Life and Death while Village Checking

During our two days of village checking in Bavi we sat in an open-sided longhouse between the village and the river. From there I could watch village life as it passed by, and village death too.

Firstly, from my perch I saw a young man have a seizure. His parents carefully looked after him, which was a sign to me that this was not a new thing. When I could, I went over to have a chat with his parents about their son, taking someone with to help me with translation.  I then started messaging my friend who is the doctor at Kikori Hospital, sending details about the boy, receiving questions in return and sending more information as I could. It was a medical consult by messenger that resulted in his parents being encouraged to take their son to see her when she next visited the area to do clinics. Hopefully they do!

Later in the day, a logging barge went past on the river. All the kids, and plenty of adults too, lined the river bank to watch it pass. It was lightly loaded and had no trouble navigating the sandbanks in the river.

Watching the barge go by (H.Schulz)

When the school day ended, teenagers who attend school a little further along the river started coming home. They would paddle along, tie up their canoe and walk home, paddle in hand. I was amused by this as I was once at their school as they arrived. As the canoes came in, they tied them in a flotilla, planted their paddles on the river bank and went to class. My school had a bike rack, they had a flotilla. Where I wandered along swinging my bike helmet, they wandered along carrying an paddle. It is the same concept in a different context.

Risking a finger while feeding

star fruit to the parrot (H.Schulz)

As we worked on the checking, a semi-tame parrot joined us. He danced in the rafters. He hopped down and investigated any food anyone had. He was chased away as a nuisance and he kept coming back, adding some colour to the day.

The saddest part of the parade of life was when it became a parade of death. A child in the village became gravely ill, and his home was right across the path from where we were working. People gradually gathered at the house, kids peering in at the windows and doors until they were chased away. This happened late in the day, and as we left for the evening to stay in the next village (Gibi) just along the river we did not know if the child lived or had died. As we left, the women who had been working with us went to pray with the family in their time of need.

During the evening and the morning, many rumours came our way. The child had died. The child still lived. It was not the child, but the mother who was dead or near death. There was no clarity, but the decision was made to cancel the second day of checking out of respect for the family. We packed ourselves up and prepared to head back to our own village, Ubuo’o. As we passed the village where we’d been working, Bavi, we stopped to pick up a team member who had stayed with his family there overnight.

As we pulled up to the riverbank we found that the child had indeed died, but that the family and the community still wanted us to proceed with checking and were waiting for us. The family of the child had even provided a mat for me to sit on to demonstrate that they wanted us there. So, we unpacked the canoe and got to work.

The village was in a sombre mood. The teens had not gone to school, but remained at home. Kids were being hushed into silence when they got carried away. As we did our checking, the sound of wailing came from the house across the path from us. There was also the sound of sawing and hammering as some men made a coffin for the child in the yard outside the house. We continued with our checking making sure our own noise levels were never too high or that we laughed at anything. Discussing the joyful story of Christmas with this as our backdrop and soundtrack was quite a contrast.