Ubuo Housewarming

 All aboard for the trip from the airstrip
 to the village (R.Petterson)

Among all the ceremony of the Jesus Film dedication, one thing I very much enjoyed was having outside friends come to visit my village, meet my village friends and stay in my house. After months of living in my Ukarumpa house, I have not organised to have a housewarming, but my village house had a housewarming in my second week of occupation.

Coming from Kapuna were Robbie and Debbie, my mentors and friends as I work in the region. Aunty Barb, Segana and Nilza came too. As the hospital is my second home in Gulf Province and these are people who support me both prayerfully and practically, it was really good to have them here. They were able to renew their own local connections and to see the outcome of their help with getting toilets and water tanks installed in my house.

Coming from Ukarumpa were two couples from my Bible study group. My Bible study is my Ukarumpa family and now some of them have seen my place and met the people I spend my time with. My regional director came as the official representative from our organisation, but she too is a friend. One person came from the media department and spent all her time behind a camera (there will be a video produced eventually). As we used to have offices across the corridor from each other, we are good friends. We had a visitor who was only in PNG for two weeks, but managed to squeeze the dedication trip in and experience village life. Another woman who is part of a family that Robbie and Debbie are close to, came as their representative. As there was space on the plane, a father and son pair came to experience the village side of our work. This was not a man I knew well, but he represented all the people who work quietly in the background at Ukarumpa to keep things running. It was nice to share with him the field side of what the support of our office workers makes possible. I really appreciate the work these people do, even if I don’t understand most of it.

 Group photos of all the visitors (H.Schulz)

With all these people coming for the dedication and a sleep-over, my house was full! It spent a few days swallowing mountains of cargo that first I, and then the visitors, brought with us. The verandah kept receiving a pile of cargo that then got sorted into various places in the house.

Robbie and Debbie used their room. The wall has woven into it, ‘Uncle Robbie and Auntie Debbie’, so there is no denying it is theirs! The Kapuna visitors were in the room with ‘Kapuna Visitors’ woven into the wall. All of the women who flew down from Ukarumpa slept under one enormous mosquito net in my living area, and the men under a collection of nets on the verandah. I kept my room to myself, as a place of escape amidst the chaos.

Chaos it was, especially on Saturday morning as everyone was waking, changing, packing and eating. I gave the women my room as a change room and offered the storage room to the men as it was the only room left available. Debbie shared her coffee supply and made a saucepan of coffee for everyone. I have a plunger to make coffee for myself, but for a crowd the saucepan did a fine job.  I had brought muesli and milk powder for breakfast and Debbie had brought bread. Her bread proved the most popular and I ended up with an excess of muesli and a shortage of peanut butter. Thankfully I had some back-up supplies I could break into.

 Farewell wave from the village (H.Schulz)

When it was time to go, the cargo was sent ahead of us to the boat and it was time for farewells. A group photo was taken at the house and we walked to the wharf. More photos were taken at the wharf before everyone got onto the waiting boats and we finally waved them off. Robbie and Debbie stayed an extra night, but the house seemed very quiet after the noisy fun of a crowd.

I have a record of their visit though, in my visitors map. A while ago I found a world map at a fabric store. It still has the USSR marked on it, so it is not very politically current, but the geography has not changed. Well, except for where a piece of Siberia has been printed in the Pacific Ocean. I’ll sew a patch over that some day… after all this is a map from a fabric shop. Around the map I added a border of plain cloth and this is where my visitors signed. A string runs between their name and their place of origin, even if that is a trick question for some of my friends. Many of them have been here so long, or moved so often, that they had to choose a place for the string to end. I look forward to adding more strings when others visit, but the map is off to a good start, after such a big housewarming.

A corner of my visitor's map (H.Schulz)

More than the fun of having people to visit though, was the fact that they went away with a much better understanding of my life, friends and work in Ubuo village. They have slept in my house, eaten village food, walked between Goiravi and Ubuo, taken a boat ride on the river and met my friends. When I share stories, they now have not just a photo in their mind, but a place with real people, sights, sounds and smells.

Who will be my next visitor? :-D

Aba Robbie

 Being led forwards (A.Evers)

During the Jesus Film dedication there was a very special event that occurred. It was listed on the programme as ‘surprise event’ and I was the only outsider who knew in advance what was happening. The chiefs of the Kope tribe had decided to honour Robbie’s work with their tribe by making him a ‘chief and patriarch’ (their words). What an incredible honour! … and it was not one bestowed lightly.

