Marvellous Mud

Every step a challenge!

As a kid I loved reading the book ‘The Marvellous Mud Washing Machine’ by P Wolcott. I could have done with such a machine during our recent adventures in Gulf Province.

Going down to Gulf, we knew that it was the wet season and it would be muddy. We knew there had recently been flooding in the area. We did not know that king tides would continue to provide more flooding. We were not really prepared for the challenge all this mud would present, but here is the story of our survival!

The mud was everywhere. I took reef shoes to wear in it, not to keep me clean, but to prevent my sole from being pierced. These did a reasonable job, until they were so drenched from constant inundation that my feet started to slip within the shoes and they just felt bad to put on. At this point I gave up on footwear and went barefoot.

How blessed are the feet...

The mud was on flat surfaces. Sometimes it was deep and you never knew when a step would bottom out. Sometimes these surfaces were covered in water and you would walk without seeing your feet, wondering when they would find or lose traction. Sometimes it would spurt between my toes and spatter paint my entire leg. A walk that would be maybe 10 minutes in dry season took 45 as we squelched and slipped our way along its length.

The toilet death walk!

The mud was on logs and walkways. These had been laid to help keep people out of the worst of the mud, but it was tracked onto their surfaces by feet. This then meant negotiating a log bridge that had an extra coating of slipperiness. Often these log walkways were the path to the outhouse. At one place, falling off the outhouse approach meant falling over a metre onto sago thorns below. In another, the logs kept floating around on the king tides and rearranging themselves into a new outhouse challenge each morning.

Wading at school

The mud was renewed by the tides, so that the sun had little chance of drying the ground out. We started to plan around the tide, walking to church before it was more than ankle deep and only coming home once the ebb was well underway. We sat in a school as the tide flowed beneath us. I could watch it through the cracks in the floor.  We waded to the next class room when it was time for the next activity.

The mud was on slopes. One step upwards could easily be a half step back, as gravity made its claim on my progress. In another place I considered sitting on a banana leaf and tobogganing down to the river as my best approach to the clay slope. I didn’t do it, but I did make it down safely, thanks to help from a local lady.

Humbled.

Locals are used to the mud and prepared for it. Every building has a foot washing bucket ready and a damp rag to wipe your feet on. In at least one place I had a lady wash my feet for me, pouring on water and rubbing off the mud. It was a humbling experience.

All the mud was a memorable part of our time in Gulf, but it did not define it. We were still able to get around, spend time with people and get work done. Still, I’m happy to be away from it for awhile!

Crowd Sourcing

Roy telling a story, using the pictures,
before the group writes it down.

‘Crowd sourcing’ is in fashion these days. It is done for finances and as well as for information and translation. Wikipedia is the classic example of a crowd sourced written work, where numerous people contribute and correct each other’s content. My friend Julien runs the Marco Polo Project, using crowd sourcing to translate Chinese websites into English, linking East and West online as well as in person. All sorts of projects, such as the Bella Journey, get funding through crowd sourcing.

It is rare for me to be fashionable, but when it comes to crowd sourcing, for once I am!

The money I live off in my work is effectively crowd sourced, although in my circles it is referred to as ‘partnership development’ as we partner with churches and individuals to sponsor our work. Yet it is not finance I am referring to in this blog post, but literacy.

While my nieces and nephews have piles of books around their homes and family who have been reading to them since they were babies, most of the languages in PNG have very few books. Learning to read in a language you already know is the best way to learn to read. Having books to read is a critical part of this process, so part of my work as a linguist/translator is helping communities to build up their local library by writing and translating books for beginners.

Debbie working with her small crowd.

There are a whole range of ‘shell books’ available for communities wanting to kick start their collection. Shell books contain a simple story with pictures, are available in the public domain and approved of by the department of education. They cover a range of topics and levels of difficulty. A community ‘just’ has to translate and print them. This is a whole lot harder than it sounds, as there are often few people in a community who are confident to translate and write in their own language, as well as few resources for printing.

This is where crowd sourcing comes in.

