Toddlerdom

Learning a new language through immersion is like returning to toddlerhood. The world around you no longer fully makes sense. People do strange and inexplicable things. People look at you intently and say a string of sounds which have little meaning and you don’t know how to respond. People laugh because you did something funny, but you’re not sure what it was. It is exhausting! Naps are a great idea to recover enough energy for the next round of learning and I understand why toddlers have tantrums out of sheer frustration.

I am thankful that as I learn Kope, I do have training  and some aids. During  my year at linguistics school I studied methods and techniques to help with language acquisition. As a linguist worked in this area in the 1980s and Robbie has worked there more recently, I have some papers and books I can refer to. There is the draft of a small dictionary. There is a children’s picture dictionary. There is a grammar of a closely related language. There are some children’s story books. Each of these is a wonderful resource for me to refer to for new words, confirming the meaning of words and for learning phrases in context. There is no ‘How to learn Kope’ book, but these other books are invaluable helps.

Another language learning help is that I share the house with a toddler. Although he comprehends more Kope than I do, and will become fluent sooner than I will, he helps me out. Because of Small Boy I have learnt the words for ‘Be quiet!’, ‘Enough!’ ‘Put it down!’ and other such phrases. His default method of communication when he has no words, crying, is one method I have chosen to bypass.

Although toddlers start their language development with a lot of ‘I want…’ I have started with stating the obvious. ‘I am cold’.’ ‘I am hot.’ ‘ The woman is tall.’ ‘The man is strong.’ Stative clauses are easy enough.  Well, except for the day I said ‘Mo darudaru ka’ instead of ‘Mo daradara ka,’ so declaring that I was yellow, rather than that I was confused.

Adding verbs is when it gets complex, but even then I am stating the obvious. ‘I am going to the toilet.’ ‘I am going to the house.’ Still, if I can learn to make verbs work for me with obvious statements, I should eventually be able to make complex statements and string my clauses together into some sort of story or argument.

Another area of village life in which the toddler outstrips me is in balance and stability. He has grown up with canoes and mud, so knows how to sit and walk so that he does not fall over. I am still learning. Miraculously, in the first six weeks I have only had one slip, the bigger miracle being that no one else saw it happen. I also weigh a whole lot more than a toddler, and more than most village folk, so I am the one who will find every weak plank in a house or a walkway. Breaking people’s houses is rather embarrassing, for both parties. I am learning to assess strength of planks before I step and to pace my steps for the parts with a beam underneath. Meanwhile, the toddler skips about the house and other adults walk in straight lines.

So it is that I have returned to being an adult sized toddler. Some days I have to remind myself that this is a stage, that it will pass, and pass sooner the more I focus on language learning. In a country where the white people are generally seen as the experts and the teachers, it is good for me to be the incompetent one and the learner. I have been learning a lot about humility as well as about language!

At the moment the toddler in the house knows more language than me, but my goal is eventually to be able to speak with Old Lady (really, that is what people call her in language). As she has few teeth, no English, talks quickly and laughs at her own jokes, I have set my sights high.

PS I am writing these blog posts with limited internet access and scheduling them for the coming weeks. Photos will be added later when better internet is available, although as Small Boy does not like to wear pants, and those sort of photos are all kinds of trouble, there may still be no photos of my toddle sized language helper.

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. 

Year of the House

Having grown up in church-owned housing and rented my way through a number of houses as an adult, the great Aussie dream of home ownership has always been just that, a dream. This year though, that has changed.

Recently I was given a house in Ukarumpa.

My new Ukarumpa home.

This is our ‘company town’ in the Highlands where I am based when not living in a village situation. It is my base of professional support, personal friendships and ex-pat belonging. It is a town with a complex identity that means different things to different people, but for me it is one of my PNG homes. It is also now a place where I own a home.

Robyn (Aussie) came to PNG in 1987 and Lisbeth (Swede) arrived in 1986. Together they worked with the Ramoaaina people of the Duke of York Island near Rabaul, dedicating the Ramoaaina New Testament in 2007. They continue to work in that region, supporting the Ramoaaina Old Testament translation as well as the Label, Kandas and Fanamaket New Testament translation teams from nearby New Ireland Province.

Previously, they too were Ukarumpa based, coming and going to the Islands. These days they are Kokopo based and no longer need their Ukarumpa house. Some people sell their home, but they decided to give theirs away. It is a cosy little home, with three bedrooms, office, living room, kitchen and shed. At the moment I live here alone, but may end up sharing with another single woman either long or short term.

At the same time as moving into my Ukarumpa home, I have been getting ready to go to the village, where I am in the process of building a house. Land has been set aside and posts and bearers have already been installed. I am bringing a solar power system with me, and water tanks and some tin roofing for water catchment are on order. Nails, hinges and a saw are among the items I’m providing to assist in the building effort.

An Ubuo house (not mine) under construction (D.Petterson)

So it is that this year will probably end up with me having two homes to call my own! While I have been given one house and am buying nails to build another, my sister has gone through a mountain of paperwork and stress to gain a mortgage and purchase a home in Australia. The contrast in home acquisition is stark, yet so is the nature of our houses.