On the day of the dedication we reached the point where the special event was to occur. Robbie had no idea what was coming as the chiefs gathered in front of the stage and a respected leader, Rev Gemo, stood at the microphone. I took Robbie’s camera from him, so that I could get a record for him to keep. Debbie (Robbie’s wife) already had the video camera rolling, as the chiefs looked impressive standing as a well dressed group, and ended up filming the whole event.

As Rev Gemo introduced what was going on, one of the chiefs came up on the stage to collect Robbie and to bring him down before them all. They sat him on a specially prepared mat, which gave a loud and surprising crack. Robbie jumped up, everyone laughed, and all was exactly as it should be as a dry piece of bamboo had been placed under it for exactly that purpose. It was a light-hearted start to an otherwise serious ceremony. As Robbie sat on his mat listening to the leader, you could see he was feeling emotional. Thirty years after he and Debbie first started working in this swampy corner of the world, not seeking any credit from anyone, but seeking to make a difference, here was a community choosing to give him their highest honour when he least expected it.

 A serious ceremony (A.Evers)

One by one the gathered chiefs presented Robbie with items of his office. A headdress from one of their heads, a shield, a bow and arrows, spears and shell necklaces. Rev Gemo spoke of the significance of the role, that it places on Robbie the responsibility to act in the best interests of the Kope people. He also spoke of the tribe giving Robbie land and that the title ‘chief’ is earned and cannot be passed down from father to son. Robbie had earned it.

 Symbols of office (H.Schulz)

The crowd watched with great interest as the man they have long called ‘Aba Robbie’ officially became an ‘Aba’. This name is also used for fathers, but when used outside the family, is a title of honour and respect. The ceremony was not long, but it will stay in my memory for a long time as a both solemn and joyous occasion.

The next morning the men gathered to discuss what land was to be given to Robbie. They decided on the block where my house is and some of the land around this. I now live on Robbie’s land and I’ve been commissioned to plant lots of fruit trees. Maybe one day there will be a translation or a literacy centre here, but we will see what develops.

Aba Robbie, chief and patriarch of the Kope tribe. Their first outside chief, their first white chief and a most humble and deserving chief.

The Event

After the big welcome to all the guests and a rest, we returned to the stage for the official dedication of the Jesus Film. By now it was late afternoon and the bite had gone from the sun. That is not to say it was cool, just hot and sweaty instead of meltingly hot and sweaty. This was a good thing for me as by then I was in a costume.

Being dressed in my new outfit (A.Evers)

I had been told that I was the ‘mother of the feast’ and as such I needed to be traditionally dressed. The chief’s wife had measured me the day before to create a skirt and top for me and that afternoon she and her husband came around to put them on me. They tied them over my clothes and then trimmed the top to fit. This meant a pile of grass gathering around my feet as the excess was cut off from the top. They also tied two festive shell bracelets onto my wrists. Being dressed in this way, in traditional clothes put on me by the chief and his wife, was a beautiful moment of adoption. In so many ways the Kope tribe has taken me in, but in this moment I very much became their daughter.

The amazing bird of paradise head-dress (A.Evers)

My costume was nothing though, in comparison to the chief and his wife. Tompkin is paramount chief over upper Kope, an area of four villages. Over his neat trousers and collared shirt he wore so many bands of shells that he made gentle music as he walked. On his head was an impressive headdress of feathers with a decorative band of shells. He certainly wore the most shells of anyone on the day. His wife also had the most amazing headdress out of all the women. Hers was topped with a rust coloured bird of paradise that her son in law had caught for her. The beautiful feathers shone in the sun as she smiled out from underneath it.

At the official dedication in the afternoon there was the usual collection of speeches. Most people kept it short and to the point, although there was at least one who took the moment to do some politicking. Eventually there was the dedication prayer, the showing of the first few minutes of the film and the promise of the full film once it was dark enough to project onto a big screen (aka bed sheet). There was also a very special event which I’ll write about next week before people dispersed to prepare their feast food and return.

The gathered crowd (A.Evers)

As the evening grew dark, people started claiming their places near the screen. We waited on the stage for our part in the feast and the wait was well worth it. I am not the first Kope daughter from Adelaide. A while ago a Kope man married an Adelaide woman and although they have separated and he has returned to PNG, his children are all still in South Australia. Two of them are cooks, and I don’t know if they learnt from their father or their father learnt from then, but either way, this man knows how to cook! I’ve since learnt that his two assistants for the day were people who have also worked in a company camp kitchen and in hotel kitchens in Port Moresby. It’s amazing what skills and histories are living quietly in the village. Between these three men, we were served village gourmet food and everyone appreciated it.

