Papua New Guinea (PNG) is a country like no other. After clearing in the town of Kokopo, in East New Britain, we sailed 20nm to Duke of York Islands, northwest through the cut and southwest deeper into the bay. The water became flat as a lake, shimmering in the evening sun. Children ran to the shore screaming with joy, the momentum of excitement brought some clothed into the water. Dressed in ragged clothes with wild afros of blond, dark brown, and black hair, blessed with careless spirits, kind eyes, and huge smiles, we were overtaken by the scene. We waved back with huge smiles of our own but continued on to our planned anchorage deeper in the bay. We dropped the hook in front of Kabatarai, and received a similar welcome. We knew not the name of where we arrived, but did know of Kabatarai from the invitation we had received by the chief on the shores of Kokopo the previous day. By sheer luck alone we had arrived at the town we had half heartedly agreed to visit.
It was not long before we were visited by John (chief) and his wife Margaret, who gave a very warm welcome. The next day relaxing on the boat, taking care of both ourselves and Chandrika we soon discovered these were not people with whom we’d lack interaction. We changed the oil, cleaned up our home afloat, said hello and chatted with the less shy ones which typically correlated with how well English was spoken. The dirty oil was of course happily received and in no direct correlation what so ever had we already received what was to become an ever flowing stream of fresh fruits, potato, leafy greens, green beans, and so on. We went ashore, to be welcomed by a few adults, and stared at by perhaps 50 young children. After sitting down, and being social for a bit we were off, as promised the day before, guided by not only the chief’s sons, but a motley group of 20 teenage boys and young men, loaded with bush knives and heaps of local knowledge, into the forest to explore the old world war two Japanese long range firing canons, shelters, and integral caves dug by pick axes deep into the limestone rock. When headlamps were needed one ran back to get a coconut husk ember while others made fast work of dead palm fronds for torches.
Entrance to a WWII Japanese tunnel
Inside the tunnel, our local guides light the way
A WWII cannon aimed towards the sea
We explored through the scrub where many soldiers had once died and were fed wild nuts off the coast, all new to our taste buds. Half way through we stopped in the forest, sat atop freshly chopped banana leaves, and watched as the younger boys climbed the 60 foot tall coconut trees. With feet opposed side to side and hands opposed front to back, their bodies moved from the squat position to one almost standing upright while still maintaining a firm opposing grasp with both the hands and feet. In fact the only body surfaces to ever touch the sheer tree trunks were hands and feet, as the feet then quickly scrunched up in a three foot increment back into the squat position. Done by some in a fluent motion it looked natural, effortless, and almost identical to how an ape or primate would climb the same tree. For the less confident a one and one half foot loop of soft, fiberous, strong tree bark was placed under tension between the feet to help maintain grasp. Fresh green coconuts were thrown down and nature, combined with local assistance, provided exactly what the body needed.
We headed down to the coast, eyed the rusty frame of a WWII jeep, and swung from a perch, vine to vine below the overhanging limestone cliff. The coconut husk ember had been saved as most smoked a single dried tobacco leaf rolled tightly with newspaper. No filters here.
The remains of a WWII jeep
Monkeying on the vines
Our final sight was the deep, cavernous sacred cave of Kabatarai. Stepping up the steep slime coated sea splashed rocks our eyes fell upon a perfectly circular one foot diameter level hueco like a skillet in the ledge. Within it, guarding the cave, perhaps, were two black and white striped sea snakes inter-coiled together. The snakes are in fact seen as a bad omen by the villagers. Women are not allowed to enter the sacred cave but without explanation an exception was made for Sue to approach the entrance. Within its greatest depths lay a depression partially filled in with sea tumbled coble stones where legend says the Japanese soldiers crawled in and died.
Both of us and a few of our guides lay sick in bed just days later. The witch doctor came to our boat for treatment through drinking lime in the water, spreading it on our bodies, and a talk with the spirits. The witch doctor hypothesized that the spirit in the sacred cave had been angered by our presence and had made us sick. We sought treatment with western medicine in Rabaul, some 25nm distant, but no scientific explanation ever came to be.
Returning to Kabatarai felt like returning home from a journey, back amongst family and friends. The energy of a place resonates through the air. Singing bounds from ones mouth to the hearts of others. Smiles are reflected from one face to another. Kind acts become common, enriching the lives of both the giver and the receiver.
A society can operate on money based exchanges. Direct trades can also work and is perhaps a little more heart felt. Gifts or favors can be done and returned at a later date. Perhaps, however, at the top of the altruistic spectrum of societies are places like Kabatarai where not always, but most often, a gift is given with no expectation of return, and because everyone operates in this mindset indebtedness is rarely felt. This way of operating allowed us to quickly grow connected, enrich each others lives, and share a very genuine sense of happiness and love with much of this community.
The packed dirt clearing had been swept. People began to gather in two distinct groups under opposing giant mango trees. Many men, especially elders wore sarongs and sat cross legged, topless on the earth, their skin leathery and weathered, yet erect in an upright posture. Toned bodies showed the product of over 70 years of a low stress, high exercise lifestyle.
