Back from the Hut

We finally pulled into Goroka town at about 5:00pm this afternoon after a relaxing weekend at the village.

The best part of a weekend away at the Hut is rest and relaxation, spending time with the clan and hearing the constant rush of running water. It’s always difficult coming back to town and neither of us ever really want to leave the tranquillity and peace of Kaubasis.

The most unpleasant part of our weekends away always turns out to be the PMV part of our travelling. Finding a bus at the beginning of the weekend to get to the village and then again at the end of weekend when we need to come back to town.

It’s hard work cause there’s not always buses and the standing around and waiting always ends up testing my patience to the max. We had planned to leave on Friday but after a three to four hour wait down at the Goroka Main Markets, we pulled the pin on getting out to the Hut on the Friday and decided to try again on the Saturday morning. Fortunately, the next day we had better luck and found ourselves hopping of the PMV at Mangiro Junction at around midday.

Let me let you in on a little secret: I’m sick of travelling on overcrowded flat trayed Dyna’s. I’ve had enough of them and on the Saturday after hopping on one with Eli at Goroka Markets, I got that fed up with the driving around in circles and finding more passengers syndrome, that I swore at the driver and bos-cru, told Eli and Uncle Joel (he was travelling back to Kaubasis with us) to stay on and hopped of in search of a supposedly more comfortable form of transport – either a 15 or 25 seater PMV.

As it turns out, I found a 15 seater soon after aborting the Dyna gig and ended up at Mangiro about half hour before Eli and Uncle Joel arrived on the cattle truck of a Dyna. As they pulled up I took the opportunity to walk over and apologise to the driver and bos-cru for my erratic behaviour back in town.

So after all of that we arrived at the Hut middle afternoonish on the Saturday. We relaxed, drank a heap of coffee, bought a chook, stoked the fire, lit the Coleman and settled in for a cosy and story filled evening.

Sunday turned out to be a meeting day. Two meetings to be precise. One in the morning at Diganil with the Bolku clan. Some trouble had come up since elections, a few houses destroyed, a few bones broken and a few displaced families. Intra tribal/clan fighting is definitely one of the ugly sides of Highlands custom. The cost of these sorts of squabbles ends up costing the community a packet. Trouble arises, followed by injury and/or destruction of property, and then the inevitable court case followed by hefty compensation payouts.

(A burnt hut at Kumokoko as a result of election fighting)

I had heard about the village fighting during the week and had sent word to the clan that I wanted to talk to them some time during our weekend stay. This meeting did eventuate and took place on the Sunday morning up on the mountain at Diganil. As a white man married to a local women, I am given status within the clan and although I always maintain a neutral position when it comes to trouble – interestingly – I am encouraged by all clan members to speak with them when something like this comes up and share my view and opinions.

It was an awkward situation and I suppose one could also describe it as very delicate. Although mediation had already taken place and compensation amounts decided on, there was still tension as payments had not yet been made. A total of K6000 is being asked for by a family that had their house destroyed, personal items stolen, a few pigs killed and some members injured. On top of that the victimised family have began constructing a 2nd “Haus-Man”, something apparently unheard of in living memory. One needs to be aware that killing is a real possibility in these situations and although Simbu’s are generally fun loving and peaceful folks – when it comes to fighting they’re certainly not shy. 12 years ago about 12 folks within the clan were killed as a result of fighting with a neighbouring clan.

So here I was, on the Sunday morning, looking at the faces of these men, women and children, folks that I have come to love and in a way care for like my own blood, faced with the challenge of saying something that would help them see reason and purpose amongst the turmoil and potential aggression.

Note that when I first heard about the trouble – I got angry – I wanted to give up on the work I’m doing to setup an association for these folks. I basically wanted to throw in the towel – that’s how pissed I was. But as the days went passed I talked about how I felt with Eli and also some other family members – the anger was slowly replaced with a pain. A pain and a sorrow for these people.

Intra clan/tribal fighting is lethal in more ways than one. Apart from the obvious physical destruction – it’s slowly killing these tribal folks. It’s tearing them apart at a time in their history when they must learn to stand as one. Not to mention the financial costs that always follows these skirmishes – money which ends up getting wasted instead of being invested in the future of their children.

It is my view that clans/tribes that learn to stand together and work towards a better future, incorporating some of the benefits of progress whilst preserving elements of their own custom and tradition, are clans/tribes that will survive. The others that remain busy with a perpetual exchange of payments and court cases resulting from unnecessary and all too often lethal confrontations will inevitably perish – never to be revived ever.

So I spoke and shared about all of the above. I spoke to my clan about the real enemy, the enemy within and the enemy that rural Papua New Guineans are facing: change and development. I talked about my anger at their actions and about my pain for their futures.

I am known within the eight clans as a “Namel Man” – which in Tok Pisin means: man in the middle. Many see me as peace maker. I was told on the weekend that if I had no presence in the village that the problem would have erupted into all out war and death would have surely followed. Folks were relieved to see us on the Saturday, many cried when we arrived, most just gave us a hug and a smile.

There are many a times when I ask myself… what the hell have I got myself into here. What the hell have I got myself into here? But then again… on the Sunday – as I spoke to these tribal folks – as I looked into their eyes and saw their pain, their anger and their confusion – I could feel a deep sense of congruence and purpose. It’s all part of that dream I have shared about several times in the past. A dream to live and work with tribal folks. To experience the belonging, simplicity and interaction that so characterises tribals and which is next to non existent in out western or developed cultures.

Within a tribe or clan – all folks have a place and a purpose!

Moving along…

Another meeting on the Sunday afternoon with the Association reps. A productive meeting which saw us discuss the aims and objectives of the association and ways that the clans could start taking some actions and initiatives with various projects.

After a three hour wait at Mangiro for a PMV to take us back to Goroka we finally made it back to town at around 5pm.

And this folks leads me to another story which could have turned very sour.

As we were walking away from the markets towards home we passed some drunks at the infamous Kakaruk Market. One of the pissheads called out to me and wanted some beer money and/or a ciggie – I just kept on walking – my head was at peace after a couple of nights at Waraguma and there was no way that a drunk was going to disturb my inner state of tranquillity. So as I got called “Pipia Man” and “Kan face” – I just kept on walking. Sometimes – it’s best to just keep walking. Unfortunately, behind me was Eli with one of her uncles from the village – plus some street boys that know me well – whom did not take kindly to their kin being called names.

I’ve never been one to shy away from trouble or aggression – especially when there’s been a “wrong” – but when it comes to senseless and inebriated violence – I have learnt that it’s best to probably just keep walking.

An argument did break out between Eli’s Uncle and the pisshead. Folks started to mobilise very quickly – which basically means that two teams were starting to form. I wandered back and told Eli’s Uncle to “Lusim” – drop it. We all just kept walking. I think that when the opposing team realised how many lads were with us – that the insults started to trail off very fast.

We were both very relieved that nothing ensued. I do have a bit of a street reputation in town and with the local boys – for trouble to start in my name followed by violence and possible physical injury is not something I particularly want to have against my name.

And now folks… it’s 10:45pm and back to work tomorrow!

Plus… it’s probably fair to say that long posts hardly ever get read in their entirety (if at all?).

So having said that… I will now shut up.