The chief and his 19-year old son who re-enact the "mudmen" legend
The mudmen appear out of the mist from a nearby cemetery
The mudmen attack the clan that stole their land
A scary-looking mudman
Joyce tried on a mud mask (as did I) -- not suprising that New Guineans were frightened by the first Europeans, whose white skin made them appear to be the spirits of the dead
The crowd presses against the chain link fence at Mt. Hagen airport
Joyce on a successful hunt for pigs, see next photo
Quite a few of these porkers everywhere
The view from Rondon Ridge, showing a cloud layer in the middle distance
The patio and carp pool in front of the main lodge at Rondon RidgeForeword
There were so many photos from Papua New Guinea (PNG) that I have not yet completed organizing them; however, I did want to let everyone know that we have survived the lizards on Lizard Island (who would have thought that there were lizards on Lizard Island!), as well as a snake, a fruit bat, the crown of thorns starfish, giant clams and assorted sea creatures. We have returned to Cairns from Lizard Island for an overnight stay before our next stop, Hong Kong, and there is time for this first post about PNG. There will be more, I promise.
Papua New Guinea, Part 1
We departed Cairns, Australia, on Friday, April 4, bound for Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea (PNG), and then on to Rondon Ridge Lodge in the Western Highlands of PNG. Air Nuiguini introduced us to one of the persistent aromas of PNG: the unembarrassed indifference to body odor. New Guineans appear to be well-fed, and if not particularly prosperous in appearance (but not essentially different from the usual passenger appearance on JetBlue), do not appear to lack the means to buy soap (was-was in pidgin) or deodorant. However, after a short time, the odor was essentially not noticeable, and we settled in for the 2 ½ hour flight. When we were on our second flight from Port Moresby to Mt. Hagen (as in Haagen Daz), Joyce observed that there was a total absence of crying and/or screaming children, notwithstanding the fact that there were a number of infants and small children on the flight. A stroll down the aisle was revealing: the infants and children were either sound asleep in their mothers’ laps, or sitting quietly on their fathers’ laps, and none had any games to play or was engaged in conversation with parents.
We were met at Port Moresby airport by Steve, a representative of our tour company, who took charge of our progress through immigration and customs, which was without incident. The Port Moresby airport was very crowded, with as diverse a cross-section of ethnicities as can be found anywhere. Our flight to Mt. Hagen was delayed because of weather, and while waiting in a truly filthy boarding area, the lights went out for a few minutes. Despite the lack of any announcement about when the lights would go back on, the assembled passengers were quite docile; perhaps they are accustomed to such events.
Arrival in Mt. Hagen was an eye-opener. Pressed against a chain link fence were literally hundreds of people, a far larger crowd than could be accounted for by the relatively small number of passengers on the flight. Again we were met by a representative of the tour company, Kandiss, who guided us through the primitive baggage claim check to our waiting van. From the large number of people on the streets around the airport we speculated that the crowds at the chain link fence were simply viewing the arrival of our plane as one of the events of the day.
Kandiss is a member of the Anga (phonetic) clan, and our driver, Michael, is of the Walpa clan. The drive to Rondon Ridge Lodge was over mostly gravel and heavily rutted roads, passing many New Guineans and animals such as roosters, dogs and a rather large sow.
It was a very pleasant surprise find Rondon to be very new and very luxe, managed by a delightful Aussie couple, Liela and John. There were only two other guests on the day we arrived (the lodge can accommodate thirty guests), older Americans who were lifelong scuba divers and on their way to three weeks of cruising on a boat and diving. We had a very pleasant, first class dinner, and then collapsed in bed after ridding the room of some resident members of the large cockroach class.
Rondon is at the top of a high ridge, with a panoramic view of the valley and surrounding mountains, which are continually covered in white haze or clouds, and it is delightfully cool during the day, and somewhat cooler in the evening. Rain is sporadic but at the end of our second day, the heavens opened and we have had a deluge for over six hours with no hint of a letup. Liela assures us that the sun will be up tomorrow morning but I do wonder given our latitude and proximity to the trade winds.
