Road Trip

Last week I went to Lae for a few days. This is a 10km drive from our home in the Aiyura Valley to the Highlands Highway, then about 210km along the highway to Lae. In many places, a 220km highway drive is a matter of a few smooth hours. Not here!  We spent four hours bumping through or swerving around potholes, breaking suddenly and holding our breath.

A truck parked on your side of the road?
No worries, just swerve around it.

The 10km to Kainantu is one of the worse stretches of road. At one point the road subsides over a metre, and the cars bump down into the hollow and back up again. At another point, the road has been patched up from what used to be one lane and a gaping hole where the creek stole the other lane. The bridge to Kainantu has also been patched up, with pieces retrieved from the river below where they had previously fallen. This bridge is slowly sinking down the river banks. When it is eventually impassable, we shall be cut off from the highway.

Looking ahead to a landslide which
we will soon go along the top of.

Once on the Highlands Highway, we first wound our way towards Yonki dam. This provides hydroelectric power to much of the nation. At all points you are sharing the road with pedestrians and roaming livestock, which adds an extra challenge. Along the edge of the road are villages, market stalls and fuel stalls.

 The beautiful view along
the Markham Valley.

Once we have crossed the dam, the next challenge is KassamPass. This is the switchback road which descends from the highlands to the lowlands. As we drove down we passed through a layer of cloud, travelling from clear air to fog and back to clear air again. The clarity gives a breathtaking view of the valley and the Finnesterre Mountains beyond…and of the precipice beside each bend that you take. Reaching the bottom of the pass I always breathe out a sigh of relief and breath in the humid air that says we have reached the lowlands.

The Markham River looking lazy.

The Markham Valley is flat, grassy and full of cattle. If you take the turn off to Madang, there are palm oil plantations. I have only ever seen the Markham River in a lazy state, but the breadth of the river bed, the sharp cliffs along it and the trees and rocks scattered about testify to the force of water which sometimes passes through. It has been known to take out bridges when in full flood.

The surprising house that seems
to have landed from somewhere else.

PNG is the land of the unexpected and nearing Lae there is a sight which made my head turn; a house which looked like it had been lifted from America and landed in PNG. Apparently it belongs to a local MP.

Once we reach the turnoff for Nadzab airport we are nearing Lae, although it is still over half an hour away. Maybe this distance would be shorter if the road were better, but as a heavily trafficked road, it is quickly worn down. The worst stretch of road is the last 10-15km into town. The unofficial rule is that you keep to the side of the road which is smoothest and to the left when there is oncoming traffic.

Potholes at a Lae corner.

In Lae itself the roads vary. The road to the guesthouse had been redone since I visited a year ago. It was smooth, had kerbs, gutters and lines marked. Another corner by a main shopping centre was so full of potholes that it required defensive 4WDing skills, in a 2WD van, while dodging the pedestrian crowd. As the potholes were full of water, we never knew how deep each one was until we splashed into it and out again, sometimes with more of a ‘thunk!’ than expected.

Stepping into another world to
have lunch at the Lae Yacht Club.

Our driver for most of this was Rebekah. Taking on the driving helped her defeat motion sickness, and surely has half the Highlands Highway talking about the white woman who was driving. Women driving in PNG, especially outside of a town, are rare. As security we had one of our male colleagues with us. He rode in the front so that everyone could see him and hopefully choose not to harass us.

The long receipt after we filled four
trolleys with groceries at one
supermarket. I have no idea why
this won't upload the right way up. 

Lae itself was a time for shopping, dining out, meetings, relaxing in the pool and generally enjoying being with friends and away from the computer for a few days.

Skeleton of a ute.

On the drive home we were laden with cargo. Organising a trip to Lae is a headache and for many of us only happens once a year. As it is our best accessible centre for shopping, we make the most of it and stock up while we can. The van was rather full!

During the drive home was Susie suggested that PNG cars include skeletons and zombies. Skeletons are the remains of vehicles which have ended their life by the roadside and left only remains. Zombies are those vehicles which should have died, but somehow keep on driving. We saw plenty of both. I hope you’ve enjoyed some of my attempts at taking their photos from a swerving, bouncing vehicle!

A truck that did not make the corner
and is quickly being stripped down
to a skeleton.

Arriving safely home in the highlands we offloaded cargo and collapsed into our various beds. Our three days away had been good, but tiring. Meanwhile, another vanload of people were doing ‘Lae in a Day’, leaving before 6am and returning after 8pm. No thanks!

Vehicle skeleton on the roadside.

A local PMV (Public motor vehicle).
Surely there is space for one more!

 I think that windscreen repair
qualifies this as a zombie truck.
Note also the number of pedestrians
we're about to share a bridge with.