Setting up the projector (A.Evers)

Food done and plates cleared (put in a bucket to take home and wash later), it was time for the film showing. We were blessed with very few technical hitches, as the sound system, generator, dodgy looking extension cords and my projector that keeps resetting itself to Chinese all worked together well. The crowd stretched back into the darkness, all eyes focussed on the screen. Around me near the front were little children watching wide eyed. My Kope is not yet good enough to follow the words, but the story is familiar and I followed the images instead. Even then, I find this story that I have known my whole life confronting to see illustrated in this way.

As the film finished there was silence as the crowd stayed still and thoughtful. Someone prayed and dismissed everyone, but even as they walked away, the thoughtfulness remained.

I returned to my house with the last few visitors who had made it to the end of the film. As they had all had an early start and did not understand the language, many of them had quietly gone to bed once they had seen the crowd transfixed by the film. I wove my way among the mosquito nets and sleeping bodies filling my veranda and living area until I found my way to the sanctuary of my own mosquito net and mattress. Untangling myself from a grass skirt and top, I fell into bed exhausted and happy.

Jesus Film: The Arrival

Part one of the Jesus Film Dedication celebrations (aka ‘the programme’) was the arrival and welcome of special guests. Five had arrived from Kapuna on Thursday, the other ten landed at Teredau airstrip the morning of the dedication. We had gone up in two boats to meet them and although we made good time the tide was well on its way out by the time we reached Mira Goiravi, the official welcoming destination.

Uphill mud slide! (D.Petterson)

The low water was a problem, as there was now a long stretch of mud to cross before we would reach a log walkway to dry land. All the guests were taking off shoes and rolling up trousers, getting ready to get muddy, but another solution was being hatched. We were all to get into one boat that the young men would then push across the mud to the landing point. None of us believed it was possible, but we followed instructions and loaded into one boat. Twenty five people were in one boat, waiting to see if it would work.

Well, Jesus walked on water and I’ve now been in a boat gliding across land. The boat may have been pushed by a team of strong young men, so it is not a miracle, but it was still a wondrous sight to behold. The mud acted as a lubricant and the boat glided along beautifully, with us clean and dry inside.

Arriving in Goiravi (R.Petterson)

I was given the role of being first off the boat and first along the path. It was a bit intimidating, stepping off to a traditionally dressed warrior dancing on the log in front of me, with a crowd watching from the bank. As I reached the bank, I led us all through an avenue of people who laid down banana leaves and palm branches for us to walk on. A wreath of flowers was hung around my neck and a crown of flowers put on my head. I shook hundreds of hands welcoming us.

As I followed the avenue, there was a group of women demonstrating fishing with nets and traps. Doing as I was told, I stepped into the barramundi trap, which was then raised from my feet to over my head with a great ‘Hurrah!’ I could hear the hurrahs continuing behind me as each guest had their turn in the trap.

Passing through one of the gateways I had opened
(R.Petterson)

Along the path there were several places where I had to open a gate of branches to clear the path for others. This clearing was an important symbol of my work, clearing the way to God’s word in Kope language, clearing the way for others to come behind me. Others though had prepared the way, as bridges had been built and the path repaired from when I had last walked along it some months before.

As we walked to Ubuo, we passed several stations where people were demonstrating traditional skills such as weaving or canoe carving, or were handed refreshments. A fresh young coconut to drink and a slice or pineapple to eat was exactly what I needed! There was singing and dancing, and a crowd accompanying us along the way. It was a joyful arrival and my slowest but most enjoyable journey between the two neighbouring villages.

Handcraft demonstration (D.Petterson)

At Ubuo we shook another hundred or so hands as we made our way onto the stage that had been built for the event. It was good to have a seat in the shade! The stage was also deep enough that we could relax a little, rather than feeling closely watched every moment.

The official welcome consisted of a series of presentations of songs and dances from the various villages in the Kope tribe. There were a few (mercifully short) speeches and then it was my turn to introduce all the guests. I chose to do this in Kope, and had written my script the day before so that it could be checked and corrected before I embarrassed myself.

Handshakes! (A.Evers)

As I introduced all my guests in language, the crowd grew in number. For each person I said their name, where they were from and what work they did in PNG. By the time I got to the last person on the list, the crowd was huge! They had come out of curiosity to know who the visitors were, but mostly to hear my attempt at Kope. There seemed to be no patches of giggles, so hopefully that means I got my language correct.

