Food

Food is central to cultural expressions and gatherings. People can be as American as apple pie, bake pumpkin scones like Flo or strongly associate honey biscuits with Christmas. Maybe there is a family secret to a good fruit cake. Alternatively, fruit cake may be an insult to give as a gift, as my sister once found out.  In coming to PNG many people asked me what I would be eating. Well, I can give you a report on the first week.

This week I have been at living in the mostly ex-patriot town of Ukarumpa. Food has been an expression of hospitality, as I’ve eaten more main meals with others than alone. The food served has reflected the home culture of the people I ate with as well as what was available. The day I arrived the fresh produce market had not happened, due to an argument between groups the previous market day. This meant people were a little low on fruit and veg by the end of the weekend.

Fresh produce market

Usually the Ukarumpa market happens every Mon, Wed and Fri morning. The food is all local. Any food miles have been miles made on foot. I’m told some of the people walk over an hour to come and sell at market. Pineapples, bananas, avocados; the tropical fruit is delicious and cheap. Peas and corn are also for sale but are not as sweet or juicy as at home. Tinned varieties of these are available in the store but I prefer to support the local economy and not pay for the shipping of tins.

The store stocks food from around the world, because it caters for a community from around the world. I am still getting used to prices and am enjoying trying brands I’ve not tried before. I’ve not tried anything particularly strange, just local brands.

Looking across the river at a coffee plantation

At home in Australia I try to purchase only fair trade tea and coffee. Here, I purchase local tea and coffee. One little luxury I brought with was a travel mug with an infuser that works for either tea or coffee. I’ve very much enjoying quality brewed tea and coffee from local plantations. 

During the last few years, Tuesday night has been community tea night for me and a gathering of friends. For a while there, Tuesday night tea was happening on a Monday, but I never quite changed what I called it. Last week, just when I was thinking ‘Tomorrow is Tuesday. I should invite someone for dinner’ I was invited to a potluck dinner by someone else. What a surprise and a blessing. It was even on the ‘right’ night!

The other shared meal that was a feature this week was sharing a Passover sedar with the Tok Pisin congregation on Thursday night. Everything was done in Tok Pisin, so I only partially understood what was going on. My understanding was boosted by the relationship of the language to English and the fact that I’d been involved in Passover meals before and knew the general flow and content. It was an appropriate start to my first Easter weekend in PNG. 

Soon I’ll be going on a translation awareness trip in Milne Bay Province. I’ll be living and eating with local people. I’ll give you another food update after that, but I’m hoping that it might include some local seafood. Have a blessed Easter and may you take time to reflect on the resurrection. Have a hot cross bun for me, as I’ve not been organised enough to make my own this year.

Flight

Tired! That is the feeling of the moment. It is a tiredness that might take more than one good night's sleep to remedy and is certainly beyond the power of the local coffee. I’ve made it to PNG, settled into my accommodation and in the quiet of this moment, the 4am start and the poor sleep before it have caught up with me. In bed last night, the enormity of this move finally hit me. There was no sense of wanting to back out, but rather anxiety about what it all means and just how much is unknown. Thus the bad sleep. Once under way this morning, early though it was, I was back to being excited. Flights, connections, customs etc all went well. I ended up on the morning flight from Pt Moresby to Ukarumpa, which is a blessing as I can right now hear the afternoon flight coming in to land. It would have been a very long day if I were on that flight.

Soon after taking off from Pt Moresby we were cruising at 10 000ft between two layers of cloud. To my right I could see mountains poking out of one cloud layer and disappearing into the next. To my left the cloud thinned out and the ocean was visible. Beneath us was an icing of clouds, in the windows between the white I could see the dense green of jungle, rising up towards us. With such rugged terrain it is no wonder that so many distinct languages and cultures have developed here. 

Coming in to land at Aiyura we circled Ukarumpa. Today it was an unidentifiable web of houses and streets. No doubt it will soon be familiar. Today there were many new faces. Some were faces to go with names I’ve been emailing for months. One familiar face met me soon after landing, that of Beverly who I did my ‘work experience’ with nine years ago. It has taken me awhile to get back here, but I am now ready to be here and ready for the long haul. If I had of stayed nine years ago, I doubt I would have lasted. 

It is good to be here at last.

Commissioning

Being in a room full of family and friends who have gathered to wish you God’s blessings on your work, travels and life is a most humbling experience. It is also wonderful, memorable and generally overwhelming. My commissioning on Sunday Mar 22 was all of this and more.

Looking around the church as I stood up to say ‘I will, with God’s help’ to my commissioning questions, I saw people from such a cross section of life. Family, school friends, Naracoorte friends, LSF friends, community friends, housemates, sailors, fellow students and lecturers from different colleges, translation colleagues, my Ferryden Park family, friends of the family since before I was born and enough Shine choir friends that the last song had full harmonies being sung. All people I love and who love me. All people who had gathered to bless me and bid me fare well. 