Humbled

The best compliments and encouragement come in the form or casual comments and leave me humbled at the same time. Here are some examples from recent months, that continue to encourage me as I wade through the morass of decision making.

“I pray for you every day…”

While home on furlough so many people told me that they pray for me everyday and that they find me an inspiration. This was not just from close friends. Sometimes it was from from people I barely know, other times from people I look up to myself. Even when I am bad at keeping in touch with them, they are praying for me. Even though I am just working at living each day well, using the skills I’ve been given in the place I feel called, apparently I am inspiring people. My life feels fairly ordinary as I live it each day. I am inspired to keep going by those who have encouraged me. When I am overwhelmed by decisions to be made, I am reminded that there are friends who carry me.

“Thank you for your friendship…”

Over the last year I’ve exchanged a number of emails with married friends who’ve been going through an incredibly difficult time. I live in a different country, am slow to reply to emails and only caught up with them once while in the same city. I am aware of how much more I could have done, but did not. Yet by email and in person they tell me that I’ve been a friend and a support. Rather than telling myself I know better, I am working to hear their words and be encouraged.

“I’ll build you a house…”

When discussing possible destinations to work with a language long term, one colleague quickly told me that as soon as we were ready, he was ready to build us a village house. Several of the others in the conversation added their support that they too would love to be part of a building party. In the middle of all the details and decisions, knowing that my friends are waiting to be practical and supportive, even before I’ve asked them, is an enormous encouragement.

In writing this, my intent is not to brag, but to say ‘Thank you!’

To all of you who pray for me, thank you.

To all of you who care in practical ways, thank you.

To all of you who encourage me in ways you do not even realise, thank you.

 At the moment, as I am in the middle of what feels like endless decisions, you are carrying me in more ways than you can know, so thank you!

The side effects of an introduction

The other day at morning tea I met with a colleague and realised that there was an odd coolness between us. Usually I get along pretty well with people, so this surprised me and left me trying to work out where things went astray. My conclusion is that we lost our way the day we met.

We met in a work context, but not a formal one. In making small talk, my purpose being to get to know this person I was to be working with, I probably asked about life before PNG. The reply I got felt like the reply one would get at a job interview as previous training and work experience was detailed. As he is an American, I’m told that this sort of introduction through qualifications is natural and normal. As an Australian, I heard it as arrogant. Ok, I’m Aussie, the idioms that came to mind were a lot more colourful than ‘arrogant’. Without realising it, I started to dislike the guy.

In response, when he asked about my past life, I would have given a general reply, mentioned sailing and not detailed all my university degrees. He probably walked away thinking me underqualified and out of place, for Australians typically undersell themselves in such a situation. Our introductions are usually low key and we do not like to be seen as self-promoting. Since then I have felt that this colleague does not value what I have to contribute. Maybe if I told him I had the equivalent of nine years full time tertiary study this might change, yet I struggle with the idea that my value is in my qualifications. I prefer people to get to know me as me, not as a collection of letters which can go after my name or as a job title.

So what now? Being aware of the fact I’m cool to him because of his cultural introductions and judgements I can start to change my attitude and get to know him as a real person, not as a stereotype. Knowing that qualifications and experience are more important to other cultures, I can try to remember not to hide my achievements.

Working in a multinational organisation means constant awareness of different ways of being polite, introducing and relating. So far I have negotiated this fairly well, but in this case, the relationship was derailed at the start. I am not too worried though, as I have plenty of other friends from the US to remind me that most of the time, that cross cultural relationship works well too.

TEA

Since returning to PNG a month ago I have been looking at which language group to work with long term. In a country with hundreds of languages waiting for translation work, it is a challenging process and a difficult choice. To help ease the process, we’ve been sharing this journey as a group of translators exploring allocations, or TEA for short.

Over the last few years, our organisation has accumulated a number of unallocated linguists. Some people were previously allocated to work with a language group and for various reasons vacated their programme. Some are new to the country. Some have been waiting for a work partner (me!). Some are committed to one project for a set period but are contemplating long term options. Together, we have been meeting for a cuppa, a chat and prayer. There is comfort and strength in sharing our struggles and working out the road forward between us.

We have also taken to inviting a guest to our gathering, usually a regional director (RD). When one first arrives as a linguist, RDs can be a bit scary as they seem to see a target painted on you and aim to recruit you for their region before another RD gets you for theirs. Having got to know a number of the RDs in person over the last few years, I now know that they are actually more gracious than that, but first impressions were intimidating. Having RDs come and share with us as a whole group takes away the pressure of feeling targeted.