We sat with the bride’s family and other members of our village while the family of the groom gathered across from us. To the side lay an elegant assortment containing clusters of sweet and cooking bananas, bags of rice, a woven basket filled with potatoes, and huge stalks of fresh sugar cane. The crowd settled down into silence. Elders stood up, while making strong hand and arm gestures, they talked of the importance of tradition.
Members of the village gather together along with the bride's family.
An introduction and words of welcome
(note the ceremonial lime painted on the speaker's temple)
Shell money is traditional currency of exchange and is still used today, though mostly for bride ceremonies such as this one. A basket is carried towards our side containing 400 fathoms of shell money. One fathom equates to six feet and so it is that a six foot thin strand of cane is strung with about five hundred pieces of shell money and closed upon itself into a large loop. This fathom is worth five kina. Groups of ten are laid down before us to create four rows each ten long. Bows are made as these acts receive the highest of respect. The parents of the bride were being offered about $800US, a relatively low bride price considering that in other parts of the country brides can go for as much as 10 times this amount. The groom’s family also paid 2 fathoms (or $4US) in taxes to the local government.
The groom's family arrives with a basket full of shell money.
The shell money is laid before the elders of the bride's family.
(Each "loop" is 10 fathoms long, or 60 feet)
After receiving the shell money, the bride’s family reciprocated by giving the groom’s family 40 fathoms of shell money, as a gesture to show that they were happy with the agreed price and had received more than enough. The bride’s family also presented them with the huge assortment of bananas, rice, potatoes and other goods that they had brought to the ceremony, as a gesture of goodwill.
4 fathoms of sheel money are given to the groom's family,
along with loads of bananas, rice, sugar cane and other goodies.
The ceremony concluded with various speeches given by the village elders. These speeches were mostly given in Pidgin English. The topics varied from the importance of maintaining tradition to reminding couples not to use physical aggression to solve frustrations. We learned that on a neighboring island after a woman threw a potato at her husband’s head for his failure to catch any fish, the husband kicked his wife in the spleen, which ruptured and led to her immediate death. With official law enforcement being absent on this remote island, we doubt if the husband will ever face jail time.
We witnessed only the 1st part of the bride ceremony. The second part will take place on another date, when the bride’s family will officially give the bride to the groom’s family along with pots, pans, building materials and other supplies that the young couple will need to build a home and raise a family. In modern times, couples also have a traditional Christian ceremony in a church. Most villages in Kabatarai consider themselves either Catholic or fundamentalist Evangelical, although widespread belief in spirits is still prevalent from the times before Christianity was adopted about 100 years ago.
During our 2 month stay in Kabatarai, we developed many strong friendships. Communication was mostly in English, although occasionally locals would speak in Pidgin English while we responded in English. The languages are close enough that with a little practice one can mostly understand the other. PNG’s Pidgin English with its roots in English, German, and a variety of local languages is the universal language of the country. With some 1000 different native languages in PNG, the residents of Duke of York speak their own language with each village having its own dialect. While in Kabataria, we learned some of the basic words and phrases in their native tongue. For many English is their 3rd language. However, only those with a high school education (mostly men but some women as well) can speak it.
Lucy
Rose, in her early 20s and a single mother, would cook for us every time we walked past. Local cuisine consists primarily of sweet potatoes, cabbage, spinach-like greens, eggplant and bananas in various combinations, cooked in a coconut milk broth, or occasionally using a Ramen noodle seasoning packet. Villagers would also treat us to their fanciest and most expensive foods of coconut rice with canned sardines in tomato sauce or on occasion would cook a chicken for us.
Although Kabatarai is filled with kindness, we did experience some adversity. One night while we were fast asleep, an engineless fiberglass skiff (which usually takes an engine) was paddled silently to our boat by some villagers from a neighboring island. Our friend, Kit, from Kabatarai was out in his canoe fishing. Distrusting their intentions, Kit fired his slingshot, chasing them away.
Another situation we encountered was with the local teens. They would come by our boat after school in canoes and also swimming in the water. We were distrustful but civil, until we realized that they were carving their names and writing things into our bottom paint under the water. We yelled and screamed at them, hoping that this would end the problem. One day we discovered that someone had written on the side of our hull (above the waterline) in permanent marker. We informed the chief, but without knowing who the culprit was, there was little that could be done. One day while relaxing in the shade on the beach with some villagers, we saw the teens swimming out to the boat with their goggles. Graham immediately rowed out and caught them in the act. The entire village came to the beach and began yelling at them from shore. Not having anywhere to flee, they swam to shore to receive their public shame and punishment. We watched as an old woman beat a 12 year old boy with a thick stick on his back and chest. We did not have any other problems again.
Overall, however, we found the happiness and friendship of the children to be intoxicating. We saw the kind of openness and free-spirited nature, lost upon a parent’s first telling to not trust strangers. Their eyes were filled with loving kindness, or sometimes that deep and fearless gaze of curiosity, culturally non-prohibitive. With that less self-conscious nature, combined with an upbringing of love and community, came children every evening as darkness fell, singing songs in native tongue while paddling around and past our boat.
February - March 2010
