My Language

 Tompkin looking the part
as Paramount Chief

One time while we were waiting for the translation team to arrive, I was chatting with Tompkin about the Kope language. Although there are only seven Kope villages, there are differences of language use among them. Deciding which words we use can be difficult, as one village may not accept something that is not the way they say it.

While chatting Tompkin told me that Kope is his language and that he is the final authority on the language. This may seem like a big claim, but as he is Paramount Chief over four of the seven villages, it is a reasonable claim. He used to be Chief over all seven villages, but some conflict that I don’t understand caused the three lower Kope villages to break away and declare their own chief in the last decade.

Knowing that Tompkin speaks for all of upper Kope will hopefully smooth the way in translation, but I am concerned that the old conflicts may mean that lower Kope reacts against his choices of words. While we were finding out more about dialect differences in a lower Kope village, we were told that the Jesus Film had errors. In trying to find out what these were, it seemed that the biggest problem was that the voice of Jesus and the voice of the Narrator were both from Ubuo village (upper Kope). It was not the words used as much as the place the people were from that was the problem.

Being aware of this division means I can work towards overcoming it before it becomes a big issue. Although we do drafting in Ubuo, we have done checking in Bavi (lower Kope). While there I also gave out paper to a number of people and asked them to write their stories for me to put into story books. I want to give the other villages a voice in the literacy materials we produce and show them that their village variation is valued.

 Tompkin and Pastor Elah hard at work translating Luke.

Meanwhile, although Kope is Tompkin’s language, he often reaches for the draft Kope dictionary to check the meaning of a word. All the translators like to refer to it. I am somewhat surprised that these people want to see how outsiders have defined words in their language. Even though we have written it with their help, it has still largely been an outsider task. As we edit this dictionary, I have to remind the team that it is okay for Wouobo people to speak like they are from Wouobo (NW end of tribe) and for Gibi people to sound like they are from Gibi (SE end of tribe). We just need to mark in the dictionary where each word comes from. I am thankful that the English dictionary I have in the village marks British and US spelling of words (colour/color, metre/meter, organise/organize) as well as word preferences (queue vs. line up). This gives me a good precedent to list all the words from all the villages, but to mark them for where they are from.

Kope is Tompkin’s language, but this is not as clear cut as it sounds. Each language has its custodians as well as its differences. It is finding the balance of these that is the challenge.

Dedications, again.

I have written about dedications of fuel pumps, phonetowers, houses and films. I have written about my struggles with ownership in a communal setting. These two themes came together for me when my tables and chairs arrived in the village, and helped me to better understand both the constant dedications and some of the local mindset of ownership.

During a recent village trip, I had ordered tables and chairs through another mission and was waiting for them to arrive. My translation team was pleased to be moving up in the world, and asked a few times when ‘our’ tables would arrive. I was thinking in terms of ‘mine’ and they were thinking in terms of ‘ours’. This did not bother me as much as other incidents, as the tables were for the translation work, so could easily be understood as ‘ours’.

 Testing the new table and chairs that had just arrived.

The tables were delivered and installed, along with a real mattress. (Oh, the luxury of a good night’s sleep in the village!) I was not around when the tables were first used, but when I got back, I was told that they had held a small dedication ceremony for the tables and chairs. They had prayed for them before they used them. I was a little surprised by this, which after all the dedications I’ve been to, I really shouldn’t have been.

On reflection, I realised that dedicating the tables and chairs to the translation work sets them apart from ordinary use, and hopefully protects them from going walkabout to other worthy causes. It is now known that these are the chairs set aside for the translation work, they are not for everyday things. We’ll see how that theory holds up in practice…

 Flopped on my new mattress and in danger
of falling asleep, it is so good!

Language Learning; Assumptions and Imagination.

While learning Kope, I am organising my own daily language classes. In these approximately hour long sessions, I use a variety of approaches, but one of my main tools is pictures. I have a collection of old calendars from PNG, as well as series of pictures that make up a story, and sketches of life in PNG. Using these pictures we describe things, ask questions and tell stories. Along the way, I have discovered that my imagination and assumptions work differently to women I am sitting with and learning from.

One picture I intended to use to learn the phrase for ‘The boy is reading’. I got many phrases, but not that one. The boy was lying on the mat, the boy was looking at the camera, the boy was holding the book, the boy was looking at the pictures (of which there were none) and the boy wanted to read, but at no point was the boy reading. I was both frustrated and fascinated by our different assumptions. My teacher thought the boy was too young to read, so would not describe him as reading. He was also clearly looking at the camera, not at the book, so couldn’t be reading.

Reading? From SIL PNG 2014 calendar, June.
Photo by Catherine McGuckin.

Another time, I had been learning the many ways to say ‘go’, depending on who was going and when. I then wanted to switch to saying come, but hit a road block, because whenever I wanted to elicit the phrase for ‘we will come from X’, I was told that we had not gone there. After that I got extra practice with the phrases for going, as first we had to go before we could come. I was being abstract in my approach to language, but they were being much more concrete.

