In the months preceding the historic closure of Uluru to climbing, Anangu traditional owner Sammy Wilson unwittingly became the most in-demand man in Central Australia.

From the ABC to the BBC, the Sydney Morning Herald to the Washington Post, Mr Wilson submitted to interviews and answered the same questions again and again.

Then, on the morning of the climbing ban, at the behest of journalists, a group of Anangu elders agreed to hold a press conference to answer the same questions they'd already answered dozens of times before.

"How do they feel?"

"Why is Uluru culturally significant?"

"Aren't you worried about Anangu losing revenue if visitor numbers drop?"

The eyes of the world's media were focused on Mutitjulu, and Mr Wilson was at the centre of a lot of it. ( Supplied: CLC )

For this final moment in the fickle gaze of the world's media, Mr Wilson pointedly chose to hold his grandson.

"Some of you might be wondering why I'm holding this young fella," he said in Pitjantjatjara, via an interpreter.

"Because he's representing our future."

Mr Wilson, his grandson, and the other elders who stood in full sun for the benefit of the TV cameras and photographers, all live in the tiny community of Mutitjulu that sits astoundingly close to the base of Uluru.

It's not a place tourists would ever see — access to the tiny community of 296 residents is behind a 'no entry' sign off a dirt road.

But if Mutitjulu were on show, most would be shocked by the level of abject poverty, co-existing alongside Australia's most famous natural wonder.

Why is that the case?

A look at Mutitjulu shows that closing the climb is insignificant when compared to the other factors affecting the fortunes of people living at the rock.

While the nearby town of Yulara has thrived from tourism, Mutitjulu at the base of Uluru is impoverished. ( AAP: Lukas Coch )

'We're 150 years behind'

Mr Wilson wears a generous smile, as he sits down to talk about the future.

"We've got so many tour companies and bus companies coming here," he said.

Mr Wilson runs tours for visitors seeking an authentic cultural experience. ( ABC News: Oliver Gordon )

"We don't want to get rich, but we want to have a living, to make enough money."

In partnership with his sons, Mr Wilson runs small tours for visitors seeking an authentic cultural experience.

Operating entirely by word-of-mouth, it's one of the few tourism ventures run out of Mutitjulu.

"I think we're 150 years behind, can we come up too and we're going to be level?" he said.

"We're supposed to be up here, this is our country, and our land.

"But we got to start doing something more."

Tourists observe Uluru at sunset on the day of the historic climb closure. ( AAP: Lukas Coch )

In the year preceding the Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park board's announcement to close Uluru to climbers, the number of visitors choosing to climb the rock had fallen to just 14 per cent — a deciding factor in the decision to close.

When the board made its vote public at the end of 2017, the Central Land Council said fledgling tourism plans needed to be supported so that the climb wasn't missed.

But in the two years since the decision, the extent to which that happened is difficult to measure.

Chief executive Joe Martin-Jard said there were now more than 100 "experiences" on offer to visitors of Uluru, and many of those benefited locals.

"There's support coming from the Federal Government, from the Northern Territory Government, from the Central Land Council," he said.

"We're all getting behind the tourist operators and I think that all the stakeholders are coming together and they're expecting good things.

There are plans to refurbish this dilapidated building at Mutitjulu into a community centre using gate fee money. ( ABC )

"But to be frank, we won't really be able to measure [the impact] until about a year from now, and then we can vary the support to keep offering up great experiences to these visitors."

Shadow Indigenous Affairs Minister Pat Dodson said it was up to the park's board to manage and enhance the economic opportunities from the rock, and that it would be done according to their values and wishes.

"How the communities get looked after is a bigger issue," Mr Dodson said.

"Just because you live in a remote part of Australia, you shouldn't be given the worst kind of treatment and the worst opportunities for services, and quality of life, but that's what goes on here."

Gate fees contribute to public infrastructure, housing still painfully slow

Mutitjulu was granted a sublease in March 2017, and then-Indigenous affairs minister Nigel Scullion said it meant the Australian and Northern Territory governments could proceed with a $10 million investment in housing in the town.

But two-and-a-half years later, the ABC understands Parks Australia and the Northern Territory Government are still locked in a stoush over which authority should pay for power and water infrastructure upgrades.

As a result, plans for new houses, a new football oval, and upgrades to administration buildings have stalled.

Data provided by the Northern Territory Department of Local Government, Housing and Community Development shows Mutitjulu has an overcrowding rate of 61 per cent.

Just two replacement homes have been completed since the sublease was signed, while a further 11 homes cannot progress without the upgrades to power and water infrastructure.

In a statement, the department said the issue was being discussed with the Office of Township Leasing and Parks Australia.

Mr Martin-Jard said he was aware the community was discussing plans to start directing some of the gate fee royalties towards housing infrastructure.

Tourists pay a $25 gate fee to enter Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park, and the park's traditional owners receive a 25 per cent cut.

Since 2005-06, the community has contributed $14 million of those royalties towards community development, such as a pool that opened in 2016.

The pool at Mutitjulu opened in 2013 and was co-funded by gate-fee royalties and government grants. ( ABC )

Employment gains modest for locals, despite record tourism

There are a small number of locals employed at ventures in the nearby resort town of Yulara, most of which is owned and operated by Voyages, a subsidiary of the Indigenous Land and Sea Corporation (ILSC).

The very purpose of the ILSC — a corporate Commonwealth entity — is to assist Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people to realise economic and other benefits through the management and ownership of their land.

Mr Martin-Jard said Voyages had made commendable inroads towards employment pathways for locals, but that the same barriers to employment plague Mutitjulu as elsewhere.

"I agree that the number [of locals employed by Voyages] remains too low," he said.

"But we also can't just put people [in jobs] without support — it has to be slow and deliberate process."

He lists fixing over-crowded housing, multi-generational unemployment, and health as the keys to long-term prosperity, but he pointed to gains in ranger employment as proof that change is incremental.

Currently, there are 20 Mutitjulu locals employed as rangers in Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park.

"We find that there's roughly equal participation between men and women, and there's the more unintended outcomes, like the children of rangers are more likely to go to school, there's less domestic violence and other sort of anti-social behaviour," Mr Martin-Jard said.

And it's those kinds of initiatives that are giving Sammy Wilson hope that children like his grandson will grow up with opportunities at the nation's most beloved natural wonder.