While on our recent trip to Gulf Province we spent time helping I’ae speakers in Maipenairu and the Urama speakers in Kivaumai translate shell books for their elementary schools. We did this by gathering together as a large group and telling a story. First one of my team would tell the story in English a few times, showing the pictures as we went. Then the locals would take turns telling the story in their language a few times. They kept telling the story until everyone was happy that it was a well told story.

Writing the story on the blackboard.

One good writer would then be nominated to write the story up on a blackboard, or on paper when a blackboard was not available, while someone else told it. This way a good storyteller, even if not literate, could still contribute to the translation. Those who could read and write their own language with confidence would help correct the primary writer. Those who were less confident would slowly read what was being written, building their confidence as they went. At the end, when everyone was happy with the story, they would read it out loud together and I would write it down in my notebook, as well as taking a photo of the blackboard.

In the evening, our team spent time writing these stories up, using the resources we had available with us in the village. This meant writing with coloured pencils onto the back of the printed pictures. Estimating font size, line spacing etc left little room for error and made me appreciate word processing computer programs. I also had to concentrate very hard on writing neatly. Those who know my handwriting know that it is better used in cryptography than literacy.

A hand written completed shellbook.

The first time we did the binding with dental floss and tape, the second time we remembered the stapler as well as the tape. We then gave these freshly produced books to the school teachers and watched with delight as they read their way through. Later, once reunited with power, computers and printers, these books are properly typed up, formatted and printed in bulk for the schools to use.

As I sat on the floor of the village meeting house at Kivaumai, I could see the king tide rising all around us, including seeing it come under us through the cracks in the floor. Cute but flea ridden puppies kept getting thrown out of the open sided building. Chickens eyed us off as a dry retreat from a very wet village. Pigs looked funny as they swam to higher ground. Around us, at least fifty people had come to work on translating shell books. Debbie, Catherine and I each worked with a separate group. In a nearby house Rebekah and Susie were doing tone analysis with another dozen people (they’d asked for two or three). Robbie was elsewhere working on a dictionary with yet another group.

The village edition of the
13 new Urama books.

We sure drew a crowd!

It was a crowd that between them managed to translate 13 new story books into their language. It is a far cry from what other crowd sourced translation might look like, but it is the same principle and had a wonderful result. The number of Urama books increased significantly that soggy Saturday.

Return

We are home at Ukarumpa from our three week Gulf round trip. These are our activities, by Catherine’s calculation:

34 songs recorded
20 Days (and 20 shell books made)
14 Stops
13 Dingy trips (longest: 4 hours; wettest: 2.5 hours in driving rain)
12 drafted chapters of Acts typed up
11 Villages
10 Crocodile sightings (some wild, some captive, some dead...several over 3 meters long!)
8 languages (Koriki, I'ai, Urama, Kope, Gibaio, English, Tok Pisin, Police Motu)
7 Liklik houses (i.e. outhouse experiences...)
6 team mates
4 Nationalities (New Zealand, US, Canada, Australia)
3 different boats
Countless hands shaken, children’s literacy tested, sago, fish and crabs eaten, miles waded through mud (up to knee deep at times), photos snapped, memories made, and blessings given and received.
1 remarkable trip!

Riverside croc
Photo: R Drew

Monday was the last day of our trip and the day of the wettest dinghy ride. We rose at 5.30am with the roosters and packed away our mosquito nets one last time. As we started down the river it was a picture perfect morning, with the river showing off how beautiful it can be. Half an hour in, that changed to driving rain. Even though we were wrapped in rain coats and tarpaulins, we ended up soaked to the skin.

On arriving at Purari airstrip, the rain had stopped the oil company workers from their riverside works,

 but they kindly helped us unload the dinghy and carried us and our cargo along the airstrip to a sheltered area. I think they were glad for something to do and an excuse to drive their little all terrain vehicle. I was just glad to avoid one more muddy walk! We changed into dry clothes and waited another few hours for the plane to arrive. As we waited, we played scrabble, laughed at stories from the trip and greeted Aussie oil workers flying in and out by helicopter and plane at the start or end of their swing. The contrast between the company expats and the drowned-rat, post-village expats was amusing.