 A tiny picture of a frog chasing a snake
chasing a gecko that was the basis of a
fun story we made up.

I have been using a number of picture books to learn how to tell stories. The first time I gave the book to someone and asked them to tell a story, but they quickly got stuck. The next time I stumbled my way through the book, being corrected every second word, then asked them to tell the story. Most people would tell the story very much how I told it. Only one or two people would add their own colour to the tale. I wonder if this reflects a culture which values being able to remember and retell traditional tales more than it does being able to create new ones.

Pictures are a wonderful tool for language learning, but they still require common assumptions for the learning process to work.

Language Learning; Assumptions and Imagination.

While learning Kope, I am organising my own daily language classes. In these approximately hour long sessions, I use a variety of approaches, but one of my main tools is pictures. I have a collection of old calendars from PNG, as well as series of pictures that make up a story, and sketches of life in PNG. Using these pictures we describe things, ask questions and tell stories. Along the way, I have discovered that my imagination and assumptions work differently to women I am sitting with and learning from.

One picture I intended to use to learn the phrase for ‘The boy is reading’. I got many phrases, but not that one. The boy was lying on the mat, the boy was looking at the camera, the boy was holding the book, the boy was looking at the pictures (of which there were none) and the boy wanted to read, but at no point was the boy reading. I was both frustrated and fascinated by our different assumptions. My teacher thought the boy was too young to read, so would not describe him as reading. He was also clearly looking at the camera, not at the book, so couldn’t be reading.

Reading? From SIL PNG 2014 calendar, June.
Photo by Catherine McGuckin.

Another time, I had been learning the many ways to say ‘go’, depending on who was going and when. I then wanted to switch to saying come, but hit a road block, because whenever I wanted to elicit the phrase for ‘we will come from X’, I was told that we had not gone there. After that I got extra practice with the phrases for going, as first we had to go before we could come. I was being abstract in my approach to language, but they were being much more concrete.

 A tiny picture of a frog chasing a snake
chasing a gecko that was the basis of a
fun story we made up.

I have been using a number of picture books to learn how to tell stories. The first time I gave the book to someone and asked them to tell a story, but they quickly got stuck. The next time I stumbled my way through the book, being corrected every second word, then asked them to tell the story. Most people would tell the story very much how I told it. Only one or two people would add their own colour to the tale. I wonder if this reflects a culture which values being able to remember and retell traditional tales more than it does being able to create new ones.

Pictures are a wonderful tool for language learning, but they still require common assumptions for the learning process to work.

Dreams and Encouragement

I am from a mainline protestant background. Dreams and visions as answers to prayer were not really part of my liturgical upbringing. Sure, in theory we acknowledged that God could work in this way, but in practice we were cautious of the Pentecostals who claimed that God regularly did such things. Working in PNG, where there is no line between the spiritual and the physical world, and working in a non-denominational organisation of many and varied backgrounds, I have learnt to accept and appreciate the encouragement that God can give through dreams.

On my first night in Ubuo, the first night of the rest of my life with the Kope, I had a strange and vivid dream. As I rarely remember my dreams, it took me awhile to realise it had been a dream, not an actual occurrence in the night. I will not outline the whole dream here, but summarise it as a confirmation that although Satan could push and scare me he could not bite me, that although I may not be aware of God’s presence I am always in it, and that God had put good people into my life to help me on this new journey. This was a hugely encouraging dream to have on the first night of something so new and so big.

My mosquito net fortress.

I have only told the details of the dream to a few people, but one of these reminded me of it after a series of okay-in-the-end-but-nearly-dreadful mishaps. She reminded me that although I can feel pushed about and scared, I am not defeated, but protected. The mishaps has been that in one evening I had nearly fallen and severely cut myself in the shower, nearly dropped a sharp knife on my bare feet, nearly spilled boiling water down my leg and very nearly choked on my dinner. Nearly, but not quite. The next evening a hive of bees moved into the wall of my bathroom, which is a rather distressing discovery when one is in the middle of showering. A day later, with some persuasion from citronella smoke and pyrethrum poison, they swarmed off to a new home. I hid in my mosquito net while the migration took place, scared of what that many bees could do if angry, which they had reason to be, considering my campaign against them. Once again, it was a case of nearly, but not quite. Although I had thanked God for saving me from what could have been, it was my friend who pointed out to me how this tied back to my dream of being pushed but not harmed. It was a strange dream, but it continues to encourage me in strange and scary times.

 Me with some of the Goiravi women. Usually I walk home,
 but that week there was a king tide and the path between
villages was underwater, so we took the dinghy instead.

Another dream is one that was told to me by a friend when I walked to Goiravi to do my weekly Bible study there. She said that the previous night she had dreamed that she had seen me making three sago rolls to give away. Seeing as I don’t make sago, we all thought this a bit funny. That day though, there were only three women at the Bible study, when often there is a crowd. As I thought on the dream, I realised that although I had not been making sago, I had been preparing the Bible study, and I am part of the long slow project to translate God’s word in to Kope. This is me preparing the bread of life for the Kope people. Bread was a staple food in Jesus’ time; sago is the staple food in Kope life. With three women at the Bible study that day, I had effectively made three rolls of sago for them. I could easily have been discouraged that only three women came when there is usually a crowd, but this dream reminded me that the work I was doing was important, and that three had been God’s plan for that day.