At last we were able to retreat from the crowds and the heat to my house for lunch and a rest. My house did an admirable job of hosting 16 people as everyone sat around drinking water, eating lunch and finding somewhere to lie down for a nap.

Studying before I gave introductions
in language (A.Evers)

 This ended the welcoming phase of the Jesus Film dedication celebrations. The dedication, ‘surprise event’, and film showing were yet to come.

Jesus Film Dedication Report

The DVD being joyfully dedicated (A.Evers)

The dedication of the Jesus Film in Kope language was a big day and a good day. I’ll be writing about several aspects of it over coming weeks, but first wanted to give a summary of the event.

The highlight for me was in the moments after the circuit minister prayed a dedication prayer and they showed the start of the movie, as a taste of the full thing which would be shown after dark. The thin crowd suddenly swelled as people emerged from shady spots around the fringes of the field to squeeze together in front of the tiny screen. The excitement and joy was beautiful.

Paramount chief, Tompkin (A.Evers)

Even better though was the quiet moment happening between two brothers on the stage behind the screen. They were in full sight of everyone, but few noticed as they were all looking at the screen. Older brother and paramount chief Tompkin, and younger brother and translator Samson stood with tears in their eyes giving each other a hug. They had no words for the emotions overwhelming them as they heard the film start in their language, but they had each other and they understood each other. It was a precious moment to be part of as an observer.

Once the sun was set and the feast was done, we showed the whole film to a large crowd. I’ve no idea how big the crowd was, as my skills at estimating are poor anyway, and dark skinned people in the dark camouflage well. The crowd was big, and the crowd was quiet as they watched attentively. Only the smallest children fell asleep, everyone over six remained transfixed. When the movie finished, they sat in silence for awhile. A pastor then prayed for everyone and they dispersed to their houses, still quite quietly. The silence spoke to me of people reflecting on what they had seen and heard, digesting what it meant for them.

The next day I heard the film being played in different houses and on phones around the village. I also heard that some people had stayed up late the night before to watch the whole thing again. We did a re-screening the next night, to another big crowd. In the coming weeks the film was shown in other villages in the language community.

It is hard to know what the impact of an event like this is, but I find encouragement in the parable of the sower (Luke 8:4-15). The sower scattered seed generously, some of it eventually bearing fruit and some of it not. Showing this film to a big crowd is a generous sowing of the seed which is God’s word. It will have taken root in many hearts, but we may not see the harvest for some time yet as the seed grows to maturity. In other hearts it will not get far, but we will continue to sow generously in the hope that eventually those hearts are fertile enough to receive. 

A crowd gathers (D.Petterson)

Lifestyle Gap

My village house.

My house is the fanciest house in the village.

I have indoor plumbing (one tap to put a bucket under), indoor toilets (composting), power (2x 95w solar panels) and I’m cooking with gas. Each of these items on its own makes my house fancy. Together they make my house the best in town.

Compared to Australia though, I am roughing it. Bucket showers with brackish well water (at least until the drought is over), just a few 12v plug points, no phone or internet, no oven, no fridge, no furniture… people go camping with more comforts than I’ve got!

My neighbour’s house.
He plans to rebuild soon

Lifestyle gaps are a strange thing. By Australian standards, my village house is little more than established camping. By village standards, I’m living in swamp luxury.

Village kitchen, sitting on the floor

 and using a fire in the tropical heat.

A village toilet

Negotiating being the one with so much is a challenge. It teaches me to be thankful for what I do have rather than focussing on what I don’t. It teaches me to be thoughtful about what I own and what I consume, as I do not want my wealth to be a barrier to relationships. It teaches me to be generous, as I am too egalitarian to be comfortable in my castle while others wish for one of their own.

My indoor bathroom with
wash place and toilet

My real lifestyle gap with my PNG village is that I can leave. I can go away from my fancy village house to an even fancier house in the Highlands. I can then go away from that house to Australia and my Highlands house seems simple in comparison.

My biggest challenge with lifestyle gaps in the last year has not been returning to Australia with its comforts and riches, but the day the medical ship was in my area. Being aboard the big air-conditioned ship, sipping a coffee and looking at the village through the deck to deck windows felt like I was watching my own life on a documentary. I can cope with Australia being Australian, but when a piece of Aus floats into my PNG neighbourhood, I feel the clash distinctly. The ship does good work and I’m glad it visits, but it forced me to face the uncomfortable reality of my lifestyle gap in a way that I prefer to compartmentalise. 

School Supplies

Canoes rafted up outside Karati Primary school. 

This is the Gulf equivalent to the school bike rack.

