Surreal Moments

Travelling by dugout (H.Schulz)

There are some days I pause, look at my own life, and wonder if I have stepped into a movie.

Tablet: I bought my tablet in a multi-story technology mall in Kuala Lumpur while on holidays. I use it in a PNG swamp village to share photos and show the Jesus Film. Was it really me in both places?!

Private jets and dugout canoes: Flying to the village I sit in the co-pilots seat of a Kodiak plane. It is one of four owned by our organisation and the pilot is a friend. Although very much needed work transport, my imagination has me flying about in a private jet. From the plane I finish my journey to the village in a dugout canoe. It was carved from a single log by one of our translation team. Which is less normal, to travel by private jet or dugout canoe?!

One of our Kodiak planes (A.Evers)

Animals: Walking back from a friend’s house one day I realised I was being followed by a cassowary. It was a tame one, being raised for a feast one day, but they still have a nasty kick and it was chased away to keep me safe. The next day I was sitting with another friend, giving their baby cuscus a cuddle. He too was being raised for a feast. Followed by a cassowary, cuddling a cuscus, and trying not to think about their dinner-plate destiny. It almost makes me believe that children ride kangaroos to school in Australia.

Bananas: Lying in bed for my afternoon nap, I can see two bunches of bananas ripening on the tree outside. Above me is a roof made of palm leaves. Somedays these views are normal, other days I am reminded that I really do live with in a PNG village, in a bush house.

View from my bedroom window
(H.Schulz)

Facebook: When the phone tower is in a good mood, I can download facebook posts on my phone, but the normality of life outside my village bubble is such a contrast to my local reality. I download things to read later, because reading with a crowd is awkward when I never know at what point a friend will have a culturally inappropriate photo that is difficult to explain in my current context. Australian beach wear and Christians drinking alcohol are just two examples of normal at home that makes no sense here. Hardest is getting a snippet of news, but not being able to follow it up and find out the real story. My heartstrings are being pulled from far away, but I am here and only hearing echoes of the truth.

City streets: Having got used to PNG, being back in Australia is always surreal in a different way. A busy city street, full of people in a rush to be somewhere else, with all the glittering shops and places to eat is now sometimes also a surreal experience.

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.

Going my way?

I like a plan. Really, I do.

It suits my personality to have a plan, and a backup plan, in place at all times. I like to know what I am doing, when, where, why and with whom. In PNG though, plans are rarely this clear or reliable. I am sure there are some PNGns who equally like a plan and I know there are some Aussies who thrive on having no plan, but me, I like a plan. Let me illustrate changing local plans for you through the adventures of my two trips from Ubuo to Kikori.

The first time I went to Kikori from Ubuo, we had asked around for several days if someone was going that direction. In the end we got a tip-off that a boat was going from Karati. We sent messages to let the people know we’d join the boat there and were told that all was well. On our way to Karati, for a meeting and to join the boat, we passed them going the other way, already underway for Kikori. Mid river we stopped for a chat and a planning session. No, they had not got the messages the day before. Yes, they could wait for us to join them after the brief meeting we first had to get to at Karati. We went on our way.

At Karati we found another boat leaving for Kikori. It was decided that it would be better for me to travel with them and several phone calls were made to tell the first boat to continue without me. I’ve no idea if they really received the message, or if they just continued without me as they figured I’d find another ride. The second option worked out and we headed off to Kikori in good time. There was a stop of nearly an hour while the driver bought extra fuel at a village along the way, but I made it to Kikori in the end… about 15 minutes ahead of the first option. As they had a 15hp engine and we had a 40hp, we clearly spent a lot of time buying the extra fuel.

Refuelling while underway, although it still was not enough!

The second time I went to Kikori, I was planning to go on ‘fortnight’, or the Friday every second week when people get paid. The previous fortnight several boats had gone from Ubuo to Kikori, so I thought I’d be fine, but no one seemed to be going. Discussions were held and I was told there was a plan. Friday morning it rained heavily and continued all day. One person who was to come pulled out, meaning the whole trip was on hold. By Monday the rain had stopped and enough people committed to the trip that I made it to town.

A beautiful short cut (that actually is shorter!) on the way to Kikori

On the Thursday I started asking around about any boats going back towards Ubuo that I could get a ride in. At the town market I caused much curiosity as I asked around for any Kope people, found a cousin-sister of a village-sister of mine and put in my request. I asked the hospital administrator if he knew anyone. I stopped by where the dinghies and dugouts pull up and asked if they knew anyone going my way. I sent an sms to the village to see if they knew anyone planning a return trip. I cast a wide net and waited to see what would happen. On Friday I repeated my request.

Late on Friday someone came to the door. They’d heard the doctor wanted to go to Ubuo. I am not a doctor, but as I was staying in the doctor’s house, the confusion was understandable. One of the hospital staff recommended the person, he was from a neighbouring village and a plan was made. I gave him money to buy fuel as my contribution towards the trip.

Sunrise in Kikori, looking across the river

The next day the boat turned up, a little later than expected, but that was not really unexpected. I loaded myself and my things and we headed off. As we took bends in the river, it seemed like we were taking a different route to what I expected. I couldn’t do much about it but trust the people who helped with the plan and pray that things were on track. After a few hours we were pulling into a village near Paia. I thought we would just drop someone off and be one my way, but the whole canoe and all its contents was emptied out… except me. Um?

Heading back to Ubuo by dugout

‘We will just get some fuel at Paia and be on our way’, I was told. ‘Do I have extra kina for more fuel?’

We crossed the inlet, rafted our dugout up to a timber company tugboat and sent someone to town to buy fuel. The store was closed and we had to wait a few hours. As we waited, the story came out that although the driver was from a neighbouring village, he lived in his wife’s village in a different area. His brother, who worked at the hospital, had convinced him he had to take me back to Ubuo, even though it was out of his way. In trying to be helpful, people had actually ended up causing frustration for both of us.

Eventually the fuel was purchased, we were under way and we made it back to Ubuo, where they dropped me off and promptly returned to Paia. What would have been a 3 hour journey if direct had taken nearer seven hours because of detours and delays.

After these two adventures in getting to Kikori and back, I have been thinking about buying my own boat and motor. This will of course create all sorts of other frustrations, but my hope is that they are less than the frustrations of not owning one.

I like a plan, and to always be asking ‘are you going my way?’ is not a plan that works for me.

Canoe Making

The afternoon was punctuated by thumping noises from along the riverbank. When we went to investigate, we found a hive of industry as men made canoes and women made sago. Both of these are heavily physical activities that contribute to the essentials of village life. Without a canoe, your family cannot travel to the garden or go fishing. Without sago, a large portion every meal would be missing.

As wooden boats are a personal interest of mine, I shall start with telling you of the men’s work.

First, catch a log and bring it home…

… don’t forget to put your name on it…

…or to tie it up so the flood can’t reclaim it!

Next, flatten off your log to make the top of your canoe. Shape the sides and underneath.

When an axe is swung with skill, a stern can be shaped and the bare feet are safe.

Once the outside is done, start to hollow out the inside.

Once you are happy with the shape, move on to decorations. The transom is optional in traditional dugout canoes, but is required if you wish to fit an outboard motor.

Decorations are done with lime and ash.

Burning dry coconut fronds under your canoe adds a greasy soot which helps prevent worms.

 Now it is time to go out on the water!

(photo C.Rivard)