Over lunch as I looked around the gathering in the hall, the building itself reminded me of God’s blessings and provision as I head out on this adventure of Bible translation. It was a building project which a congregation our size and with our shaky budget should never have taken on. When the old hall started falling down numbers on the page made it look like closure was the only option. The people were not ready for that though. We dreamt, thought, prayed and schemed. We contacted friends, interested people and wrote grant applications. We put in many many hours of physical labour. All ages, abilities and backgrounds were involved. We pulled down our old hall and built a new one out of straw bales.  The small debt we had was soon paid for from our annual mango fundraiser and by collecting 10c recycling. The hall in which we lunched on my commissioning day stands as a testament to the provision of God. A great encouragement to me at this point. 

My commissioning was a joyful day but there was sadness too. After so many years of thinking, talking and preparing for Bible translation it is exciting to finally be sent and on the way. Yet leaving means saying fare-ye-well to so many precious people. Although glad to be going where I am going, it means not being among these people I love. It means not meeting the babies due in the next few weeks and months until they are two years old. My other sadness was the contrast of my celebration at being sent to fulfil my calling with the patient and endless waiting of precious friends. The same church which to me says ‘Go! May God bless you!’ says to others who have a sense of calling so have trained and prepared ‘No! and stop being troublemakers.’ I long for the day the LCA ordains women and these gifted, gracious and faithful women can also be sent into their calling with a blessing.

Overwhelmed is the best description of how I’ve been feeling of late, as so many emotions swirl about. I handle them in my usual duck like manner, all calm on the surface, paddling hard underneath. The other week I stood in the rain with a friend and watched a bird in a swollen creek. She was clearly paddling hard, as the water raged about her, but on the surface all we could see was a smooth body with a head strained forward. Underneath I am paddling in a swirl of excitement, worry, joy, tiredness, uncertainty, certainty, farewells, sense of calling…on the surface all seems smooth as my head strains towards PNG. The peace of God which passes all understanding, that is what sustains me.

Leaving

Getting ready to leave Australia and move to another country long term takes a lot of energy. Most of that energy is taken up with saying goodbye. Goodbye to friends and family are the hardest, but I'm also saying goodbye to place, culture and way of life.

Here I have the freedom to ride to the beach, go for a walk on my own, sit and have a coffee then ride home. All of this is done without ever thinking about my safety, except for as a cyclist, when one's fragility is always clear. I expect that this will soon not be practical. Being a single white woman is a developing nation, I will have to be aware of my personal safety in a very different way. Going out alone, going out at night... some of these things will have to change. I am yet to learn just how much they will have to change and how I will deal with those changes.

Even though most of my family live hundreds of kilometres from me, it is currently easy and affordable for me to pick up the phone and call them. Skype is also a good tool. How much will these things cost? How reliable will they be? Although my family will still be distant, I wonder how much more I will feel this distance. It is the little people, my nieces and nephew, who I will miss the most. Adults can maintain a relationship over distance and time. With kids, it is harder. Finding creative ways for Auntie Hanna to be a real person in their lives, is a challenge, especially to the unborn niece/nephew who will be walking and talking by the time I meet them. That relationship shall be founded upon distance from the beginning.

'Home' has long been a concept I have pondered. It can be so many things to so many people. Although I struggle to define home, I know when I feel at home and when I do not. In this new adventure I will often be moving between places and not have a regular location to call home. This can be quite destabilising for me. To encourage me to make each place a little bit of home, I have completed a quilt. It is a honeycomb of fabric scraps that tell my story over many years. Numerous friends are stitched into the rug as I've used their fabric scraps or my fabric shares stories with them. I am taking this quilt with as a way to take my friends and family with and remind myself that I do not go alone, but carry the thoughts and love of precious people with me.

In light of these things, the rest of my preparations to leave are easy. I have a visa, I have plane tickets, I've been immunised. Sewing a culturally appropriate wardrobe is fun and an excuse to haunt fabric stores. Paperwork is slowly being put in order and signed. My commissioning is this Sunday (Mar 18) and on Mar 30 I'll be in PNG. So soon...yet it has been a long journey to this point and I look forward to the next chapter.

Welcome to Noongar Country

Working on tall ships is something I have done for years and that I love, but it is also means working on the symbol of invasion of indigenous Australia and the destruction of language and culture.  The ships I have worked on will usually fly the indigenous flag on departure and arrival as a sign of respect and acknowledgement that the land was never terra nullis. When sailing on HMB Endeavour, the replica of Cook’s vessel with which he claimed Australia for the British crown, the symbolism is even stronger.

It is in this context that I experienced a welcome to country when arriving in Albany with Endeavour. The welcome started with our elders sitting down for a yarn and a cuppa. That is, Captain Ross and Uncle Lester sat in the 20^th Century Mess and talked over a cup of tea. The rest of the crew kept to our own culture and got on with work, rather than resting during the heat of the day. The yarning is probably the most important part of welcome to country, but it eventually lead to the ceremony part. 

As Uncle Lester, a Noongar elder, stood on the quarterdeck of Endeavour, he welcomed us to the land his people have lived on since ancient times. He acknowledged that ships such as ours brought death and destruction. They brought the diseases, dispossession and alcohol which continue to drag his people into addiction and crime today. Yet he still welcomed us and spoke with hope. 