My Ukarumpa home is on land that is part of a 99 year lease to an organisation I am a member of. My village house is on land that I have no title to. Both houses are in a country where I currently have a five year visa. I expect to be here long term and renew my visa many times, which is why I am investing myself and my resources, but many things could easily change. Still, I am excited at these developments that continue to make this country more and more ‘home’.

What if…?

Settling into one area has involved a whole new round of paperwork: contingency planning. This has meant sitting down and deliberately catastrophising about various situations, planning my response, writing it down, filing it with various people and promising to do my best to keep to it in a real emergency.

I am familiar with this approach, as in my previous work on sailing ships we did regular emergency drills. We had flow diagrams of responses and responsibilities. Fire drills on hot summer days were an excuse for a water fight, but we were ready should there be a real fire. Man overboard drills taught us things that meant we saved a life when the real thing occurred (a story for another day). Preparedness makes a big difference in an emergency.

So it is that I’ve been thinking through what I would do, what I need to always carry just-in-case (bandages for snake bite, locator beacon), what I would take with me if making an emergency exit and which direction I would go. I’ve purchased a 20L container for an emergency fuel supply. If I have fuel standing by it is easier to find a driver and a boat. Contact details for various organisations and individuals have been listed. Maps have been drawn and marked.

All of this in the hope that I never need to use it.

Still, stuff happens. We live in a broken world where the acts of individuals and of nature cause fear, injury and destruction. I do not expect to avoid my share in the harsh realities of life, but I do hope to be prepared when they strike. I hope this paperwork is next read when I review it in a few years time, not when it is called on in an emergency, but it is good to have thought things through and made a plan together with others.

I do work remotely, with many challenges, but I am not unprepared or unconnected. Please take comfort in this.

 

Contingency planning… cause life is not always smooth sailing.

Solar Power

What do the Amish, doomsday preppers, Bible translators,  4WD enthusiasts, round-the-world sailors and eco-warriors have in common?

An interest in living off the grid.

As I get organised to live in a remote village location, I have been gathering information and learning skills to make that life easier. I could just live like the locals, but then I would have no time to do the work I came to do. Subsistence living is a time consuming occupation. Instead, I look into ways to preserve food, produce familiar food from scratch, and power the equipment I need for my work. Along the way I have found myself on the websites of all the above categories, getting tips for off-grid living.

My most recent adventure in off-grid discovery has been in making decisions about what sort of solar set-up* I need. I’ve had a crash course in all sorts of specifics and technical details: panel sizes and types, battery sizes and types, solar controllers, wattage, amp hours, volts…

There are so many questions that helpful people ask but that sometimes leave me more confused. How much equipment do I have? How much power do they draw? What else am I likely to get? Will I want a 12v fridge? (probably not) Will I want a 12v fan? (sounds appealing) What is my budget? (limited). Argh!

I am thankful for the people who have helped me, explaining and re-explaining concepts to me, answering my questions and responding to my blank looks. They have sure helped me to make practical choices, and then they  took on responsibility for compiling the system.

When I fly to Gulf next, I will have with approximately 65kg of solar and radio equipment. I know the weight because I had to do an estimate for my aviation booking. This will give me 190w of power for a 100ah battery. It’s primary purpose is to run an HF radio with some LED lights for night as a positive side effect. Later I will also use it to power my computer, but for the moment my notebook is literally that, a notebook and a pen.

The Amish have not been much help in my solar quest, but when it comes to preserving foods, suggesting manual methods of doing commonly powered tasks and having catalogues of fun hand tools, they are the people to look up. I suspect it is not the Amish running these websites, but people marketing at the Amish and that they also provide paper catalogues for that market. I have been dealing with the more Amish side of village preparations, but solar had been the biggest challenge this time around.

*Others call it a ‘solar system’ but as I am harvesting the energy of the sun, not revolving around it in miniature, ‘solar set-up’ seems more appropriate. That said, I’m tempted to call my solar set-up ‘Pluto’, for although it is small and remote, it still deserves to be counted.

Gemu Ray

I seem to accumulate family wherever I go. This has the wonderful effect of always belonging, but the harder effect of always being away from people you love.

In my recent trip to Gulf Province to start connecting there, I was adopted into a Kope family, the Aumaries. Although Aumarie himself is dead, I have a mama and plenty of brothers, sisters and kids to belong to. They look after me, giving me a place, identity and responsibilities, and I reciprocate that care.

It’s going to take me awhile to learn who my family is and how to best relate to them, as I have well over a dozen village-siblings and I’m still learning about the responsibilities of PNG relationships. There are also lots of first cousins who classify as siblings. Add in generational complexities and in-family adoptions, and I have an enormous number of family.  Still, it is good to belong.

My new family are all over PNG, working and studying in various roles and places. I doubt I’ll ever meet some of them, but we are still part of the same family.

Part of being adopted into the family was that I was given a village name, Gemu. This is the same village name as one of my sisters, a teacher in Goroka that I’ve not met. At the same time, people were struggling with the ‘sch’ at the start of my name, as it is not said like the ‘sch’ at the start of school. An easy solution to this is to use my father’s name for my surname, as everyone else does. All of a sudden, I had a totally new name: Gemu Ray.

It might take me awhile to remember to answer to that!

With my Mama, sister, niece, two sister-in-law and nephew.
I mentioned complex generations… the two babies in this photo are related
because the great-grandma of one is the sister to the father of the other!