It is hot. I’m sitting in the middle seat, up front between Mum and Dad, in our Volkswagen Kombi. Burnt orange it is, cream coloured interior. The whole tribe is inside, twelve in all – counting us three up front. Two-and-a-half-year-old twins, Critty and Hongan, are in the boot compartment down back, Tony, Peter and Uncle Johnny are in the back seat, and Mick, Sean, Louise and Tim are in the middle. A camper trailer is towed from the rear. The thrum and rattle of the VW motor hums from the back. It is noisy, with the sound of the family, a din: giggling tweens, crying babies, Mum singing, joking teenagers plus the smell – it is pungent in here. We are heading east. The hypnotic rhythm of the highway, white lines stretching out before me, zipping past rhythmically like a giant conveyor belt, eyelids heavy, I drift off … asleep. 

We have stopped somewhere in this great dusty plain. Family spills out of the Kombi – everyone is sweaty, thirsty and car sick. It has been two days driving and we are on the edge of the world, at a giant black cylindrical water tank. A patchwork of saltbush scrub and pearl bluebush on red soil stretches out to the horizon in every direction. The sun is baking hot, and Mum and Dad are setting up a fireplace. The teenagers are collecting twigs and any wood they can find – mostly twigs. Louise and Mick are setting up the fold-out table and chairs, and behind them Tim brings the plastic picnic plates and cups stacked – a tower of colour. The twins are crawling around on a blanket in the shade of the Kombi. It is so hot, not a breath of air is breaking the stifling heat. Flies hover around faces and on backs in their hundreds – each person has this buzzing host colonising their orbit, we all brush and swoosh with our hands to get a temporary reprieve. Critty and Hongan have flies in their eyes and mouths, bunched up like bundles of small black sultanas. At least it's relatively sterile out here. In amongst the saltbush, we have set up our camp. The fire is going, and Dad has built a platform with rocks to hold the steel barbecue plate. The smoke from the fire drifts up through the desert air, like a beacon of our presence in this strange and isolated landscape. The table is set - a colourful scene of red plates, floral tablecloth, yellow, green and blue cups, steel knives and forks. 

The tribe of twelve is getting ready around the food, no surprise – as everyone is starving. Mum is furiously keeping the flies off the sausages – not cooked yet and waiting for the hotplate to heat up. As I look out into this infinite mirage-lined landscape, I notice in the distance – probably five hundred yards away – a small disturbance of the air, building and swirling, a coil of red dust spiralling into the sky, getting larger as it stretches out towards the aquamarine blue. Its energy is building.  

Everyone around me has stopped to watch in awe as the Wili Wili, a Dust Devil, carves its path across the plain. We are looking south and the Wili Wili is heading west to east, parading along at a safe distance. Abruptly, as if aware of our presence, it changes in intensity and direction, rearing up directly at us – at the camp! Everyone is watching, sort of dumbfounded, stunned as the Dust Devil is upon us. The air is screaming with the sound of Crow, Whistling Kite, Hawk and Eagle. Up above us, in the air, is a swirling red-dust tempest of table, chairs, yellow, green and blue cups and plates. The floral tablecloth is soaring like a magic carpet, with hats and nappies and twigs, all hundreds of metres in the air, being flung and flipped across the landscape. 

Everyone is running now, some laughing, some barking orders, some scared – my parents and older brothers and sister are jumping over the scrub, grabbing chairs, plates and all the detritus of the camp. Through this screaming din I can hear crying … no screaming. I turn to see my little brother Hongan, in a nappy only, standing with arms outstretched, shaking. I look down and see that he is standing on the barbecue hot plate that has been flung onto the ground. Critty stands beside him crying too – not knowing why. The Dust Devil continues on its way. All goes quiet and sobs ring out.