Another challenging walk to the outhouse
Photo: C Rivard

At this point in the journey, we were all so tired that life was getting a bit silly. Debbie is an extrovert and a clown who becomes more extreme the more tired she is. The other four of us are introverts, and become more giggly the more tired we are. The combination was much silliness and laughter to bide the time until we heard the sweet sound of our own plane coming to retrieve us.

Stepping off the plane at Aiyura was like stepping from one season to another. The sun was out, but not cooking us, and the ground was dry and easy to walk on. The air was cool and home was in reach.

Since being home I have skim read nearly a hundred emails, savoured hot showers and different food (there is a limit to my sago, rice and fish consumption) and caught up on news. Locally, the bridge at Kainantu that connects us to the Highlands Highway fell into the river during our absence. In a few short weeks, the wreckage has been cleared away and work has started on the new bridge. The efficiency brought about by necessity surprises me. The local national high school had a fire in one of the girl’s dorms earlier on Monday. No one was injured, but the building and much personal property was lost. As my home is on top of our fire truck’s garage, I heard plenty of comings and goings downstairs as our volunteer fire crew cleaned up after helping at the school.

Laundry has been done, family have been phoned, chocolate has been purchased and consumed, facebook has been informed of my return and mail has been collected. For all the connectivity of fb, blogs and phone calls, there is something precious about a hand written letter and the journey it took to find me. I spent twelve hours in bed the first night and if it wasn’t for the appeal of fresh vegetables from the market on a Wednesday morning, the second night would have been a repeat performance!

Mud!

Books have been read and movies are lined up and ready. Having not had a proper day off in over three weeks, I am taking the rest of this week as ‘time off in lieu’ to catch my breath before jumping back into life here. I may work on blog posts (I have plenty to write about after this trip), or a prayer update… or I might not! I love the work I do and trips like this are great, but afterwards I need a few days to recover physically and personally. Village work and team work is intense. Solitude and slowness are needed for my recovery.

DIY…everything!

Living in the developing world with limited access to resources leads to a culture of do-it-yourself in every department. Here are some of the my common DIY projects…

Food

Our Christmas Tree

It has been said that here, we do scratch from scratch. The classic example of this my Gluten Free friend who made a cheese cake on a biscuit base, having first made the biscuits, having first made the flour for the biscuits. On a less ambitious scale, bread, yoghurt, spice mixes and a range of ethnic dishes are all made from raw ingredients. Any quick and easy freezer meal is because you took the time to cook in bulk and freeze things.

Celebrations

Decorations, invitations, special foods, party games… they are all limited by resources, as creativity does not seem to be in short supply. Kids’ parties are not fancy, but they are fun. Adult parties often revolve around food and re-gifting is acceptable as the gift supply is limited.

Christmas

Last year at Christmas I crocheted a variety of green wools that I then wove into the window security screen to become a Christmas tree. The nativity set was made with pegs and scrap fabric. Beth made a ginger bread house using a toaster oven and I cooked the fruit cake in a cast iron camp oven over coconut husk coals. Gifts given were handmade or recycled.

Fun

Games nights, movie nights, a bush dance… the only scheduled events are things you decide to plan, schedule and host. Going out to the movies is not an option, but we do know who has a good movie supply. Helping with home renovations, borrowing books from the community library, it is all DIY entertainment. Sometimes there is a coffee shop, but that is only because someone decided to run it.

Sewing

Previously a second hand quilt
cover, now kids clothing.

My favourite hobby is sewing, so DIY clothes are common. As good fabric is hard to come by, I often purchase second hand bed sheets or quilts and use them as my raw materials. I have taken the DIY of sewing a step further this year, but working on learning to draft my own patterns. Bedsheet + tape measure + paper and pencil + scissors + sewing machine = new fashion.

Others are into wood work, home renovations, quilting and all sorts of other DIY projects, but it is a common theme in all our lives. Living more simply than our home cultures is part of living in this place, but it can be fun.

To make DIY possible most of us invest in favourite tools. Mine is my sewing machine. Gluten free people have their grain mill. An electric drill is a good investment. A hand drill is a better one for a village situation where power is scarce. Hand crank sewing machines are readily available in shops for village use…although that is a challenge I am yet to try. I find myself eyeing off things in museums as appropriate technology for the life I live and getting ideas for things to try.