Kandiss, Michael and a second guide also named Michael showed up promptly at 9:00 a.m. for a day of cultural sightseeing. We did not know what to expect and it was a revelation to visit some Walpa villages and meet so many relatives of our guides. Indeed, at the first village, every person had the same strong facial features as our guide Michael, and I could not resist taking a picture of Michael with some of his cousins. Children are everywhere, and everyone seems to be well fed, although dressed in worn out clothing and very often barefoot. We were overwhelmed by the friendly greetings that we received from everyone, with many handshakes and smiles, especially from the small children. The kids loved to have their pictures taken, and hammed it up whenever we lined them up for a photo. Interestingly, the very young children seen hesitant and in some cases downright frightened of us because we were told they have never seen a white person. They would cling to their mothers whenever we got close to them.
There is a vast variety of crops under cultivation, from coffee (PNG’s principal agricultural cash crop), tea, oranges, avocados, pineapple, sweet potatoes, "English" (white) potatoes, corn, beans, bananas (delicious, fresh from the tree!), cassava, and even a small plot of mary jane (illegal). Pigs are the ultimate measure of wealth and are literally underfoot, rooting around in the potato patches, and there are a few small mongrel dogs, an occasional cow or bull, and an even rarer house cat.
Several demonstrations were staged for us: a married woman in menstruation, who could not touch the food that her husband eats and therefore he cooks for himself for a few days; a re-enactment of the “mudmen” legend; and a chief with five wives (only three of whom showed up). We unexpectedly witnessed the aftermath of the murder of a twenty-year old man the day before, including the arrival of the clan of the murderer on their way to the communal meeting ground where reconciliation and the offer of compensation to the family of the murdered man will be discussed. According to our guides, this attempt at reconciliation precedes and, if successful, will obviate the need for police action.
After our guides explained the mechanics of arranged marriages (most marriages are still arranged), including the payment called “bride price” of such valuables as pigs, cassowaries, possums ("cus cus") and bananas, we were told that a woman with skills such as nursing or teaching or another profession, would command a much higher price. That started a round of estimates on how much Joyce would be worth as a potential bride, with much laughter and grinning, because with both nursing and lawyer skills, she could bring as much as one hundred pigs. And after they found out that Joyce had been raised on a farm and had golfing skills, the price went higher, perhaps as much as 100 pigs! Now I know just how lucky I am in PNG, as well as the U.S.A., to have such a high value wife for whom I did not pay a single pig. It was a revelation to our guides that in America men do not pay for wives, although I am not sure that they believed us.
Although the traditions and customs vary from clan to clan and tribe to tribe, there are a number of remarkable fundamental principles which were first observed by Margaret Mead in Growing Up in New Guinea. If you have not read it, it is a must: Mead was truly a prodigy in her perceptive observations of human behavior, and cultural patterns among Melanesians of material advantage, courting, marriage, child rearing, and parental-child relationships. Her observations in this book include those of American cultural patterns, many of which persist to this day.
A word about our early departure from PNG. We were scheduled to spend seven days in PNG, three days at Rondon Ridge in Western Highlands Province, two nights at Karawari in East Sepik Province, and two days at Ambua in Southern Highlands Province. We knew in advance that Port Moresby was a dangerous city, with many “raskols” (pidgin for criminals) at large, and for that reason did not schedule any overnight stay there. However, we were not advised of and did not know that there was any risk of attack in the provinces we were scheduled to visit, so it came as a complete surprise to find on our first night that there were security guards at Rondon Ridge. Since there are no large (non-human) animals or (non-human) animal predators in PNG, it was alarming to find that security guards were considered necessary. Our apprehension was increased when we discovered from our hosts that the previous manager at Rondon had been assaulted and subsequently died (his grave is only a few meters from the main lodge). As a result, Joyce insisted on keeping a light on at night, and did not sleep well during our entire stay (nor did I - - I am a light sleeper and Joyce wakened me more than once when she heard sounds that seemed ominous). We also learned that the managers (young couple) in the next lodge had both been recently assaulted. Ultimately, we decided that going further into the interior of PNG, where there would be no electricity at night and therefore no light, would be unacceptable. Because of airline scheduling difficulties, we spent two extra nights at Rondon and departed PNG on Hevilift (I kid you not!) Airlines on Wednesday, April 9, for Cairns.
We were met at Port Moresby airport by Steve, a representative of our tour company, who took charge of our progress through immigration and customs, which was without incident. The Port Moresby airport was very crowded, with as diverse a cross-section of ethnicities as can be found anywhere. Our flight to Mt. Hagen was delayed because of weather, and while waiting in a truly filthy boarding area, the lights went out for a few minutes. Despite the lack of any announcement about when the lights would go back on, the assembled passengers were quite docile; perhaps they are accustomed to such events.
