It is a Monday night in Western Australia’s largest remote Aboriginal community, Bidyadanga, and pool managers Linda and Scott Kendall are chopping 12 kilos of chicken thighs for a free curry night.
This is not your usual pool, and the job of aquatic managers like the Kendalls in eight remote Aboriginal communities managed by Royal Life Saving Society in Western Australia goes beyond teaching laps to being generous hosts.
It is 26 years since the first remote pools opened in communities like Jigalong and Balgo, says the state’s RLSS general manager Greg Tate, and they are making a difference.
“Water safety is at our core, but this program is bigger than that. It is about social impact, and the health and education and employment it provides to the local community,” says Tate, who, along with this masthead, is staying overnight at the Kendalls’.
If you didn’t go to school, you don’t get to go the pool in Bidyadanga, one of the remote pools in Western Australia found to improve community wellbeing and health.Credit: Tamati Smith
“This program is saving lives in other ways. It is making massive improvements in health, kids can hear, and they do better at school. It is not a panacea, we can’t solve it all, but we can help.”
The next morning the Kendalls open a dozen jars of curry sauce while they talk to Tate. They had bought the last remaining ingredients in Broome 180 kilometres away before cyclone Zelia hit the area south in mid-February.
After supervising the morning swim on Tuesday, the Kendalls finish cooking for that night. When the red curry paste hits the oil, everyone gasps as the chilli catches our throats. It is nearly as hot as the temperature outside, averaging 35 to 42 degrees for the last week.
A child throws a ball in the air near the remote pool in Bidyadanga while pool manager Linda Kendall sits nearby.Credit: Tamati Smith
Told by the local Karajarri Aboriginal community they wanted “a proper feed”, the Kendalls add coconut milk, garlic, ginger, kaffir lime, bean shoots, bamboo shoots, zucchini, broccoli and carrots.
The remote pool program, funded by the Department of Communities, was started by a former state housing minister who noticed chlorinated water improved the health of people living in overcrowded houses by reducing skin and hearing infections.
Children in remote communities in the Pilbara and Kimberley were arriving at school with ear, nose and throat infections, sometimes even deaf due to the dust problems, RLSS chief executive Peter Leaversuch said.
“It was a fascinating dilemma actually because everyone knows, health principle 101 is if you have an ear or sinus infection don’t go swimming.”
In these small communities, diving into the chlorinated water has had “outstanding benefits in terms of hygiene, plus the mental health benefits of having a swim”.
Three reviews have found these free pools improve mental and physical health. The first, by famous Western Australia epidemiologist Professor Fiona Stanley, tracked health over six years at the first three pools, finding drops of 44 per cent in ear disease, 51 per cent in skin disease and a 63 per cent drop in respiratory infections. As a result, antibiotics also fell 41 per cent.
After a report found pool infrastructure is ageing and access to pools was worse in remote and regional areas, RLSSA is encouraging governments to build more pools like these across Australia and maintain existing stock.
The latest report by the Centre for Social Impact with the University of Western Australia looked at similar remote and community pools to Bidyadanga in the Pilbara and found they had become community hubs. They often hosted dinners, baptisms, bands, and Blue Light discos run by local police. Jigalong, population 306, had 78 events at its pool in 12 months.
The remote pool program’s No School No Pool policy – where attendance determined whether a child could swim – had widespread support, particularly as attendance some days is as low as 20 to 30 per cent in some communities.
Education, said one elder, was “number one important, especially for my people … that’s why there’s always been a big push … get your mob to school”.
In Bidgy, the locals’ term for Bidyadanga, a boy was told to go back to school to get proof of attendance. He came back with a large stamp, “MON” for Monday, on his arm, and jumped in.
Bidyadanga Aboriginal Community chief executive Tania Baxter said the pool offered much to her community – with a population fluctuating from 800 to 1000 people – including health benefits, including improved fitness and reduction in skin infection.
“People of all ages benefit from this service with families bringing babies and young children, and older ages using the facility. In a remote community, there are very few [if any] recreational facilities to provide fun and respite within a safe, controlled setting.”
