Above Reproach

Social networking and facebook are simply the current model of what people have always done: present themselves to the people around them, watch what others are doing and make judgements based on what they see and hear. The speed of news in the village leaves the internet for dead at times. Although what the truth is underlying the story that is told can be equally mysterious in both places.

In this context, of both high speed village news and an online presence, I find myself juggling the concepts of doing what is right, being seen to do what is right, and living in the freedom of the Gospel. Let me give you some examples

Gossip is destructive, and once a story is out it takes on a life of its own and cannot be brought back under control. As a single woman, it is easy for gossip to spread about what man I was seen with and what we were doing. As my translation team is made up of men, I am often left juggling social situations to make sure that we are seen to be above reproach. When I need to talk with my village brother, we do so in the yard, not on the enclosed veranda. If we need to work on the veranda on the computer, his wife or his children normally come with, to keep everything above board. If a man needs his phone charged, he will send it to me with his children. If he comes himself, kids will always come with him. All of this social engineering is to make sure that rumours cannot be spread, as there was a group present, not a secret meeting of two people.

It is not just in the village that I juggle these things, as Ukarumpa has been called Uka-rumour with good reason. One time a single guy came to visit while my yad meri (gardener) was working outside. We sat in the lounge by the big glass windows, where she very obviously kept an eye on us to make sure nothing happened. Had she not seen enough to keep her happy, valley rumour would have had us ‘married’ by nightfall. Another time a colleague came to help fix something in my house, and his wife came with, to make sure no-one could spread rumours. It was not that she didn’t trust me or her husband, but that she did trust the speed at which rumours can develop and damage can be done.

The social management involved with being a single woman is not the only area in which I find myself making sure I am seen to do what is right. Alcohol is another area. At home in Australia I like a glass of wine with friends. In PNG I very rarely drink. At home social drinking is normal. Here drinking is associated with drunkenness and is not Christian. I agree that drunkenness is not the life Christ calls us to, but I do miss a quiet drink with friends.

The challenge of being seen to right, as well as doing right, is not just my challenge. I have reminded my village brother, who was the voice of Jesus in the Jesus film of this a few times. If he does things that people see as immoral, they will no longer trust the film or the story of Jesus. For all Christians, it is a challenge to proclaim Christ with our action as well as our words, but for him, this is doubly true.

All of this social engineering seems very restrictive at times, especially when I consider myself free from the law to live a life of grace. Putting on what can feel like act to show others that I am doing the right thing, when the fruit of the Spirit is self control and I should be trusted to do the right thing, regardless of appearances, is frustrating. Still, I need to balance doing right and being seen to do right. I also need to balance the living in the freedom of the gospel with the knowledge that people will make their own judgements of their actions and base future decisions on this.

 River view from Ubuo.

What’s mine is yours…

The rain returned eventually, with the 

sweet sound of it pouring into my tank. (H.Schulz)

A constant struggle for me when living in the village is the different cultural expectations of ownership and stewardship. What belongs to me and what belongs to the group? What is to be used now and what is to be saved for later?

I have a wonderful neighbour and village brother who built my house, looks after it while I am away and is one of our translators. He recently named his newborn daughter after me. I am sure that I have some sort of responsibilities for my namesake, but have no idea what they might be. He himself is a generous person who often has other people living with him in his small house and who is often doing things for other people. It is this particular relationship, with its web of obligations that is the hardest for me to navigate.

What makes it even harder is that it is often the small things that leave me in a crisis, such as an umbrella or a bottle of water.

My umbrella was left in my storeroom when I went away. It was about the only thing not packed in a box because it was too long. When I returned, it was the only thing that had gone walkabout. It had been borrowed to give shade to my namesake while they went to fish camp. When they returned, I saw the umbrella in use, but it didn’t return to me. A week later, when I was walking somewhere in the middle of the day and needed it for shade, I asked about it. It was brought out of the house, broken and barely held together with string. It gave me the shade I needed, but it is useless as shelter from tropical downpours.

Why was I so upset about an umbrella? It was that my trust of things left in storage had been broken, that something I needed was not there when I needed it. My neighbour though, saw it as an appropriate use of an item doing nothing to meet a need for my namesake. My tension is that I can understand his reasoning, but still wish it had been left alone and was in one piece when I returned.

Another day I found myself annoyed at a request for a few litres of drinking water, and even more annoyed at myself for being annoyed.

At the time it was dry season. As this was first time in the village in January, it was hard to tell if it is a drier than usual dry season, but it seemed to be that way. Each morning and each afternoon there was a parade of people going along the path by my house to get drinking water from a bush well. The round trip seems to take them about 45 minutes. Meanwhile, my house has two 1000L rainwater tanks.

Before I came to the village, my neighbour had called asking for permission to clean out one of my tanks. We did not communicate clearly, and I thought that rain was falling more often to refill the tanks, so I said yes, as long as you leave me at least half a tank (500L). When I got to the village I found out that there has been little rain, so the tank was not refilling, but that everyone had very much enjoyed getting a container of water from my tank when it was cleaned, as well as from half of the second tank. I was left the half a tank as requested. This probably saved the village one day of walking into the bush for drinking water, maybe two.