Arrival in Mt. Hagen was an eye-opener. Pressed against a chain link fence were literally hundreds of people, a far larger crowd than could be accounted for by the relatively small number of passengers on the flight. Again we were met by a representative of the tour company, Kandiss, who guided us through the primitive baggage claim check to our waiting van. From the large number of people on the streets around the airport we speculated that the crowds at the chain link fence were simply viewing the arrival of our plane as one of the events of the day.
Kandiss is a member of the Anga (phonetic) clan, and our driver, Michael, is of the Walpa clan. The drive to Rondon Ridge Lodge was over mostly gravel and heavily rutted roads, passing many New Guineans and animals such as roosters, dogs and a rather large sow.
It was a very pleasant surprise find Rondon to be very new and very luxe, managed by a delightful Aussie couple, Liela and John. There were only two other guests on the day we arrived (the lodge can accommodate thirty guests), older Americans who were lifelong scuba divers and on their way to three weeks of cruising on a boat and diving. We had a very pleasant, first class dinner, and then collapsed in bed after ridding the room of some resident members of the large cockroach class.
Rondon is at the top of a high ridge, with a panoramic view of the valley and surrounding mountains, which are continually covered in white haze or clouds, and it is delightfully cool during the day, and somewhat cooler in the evening. Rain is sporadic but at the end of our second day, the heavens opened and we have had a deluge for over six hours with no hint of a letup. Liela assures us that the sun will be up tomorrow morning but I do wonder given our latitude and proximity to the trade winds.
Kandiss, Michael and a second guide also named Michael showed up promptly at 9:00 a.m. for a day of cultural sightseeing. We did not know what to expect and it was a revelation to visit some Walpa villages and meet so many relatives of our guides. Indeed, at the first village, every person had the same strong facial features as our guide Michael, and I could not resist taking a picture of Michael with some of his cousins. Children are everywhere, and everyone seems to be well fed, although dressed in worn out clothing and very often barefoot. We were overwhelmed by the friendly greetings that we received from everyone, with many handshakes and smiles, especially from the small children. The kids loved to have their pictures taken, and hammed it up whenever we lined them up for a photo. Interestingly, the very young children seen hesitant and in some cases downright frightened of us because we were told they have never seen a white person. They would cling to their mothers whenever we got close to them.
There is a vast variety of crops under cultivation, from coffee (PNG’s principal agricultural cash crop), tea, oranges, avocados, pineapple, sweet potatoes, "English" (white) potatoes, corn, beans, bananas (delicious, fresh from the tree!), cassava, and even a small plot of mary jane (illegal). Pigs are the ultimate measure of wealth and are literally underfoot, rooting around in the potato patches, and there are a few small mongrel dogs, an occasional cow or bull, and an even rarer house cat.
Several demonstrations were staged for us: a married woman in menstruation, who could not touch the food that her husband eats and therefore he cooks for himself for a few days; a re-enactment of the “mudmen” legend; and a chief with five wives (only three of whom showed up). We unexpectedly witnessed the aftermath of the murder of a twenty-year old man the day before, including the arrival of the clan of the murderer on their way to the communal meeting ground where reconciliation and the offer of compensation to the family of the murdered man will be discussed. According to our guides, this attempt at reconciliation precedes and, if successful, will obviate the need for police action.
After our guides explained the mechanics of arranged marriages (most marriages are still arranged), including the payment called “bride price” of such valuables as pigs, cassowaries, possums ("cus cus") and bananas, we were told that a woman with skills such as nursing or teaching or another profession, would command a much higher price. That started a round of estimates on how much Joyce would be worth as a potential bride, with much laughter and grinning, because with both nursing and lawyer skills, she could bring as much as one hundred pigs. And after they found out that Joyce had been raised on a farm and had golfing skills, the price went higher, perhaps as much as 100 pigs! Now I know just how lucky I am in PNG, as well as the U.S.A., to have such a high value wife for whom I did not pay a single pig. It was a revelation to our guides that in America men do not pay for wives, although I am not sure that they believed us.
Although the traditions and customs vary from clan to clan and tribe to tribe, there are a number of remarkable fundamental principles which were first observed by Margaret Mead in Growing Up in New Guinea. If you have not read it, it is a must: Mead was truly a prodigy in her perceptive observations of human behavior, and cultural patterns among Melanesians of material advantage, courting, marriage, child rearing, and parental-child relationships. Her observations in this book include those of American cultural patterns, many of which persist to this day.
