name Nayama is a merger of two words, Nay or Ney (she said she doesn’t worry about the spelling) which is her ‘skin’ name as she describes it, given to her by her grandfather. This was also her grandfather’s sisters name and in European culture this might be described as a namesake. The ‘ama’ is ‘mother/Aunty’ in Kala Lagaw Ya the language of Western Torres Strait. So, her name would be translated as ‘Mum/Aunty Nay’. I was not aware of this and when I first arrived, I was calling her Aunty Nayama and was soon corrected by my elders! I also have a cousin named after Nayama, her name is Gerladine ‘Nai’ Akee and her parents are Uncle Jerry Akee and Aunty Faith Geia, this is my dad’s sister. So, the name is passed on within families.
L-R: Lillian Geia and Nayama on Thursday Island 2022
Another side note: Nayama is a lot younger than her cousin brothers who married my Geia Aunties, When Nayama was around 12, she was taught the guitar by my Aunty Lillian Geia who married Uncle Jimmy Akee. Aunty Lil has dementia now and randomly asks about Nayama’s mother back on TI. It’s been decades since she’s passed but she still asks and is unaware. A strong family connection continues.
Anyway, I applied to AIATSIS with a proposal to record Nayama singing Meriam songs, with the intention of depositing them into AIATSIS for cultural preservation. My application was approved, and I shared the good news with Nayama. Of course, just because plans are made doesn’t mean they’ll go to plan. Lesson two: when working in the Torres Strait, you’re working on ailan time. Be ready and be flexible.
My first recording trip to TI was scheduled for July 2024, with my mobile recording gear packed and ready. Like most of my visits, I had multiple intentions as you never know exactly who’ll be there or what opportunities may arise. And in true ‘ailan style’, the moment I arrived at Horn Island airport, I saw Nayama at the terminal, ready to board the plane I had just stepped off, and she was flying to Cairns. We took a quick photo to promote the fellowship—but no songs were recorded that trip. She was on her way to Cairns, and I visited other elders and community to make use of the trip.
Back on the mainland later, I reached out again. Nayama shared that she wanted to involve her older brother, William Akee, a fluent Meriam speaker who could help translate the songs. William lived on Mer (Murray Island), and the new plan was for us to travel to Mer and record there. We proposed dates, but before long William fell seriously ill and was flown to Cairns. Tragically, he passed away soon after, and the family entered sorry business. All recording plans were put on hold.
PIC OF WILLIAM AKEE AND NAYAMA?
L-R: Patricia Nakata and Nayama sing on Thursday Island in February 2024
Months later, I gently checked in with Nayama. I had updated both AIATSIS and Kerry Arabena on the sorry business situation and was grateful for their ongoing support. By early 2025, it seemed we might not pursue the original plan with Nayama to give her time and space. Instead, Kerry proposed a new Meriam-based project: a collection of children’s stories about life on the Eastern Islands. My task would be to turn these stories into song and collaborate with a Meriam speaker to incorporate language. Kerry thought this would still align with the fellowship goals, creating Meriam songs for the AIATSIS archive, and tied in with my PhD focus.
Reflections on Cultural Protocols and Song Ownership:
While I appreciated the new direction of the fellowship, I approached it with caution. I would now be co-composing Meriam songs—and I am not Meriam myself. This was not ideal, but I had received the fellowship, had already invested in trips to TI and felt I needed to deliver an outcome.
Over the course of my career, I’ve had several experiences singing in Meriam, and I want to share them here to illustrate the kinds of cultural protocols I’ve learned as a non-Eastern Islander navigating Meriam material. I hope this gives broader context in relation to this fellowship.
Firstly, many of us grew up singing "Taba Naba" as children. According to my Songwomen mentors, "Taba Naba" is considered a public song, or play song, for all Torres Strait Islanders with no restrictions on singing or performance. In the words of Aka Cessa Nakata from the Mills Sisters who at the age of 97 said ‘these ailan songs are yours my girl, you sing’.