One day while I was in the village, a group from the Provincial Department of Education arrived with school supply packs. These were funded through one of the companies doing development as part of their community contributions.

The teachers had been asked to present an accurate roll of enrolled students. The students were told they had to be there to receive their packs. I’m not sure so many students have been in attendance on one day before or since!

As the packs were handed out, students were given a form to be taken to their parents and have signed, to say that they had indeed received their supply pack. These forms were to be taken back to the provincial office and filed away as evidence that the supplies had reached the students.

Paddles planted in the ground at Karati Primary

The supply packs came in different categories for the different grades. The youngest children received slate boards and chalk to practice writing on, packs of coloured pencils and big blank paged books for drawing in. They also received pencil sharpeners, which was a pleasant change for me, as watching small children use razor blades to sharpen pencils makes me edgy. Older kids received lead pencils or pens and different size exercise books. Each pack was colour coded for the school grades it was intended for.

At the literacy school the next day it was lovely to see the children using their new supplies to practise writing and to do some drawing. They each sat on the floor working hard. It was the quietest I’d ever seen that class. In the evening, our house was filled with teenagers doing their homework. They sat writing out their lessons, each with their own supplies. As my solar power system was giving light to the house, we became the study centre. I’d never seen the teenagers so studious!

Level playing field? Where’s the fun in that!

These students live in a very remote and under-resourced area. Rarely could it be said that they are on a level playing field. These school supply packs, full of basic but essential things, made a big difference. I was pleased to see the immediate impact they had, as well as the evidence of the system of companies providing community assistance through government agencies working as it should. Hopefully the system continues to work and the next delivery of supply packs comes before these ones are exhausted.

Development

Sitting with my village family in the evenings, the talk often turns to development. Even when they’re speaking in Kope I can tell when this topic comes up, as words like ‘development’, ‘plantation’, and ‘pipeline’ starting slipping in. The conversation also has a hopeful tone. When the conversation is in English and I can participate, I am torn between hope and doubt.

The only wage earners in our village are the school teachers. Everyone else lives a subsistence lifestyle, which is hard work. Everyone also has a relative earning income somewhere, income that helps to support them, raise their living standards and making life a little easier. Development brings with it the promise of more ways to earn income, a better life and an easier life. I can see the appeal.

The neat patterns of a palm oil plantation from the air.

Development also brings its challenges. Oil palm is known to be back breaking work and an industry that destroys ecosystems. Logging companies cut down timbers that took generations to grow and do not do planned reforestation. Oil and gas companies have the best local reputation, but extracting the fuels that contribute to global warming when we live so close to sea level and are at the mercy of rising seas seems counterproductive. Friends at home boycott palm oil and rainforest timbers, and seek to reduce their reliance on fossil fuels. In the village, these things are the promise of better times.

When I can, I raise some of the issues I am aware of, and each time I have been impressed that leadership appears to already be taking these things into account. I may be afraid of multinational companies ripping off local land owners and leaving destruction in their wake, but I think that the companies will find that they are negotiating with some well informed and wise people.

The primary challenge to development is often local, as disputes over land ownership, compensation and the like bring the whole process to a halt. Who do royalties go to? How should they be divided up? Who is responsible for managing the funds given to the community? Are they to be trusted? These are the bigger challenges.

A mill with logs waiting to be turned into planks.

The rumours around development plans are many, varied and grand. My personal favourite was a road that was to be built to Western Province, through Torres Straight, to Cairns and ‘from there to Australia’. Never mind the fact that Australia started at Torres Straight, which is made of water and islands and is not very good for roads. Also, I think the Australian Government may have some objections to such a plan.

 Development is always happening ‘soon’. I am happy for it to take it’s time and to be done well, rather than to have a short term gain and a long term loss. As I am hoping to remain working in this area for many years, I’m sure I will see the fruit of some of the rumours. It will be interesting to see which ones become realities.

Jesus Film

Today we dedicate the Jesus Film in Kope.

When I return from the village in four weeks I’ll be able to write and let you know how the dedication went and what the initial impact of the film was. All blog posts until then (including this one) will be pre-written (if I can manage to write them before flying out) and scheduled to go online during my village time. Until I can give you an update though, I thought I’d tell you about how on my second language learning trip I can possibly be dedicating the Jesus Film already.

In short, I walk in the footprints of those who went before me.

Robbie and Debbie have been working with several languages in Gulf Province to help them with translating, checking and recording the script of the Jesus Film. This will be the third of these films completed and dedicated, and there are two more in the works.

