I DIDN’T UNDERSTAND what the Pilbara was. I didn’t even know how to spell Karratha properly. I didn’t care about shell middens and Aboriginal petroglyphs and preservation; I just wanted money. 

‘Welcome to K-Town, Lil,’ my uncle releases me from a stiff high-vis grip. ‘You’re in for a bit of a shock.’ We both laugh and look out to the garden as if to reassure ourselves we’re in the middle of nowhere. The garden is balding, patches of red soil push over the foreign greenery and the black dog is dead-still under the shade of my cousin’s trampoline. ‘We’ll take you to the pub tonight, now that will be your real shock.’