L-R: (Rear) Lousie Manas, Rochelle Pitt, Lynelda Tippo, Jessie Lloyd, Patricia Nakata, Leonora Adidi, Rita Kaitap and Doreen Pensio (Front) Lillian Geia, Tassie MacDonald, Nazareth Adidi, Margaret ‘Nayama’ Gabey, Cynthia Drummond and xxxxx. Filming Taba Naba for Ailan Songs Project on Thursday Island
This might explain how it was shared with The Wiggles by Western Island singer Christine Anu, whose family hails from Saibai Island and speaks Kala Kawaw Ya. For the last 20 years, this song has become a well-known part of early childhood music in Australia. The story behind "Taba Naba" is incredible thanks to Prof Martin Nakata (son of Cessa Nakata) and Dr Karl Neuenfeldt’s research, and I’ve contributed more the story as part of my Ailan Songs Project and Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Songbook.
Growing up I heard Meriam hymns sung by my Akee family. They belong to a different denomination than the one I was raised in. While most of the Geia family practices Seventh Day Adventism, where language use was historically discouraged, our Akee relatives were in churches that embraced Meriam language in worship. Hearing them sing "amen songs" in Meriam, often with accompanying actions, was inspiring to me as someone who wasn’t raised fluent in any ancestral Indigenous language.
In the 2010s, while living and performing in Melbourne, I connected with Meriam artist and musician Ricardo Idagi, also known as King Kadu. There’s a longer story here, but in short, he played music in high school with my dad Joe Geia and played bass on dad’s solo album ‘Yil Lull’, so we had a family connection, and I performed many of his Meriam songs alongside him on his musical comeback around 2013.
King Kadu’s work eventually became controversial within the Meriam community, and he has since retreated from public life. In my recent years working on TI, I came to understand that mentioning my work with King Kadu was sometimes met with discomfort due to the community’s response to his work. This was a lesson in Meriam cultural hierarchy and how it governs creative practice. There is a bigger story here I will tell another time.
One of the songs King Kadu taught me was a beautiful piece called "Wai Keriba Ged." He arranged it in a tropical jazz style, though the original was more commonly performed with a traditional ailan strum. The melody was adapted from a Hawaiian hapa ha’ole tune called "Leilani," a common influence in Torres Strait musical traditions. This adaptation is recorded in a Torres Strait songbook titled ‘Some Songs from the Torres Straits’ by Ron Edwards.
In 2020, I wanted to include "Wai Keriba Ged" on the Ailan Songs Project, to highlight Polynesian influences in Torres Strait music. I was advised to seek permission from Dujon Niue by Karl Neuenfeldt, Dujon said his uncle Freddie Ware had composed the song and handed the song to him. I reached out to seek permission to record a version of Wai Keriba Ged and my request was declined. I appreciated the clarity and respected the decision. This song is also one that Nayama sings in her collection I recorded with this report.
I ended up sharing "Wai Keriba Ged" with a song sister Rochelle Pitt, a member of the Pitt musical family from Erub (Darnley Island) in the Eastern Torres Strait. I thought Rochelle, with her Meriam ties, would be more suitable with the piece. She eventually performed it at a cultural event on TI but received criticism, I think regarding her pronunciation and interpretation. Another lesson in the specifics and protocols around Meriam material. Even if you are eligible, it is essential to be properly mentored in how and when to use the songs.
L-R: Nayama and Rochelle Pitt on Thursday Island 2021
And finally, a song my family and many Torres Strait families sing is ‘Surrare’. I recorded this on my Mission Songs Project album (2017) and around May 2025 a live performance video of me singing my version appeared on the Torres Strait Facebook page and received great criticism and even serious threats private messaged to me.
I was taught this song by my Geia family and was aware we sang the Palm Island version of the song. My father Joe Geia recorded his version on his 1988 ‘Yil Lull’ album and did not seem to receive the same criticism. My version differs as I deliberately sing three different versions of the song that I was taught singing across communities and even found a second verse which is always exciting. I will one day write a full report on this song as the jury is still out on the song’s origins and its composer.
The reason I sing ‘surrare’ is to show how songs travel and how different communities adopt and adapt songs to suit their needs, creating new variations. It seems some Eastern families were unaware of the songs milage, and my version was a complete insult to them. Many of the elders who taught me all assumed it was a Western Island song meaning ‘seagull’ and there are several resources that state this as well. But apparently in Meriam Mir it means a sea turn bird. I have since publicly apologised for insulting Meriam families for my versions and many elders agreed, they too know of multiple versions.
While I was being harshly corrected in the comments section, several commentors stated their father or grandfather composed the song. While this was informative to me on the origins of the song, the people claiming the song ended up fighting amongst themselves on who actually composed the song. Again, another learning opportunity of the Meriam cultural hierarchy. The post was eventually deleted by the group’s admin due to its volatility.