A word about our early departure from PNG. We were scheduled to spend seven days in PNG, three days at Rondon Ridge in Western Highlands Province, two nights at Karawari in East Sepik Province, and two days at Ambua in Southern Highlands Province. We knew in advance that Port Moresby was a dangerous city, with many “raskols” (pidgin for criminals) at large, and for that reason did not schedule any overnight stay there. However, we were not advised of and did not know that there was any risk of attack in the provinces we were scheduled to visit, so it came as a complete surprise to find on our first night that there were security guards at Rondon Ridge. Since there are no large (non-human) animals or (non-human) animal predators in PNG, it was alarming to find that security guards were considered necessary. Our apprehension was increased when we discovered from our hosts that the previous manager at Rondon had been assaulted and subsequently died (his grave is only a few meters from the main lodge). As a result, Joyce insisted on keeping a light on at night, and did not sleep well during our entire stay (nor did I - - I am a light sleeper and Joyce wakened me more than once when she heard sounds that seemed ominous). We also learned that the managers (young couple) in the next lodge had both been recently assaulted. Ultimately, we decided that going further into the interior of PNG, where there would be no electricity at night and therefore no light, would be unacceptable. Because of airline scheduling difficulties, we spent two extra nights at Rondon and departed PNG on Hevilift (I kid you not!) Airlines on Wednesday, April 9, for Cairns.
The Rondon Ridge managers, Liela and John, who by this time had become our friends, scheduled us to go with our guides to a coffee plantation and visit the village of their office assistant Joanne. What an eye opener that was for us. Joanne was so proud to introduce us to her large family including a brother who works at the coffee plantation, and one of her aunts who sleeps with a large sow. This, by the way, is typical in the villages where men and women have separate huts made of dirt floors topped with straw, a fire pit in the center, and a raised sleeping platform. The walls are of woven pic-pic grass and the roof is thatched from the same grass. A very primitive existence where the women usually sleep with the pigs for warmth and I guess affection! We were greeted every so warmly by Joanne’s family (her father has four wives) with older members hugging us by grabbing us below the waist.
One further note about the “mudmen” re-enactment. The chief’s son led the re-enactment of the "mudmen" legend, where after a larger tribe/clan drives away the smaller clan that owned a section of land, the larger clan was routed by the smaller clan who returned to the land after first painting their bodies white and covering their heads with white "mud" masks, thereby pretending that they were “spirits” of the dead to scare the larger clan away. The chief’s son (his father has five wives and many children) told us he was nineteen years old but was in ninth grade. He has a charming personality and showed Joyce his caged cassowaries and possums, and told her he was accumulating lots of pigs so that he would be able to pay a huge price for the right young girl. He then told Joyce he was accumulating these animals to be able to pay for an American bride (I did not overhear this conversation but Joyce did not have the heart to tell him that brides are free in America).
One further note about the “mudmen” re-enactment. The chief’s son led the re-enactment of the "mudmen" legend, where after a larger tribe/clan drives away the smaller clan that owned a section of land, the larger clan was routed by the smaller clan who returned to the land after first painting their bodies white and covering their heads with white "mud" masks, thereby pretending that they were “spirits” of the dead to scare the larger clan away. The chief’s son (his father has five wives and many children) told us he was nineteen years old but was in ninth grade. He has a charming personality and showed Joyce his caged cassowaries and possums, and told her he was accumulating lots of pigs so that he would be able to pay a huge price for the right young girl. He then told Joyce he was accumulating these animals to be able to pay for an American bride (I did not overhear this conversation but Joyce did not have the heart to tell him that brides are free in America).
2 comments:
Excellent stuff. The lodge looks lovely, especially the patio that merges into the vista. I'm sure there were some lovely birds there too. Sounds like the lodge resembles our development and your own apartment building in having 24 hour security! Humans, you just can't trust 'em. Still it is a pity that you weren't comfortable going on with the trip; now Simon wants to take the girls with him on a 3wk trip to PNG. Not happening.
That tropical downpour sounds cool. I remember being in Venezuela and having to spend whole days in doors because it was raining so hard. Otherwise your weather looked nice and I'm glad you got to go outside visiting people.
This is definitely a Simon (and Colin) place! I know Jules would love to return when the security issues are tackled! I would fly to Hawaii and come into PNG through the Solomons.
I will stay home with the girls!
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