Stamp of approval: With proof of attendance, this child can dive in.Credit: Tamati Smith
At the world drowning prevention conference in Perth two years ago, Graeme Pollett, then pool manager at Balgo who is now overseeing the most remote of pools, Kalumburu, said his job had the longest commute in Australia – a four-day drive to work from Perth.
“It is a tough gig,” he said. “It is 650 kilometres to the nearest Coles. It is always hot, sometimes the cold tap hits 42 degrees … There is substandard housing, and overcrowding, 10 people share a home, and several homes have 17 or more. Air-conditioning is a luxury, and there is a high rate of chronic disease.”
Like 68 per cent of Indigenous communities, Balgo had active cases of trachoma, a preventable disease where bacteria leads to eye loss. It has been eliminated in every other developed country other than Australia.
“Problems often seem too great,” Pollett told the audience. “But we are making a huge difference,” he said citing programs like No School, No Pool.
“As soon as we get back to town, and the pool reopens, eye and ear infections magically disappear. Kids [at school] are more settled, not fidgeting as much, and they can hear better. That in turn leads to a better life and reduces adult incarcerations.”
Bidga shop managers Emma and Ben said “trouble drops 100 per cent” when the pool is open.
Royal Life Saving Society Western Australia general manager Greg Tate at the Bidyadanga community pool.Credit: Tamati Smith for The Sydney Morning Herald/The Age
The Kendalls, among the few non-Indigenous people in the community, say they don’t assume to know what is best.
At the regular yarning session, locals had told them they wanted, “More food, better food [no more sausage sizzles or burgers] and a deeper deep end.”
The Kendalls couldn’t make the 25-metre pool any deeper, but they could make curry for 120.
The couple has worked in remote pools off and on for 20 years. Scott’s day starts at 5.30am, when he opens the pool for morning laps and checks the water quality. They run a before-school swim club where Linda teaches students ranging from kindergarten to year 12.
They also run laps for fruit, a program Scott created where a swimmer is rewarded with a piece of fruit for every 10 or 20 laps. Sometimes children will swim 50.
They also operate a talent program sponsored by BHP, where teenagers can earn $29 an hour working at the pool and gain qualifications that can lead to employment.
“Our philosophy is that there’s a lot of trauma in communities. And the pool is like a fun place, a safe place, for kids to come and get away,” said Scott.
Linda makes a cup of tea for every adult caring for a child.
Loading
“Can you bring me a biscuit too?” one asks. “A bottle of water, please Linda,” asks another.
It is an act of kindness, a small act of service, said Linda. She and Scott aim to treat visitors to the pool in the same way that locals have welcomed them.
“I think it’s easy to spend time in Aboriginal communities, make assumptions and be a bit paternalistic,” Linda said. “There might be a reason why things happen that you would not think about. You can make a real difference if you’re willing to be humble enough to listen, and also have the humility to know you don’t know.”
When she noticed a few girls were not swimming before school, she couldn’t work out why. After many discussions, she bought shampoo and conditioner; they wanted to look good and smell good for school.
Linda loves the Saturday night discos when they dim the lights at the pool. “It is she likes him, and he likes her. It’s such normal teenage behaviour, and it’s so removed from anything dysfunctional … they can come and forget for a few hours.”
Noraini McCullough, a parent of three, has brought her children to the pool every day for years.
McCullough said there was a big difference between Bidga and remote communities with no pools. “Everyone is bored, hot or at home. No one hardly leaves the house. There is nowhere to socialise like we do here. If other mums come, we sit and yarn.”
Drowning rates are twice as high among Aboriginal people. McCullough didn’t learn to swim, and nearly drowned while fishing with family. “There was no pool growing up for us,” she said.
A group of children dances barefoot as the rain falls.Credit: Tamati Smith
The party is happy, and a bit chaotic as lightning and thunder shut the pool. The kids go berserk in the instant rivers of red mud.
Everyone grabs a takeaway box of freshly cooked rice and curry. A girl sat in her wet bathers on a brick wall picking out bamboo shoots, and enjoying the rice. How’s the curry? “A little too hot,” she said.
Julie Power’s airfare to Broome was paid for by Royal Life Saving Society Australia. She and photographer Tamati Smith stayed as guests with the Kendalls.
Start the day with a summary of the day’s most important and interesting stories, analysis and insights. Sign up for our Morning Edition newsletter.