My umbrella two years ago when it was new. (D.Petterson)

When I returned, my neighbour turned up asking for drinking water in bottles, and I was annoyed. Why?! I did not make the rain fall, I just caught it. I did not earn it, yet I was reluctant to share it. Part of it was knowing that half a tank will not go far if I’m providing water for a house of six or more people next door. Part of it was knowing that if my water runs out, someone else will be the one walking into the bush to get water for me. Part of it was just cultural annoyance that ‘my’ water should be assumed to be ‘their’ water from a different cultural perspective. A lot of it was annoyance at myself for being a scrooge about water, an essential ingredient for life.

My first week in the village, I was cautious with my tank, but still used it for washing etc, thinking rain would continue to fall like it had the day after I arrived. By week two we’d had little rain, my tank was much lower and I switched to washing with well water and only using my tank for drinking. I still had occasional requests for water, which I would help with, but was not getting regular requests. This seemed like a good balance for me.

Still, the question of what is mine, what I am keeping for later, what is communal, and what I am sharing with others, is an ongoing struggle. Coming from somewhere very individualistic when it comes to possessions, I am having many of my assumptions challenged, which is a good but difficult process.

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. 

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.

Friends, Furloughs, Finish and Farewells

June is an ‘F’ sort of month as an ex-pat. It is the month when you farewell your friends who are going on furlough or finishing in the field.

Although I am a Southern Hemisphere person and we work in that same half of the globe, most of my colleagues are Northern Hemispherites and our school runs to that schedule. This means that June is the end of the school year and the end point of many people’s field terms. From graduation onwards, there is an annual exodus as people return to their passport countries. Some intend on only being away a few months or a few years. Others are finishing their time in the field, packing up their life here and returning to a country they may no longer feel much belonging to, to start a new life there.

Leaving or staying, we spend our time saying goodbye. Often we do not know if or when we will ever meet again on earth. Friends scatter all over the globe, and as much as we would love to visit each other, we are realistic about the limitations of time and budgets. We intend to keep in touch, but are maybe more hopeful than realistic about that.

We look around us at church as the pews thin out and week by week the list of farewells is announced. We carry hankies as tears are never far away. Out at the airstrip they call it ‘cry week’.

The pews will fill again, as last year’s furlough takers return and new faces arrive. It can be hard to give a good welcome to the new people when the wounds of farewells are raw. Do I really bother to get to know this person? Either they or I will be leaving soon enough…

Reasons for going finish are many and varied. Children’s schooling or elderly parents are common reasons. Retirement is a reason to celebrate as it usually means the end of a long and fruitful career in this country. Illness and conflict and also reasons for leaving, reasons which add an extra layer to the grief of farewells.

This year I’ll be in the village much of June, missing the official farewell afternoon teas. A friend has called these ‘missionary wakes’, as people gather for small talk, encouraging comments and a sad hug. I’ll be returning to Ukarumpa on the back load of a cry week exodus flight. There are four flights from Ukarumpa to the capital city that day and it is a day there are usually no flights to the capital. Four full flights down and only about four people flying back in. I’ve said my farewells pre-village, starting the tears of June in April, knowing I will return to what feels like a ghost town.

Farewell my friends and thank you for sharing this season of your life with me. It is my prayer that as you go you will know that you are loved here, and that you will find people to love and be loved by in the next place. May we each have the grace to keep opening our hearts to the people around us, even though there is another farewell somewhere down the road. May the joy we share in the meantime make the tears worthwhile in the end.

Cleaning Party

Being among the ‘haves’ in a country with so many ‘have-nots’ creates tension within me. How do I not hoard my riches but share them? How do I use my resources for my work, but also use them to empower those around me? How do I live with the fact that being white skinned, educated, employed, having travel insurance and Medicare card give me a constant material advantage over many around me? Where is the line between luxury and comfort, or between simplicity and a martyr complex?

One way of redistributing wealth that I make use of is through employing yard and house help. Yes, weeding my garden and cleaning my house are things I am more than capable of, but they are also the only job opportunity or skills that some locals have. By giving this work, and the government set wage, to them I am giving them the opportunity to earn their own way and support their family. I am also gaining the opportunity to build a relationship with locals, to sit and chat over a cuppa and to enjoy getting to know some lovely people who can teach me so much about PNG life and culture.

Recently, when I moved from a rental Ukarumpa home to my own home, I employed a party of cleaning women. They blessed me by making the previous house shine. I blessed them by giving five women a day’s pay to take home to their families*. A small price for a day of being surrounded by hard working women, plus a lot of chatter and laughter. Four women scrubbed every inside surface and one swept away spiders and washed the outside of the house. At morning and afternoon tea we all sat down over a cuppa and a biscuit for a break and a chat. At lunch we shared in food and then rested as they worked on bilums (string bags) and I read a book. The next day I put a mountain of cleaning rags through the wash.

At my new house I met Bina, the lady who has looked after this yard for many years. She did the gardening, I paid her, we chatted and a new relationship was started that I hope will continue for many more years.