“If you want to unravel a culture, take away their language”

When Uncle Lester said this, he touched my heart. As we had sailed from Fremantle to Albany, I had been so pleased to be back at sea. Pleased to be sailing Endeavour, which as I child I watched be built in Fremantle and dreamt of sailing on. The winds were against us and 21^st century timetables demand prompt arrivals, so we motored most of the way and only sailed a little. Even still, it was so good to be back at sea…back on deck, surrounded by water and sky. I had found myself asking ‘Why am I leaving this profession which I love to go to PNG?’

The short answer to that question is ‘God’. The long answer is well, um… somewhat difficult to define. It is certainly not easy to put into words.  Uncle Lester’s words reminded me of why I am going into Bible translation. They reminded me that translation and PNG is about working alongside people to strengthen and preserve language and culture, to commit to community and faith. It is about helping build the tools for literacy and discipleship and encouraging  a culture and a people group to flourish. 

They are certainly reasons worth spending most of the coming years on land.

Carols behind Bars

While briefly in Adelaide on my way to Perth for Christmas, I rejoined my old choir to sing Christmas Carols in a high security prison. It was the second time I've carolled in prison.

Prison is an unusual place to sing songs of peace, joy and hope. Quite literally, you are singing to a captive audience. Another former prison caroller said they found this off putting. I found that those who wanted to listen came to the front and those who did not stayed in their cells. Of course, when it came to handing out a Christmas gift of home baked biscuits, almost everyone came to the front!

Some inmates were friendly; joining in the singing, thanking us for coming, blessing us. Even the wardens were mostly friendly this year, some joining in with the carols. Other inmates paced like caged animals. As a zoo member I am used to seeing this behaviour from animals. It was sad to see my own species as the one behind bars pacing back and forth, back and forth. Singing carols to a pacing and distressed face is difficult. It gives meaning to lines such as "the weary soul rejoices". I saw a lot of weariness in people's eyes.

At each place where we sang, we gave people the opportunity to choose a favourite carol. Although Jingle Bell Rock was the definite favourite, Joy to the World, Silent Night and Away in a Manger were also requested. The religious aspect of Christmas, not just the commercial, was important to people.

I wondered what memories some of these carols brought back; of childhoods both good and bad, of family who they can not be with at Christmas. Yet, I preferred to risk raising these memories to let people know that they are not forgotten at Christmas and that there is a source of peace.

A number of people said "See you next year!" In a year's time I hope to be living and working in PNG. Many of these people will still be there when it comes time to carol again next year. It is six years since I last carolled in prison. I think of all I have done in that time and am overwhelmed by the fact that some of these men would have been in the same place, doing the same thing, that whole time.

Some carols gain extra meaning when inside a high security prison, being escorted about by a warden and singing to people behind bars. It was a reminder that the Christ child was born not for the righteous, but for sinners. "Silent night...heavenly peace"... the words were a contrast to the environment, but one I pray could be true in their hearts. Most poignant  was Little Drummer Boy; "I have no gifts to bring"... although this is true of all of us, it was so obvious of the men we were singing to. Yet Jesus still smiles at them.

When I first carolled in prison, a workmate asked me the next day "What were they like? Did they all have tattoos?" To which my response was "What? Like most of your workmates?" (at least half the crew had tatttoos at the time). Yesterday I was once again reminded that the inmates are people too. People with a history. People with a family. People with an identity. People who have done wrong, but people whom God loves.

As at Christmas we declare "Joy to the world! The Lord is come!" I pray that we will remember that "the wonders of his love" truly are for one and all; including all those shunned by society, including those serving time behind bars.

Elnita

The end of the academic year is nearly here and graduation from another degree is only a few days away. One sign that the study is mostly over is that my sewing machine once again has pride of place in the middle of my desk, rather than the landslide of books and paperwork which has been there of late. 

My sewing machine also represents what comes after graduation; packing, sorting and decision making about what to take to PNG, what to store in Australia for ‘one day’ and what to get rid of. As much as I am a fan of the idea of simplicity, I am hopeless at it in practice and am a habitual hoarder. 

One question in the packing, is if I send my sewing machine to PNG or not. I have had my own machine since early high school. It is a cheap machine and noisy, but it is the machine I have learnt to sew on. On it I have gone from making small items, to making clothing by carefully following a pattern, to sometimes using a pattern as an indication for what I might like to do (a bit like my approach to recipes). Most days I am wearing at least one thing I have sewn myself. Although I will probably leave my machine behind and borrow from someone else, or maybe even buy one in PNG, it is a big step for me to be without a sewing machine.

There are many things I will need to learn to be without, living in a developing nation. The hardest will be the things which are personal. Books are personal to me, as is sewing.

Flying in PNG is charged by weight...including for myself (now there is an incentive to weight loss!). Books, sewing machines; these are heavy. My budget it limited. There are many decisions to be made as to what comes and what stays as I prepare to move overseas. Thankfully I have friends who can help advise me, yet at the end of the day I have to decide for myself. It is the start of the letting go I will need to do a lot of. Please pray for my wisdom and peace in all of this.