Adjusting my sails

Two big things have happened to me this week in PNG. The first was the evil cyclone couple known as Nathan and Pam.  This led to rain and very strong wind in abundance whilst the two weather systems did a lovely dance around the Coral Sea. I got wet – quite a few times. So did my car. This was more of a problem because the week earlier the back window had been smashed so I’ve been driving round with a bit of cardboard duct taped over the window. 

In the middle of the night, whilst staying at a friend’s I woke to hear the sound of torrential rain and realised the cardboard window was not going to hold. So grabbing a large piece of plastic sheeting I found in the cupboard (and the duct tape) I headed out into the weather to try and rescue my car. The concrete steps up to the car park were a spectacular sight. Water was gushing over them and pouring down like a waterfall. I got absolutely soaked holding on to the rails and trying to walk up the steps. I managed to secure the sheeting over the car but then had to make my way down the waterfall shivering with cold and with my teeth chattering for the first time ever in PNG. 

I managed to dry out and get warm but didn’t sleep much that night as the wind howled around us. The following day trying to drive to work was unbelievable. All over Port Moresby the hillsides had slid down onto the road and we were driving though roads that had effectively become rivers. There was a large section missing from one road and I was happy that my four wheel drive managed to navigate the trough left behind. I managed to park inside a multi-story but then got soaked on my walk to work. 

As I passed the bus stop there was a couple arguing loudly and getting very aggressive. Then a strong gust of wind blew my umbrella inside out, my hair all over the place and my skirt up over my head. The uproar of PNG laughter that followed made me thrilled to think that just by ‘showim as blo mi’ I had averted a fight. I am thinking of applying to the UN for funding for ‘Pants for Peace’. 

The second big thing was leaving my job. I once got told that the secret of a long life was, ‘knowing when it’s time to leave’. So I left.  There is a saying that pessimists rail at the storm, optimists expect the wind to change and realists adjust their sails. The weather this week (and some totally lovely friends) has reminded me to adjust my sails.  I had some lovely messages of support from my colleagues when I left but my favourite was that I was wished ‘fair winds and following seas.’

So here we go – watch this space and don’t worry about me.

When bad things happen

OK - occasionally here in PNG bad things happen.

Two of my good friends have been car jacked at gunpoint, someone was robbed at gunpoint outside my church and I am sad to say I know of too many woman who have been gang raped.

Now I know I am usually very positive about PNG so people may be a little surprised by a post about bad things but it’s because I have something on my mind.  It’s to do with who we blame for the bad things.

I’ll give you an example. A woman was carjacked, at gunpoint early in the morning.  When people talked about it I heard them say “well she should not have been out that early”.

A friend was mugged while walking though the centre of Town in PNG and the reaction was ‘how silly of you to walk alone through town”.

Now I’m not saying we should disregard our personal safety but I’m trying to make a point about how when bad things happen to other people we desperately try to work out how it was their fault.  I think the reason we do this is to help us maintain the pretence to ourselves that it could never happen to us.  

The problem is that here in PNG we really don’t have all the answers to how to be safe. Driving home on a Friday afternoon in broad daylight the biggest risk to my safety is hitting one of the pedestrians that are playing the national sport of ‘run across the highway’. If I did that it’s likely I’d be dragged from my vehicle and killed. It’s how they deal with road safety here.

Yet my neighbourhood at 3am in the morning is peaceful and silent. If, while driving home from a party at 2am I was to be hijacked in my street it would be very unusual and a serious bit of bad timing and bad luck. I am sure however that other expats would be very keen to point out “what was she thinking of - out without an escort at that time”.

Now I am all for respecting the local culture and I wear clothes that cover my thighs and don’t show too much Lisa when I’m wandering around and I have often advised other young women that their shorts are too short or tops too revealing but that’s about respecting local culture. But I overheard two people discussing a local woman who had been raped and they talked about her clothing as if that was to blame. Now that isn’t right.

This is where we need to be careful, if we always react to the bad things by blaming the actions for the victim then we let the actual perpetrators get away with what they do, and we ignore the social factors that led to their actions. We don’t prevent carjacking by having an armed escort, we just prevent them happening to us. The raskols who live in poverty will just go and carjack a different vehicle. A rapist will rape a women regardless of what she is wearing and you never actually really know where and when is the wrong place at the wrong time.

So a plea to those living in PNG: when bad things happen doesn't blame the victim. Give them support and understand their trauma because the last thing they need is to be told they are stupid on top of all the other things they have been through.    

Why are you in Papua New Guinea?

When I get asked, “what brought you to PNG?” I often say “a clerical error.” I am certain I actually applied for a post in Ghana. When I was first told the placement would be in PNG I remember asking “what bit of Africa is that?”  Not long after I arrived in PNG I heard a saying that explains why people come to PNG: They are either mercenaries, missionaries or just plain mental (or misfit for the politically correct). It’s difficult to say which of those categories I fit into. The people in my church think I’m a missionary, but I might be more of a mercenary than people think.