Through the translating and recording process, the Kope community demonstrated their commitment to translation. Many communities express a desire to have God’s word in their language, but not all show their willingness to make it happen. The Kope did, and when they finished the recording process and were asked ‘What next?’ their response was ‘The New Testament!’

This is where I come into the picture, as translation adviser to the Kope people. My job is to help the Kope community continue with their translation work. Calling myself a Bible translator always seems a bit amiss, as I rarely do any actual translation. Rather, I am a trainer, adviser, checker, resourcer, typist, formatter, networker and motivator for the actual translators, who are the native speakers of the language.

The commitment to translation demonstrated through the Jesus Film process has continued. This was evident in how soon I had a completed village house to live in as I work with the Kope. The enthusiasm is still evident in that they want to start drafting the gospel of Luke straight away. I can barely put a simple sentence together in Kope, but we can still start on this work if they wish, as they are all language experts already. For now I will use a trade language (English) for my part in the process, although I intend to continue language learning.

We will be starting with Luke as that is the gospel that the Jesus Film is based on. We will then continue with the second volume of Luke, more commonly known as the Acts of the Apostles, as this is already partially in draft form. These drafts are thanks to the work of Tiramu in the 80s and his careful storage of these drafts over the intervening years. Between these two things (old drafts and a new film), we hope the translation process will get off to a good start.

On my first language learning trip, we dedicated my village house. On my second trip we will dedicate the Jesus Film. This is a rather remarkable start!

I love clouds

Flying back to PNG from holidays I was reminded of how much  I love clouds. 

It was a love affair that started at sea, where the clouds herald changes of weather.

It is a love affair I continue on the rivers, where the clouds paint the blue canvas that dominates the view.

The best view of clouds though is from a plane, preferably a small one, where they are a landscape in their own right.

Sometimes they fill the valleys like a giant bubble bath of foam.

Other times they define a valley, like a strange tropical version of a glacier.

They play peek-a-boo with the mountains.

They are just beautiful.

Except when they block an airstrip and prevent us from landing.

Still, I love clouds.

Fortnight

On the way to Teredau

It is Friday afternoon on ‘fortnight’, the day when people get paid. There is no paid work in Ubuo village, but everyone has family somewhere who is getting paid today. The nearest waged labour is at Teredau, a timber mill upstream from us. All sorts of people are heading to Teredau on the rising tide, taking baskets of crabs and other things with them. They may give these to family there and receive other goods in exchange, or they may sell them at the market and use the income to buy other things.

Teredau

The teenage males in my household are also heading to Teredau. They’ve been sent with baskets of crabs from the women and instructions on who to give them to and what to return with. The teens are just looking to have a good time and try to escape before the crabs are ready for transport.

Each lad heads out with a bush knife and a paddle. Someone comes back to get fire to take with them. It looks like some crabs may be eaten on route and not make it to Teredau!

Hanging out when the work day is done

There is a sense of fun in all the preparations. The teens are off to have a good time with older relatives who’ve just been paid. The people staying home know they’ll return with goods to share.

Other canoe loads are getting ready to go to Kikori (the nearest town) or Sirebi, also to sell goods at market or to spend time with recently paid family.

Loaded with cargo, ready
to return to the village

Saturday is quiet, as so many people have gone away. On Sunday many start to return, when the tide is right. There is extra food at dinner, from the store at Teredau or from the gardens. There they have enough elevation to be safe from flooding, so can grow different foods.

Fortnight in the village.

Kikori

A foggy sunrise over the river at Kikori

I was in Kikori having a few days break with my friends at the hospital and had gone for a walk to town when suddenly there was action all about. Two drunken men came running down the road towards me and disappeared into the bush. Behind them came a car full of police with guns, chasing down the drunks. I walked the other direction and took the long way home, away from all the action.

In some parts of PNG people have a reputation for being bel hat (short fused). This is not one of those areas, but I’ve spent time in those areas and have learnt to walk away from all public disturbances in case they escalate.

My detour brought me back to the quiet of the hospital about 2 minutes ahead of the police car arriving loudly. I should have known that police chases are likely to end at a hospital! The ones on TV sure look like they will. I had assumed police violence and that a drunk was the patient, but was I wrong. While chasing down the drunks, one of the police had dropped dead. Most likely it was a heart attack.

The helicopter arrives for the Medivac.

My doctor friend and her team spent the next half hour doing their best to revive the policeman, but in the end they pronounced him dead. The wailing coming from the emergency room as people gathered to say farewell was very loud. He was a much respected man.

