Notes from a Spinning Planet—Papua New Guinea (21 page)

“Uh, I saw something weird last night,” I begin in an unsteady voice.

Well, this gets everyone's attention, and they turn and look at me with curiosity. “What?” asks Donna.

“I know it might be my imagination,” I admit, “but it looked so real…”

“What was it?” demands Sid with a concerned look. I think she's worried that I'm losing it.

“Well, I looked out the screen, and it was like there were a hundred tiny lights out there.” Then I start talking fast. “They were glimmering in the dark, and it was so weird I almost thought it was aliens or spirits or something, but I told myself it was just my imagination
going nuts on me, and then I had to pray, I mean really pray, so I could settle down and go to sleep. But then I did. Go to sleep, I mean. I guess I was sort of hallucinating, huh?”

Tom and Donna start laughing. But Sid looks slightly terrified, and Lydia is simply smiling.

“I saw it too,” says Lydia.

“You did?” Okay, now I want to hug her. “Really? I'm not going crazy:

“No,” gasps Donna, trying to catch her breath from laughing so hard.

“It was the fireflies,” says Tom.

“Fireflies?”

“Yes,” says Donna. “They love that tree, and sometimes they come from all over and meet there, covering it like a Christmas tree. I'm not sure why. But isn't it a beautiful sight?”

I blink. “Yeah,” I admit, “it really was. Except that it sort of scared me.

“I can understand that,” says Donna. “After the things we'd been talking about and being in a strange place, it would be pretty unsettling.”

Now I smile. “Well, I feel kind of silly, but I feel better too. I mean, I'm glad I didn't imagine it.”

“Why didn't you wake me up?” asks Sid. “I would've liked to see it too.”

I laugh now. “After I woke you up thinking there was a snake in my bed?”

“There was a snake in your bed?” asks Donna with a horrified look.

“No,” I say quickly. “I just thought there was. I kind of imagined it. And that's probably why I thought I imagined the firefly thing.”

“Well, I wish you'd awakened me,” says Sid. “It sounds amazing.”

“It was,” I tell her. “But you were sound asleep.”

After breakfast, Donna invites Sid and me to tour the village. Lydia is into a book that Donna loaned her, and since she s seen the village before, she stays behind. “Fm on holiday,” she reminds us with a smile.

“That's right,” says Sid. “You should be able to do what you want.”

Donna guides us through the quiet village, which seems mostly empty except for elderly people, small children, and an occasional dog. She explains that it's because the women are working in their gardens, and the men are fishing or hunting or hiding out in the “men's house.”

“What's the men's house?” I ask.

She takes us over by the river and points to a jutting piece of land where a long, rectangular building is situated by itself. The sides are open like the church back in Lomokako, and sure enough we spot about a dozen men sitting over there and a trail of smoke coming out.

“They go there to smoke their pipes and gossip,” says Donna. “Like a men's club in the States.”

Sid laughs. “Some things just seem universal.”

Then Donna takes us into a house where she checks on the health
of an old woman. The houses in Kauani are similar to Lomokako as far as building materials go, but otherwise they're quite différent. First of all, they're built up high, and you have to climb a steep ladder to get inside, which makes me wonder how some of these elderly people get up them. It seems a bit precarious to me, and I can tell Sid isn't comfortable. Of course, I know these ladders get much shorter during the wet season when the river rises and the people can tie their canoes to the door.

Their houses are square instead of round, and their roofs are a lot higher too. I suppose that helps the air circulate and keeps the place cooler, since it's much warmer here in the lowlands. But, like the Lomokako house I visited, this one also has a cooking fire in the center. Lined with stone and dirt, it somehow manages to burn without burning down the house, which I'm guessing would be highly combustible.

Donna introduces us to the old woman and gives her some medicine and water, then helps her to lie back down. The woman gives us a weak and toothless smile, then closes her eyes.

“She's not long for this world,” says Donna. “But she's a Christian, and she's ready to go.”

As we're leaving, I notice some green wrapped bundles on the edges of the smoldering fire. “Is that kaukau?” I ask, remembering the sample I had back in Lomokako.

