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.

Hospitality and Independence

I was sitting by the rain water tank washing my clothes when a well meaning woman came up and told me that I should give them to her to wash for me. I’m not sure if she thought I was not doing a good enough job (I certainly don’t scrub as much as locals do), that the work was somehow beneath me or she was just being helpful, but my answer was a polite no. This is but one example of the times I’ve found myself seeking a balance between local hospitality and being independent.

I don’t really enjoy hand washing, but neither do I want to hand over everything for other people to do for me. When do I let someone to help me and when do I hold on to my independence and do it myself?

Another time I was walking through a muddy village and a lady insisted on holding me by the elbow the whole way. It is true that I may have slipped if she wasn’t there, but the chance was small. I felt that slipping over, although embarrassing and messy, was not the biggest deal, but to my friend it would have been a slight on her care for me. If I fell over, she would have been seen as a poor host. Recognising this, I let her guide me by the elbow, keeping her dignity intact, even if mine was a bit bruised by what felt like babying.

There are many things where I am glad that I can ask for help and that people are willing to help me. Drawing water from a well is something I’m yet to try, as I’m worried I’ll fall in. It is also something people are unwilling to let me try, as they have the same concern. They’d much rather draw water for me, than let me take that risk. This situation is a win for both of us.

I have enough trouble sitting in a small canoe,

let alone standing!

Being allowed to go out in a small canoe has been a contentious issue. Children here grow up in canoes, and many are in fact literally born in a canoe, as they did not get to the hospital in time. Their sense of balance is trained from birth and they are unlikely to tip the canoe. On the other hand, I have little experience with small round bottomed dugouts and am a liability to anyone else in the canoe. Often they are too small for me to sit right down in, so I have to crouch, making me less stable and raising my centre of gravity to make the whole thing less stable. People do not want to see me injured, so do not want to let me in a small canoe.

I on the other hand, would like to go out with the ladies sometimes, to check fishing nets or crab baskets. The first time I went with my village sister she got told off by numerous people afterwards. I spent a lot of time assuring them that I’d wanted to go, I’m not afraid of falling in and I know how to swim. They weren’t convinced. Thankfully it was a successful trip and I did not tip the canoe. This was not so much for my dignity or my sister’s standing in the community, but because there was a bumper catch in the fishing net and I would have been horrified to tip the canoe and lose everyone’s dinner!

The second time I went in the canoe I managed to fall in before we left the river bank. The news had made it around our village and down to the next one in about half an hour. Who needs the internet to spread news fast?!?! Wet, I got back into the canoe and we went to check the net. My village sister is pretty amazing for still letting me go with her, even though she knew she’d face disapproval from people later. The catch was not as good this time, but I felt more comfortable in the canoe and we made it back in one piece. As I was already wet, I then jumped in the river for a swim. This was both a nice way to cool off and proved to those watching… and those who heard the news later… that  I indeed know how to swim well.

Kids on their way to school by canoe

In my own world I am a competent, intelligent, independent adult. In the village I am a cared for guest who is still learning how to do the most basic things. Finding the balance of hospitality and independence is hard. I want to relate well with people and accept their generous care, but I also want to be able to be myself and not always have a baby sitter looking after me. I suspect it will be a long time before I find the way to balance these things.

Daily Downtime

After detailing the exhausting work of language learning, it seems appropriate to let you know one of the ways in which I practice self care and attempt to prevent burn out. Language learning is exhausting, village life is tiring, being on show is frustrating and looking after myself is necessary. One of the primary ways I do this is by having my daily downtime, or afternoon nap.

Each day at lunchtime I retreat to my room for a simple lunch of crackers and spreads. Mostly this is peanut paste and jam, but I also take with a jar of nutella to have one chocolaty cracker per day. It’s amazing what a daily chocolate dose can do for my morale, and so far the ants have not yet broken into my sacred stash. There may well be tears if they ever do.

Noticing moments of beauty and enjoying them renews me.

After lunch I lie down on my bed to relax. I spend much of each day sitting on the floor, and a middle of the day back stretch and relax is mighty helpful. Sometimes I fall asleep, but mostly not. I put my earphones in, turn my music on, shut my eyes and tune out the village for a little while. My mosquito net is my fortress and for an hour or two I am somewhat removed from the stresses around me.

Often I listen to worship music on my phone. Hearing favourite songs with Godly words reminds me of why I am in the swamp in the first place. I am not here for credit or riches, but because I feel called to serve and answer a need. Listening to worship music also reminds me that God is much bigger than my problems, fears and stresses, and to hand them all back rather than worrying myself. This afternoon quiet time is a good time for prayer.

Feeling watched? A crowd waving us off from Teredau.

I pray a lot more in the village than elsewhere. God is the only one I can honestly tell exactly what I am thinking without causing offence. God is also the only one able to solve the challenges of village life. All my other communication in a day is limited by cultural and language barriers. Prayer has no such barriers.