I eventually received a private message from Nayama reassuring me that she too sings a slightly different version, and that the people complaining online are not singers. She reminded me that in the old days many of the Torres Strait men who sang or travelled would share their songs openly without restriction. This is evident in Aboriginal communities on the mainland and the ailan songs they all know. It is probably because of this open sharing that Torres Strait has such a rich song tradition that continues today.
Nayama on her front veranda on Thursday Island in 2021
It is my concern that over policing by non-singers may cause more harm and deter younger generations from learning or performing ailan songs in fear of public criticism. But I am grateful to Nayama for the support and advice in finding that middle ground of respecting protocol and continuing song traditions to ensure our songs and our ancestors legacies live on.
These are just my personal experiences, but I imagine there are hundreds of similar stories within the Eastern Islands. I’ll finish with one final example that reflects broader Torres Strait Islander cultural protocol, and which mirrors many practices on the Aboriginal mainland as well.
During our women’s songwriting workshops on TI in 2019, we composed new songs as a group, this was quite progressive and ailan or amen songs were only composed by men. After a pause due to COVID-19, I began working on Ailan Songs Project and stayed connected with many of the Songwomen online. While working in schools on the mainland, I began sharing "Zenadh Kes," the song about the Torres Strait flag composed during those workshops. My Kala Lagaw Ya mentor, Aunty Louise Manas, advised me to seek permission from Nayama before continuing to use the song.
Although the song was composed collectively, it was Nayama who brought the idea forward and contributed most of the content. Coincidentally, I had used "Zenadh Kes" during the workshop as a copyright example to the singer. Explaining how copyright and ownership could be divided among co-writers based on contribution and how money is generated from royalties, a concept many community members are unfamiliar with.
L-R: (Rear) Will Kepa – engineer, Thayme Unicomb, Leonora Adidi, Nayama, Flora Taylor, Marianna Baira, Lousie Manas (Front) Rita Kaitap, Jessie Lloyd, Patricia Nakata. Recording Lingu Karay choir album on Thursday Island at TSIMA in February 2024.
Copyright, royalties, and authorship often causes confusion or mistrust, particularly when people feel their or their family’s contributions aren't acknowledged, or others are benefitting from songs that aren’t theirs. Eg. Me singing ‘surrare’ professionally online was perceived as me making big money from someone else’s song. But legally under Australian copyright law, it is the composer who must register the song. So, when it is performed, they can receive royalties from it. I understand how non-musical people may feel taken advantage of if one of their songs is sung in public without them, these songs represent their ancestors and permissions should be sought.
This experience helped me understand the difference between Western legal ownership and Indigenous cultural ownership. Under Australian copyright law, all listed co-writers legally own the song. But under cultural law, Nayama, as the one who carried the concept and knowledge, should be consulted on its use. So that’s what I did: I asked for her permission to share "Zenadh Kes" in schools and on the mainland to teach Australian children about the Torres Strait. She gave her blessing: "Yes, share the song."
In recent years, I’ve been in ongoing dialogue with the Australian Performing Rights Association (APRA), which manages copyright for music in Australia. They now have an Indigenous-led team working to bridge the gap between copyright law and Indigenous Cultural and Intellectual Property (ICIP). Many of the historical songs I’ve worked with, through Mission Songs Project, Ailan Songs Project and my Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Songbook, are now helping inform how these frameworks develop.
These reflections reinforce what I’ve learned time and again: that Indigenous songs are never just songs. They are layered with kinship, history, identity, responsibility, and community. And working with them requires more than talent, it requires trust, time, and a deep commitment to doing things the right way.
Ailan Custom:
In writing all this, I would like to acknowledge my Eastern Island connections. As mentioned earlier, two of my Geia aunties married Akee men from Mer, and a third sister, Aunty Florence 'Kapi' Geia, married Uncle Potipha Wano, also from Mer. Many of my cousins are both Eastern and Western Islanders.
Additionally, our community practices Ailan Custom adoption, now legally recognised in Queensland under the ‘Meriba Omasker Kaziw Kazipa Act 2020’. This law recognises the Torres Strait practice where a child is raised by relatives or other families within the community and is considered a full and proper child of that family.