There are many dreams that are just our brains processing life, but in some instances, they are a moment of insight and encouragement to hold onto. These two dreams have been the latter to me.

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.

Tanks, Taps and Lent

In Lent each year I like to give something up and to do something proactive. The combination of these disciplines reminds me of Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem, where he actively moved towards a goal, with the knowledge he was giving up his life.

A Lenten still life.

Taps, plumbers tape and my coffee plunger. 

This year the fasting half of my Lenten discipline was coffee. A coffee with breakfast in the village is part of my ritual that starts the day well. Giving it up was hard. Going on the YWAM ship during Lent, where they had good coffee easily available made it harder. Still, my daily reminder of sacrifice was a part of my Lenten journey.

The active half of this year’s Lenten discipline was to work on providing taps for the community tanks in our village. I think that was the harder journey!

Water can be a challenge in our village, with very few people having private tanks. I am one of the few and struggle with watching the women walk past to the bush well when I have water on tap in the house. There are two public tanks in Ubuo village, but both of them are broken. One tank has no lid and no tap; therefore no-one has plumbed it with gutters to catch water from the nearby school roof. The other tank has a broken tap, so although it is full of water, it cannot be accessed except for catching the drips from the tap. My Lenten idea was to fix these public tanks with working taps so that the community could have water, and my conscience would be eased over my private tanks.

In planning and ordering taps for tank repairs, I also visited the neighbouring village, Mira Goiravi, to find out the state of their community tanks and was shown three tanks. One had no tap, no proper base and no catchment area. The discussion was that if I provided the tap, they would organise the rest. The second tank had a spectacular jury rig of a tap that I hoped to improve. The third tank had a huge hole cut into it where a drunk had one day attacked the tank with his knife. This is a good illustration of the benefit of NGOs helping to provide multiple small private tanks: one idiot cannot deprive the community of life giving water.

 Bush mechanic jury rigged tap.

With my information gathered, I sent measurements and requests to a friend in the Highlands to send parts down on a flight. The parts arrived while I was on the YWAM ship and I was ready to install them when I returned to the village. While I was on the ship, I found out that one of the crew, Simon, had a particular interest in helping communities fix their tanks, particularly through the provision of taps. It is a sad fact that tanks are too often provided without a tap, meaning they are of no benefit to the community. When YWAM did a clinic in my village, Simon was able to come along and make sure I had all the necessary parts for my impending tank repairs. I spoke with leaders in the community and told them that once our tank had guttering in place, I had the tap ready to install. In the next village it was a similar tale, that once a foundation and guttering were in place, I had the tap ready. Everyone seemed pleased to finally have their tanks on track to being functional.

Fast forward a few weeks and I am back in the village again. It has been dry and people are walking past my house to get water from bush wells. I ask people in the village what is happening with the tank preparations, as I am standing by with taps.  In my village, the school maintenance has been focussed in another area. They are reinforcing the floor as it broke one day as there were too many students in class. The gutters will happen ‘later’. When I ask about ‘later’ it turns out that people do not know where the guttering that was in the office has gone.

In the next village, I am quickly finding out that two of the three tanks I was initially told are community tanks are actually private. Only the useless tank with the big hole belongs to the community. One of the private tanks was supposed to be public, but has been claimed by the largest family in the village. The village magistrate and others talk with that family, suggesting that if they are willing to make it a community tank, I am willing to provide a tap, but they are not willing. I have made it very clear that I am only providing taps for tanks that service the whole community, not for individual families, so I find myself with two spare taps and no repaired tanks in the neighbouring village.

Testing the tap for size… we then removed
it until the gutters were in place.

Fast forward a few months, and a phone call from the village tells me that the tanks are still not repaired. The school tank still has no gutters, so the person who I gave the tap to has not put it on. He is someone I trust to keep hold of the tap until the tank is ready. The other tank, with the broken tap, is still full but unusable. People are not willing to empty the tank to replace the tap. So that tap and tank also sit unused.

When I think about the women walking into the bush to get water from the well I am sad. Before I felt guilty because I had my own water supply, but now I am sad. Sad because the resources are there to fix the community taps, but for complex reasons beyond my understanding, it has not happened. I am sad because I suspect it is largely the politics of men that keep the women doing the hard work. Sad because I wanted to bless the community, the women in particular, and feel like I have got nowhere.

This exercise in taps and tanks started in Lent and continues well beyond Easter. I sought to bless people, but have been prevented. This really leaves me with a lot more of Lent to reflect on, as Jesus too sought to bless yet was, and is, rejected by so many. If I grieve over taps and water, how much more must God grieve over those who reject the eternal water of life.