Sometimes I use my down time to write letters, write in my journal or to do puzzle books. I have a mix of crosswords, cryptic crosswords, number puzzles and word puzzles. For someone who is claiming brain exhaustion, puzzling may seem an odd way to relax. What is does is gives me something to puzzle over that I am competent at and restores my confidence that I am indeed an intelligent adult who is able to solve problems. Language learning can be disillusioning, so this sort of encouragement goes a long way.

My sanctuary.

Retreating in the middle of each day allows me to introvert. For me, relationships take energy while time alone renews my energy. Village relationships take lots of energy, as I am still learning how to relate well in the culture around me. I am trying to learn a new set of social cues and this takes focus. I am often confused and this drains me. Even with my daily village introversion time, I still return to Ukarumpa and act like a hermit for a week or two before I’ve really recovered. 

Rest, retreat, music, prayer, puzzles and chocolate. These are the main elements of my daily downtime and how I try to manage my energy levels in the village. Learning how to live well in the village is a work in progress, but this is one step in the right direction.

Privilege

Recent events have reminded me of what it means to be among the privileged people in our world and to be thankful for being born among the ‘haves’ rather than the ‘have-nots’.

There are many ways privilege can be measured, and too often we measure ourselves by what we don’t have, rather than what we do. There will always be someone else with more. When I look at what I do have, I am among the richest and most privileged people not just now, but through all of history. The medieval kings and queens who make for fun fairy tales were not as rich as I.

That which makes me privileged includes:

Health and access to healthcare. It is easy to take health for granted, until you or someone you know is dealing with illness. That I have been healthy most of my life is a blessing. That when I became ill recently (not seriously, but enough to interfere with life) I had access to doctors and medicine was a privilege. In PNG, not everyone has that, at least not without a long journey. Even at the end of the journey to a hospital, there is no guarantee that the staff, equipment or medications will be available to help. When the locals doctors decided I needed to follow things up with specialists, I was able to fly back to Australia and see specialists there. The privilege of having the funding, insurance and passport to be able to do that makes me one of a very small number in this country. Once in Australia I chose to spend money rather than time and go through the private system to get answers sooner. That I had the funds to do this is a privilege.  Even if I had not, the public system in Australia gives high quality health care to those in need, it just might take a while to get to the head of the line if your condition is not critical. We are privileged to have access to such care, access that does not require going into debt.

Education and Literacy. I sit here at my computer, typing my thoughts so that  I can put them on the internet and share them with the world. In a box at my parents’ house I have enough university degrees to allow me to put more letters after my name than I have in it. I have been taught critical thinking and I can engage with the world. These are the big things of literacy and education, but the fact I can read the instructions on the medications from the doctors and ask questions about what they’ve said, are the important everyday applications. So many cannot do this. They have not had enough education to read meaningfully, or even at all, and have not been taught to challenge authority and take control of their own bodies and their own lives. That I can read fluently and think critically makes me privileged. That I can do this as a woman makes me even more privileged.

Safety and Freedom. People always ask me about my safety in PNG. I am safe here, I am careful about my safety, and I am not afraid. Maybe I do not walk about at night on my own or head to local villages on my own, but these are small and manageable things. I can sleep at night without wondering if a war will land a bomb-shell on my house. I don’t worry about drug cartels or gangs, as people do in other places. I can publicly express my faith without fear of persecution. Although my clothing is less revealing than standard Australian wardrobes, there are no laws or religious police who will beat me for choosing to dress otherwise. When others are willing to lose everything, including their lives, for a chance at the level of freedom I live with, I am reminded how privileged I am to live with such safety and freedom.

There is also the security that my faith gives me. I believe that I am a beloved child of God, of intrinsic worth to the Creator of everything. I have stood on the deck of a ship at night, out of sight of land, with an infinity of stars above me and mysterious kilometres of ocean beneath me and known in my deepest being that I am known and loved. I am not a speck lost in an infinite universe. Although I have my ups and downs, I have a hope and joy in life and do not fear death. Dying sounds a bit scary, but death itself does not scare me. This security in life and death is not something everyone knows.

Food, water, shelter. Maybe these things should have come first! At the moment El Nino is causing a drought in PNG. Further up in the Highlands than my base it has also caused frost. When frost kills the gardens of subsistence farmers, they go hungry. When the water in the creeks goes down and becomes dirtier, people still need to drink. That I have a house with warm blankets to sleep under at night, half a tank of rainwater (I’m from Adelaide, I’m practiced at water conservation!) and food in the cupboard, with funds to buy more when needed makes me a privileged person. Not only do I have food to survive on, but food to enjoy, which makes me rich indeed. I do not always appreciate these everyday things as I should.