Group discussions during a workshop in a village

Region by region we are listening to possibilities and priorities. We listen, we question, we pray, we ponder. We look at maps and are amused by place names. If one language group strikes a chord for one or more of us, we start discussing what the next step might be. This next step usually involves a visit to a language area, but the challenge is to do it in a way which allows us to have a look-see without promising anything long term. We find ourselves discussing options of language surveys and workshops, exploring legitimate reasons to engage with a community without raising expectations. We discuss ways to find out more information, while contributing to the community at the same time.

So far we’ve had four gatherings and heard from two of the eight regions. That leaves six more to hear from, when I’m already feeling overwhelmed with information. Yet sharing the journey between us makes it easier. Where we will all allocate waits to be seen, but at least we have found a practical way to take manageable steps towards that goal.

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).

Furlough: Life and Death

Furlough is a strange time that is neither holidays nor my normal work. It is a time of speaking at churches, thanking and updating the people who support me in the work I do. It is two months of catching up with two years of stories and connections.

New life

It is this reconnecting that is the exhausting part, as I cram two years of social connections into a series of short  visits. All the events which I would usually spread over two years are experienced in the space of two months. Often they are things I’ve heard about, but until you sit down with someone and cry about the loss of a loved one, or give a cuddle to a newborn loved one, it is not quite real.

Furlough is a rollercoaster of life and death, on scales both large and small.

There is death in visiting those who are starting to lose their clarity to Alzheimer’s disease. I had heard that they are going downhill, but did not know what to expect. Apparently it was a good day, with thoughts and memories more in order than at other times, but it was still the death of a part of the person who I used to know. I wonder what our meeting in two years will be like.

There is life in seeing children two years older than they were. Their vocabulary has increased, their independence and inquisitiveness is wonderful to see.

There are the deaths I knew about, and those that are surprises. In a church that I attended for a year, I knew that diabetes had claimed the life of a single woman in her thirties. It was only when I was there in person that I found that influenza had claimed the life of another single woman, also in her mid thirties. There are only a few of us in that demographic in the congregation, so for two of my age-mates to be suddenly gone is quite a reality check.

There are the many new lives which have been announced with delight. Some of them have also been photos on my fridge, videos through the mail or even a blurry face on skype, but until they are someone who I can cuddle or read a book to, they are a theory rather than a reality. I know my friends have been becoming parents while I was away, but it is hard to comprehend until it is lived.

There are the deaths of friendships as we have gone our own way over the years. There are the difficult decisions as to which friendships to invest my limited Australian time in renewing and which to allow to drift, knowing that in another two years, it will probably be too long to really reconnect. There are the elderly, who if I do not connect with them now, may not be able to again.

There are grand plans that have worked and hopes that have failed. There are new starts and lost opportunities. New houses, new relationships, new jobs, new passions.

There is the new life in the family, as I held my newborn nephew, the first in the clan to do so, even if I’m usually the overseas Auntie.

This cycle of life and death is normal. What is difficult is squeezing the highs and lows into a short time frame and continuing to care, even though it is exhausting. 

Voyage Planning

Teaching navigation to teenage sail trainees.

When planning voyages at sea, we’d lay a straight line across a chart between waypoints and make a week long plan of courses and magnetic compass headings. In a sailing ship, this line was always an ideal and rarely a reality as wind and waves determined our actual path. The start and end point usually remained consistent, although sometimes these too would be changed by conditions.

When I make travel plans in PNG, I leave a week open in my schedule to allow for changes to flight schedules and then plan around the planes. Planes are weather bound too, as fog, low cloud, soggy grass airstrips and other factors can cause changes to plans. Once we have the plane approximately planned, the other plans follow. Do we need to get to or from the airstrip? Does this involve a boat or a car ride? Who might have the vessel or the vehicle and the driver and the fuel to make that possible?  What weight is available on the plane and what is the combined total of our body weights and our cargo?

After a particularly frustrating and changeable recent patch of travel planning in PNG, I decided it was an activity that required the patience of a saint, the strategic planning skills of a General, the networks of a digital native and the flexibility of an Olympic gymnast.

Travel plans for Australia are another whole experience. I jump online and look up maps and schedules. Transport networks tell me to the minute when trains and due and how long it should take for me to walk between points. Tickets can be pre-purchased on line or swipe cards reloaded. Prices are compared and links take you direct to other services. I can plan my travel in small pieces and be realistic in expecting that most things will happen as planned. It is lovely to have things so straightforward!

Yet when a friend was running to catch a tram the other day, I realised how much I have adapted to ‘PNG time’. Why run for a tram when the next one is 15 minutes away? PNG time is relational time rather than scheduled time. Things take longer because people stop to talk to those they meet. Rather than running to catch a tram they would continue the conversation and let one or even two trams go by and only head off when the conversation was done.

I find I value both things; being able to plan ahead and being able to spend the time with friends. Now my planning involves leaving big spaces, so that relationships have room, but schedules are not interfered with, as I try to balance both ways of being.