Meanwhile, a helicopter arrived at the hospital to pick up a patient for a medivac to a bigger hospital. An oil company in the region will use their helicopters to help in this way when needed. The helicopter buzzed overheard, the crowds came out of the wards to watch the action and the people in emergency kept wailing. The patient was carried on a stretcher through the watching crowd to the helicopter that carried her away.

The next day there was a constant stream of people passing the hospital, bush knives in hand. The hospital staff joined the stream, carrying their bush knives also. My inquiries into what was going on revealed that everyone had been called out to cut the airstrip. That explained the incomprehensible shouting I’d heard through the loud hailer all morning. The policeman was from another province and was a respected man, so the whole community was expected to contribute to cutting the airstrip to allow his body to be flown back to his family.

A foggy sunrise over the river at Kikori

Joining the crowd, armed with a camera rather than a bush knife, I chatted with some locals about the state of the airstrip. My pilot friends had told me the strip was closed due to the Marsden matting (metal sheeting) coming up and creating sharp edges that popped plane tyres. My local sources told me that previous plane crashes had occurred because the pilots were idiots who didn’t know how to fly. I think I’ll trust my pilot friends on this one, as they are certainly not idiots. There was a team walking the airstrip with a mallet beating the edges of the matting back into place, so it seemed like the actual cause was being dealt with, even if it was not being believed. The next day a plane successfully landed and took off again, without any flat tyres, to retrieve the body of the policeman and fly it across the country to his family.

So much drama in such a small town!

Prophets of Climate Change

Baimuru in the mud. 

The prophets of the Old Testament and the preachers of climate change have a lot in common.

The Hebrew prophets would declare to anyone who would listen, often via dramatic means, that people needed to repent and be saved. Repent means to acknowledge wrong and commit to a changed path. The salvation was a combination of the changed path and the work of God in no longer condemning.

Baimuru in the dry. That’s the same path as the other picture.

Modern prophets also use dramatic actions to tell us to repent and be saved, they just don’t use those terms. What they do tell us is that unless we recognise the effects of our actions and dramatically change how we live, we will suffer. If we do dramatically change, then we may avoid disaster. In other words, repent and be saved.

Last year when we visited Gulf Province there had been major rain in the Highlands causing major flooding in the Delta area. This combined with king tides to inundate gardens, kill crops and leave people hungry. At the same time this year, there is a drought in PNG, caused by El Nino. When El Nino last struck PNG with drought in 1997, many people died, and they are predicting that this cycle will be worse than then. The Highlands are crying out for rain and the Delta area is experiencing a rather dry wet season. Once again, people are going hungry. The same time of the year, two very different seasons, but the same result.

King tide at Kapuna hospital. I can’t usually

bring the boat to the front window and

unload directly inside!

I was recently reading that respected scientists think that a 1m rise in sea level is now unavoidable. During king tides, water already floods many villages in the Delta area. At regular high tides, the water level is less than 50cm from flooding the village. An increase of 1m will cause regular flooding, permanent destruction of gardens and probably result in people having to leave their traditional lands and seek refuge elsewhere.

Something else the Hebrew prophets were big on was care for the widow, the orphan and the stranger. Climate change looks like creating a whole lot more of these categories. Will we listen to the modern prophets as they tell us to repent and be saved? Will we listen to the prophet who told us to love our neighbour as ourselves? This will mean sacrificing some of the comfortable ways we like to do things so that others may continue to live at all. Will we listen to the ancient prophets when they remind us to love the vulnerable and the outcast? 

The ‘why?!’ of death

In any community death causes grief and raises questions. How we express that grief and how we answer those questions varies widely. The wailing I have heard associated with a haus krai (house cry) in PNG bring tears to my eyes, but it is the questions and methods of answering that cause me ongoing discomfort.

After returning to the village from the funeral of a relative, a man commented to me that everyone had heard whispers and sounds from the coffin and that these sounds were the deceased telling everyone who was at fault for his death. It was a younger man, so people wanted to know who had caused it so that they could, well, even the score.

I’ve not looked into what a body is like three days after death in the tropical heat…and neither do I want to… but  I suspect decomposition may have something to do with the sounds. There was no doubt in this man’s mind, a respected church elder, that it was the dead man talking. I look for scientific answers for what caused a death while others are looking for spiritual answers as to who caused the death.

Part of looking for the guilty person is looking at who attends the funeral. It is important to show one’s face at a funeral so that people know you were not involved. Apparently the guilty will not attend; as if they do something will point to them and their guilt. On a practical level this causes much disturbance as people take the time to travel great distances to show their face. On the justice level it is not a very accurate measure.