I was raised under Ailan Custom. My father, Joe Geia, gifted me to his sister Lynelda and her husband Michael Tippo. For my entire childhood, I was known as Jessie Tippo. But at the time, this adoption wasn’t legally recognised. So, when I turned 16 and got my driver’s licence, I had to use the name on my birth certificate: Jessie Lloyd. That name has since stuck.
Under Ailan Custom, adopted children inherit full rights and responsibilities, just like biological children. This includes land inheritance, family names, cultural roles, and identity. An example is Eddie Mabo, who was adopted under Ailan Custom by Benny Mabo. When Eddie made his famous native title claim, the High Court upheld his right to inherit his adopted father’s land because in our law and culture, he was Benny Mabo’s son.
In my case, I was raised as a Tippo, and the Tippo family is mine in every way. Dad Michael Tippo’s mother, Nana Lulu Geesu from Palm Island, was also adopted. Her father, Izara Geesu, originally from Mer, gave her his surname and raised her alongside his other children.
Indigenous kinship systems can be complex. And while I may not have direct biological ties to Mer or identify as Meriem, I can’t deny my Meriem family and my place within them. Most Torres Strait Islanders, if they trace back far enough, will find bloodlines across many islands. Before there were borderlines, there were bloodlines.
Guidance and Boundaries: Learning from Songwomen:
Throughout this process, I was aware that through the fellowship I was stepping into a cultural space that wasn’t mine to hold. While I have family ties to the Eastern Islands through marriage and ailan custom, I am not Meriam. My ancestral roots are in the Western Torres Strait, I am Mualgal with connections to Kaurareg and I am a student and singer of Kala Lagaw Ya.
With consistent visits to the Torres Strait and growing relationships with Elders and Songwomen, I’m taught that just because you are Torres Strait Islander doesn’t mean you have access to all Torres Strait Islander knowledge. Songs, stories, and languages are tied to specific islands and families, and responsibilities and must be treated with respect.
It was my Kala Lagaw Ya mentors and Songwomen in the Lingu Karay Women’s Choir who initially advised me to stay away from Meriam content. I was always taught that Meriam culture follows a strict hierarchy that must be respected. And with limited access to Nayama due to sorry business, I knew this was not my workspace. I suggested to Kerry Arabena that she might consider working with Meriam singer Rochelle Pitt for her children’s songs project, but at the time Kerry was committed to me, perhaps because of our existing relationship and because I had already received the fellowship. Kerry has since taken my advice and handed the children’s song project to Rochelle Pitt, and I wish them the best.
L-R: Louise Manas, Leonora Adidi and Jessie Lloyd - Kala Lagaw Ya learning songs team 2023
I’ll note here, though I may not include it later, that Kerry and I have a personal connection. We met years ago at a gig (which I don’t remember), but we share a mutual friend, she’s close friends with Nikki McCoy who is my stepmother’s sister, dad Joe Geia’s sister-in-law. I’m passionate about family history and genealogy, and one day Kerry appeared as a possible match on Ancestry.com, so I reached out.
Kerry and her sister shared what they knew of their Torres Strait ancestry, and I did a deep dive into their family tree. I couldn’t find a definitive shared ancestor, especially given the complexity of traditional adoption and unrecorded kinship ties, but I found amazing stories and it was a meaningful exchange and a great learning experience. I suspect Kerry saw my commitment to Indigenous song history, genealogy and my PHD as a good fit for the fellowship.
My most recent trip to TI was for the launch of the Lingu Karay album, and I had hoped to finally complete the fellowship by recording Nayama singing Meriam songs. I had concerns about being involved as a co-composer on Kerry’s new children’s songs project, and this was my last opportunity to complete the fellowship in a way that felt culturally safe.
Of course, in true ailan style, things didn’t go exactly to plan. When I arrived on TI, I realised Nayama was in Cairns. I stayed a few extra days, committed to completing the fellowship. I messaged her: "When you back on TI?" She replied, "In a couple days." I asked, "When you get back can I record you? I need to finish up this fellowship." No reply.
While waiting on TI, I explained my situation to my Kala Lagaw Ya mentors. They were silent at first, likely wondering how I’d gotten caught up in Meriam affairs. Then they repeated their advice: Meriam has a hierarchy, don’t go near it. I also heard similar warnings from others in the community from previous projects. I hoped I might still record Nayama in a respectful way and deliver to AIATSIS and Kerry Arabena as planned.