It’s a long story: I began my career in the early 1990’s working as an Archaeologist and Museum Educator. I was privileged to work for the British School at Rome based in rural Italy working on the interpretation of a Post Roman excavation. Literacy levels amongst the village population were low. Working in the local community on the exhibition design I learned a great deal about education, poverty and communication. I also learned how to explain difficult things such as why we were digging up the graves of their ancestors.  Since then my career has been shaped by three things: a fascination with dead people, a desire to communicate heritage and a need to have people pay attention to me.  This is how I got into education.  

I learned how to develop primary school resources when I was the curator of a small Egyptian collection. I became something of an expert on reminiscence and oral history is when I curated a collection of artefacts from the World War II.  I learned to be a story teller and even dressed up as a Tudor housewife to show children how life was lived in Tudor Southampton. I accidently became a literacy tutor whilst researching more effective ways to write museum texts.  When I went to work in the Royal Naval Museum I told people that my mission was to broaden access to the population that lived on the doorstep of the dockyard, and whose family heritage lay in with those ships. In reality I liked working with the Enigma machine and I was fascinated by the dead people from the Mary Rose.    There is a lot more of a career in education I could mention but that’s all boring and doesn’t help with the point.

What is important is why after five years of successfully working in education policy and research and another four years leading a successful learning provider I suddenly gave it all up and went to the other side of the world to earn very little money.

I’d grown tired of the attention and there was no opportunity to do the things I loved. When I got the chance to live in a country with over 800 tribes, some of which had not had contact with the modern world until 1938, I jumped at the chance. I’ve been lucky enough to go out to sea in an outrigger canoe and a dug out. I’ve watched how stone axes are made and been taught to fire a bow and arrow made in the same tradition of a thousand years ago. I’ve been privileged to witness a cane swallowing ceremony and attended a fire dance. I have seen archaeology first hand and filled my home with weapons, masks and paintings from all over this amazing country.  This year I haven’t even started to explore the rest of this land but as soon as I have some money I will be on my travels. I need to see the Sepik river and I long to hear the oral histories and traditions of the different provinces.  This country has awesome and diverse funerary traditions and I’d like to find out more about them.


So that’s why I’m in Papua New Guinea.  I’m an aid worker so my job definitely fits the missionary category; my motivations are personal so I’m a bit of a mercenary. Why do I live in Port Moresby? Because I’m mental. 

Christmas in Port Moresby

So it’s the last day of 2014 and my New Year’s resolution is to do better with my blogging. The truth is I gave up blogging the last time I was in PNG because I was being so careful not to upset people here in PNG, or back home, that my writing became trite and, to be honest, a bit patronising.  So please bear with me as I explore a new style of writing. I will be honest about myself and my reactions to the things I see around me. Forgive any offense, and if what I say worries you then pray for me.

Christmas in Port Moresby is basically ‘bloody nice’ (family joke)

  
I only stayed here for Christmas because I have run out of money. No white people ever admit to that but it is true. Rent here is extortionate – my friend pays 1500 kina a week for one bedroom. That’s about 1500 quid a month – like London only hotter. I paid for two flights, used one. I bought a car when I arrived and had very intermittent employment before I left. My reserves are depleted and so too was my energy – the three day journey from the UK wore me out. I am almost 45 and long haul flights bugger up a pre- menopausal woman’s body.   So no, I didn’t lose weight over Christmas it just took two weeks for the water retention to go away.

I did not want to stay in Port Moresby over Christmas because it's hot, a bit smelly and has a reputation for violence. So, as in many aspects of life, when you have low expectations you often find you have a pretty awesome time. New friends invited us for Christmas dinner and it was one of the best Christmas meals I’ve had – not just because I was not cooking but because Aussies do wine and food so well. A perfectly cooked ham, salad of local vegetables and these lovely placename biscuits! Each course had the right wine. Honestly – I feel inadequate that I didn’t have uplift full of French wine to share, but then I wouldn't know a good desert wine if it bit me on the bum.  I received only three gifts; a lovely set of cups, some chilli mustard and a wonderful calendar of family photographs. Perfect: goes to show you don’t need all the shite and nonsense to have a good Christmas.

It’s been great – breakfasts with friends, sailing trips, cocktails made by experts and a great road trip out with some of my lovely PNG family.  I do like a good picnic on the beach – and this was serious class – chicken salad and watermelon, a swim in a very warm sea and a five minute sunbathe! It also did my spirit good to see those unique bumps in the landscape that pass for hills outside Port Moresby and the distinctive spreading rain trees. I love the dusty roads, the heat and the human bustle of the roadside stands. I love that the heavier people have to ride in the front of the car because of the massive potholes (craters) in the road.  I love the conversations in a car in PNG; “don’t run over the naked child”, “when I die bury me under a tree like that”, “don’t drive into the coconut (meaning the whole tree!).

I have missed the barefoot shoppers in the supermarket, and the women carrying massive bags of vegetables by looping the handle of a bilum (bag) round their head. I’ve missed the constant hellos, good mornings and ‘apinuns’ of meeting folk in PNG, and I’m even accustomed to the constant attempts to scam money out of me (mostly police, security guards etc).  It’s good to be home for Christmas, em ples blo mi, yah. When I die you can bury me under a tree like that.