“No, that's
saksak”

Sid's confused now. “What are you two talking about?” So I explain about kaukau and how I sampled it.

“Would you like to sample some saksak?” asks Donna.

“No, thank you,” I say quickly. “But maybe Sid would.”

Sid holds up her hands. “I pass. But what is it?”

“Its related to tapioca,” explains Donna. “Its kind of thick and pasty. But they dont sweeten it. They just let it smoke on the fires, and when it s done, it's similar to thick mashed potatoes with no seasoning.”

“Sounds yummy,” says Sid.

“Would you like to see how they make it?” asks Donna. “Its pretty interesting.”

We agree and leave the house, climbing back down the tall ladder. Below, she takes us over to where several women are working around a tree that's been cut down. At first I think they might be making a canoe, but then Donna explains.

“Its a palm tree called nipa. First they cut one down, then they split it open with an ax and begin to remove that fibrous material you see there.” She points to some light brown stuff that looks like straw. “Once that's removed, it's washed in that vat.” She points to where another woman is pouring water over the fiber and pounding on it- smashing and pounding again and again. Then she releases the water, which has turned a whitish color, by opening a chute, and it's collected in a wooden bowl.

“They boil this liquid over here,” says Donna as she takes us to where the third woman is stirring a mixture in a large metal pot over a fire. The contents look like a thick, pale gray pudding. “And when it's ready, they wrap it in the banana leaves to smoke over their fires.”

“How did they ever come up with this process?” I ask. “I mean, what made them think they could chop down a palm tree, smash up the fiber, turn it into water, and cook it into something edible?”

Donna laughs. “It is rather odd, isn't it? Maybe God showed their ancestors how.”

I consider this possibility as we head back to the house to make lunch. If you think about it, its pretty amazing that humans have figured out so many things-ways to survive, to make food, to create medicine, whatever. Maybe God really did show them.

W
ould you girls like to take a canoe out?” asks Donna after
r %/
we clean up the lunch dishes. “We have one you can use to tool around in if you want.”

“That sounds great,” says Lydia. “As good as that book is, I think I'm ready to go out and get some fresh air and exercise now.”

“The canoe is down at the dock,” says Donna, “over behind the boathouse shed.”

So Lydia and I go down to the dock and untie the canoe. I ask Lydia if she knows anything about canoeing, and she assures me she's had some experience.

“I've only been in a canoe a couple of times,” I admit, “but I do know they're tippy.”

Lydia finds some paddles hanging on the boathouse, and we line the canoe up with the dock and carefully get in. I follow her example by grasping both sides of the canoe and placing first one foot in the center and then the other. To my surprise it feels fairly sturdy. Unlike the aluminum canoes I've been in, this one is solid and heavy and doesn't rock and roll as much.

“Ready?” she asks as she lets go of the dock and gives us a gentle push into the river.

“Nice launch,” I say as I dip my paddle into the water and try a tentative stroke.

It takes us a few minutes to get a rhythm to our paddling, but soon we get it down, and before long we re going upriver at a pretty good pace.

“This is fun,” I tell her.

“So peaceful,” she says, leaning back to look at the blue sky above us.

The waters not moving very fast, but we can tell it takes more paddling to go against the current, so we decide to keep going upriver. “Then if we get tired, we can just let the river push us back to Kauani,” says Lydia.

We see women in canoes, either alone or in pairs, with their little cook fires in the rear and a trail of lazy smoke following them as they paddle back to the village. I spot some baskets with what looks like produce, I'm guessing from their gardens, probably for tonights dinner.

“This isn't such a bad way to live,” I say.

“Not at all,” she agrees. “For the most part anyway. The biggest challenge of tribal life is the lack of good medical care and treatment. The worst threat for these people is getting sick.”

I nod. “And I'm sure the tropical climate doesn't help that much. Still, it's a beautiful place to live.”

“Yes. I like the Sepik region.”

“I really like where your family lives too,” I say. “In fact, if I had to pick one over the other, I'd go for Lomokako in a heartbeat.”

She smiles. “You would?”

I nod. “Yes. I felt totally at home there.”

“You did?” She seems genuinely surprised by this.