Community. Although I am single and live alone, I am not really alone. I am part of a network of communities and belonging; here in Ukarumpa, in Gulf Province, in Australia and with friends scattered across the world. I have my moments of loneliness, but the reality is that I have good and loving relationships with many people near and far. Such belonging should not be taken for granted. Many are alone, not knowing their neighbours, having no one to call on, cut off from their families. When I was stressed recently, I had many friends to call on, friends who would rearrange their plans to make time for me when I needed them. I am honoured to call these people my friends and family. It is a privilege I am aware others lack, and that prompts me to reach out to those who are less networked than I.

Meaningful work. This may seem an odd addition to the list, but having recently had a few weeks sick leave, returning to work has reminded me that I enjoy what I do and that this is a privilege. So many just struggle to make ends meet. To not only have regular income, but to be doing something I am skilled at and passionate about it a privilege indeed.

Have-nots. Reflecting on what I don’t have is important in recognising what I do have in two ways. The first is to help me see what I do have, and the other is to help me appreciate what others have. This second path reminds me that privilege takes many shapes and that I should never expect people to be thankful for the exact same things as me. One thing I do not have, which others do, is land. I say this as a reminder of the privilege that the majority of PNGns have in secure access to their land. Although I have much that they don’t have, their life has other good things. 

Sailing in Cairns… Yachts are often depicted as the ultimate expression of privilege. My afternoon of sailing expressed my privilege in that I was healthy enough to go, could read the information to find out how to join in, had the funds to pay for it and as a woman could safely decide to do this if I wanted to. Yep, I’m privileged!

Language Learning Challenges

There are many challenges when it comes to learning another language.

One is that people want to teach your the right and proper way to say things. This can mean long and confusing discussion of what is best to say before I am given a response. It can also mean that I am being taught archaic terms rather than the everyday terms adopted from another language. On numerous occasions I’ve been told, ‘That’s the Motu word, you need to say X’ with the ‘X’ being a word they had to think hard to find as no-one actually uses it in everyday speech. Learning what is Motu is good, as I intend to learn Motu eventually, but knowing what is every day is more useful, as I want to hold everyday conversations.

As English words often slip into Kope conversation, I have occasionally surprised people by understanding more than they expected. When days of the week and place names are mentioned, I can sometimes guess what the plan is without understanding the Kope words that hold it all together. This is not suddenly fluency, just me practicing the detective skills that are a constant part of language learning and analysis.

Dialect differences are a challenge. In both Ubuo and Goiravi, people want me to learn their variety of Kope. These two villages are a 15 minute walk apart, yet they have differences and they are proud of them. This is rather confusing to a beginning learner, so I have been respecting their difference by keeping a list of dialect differences and writing down what they tell me. How we’ll deal with these things when it comes to a written translation is a challenge for another day.

A view along the Mira River from Goiravi, a 15 minute walk
from Ubuo, but already there are dialect differences.

Another challenge is getting people to let me make mistakes and learn slowly. When I try to communicate using my limited understanding, I inevitably end up being corrected with the right way to say things. This can be disillusioning when I just want to try saying something. While it is good to learn correct grammar, just being able to stumble along and communicate without a lecture would also be nice sometimes.

In their enthusiasm to help me learn, I often find myself overwhelmed by the tutoring  I am given at short notice. I will use a phrase that I have learnt, get it right and have it in context, but just as I’m feeling good about having communicated, someone will tell me five others ways I could say the same thing. Just let me learn the simple way first!

One challenge that I come across constantly is that if I have correctly parroted a phrase, or written it down, people consider it permanently learnt. Parroting and writing does not equal completely remembered and able to be heard and used, but people expect that it does. If they know I wrote it down last week, they expect me to remember it this week. Sometimes that is true, but often it is not.

I was given a word list, which meant I was expected

to know and be able to use all the words on it!

Tone is challenging for me, as my ears are still getting tuned to hear it, and it does not seem to be used consistently. I need to both learn to hear and replicate the tone and learn when it matters and when it doesn’t. I am thankful for my recording, that I can listen to and echo, as well as other linguists who take an interest in Kope tone. I’ll happily let them do the tricky analysis and then apply it to my learning.

Finally there are the homonyms, or near homonyms, that confuse the beginning learner. Some of my confusions so far are:

• Mo daradara ka and Mo darudaru ka; The first means I am confused, the second that I am yellow.
• dubui and dubai;  Men or bananas… it pays to know which one you are eating!
• ididi and idi’idi;  Build or black. The cat is black, the cat is not built, nor is it building anything.
• rio-i, rio or ri’o; inside, want or you (plural).  Usually context gives away which one is which, but they’re all common words and they keep me alert.

…and one tongue twister I discovered by accident…

• Ooboi oboboboi da oboi i’ai;  The woman is fetching water from the well. A common occurance in the village and a useful phrase to know, just really hard to say!

Oboboboi ka. A well.