I feel for my friends in the medical field when the question of ‘who’ not ‘what’ comes up. I’ve had someone in the village tell me that when someone died in hospital that the staff ‘must have made a mistake’. There was no sense that sometimes, the staff do all they can but still cannot save a life. I know that it grieves my friends when they lose this battle, and having relatives blame them does not help.

These approaches to death are a challenge for me in the village. Being from a scientific society, it is hard for me to accept spiritual causes for physical things. Even though I’m a Christian, my worldview has been shaped so that science gives us cause and effect. I am being challenged to take the possibility of spiritual causes for physical events into account. I can theoretically accept it, but am not as good at it in practice.

Living in a society whose worldview assumes spiritual causes to physical events, it is also a challenge for me to bring the physical causes of events into conversations in a way that is respectful and helpful. I do not expect to make radical changes, as worldview and the practices it drives, are notoriously slow to change. What I do hope to do is start the conversation that will hopefully lead to a broader understanding for all of us.

A cemetery near East Cape, Milne Bay Province, PNG

Modesty

Traditional men’s attire, thankfully withloin cloths rather than penis gourds.

What is modesty in clothing is very much culturally determined and changes through time. The next little bit you cannot see is the tempting bit. I was once told (and have not researched) that in the Victorian era ankles were sexy, because they were usually hidden. Even table legs were hidden at times, in case their curves suggested ankles and led someone into temptation. These days, ankles are no big deal, or calves, or knees, or… you get the idea that western culture has been raising their standards.

In PNG, the standards are different again, and also changeable with time and place. The traditional wear in some areas was a grass skirt for women (topless) and a penis gourd for men. Few women go topless these days. Those who do are usually older women who have had several children and have nothing to hide. Their breasts are purely functional and been put to good use over many years. Not exactly appealing by western standards! Even when in traditional dress, younger women will wear a sports bra or a singlet top these days, as outside standards have caused them to cover up. Thankfully penis gourds are only seen in tourist shops, as I’m not sure I want to see that sort of traditional dress.

School kids in traditional dress, adjusted for their modesty.

Compared to traditional dress, the dress that was introduced by missionaries and colonials is very covering. This has then become the standard dress for church and official events. Women are common in their meri blaus and men in collared shirts and trousers. Men from areas influenced by missionaries from other Pacific nations, Fiji in particular, will wear an islander man skirt for formal occasions.

Boys are allowed to run about naked until they are five or six years of age. Girls are taught to cover their crotch from the very beginning. While the boys run around with everything on show, the girls always have a nappy or a skirt on. A three year old boy in one village I visited refused to wear his trousers, taking them off as quickly as his family tried to put them on. An affectionate toddler would come to me for a cuddle, which is rather awkward when one is trained in child safety but the child coming for a cuddle is naked. While nakedness is fine for small boys, there is a line. One small boy would get in trouble for standing with his hands on the ground and looking at people between his legs. ‘We don’t want to see your ass’ he was told. Apparently it is the bottom that is dirty and not to be flashed about.

A formal occasion and a church elder is in his islanderman skirt.

As well as appropriate clothing, being clean for certain events such as church is important. In my area, this means being seen to have a wash before you go to church. Having had my wash earlier, I admit to being annoyed at this standard. I chose to meet it by washing my face and arms, rather than having a full wash. If people question me, I point them to John 13:10.

Much of PNG is clothed by second hands clothing shipped from Australia and New Zealand. I have a lot of fun seeing what bargains I can find. My wardrobe has more brand name items in it now than ever before! Locals tend to choose function over fashion, which includes not reading what the shirts say. I have had many giggles from inappropriate slogans. One of my favourites is a wise and gentle village uncle who often wears a shirt that says ‘Sex Panther, Time to Musk Up’ with a picture of an 80s porn star twirling his handlebar moustache.

Small boy is wearing clothes for once!

So what is appropriate clothing in PNG? I hide the shape of my crotch and upper thighs, either by wearing a skirt or by wearing a long top with trousers. I usually keep my shoulders covered, either with sleeved tops or broad straps. My skirts are usually just past my knees, not so much because knees are risqué, but because it is a practical length that the wind can’t make mischief with and I can still sit on the floor with. It does not matter so much if the shape of my chest is seen, but figure hugging clothes are hot and loose clothes are cooler, so I tend to go with the latter. I keep a Sunday meri blaus for church and wash my face before I go. I adjust my wardrobe for village or town.  I am happy wearing what I do here, then come back to Australia and feel like everyone is half naked.