When Nayama returned, she was ready! I spent three days filmed her singing. First, we visited Aka Cessa Nakata, our Torres Strait songbird and the last of the Mills Sisters. She’s 97 and had recently had a stroke and struggled with the mobility in her hands. As soon as we arrived with the ukulele, I was told to get hers and suddenly her hands were working just fine. Her daughter, Aunty Patricia Nakata, was impressed and joined us. We sang all afternoon. See accompanying footage to this report – Nayama with Cessa Nakata.
Nayama, uke in hand and ready to sing!
I set up my phone on a small tripod and filmed. Nayama and Aka Cessa took turns singing ailan songs, switching between Meriam pieces and other favourites. Aunty Patty, hiding behind the camera, added third-part harmonies, completing that beautiful Torres Strait sound. It was perfect and magic.
Because my stay on TI was unplanned, all accommodation was booked out and I had nowhere to stay, but Aka Cessa and Aunty Patty insisted I stay with them. I gratefully accepted. Aka Cessa reminded me that when the Mills Sisters used to tour Melbourne in the 1990s, they always stayed with my dad, Joe Geia. "Staying with family is important," she said. It was on these tours the Mills Sister travelled with Melbourne Aboriginal trio Tiddas. And the realisation of both groups singing a variation of the well-known song ‘Innanay’, but this is a story for another time.
Back on TI, the next day, Nayama wanted to record at her house on her front porch. I set up my camera while she sang and shared stories. She carefully chose Meriam songs she felt wouldn’t cause issues around permissions or protocols. It was a beautiful and session and these recordings will accompany the outcomes of this paper.
That night, I returned to Aka Cessa’s place. I gave her my phone to watch the videos of Nayama singing and she watched them on repeat, all night. Occasionally she’d comment, "Why is she talking? She should stop talking and just sing." At 97, she wasn’t fussed about interviews, she just wanted to hear the songs. She was captivated and loved singing along.
I was happy. I had recorded Nayama, a living library and a wonderful entertainer. I’d hoped to do more with my professional recording gear, but I’ve learned that in the Torres Strait, you strike while the iron is hot. And phone camera recording is what we got and its great.
So, the fellowship won’t produce a formal songbook with lyrics and translations as originally proposed, but what we do have are the songs, the recordings, the stories, and this report, which hopefully sheds light on the broader cultural layers involved.
L-R: Patricia Nakata, Nayama, Cessa Mills and friend – Ukulele Gama’s, Thursday Island 2021
Nayama has been mentored by Aka Cessa for over a decade, usually accompanied by her best friend Aunty Patty Nakata and they have a little musical group on TI called ‘Ukulele Gama’s’. It’s been an absolute honour to listen, learn, and witness the depth of knowledge they all carry and be part of multi-generational song mentoring. From Aka Cessa to Nayama and Aunty Patty to me. This knowledge transmission was not Meriam based but about learning ailan song traditions from living libraries. Learning from the source.
The Songwomen of Lingu Karay have also been a cultural compass; guiding, advising, and exploring with me. I remember asking them early on, “Did any women compose the well-known ailan songs?” They said no it was always the men. And so, in their way, these women are pioneering something new. They are uplifting voices of Torres Strait women and women everywhere. It is an honour to be a student and daughter to them all.
Conclusion:
Since starting this project, my PHD and its direction has also changed. Starting with a focus on researching and composing songs that teach Kala Lagaw Ya, my new PHD direction is ‘Singing as Research’. And this paper is an example how me singing and learning songs, even recording songs, is a process of research that shows how Indigenous songs hold, share, and create knowledge. And that our song traditions are a legitimate form of academic research.
In closing, I want to acknowledge my final conversations with Kerry Arabena. After I left TI, we met over Zoom to discuss the children’s songs project. I explained that I had recorded Nayama and shared everything I had learned along the way, including why I wasn’t the right person to continue this Meriam song work.
Kerry agreed that what I had delivered with Nayama was enough to complete the fellowship. She fully understood the cultural considerations around Meriam language and songs and thanked me for my work. I gave her my recommendations on how to continue her project respectfully, with the right people.
This was not just a research project. It was a process of listening, learning, stepping forward, and knowing when to step aside. And through it all, the Songwomen, past, present, and future, have shown the way.
L-R: Jessie Lloyd and Kerry Arabena in Melbourne December 2024
by Jessie Lloyd