“Yes,” I tell her. “Very much so. In fact, your parents remind me a lot of my own parents. Your mom and my mom could almost be related-maybe they were twins separated at birth.”

“You mean they look alike?”

I consider this. “Well, not exactly. But they act alike.”

She frowns now. “Hows that?”

“Well…” Now I dont want to offend her, but she seems genuinely curious. “I guess it was the way your mom was being so protective of you-you know, when you were going to come here with us.” I smile and shrug. “That's exactly like something my mom would do too.”

She nods. “Well, to be fair, my mom wasn't always like that. She used to let me have lots and lots of freedom, just coming and going without her asking any questions. She didn't worry at all.”

This surprises me. I mean, that sounds like a totally cool mom. Like my friend Katies mom. She's so laid back that I've always been slightly envious. “So why did your mom change?”

We've gone quite a ways now, and I think we got tired simultaneously. Our paddles are balanced across the top of the canoe, and we're just sitting, drifting along as we take a little break, allowing the slow current to move us back downriver.

“Oh, it's a long story.”

“I have time.” I smile and wait.

But her brow is creased, and she seems troubled now. Suddenly I wonder if I'm being too nosy. Maybe something happened to her mom that's none of my business.

“I'm sorry,” I say quickly. “I mean, maybe it's personal. I didn't mean to be so-”

“No, it's okay,” she says. “And, yes, it is personal, but I've been thinking I should tell you anyway.”

Now I'm remembering the concerns I had for Lydia when we were in her village, like the possibility that her parents were doing the traditional New Guinean thing and setting her up with a husband, asking for a bride price. Maybe she was already spoken for, and they were trying to protect her for her betrothed. Okay, I suppose that seems crazy and overly dramatic, but after some of the things I've seen and read about this totally different culture, well, you just never know. Plus, there's definitely something about her relationship with her parents, particularly with her mom, that feels strange to me. Even Sid noticed it. But we assumed Mrs. Johnson was just extremely protective. Like my mom times ten.

“You see, my brothers and I had always been raised to be independent,” she begins. “It's that way with a lot of kids whose parents are translators. We had to learn to come and go and take care of ourselves at a fairly young age. And it was never a problem. Like I told you, we were sent to live on the mission base and attend school there. And, sure, it was a little hard in the beginning, but I got used to it.

“Then, after graduation, my brothers and I, one by one, went to the States for our first two years of college with paid tuition. I was seventeen when I graduated, and I couldn't wait to go to Oregon and start my 'grownup' life. I stayed with my mom's relatives, just like my brothers had done during their first year. And even though it was a challenge to adjust to American culture, I sort of got the hang of it. I
wanted to follow my brothers' examples, and I got good grades and stayed out of trouble. But somehow I just didn't fit in as well as they had. Maybe it was my skin color, or maybe it was genetic roots back here.

“My brothers both got jobs after the first two years to earn more tuition money, and they continued their education. Jeremy graduated a couple of years ago and Caleb just last June. They both seem very settled. In fact, Caleb just got engaged.”

“But you came back here?”

She nods. “Yes. I finished my two years with a very respectable grade-point average, but I just couldn't acclimate. I think I was homesick. And perhaps that's because I am New Guinean. In fact, right before coming home I chose to return to my birth name, Obuti. I decided to come back to my homeland and find a good job in Port Moresby. I suppose in some ways, I felt a little lost right then. I didn't really fit into American culture, and I didn't really fit in here either. But I thought I could find my place better in my own country.”

I nod. “That makes sense.”

“It did to me too. In fact, I was so glad to get back here that I told myself I'd never leave again. I really believed somehow I would make my own way here. I wasn't sure if I'd return to college or try to settle into some work I enjoyed. And I suppose I sort of distanced myself from my parents just then-I think I wanted to show them I could make it on my own.”

“And?”

“Well, because of my knowledge of languages, I easily got a job with the government. I shared a flat with another girl who worked in
the same place. Our flat wasn't in such a great part of town, but it didn't concern me since the rent was affordable, which meant I could save more.” She sighs. “And to be honest, I wasn't being very careful. In fact, I'd been more careful while living in Portland than I was when I returned to my homeland. I was so happy to be back home that I think I got a false sense of security here.”