At home I would not use my money to pay a team of cleaners or a gardener. Here I consider it a blessing to both me and the women who work for me to be able to do so. Some people sponsor a child, as that is their available avenue to share their wealth. In my situation, I have the privilege of being able to employ a matriarch, and even meet her kids and grandkids.

 Visiting Wamu (my usual house help) and
her family in the village one day.

*I’m not such a grot that it takes five women to clean up after me! Housing policy here is that a house rented more than six months must have every surface – walls, ceilings, drawers, cupboards etc- cleaned when you move to help prevent mould and to keep the house in top form for the next tenant. 

Return

When I first arrived in PNG two years ago, I arrived full of nervous excitement. I was arriving in a country I barely knew, but intended to live and work in for decades to come. I was arriving to a large organisation where I only knew a handful of people. I was arriving two days before my brother’s 40^th birthday and a week before Easter, so keenly felt the distance from family and home community. I knew little of what I would be doing.

The dramatic Kaintiba airstrip. One more stop and I'm home!

Two years later, I flew back to PNG for my second work term, with a sense of returning home and excitement to be back. Coming into Port Moresby I looked out the plane window and could recognise places.  At the MAF hangar where we waited for our flight to the Highlands, I had friends to catch up with, not strange faces all around me.  Flying into a remote and challenging airstrip on our way home I enjoyed the drama of the scenery and was not worried about safety.

Not everything in my return went smoothly. When we arrived in Moresby, I was unsure if our arrival details had been noted and that we were being met with transport. This was not a worry though, as I had a PNG phone, had kina to buy credit and knew who to call. Other small things happened, but I knew the system to make things work and it did not bother me. Two years ago, had these things gone wrong, I would have been very stressed.

Welcoming other friends home.

Now that it is nearly Easter again, I am happy to be back and enjoying reconnecting with friends. The life and death cycle I wrote about during furlough has continued here too. A family I did orientation with ‘went finish’ while I was away. I did not know this when I left, so did not say a proper goodbye. Another family I am close to returned with their new baby. Two other families I am close to are preparing to leave. A friend who was over for lunch just announced that she is pregnant again. New people are arriving from orientation.

I still miss family and friends in Australia, sometimes more than others. When I was surrounded by American accents in church last week, I really missed my home church in Australia. When we sang a song it seemed everyone else knew, I missed the songs from the All Together books, which as an Aussie Lutheran I grew up on, but that no one else in this community knows.

Now I have two homes. I refer to being in Australia as ‘being home’ and coming back to PNG as ‘returning home’.  In each place there are people I love and things I delight in, and in each place there are challenges.

I had enjoyed being home (Aus), but it is good to be home (PNG).

Sacrifice?

Books with Leyla

My blog has been quiet for a while because I went on holidays to Perth, my childhood home and where all my sisters live with their families. I had a great time catching up with family and friends, plus spoke at a different church each of the three Sundays I was there. Something people mentioned several times was how much I’ve sacrificed to be in PNG and ‘Can they send me anything?’ Well, I love what I do and the place where I work. Sure, it has challenges, but so does life anywhere. People speak of sacrifices and I find myself thinking that they’re the ones who are missing out, not me! 

Yet the sense of loss kicked in when it was time for goodbyes. I hugged Leyla goodbye and thought about the fact that she’ll be nearly five instead of nearly three when I next see her. Edan gave me a good night kiss and I wondered if he’d remember my visit, or just a blurry skype face, by the time I’m back in Perth again. I tucked Eva into bed, knowing that she’ll be in full time school in two years, the time until I visit next. I’ll just have to plan my trips around school holidays, even if the tickets cost more. Not seeing my nieces and nephews grow up, not being present in their lives, that is the sacrifice. 

Playing in a fountain with Edan

Saying goodbye to my sisters and friends is hard too, but we can communicate over distance in a different way. Our family has long been full of wanderers, so we’re fairly good at keeping a relationship going over a distance. Thank God for skype!

So it was that I boarded the plane, emotionally and physically exhausted. Hayley, who took me to the airport, was good enough to give me room to cry if I wanted to, but not push it if I chose to hold things together. The thickness of my lisp gave away that I was barely holding things together. 

Flights, airport waits, not enough sleep and I returned to Ukarumpa. I was quickly reminded that this really is my other home now and this really is my other family. The friendliness started at Brisbane airport, where I met up with colleagues returning from the US where they had been to farewell an elderly mother. At the hanger in Port Moresby my pilot was a class mate from orientation. Going to church on Sunday I received big hugs from girls that I’m an ‘Auntie’ to here, plus saw lots of other good friends, some of who had been away for months.

Two of my talented sisters

I live a transient life in a transient place. Away for three weeks, back for two and a bit, away for six, back for another few weeks, then away for two months... meanwhile my friends are doing the same thing and we enjoy the times when our paths happen to cross. I love what I do, yet this transience and the distance from people I care deeply about, is the price tag. It is one I am willing to pay, but sometimes  I pay it with tears.

PS As for the ‘What can we send you?’ question, I have suppliers of chocolate, fabric, dried fruit and nuts in place, but all parcels are joyfully accepted :-)