Love, dating and relationships in Papua New Guinea

It’s been a while since I blogged but in celebration of Valentine’s Day I have decided to write about love, dating and relationships in Papua New Guinea.  Please note these are general observations rather than all my own experience and I've not really done a lot of research. Mi tok stori lo pren blo mi - I asked people to tell me stories.

So I’m going to start with a story of modern love in Mount Hagen. A lady in her late twenties becoming concerned about her marriage prospects began chatting by text with a gentleman in Tabubil. Over time (and thanks to the free texts offered by Digicel) she began to fall in love with this charming young man, a landowner with a lovely house. Finally his intentions became more serious and he told her he was tired of texting and wanted her to be his wife. So she sold her possessions and raised the money for the airfare. She travelled to Tabubil with just a few dresses in a bag. When she arrived she found the street name that he had given her, and asked some boys playing marbles in the street, if they could direct her to the house of the young landowner she had come to marry. When she told the children her name, they all began to laugh and pointed to a young boy no more than 12 and said  - this is the one you have been texting all this time.  She took the boys arm and marched him to his house where she told the full story to his parents, his father looked at the young woman who had given up everything and was now stuck in Tabubil and said “you can’t marry my son but you could be my second wife.” And so she married the man and stayed in Tabubil as the new mummy of the boy that had started the romance.

In the land of the unexpected, where nothing ever runs on time, it can be really difficult arranging a date and getting there on time. If the PMV hasn't broken down, it could be the weather that prevents you from getting where you are supposed to be and the taxi you booked has gone to another address, or your mate ran over someone’s dog and is now trying to pay compensation. To add to the confusion not only do the mega storms of PNG affect the roads, they also affect communications, so just when you need to contact your date to say “Yu Stap We?” (Where are you) then the network cease to work.  I once had a date with a lovely local guy who turned up wearing a Digicel T shirt saying ‘This date is sponsored by Digicel’ because we had spent so much time texting one another and cancelling dates before we finally actually managed to have a drink together.

However, population in PNG increased to 7.8 million this year so there must be successful attempts at dating. I mentioned to a friend that there must be a lot of sex happening in Port Moresby judging from the number of free condoms dispensed outside my building. “No” he said. Then proceeded to explain all the other uses of condoms here in PNG: effective fishing lure, catapult for killing fruit bats, water carrier etc. 

It reminded me of a story from the provincial AIDS committee that may or may not have any basis in the truth.  A whole village came to watch a demonstration of how to use a condom, the worker showed the condom being put over the wooden stick and explained that this would help prevent babies and diseases. Sometime later the worker returned and found the supplies of condoms that had been left behind were not particularly depleted. She asked if anyone was using the condoms and was proudly told the whole village was. Then they took her to the ceremonial pole which the condom was placed over so that all the villagers could have sex. She had neglected to mention to anyone that the condom needs to go ‘lo stick blo man’.  I plan to return from PNG with gifts of packets of condoms for all my friends because I like the instructions so much.

My colleague told me of a lovely tradition from Chimbu where girls and boys find a partner through the boys singing. Girls and boys come together and link their legs together. The boys then ‘sing sing’ and the girls listen to see which one they like. If they like the boy they rub noses. Then a new group of boys comes to sing. Once everyone has linked legs, sung and rubbed noses then the girl secretly goes and pinches the one boy she likes. Because it’s dark she has to listen for his voice to choose the right one. Boys and girls then lie down by the fire and the mothers watch them. If the boy moves around too much the mother throws him out of the house. Once the marriage is agreed then the boy’s family have to find the Bride Price in order to pay for the new wife. This sum used to be paid in pigs but is increasingly a cash sum which can be over 100,000 kina. Whilst some see the Bride Price ceremony as a social event, where a new daughter is accepted into a family, others are concerned that it is a form of slavery.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/dr-sasha-galbraith/papua-new-guinea-women_b_895638.html

In Tari, the men and women live in separate houses, one house for the men, and one for the women. I’m told this was a form of contraception as it prevented too many children, and ensured the women got on with their gardening. If a man and wife did want to get together they had to meet in the garden for a little bit of loving by the garden fence.

The Trobriand Islands (Trobs) have the reputation for being the ‘Island of Love’ so perhaps a great destination for a future Valentine’s day. If you want to know more read Malinowski's 1930’s book, "The Sexual Life of Savages", not only for its archaic attitude but also for a lovely insight into the voyeurism of anthropology.

http://www.newgon.com/prd/ethno/malinowski.html

I did like the story I was told that in the Trobes men and women have to keep their love affair secret from the girl’s brothers and father when they are courting. As soon as Dad finds out that his daughter has been dating then they have to get married. I wonder what my own Father would think of that.

So here is my final romantic story. At an education function a girl noticed a young man sitting alone when everyone else was on the dance floor. Bravely she went over to him and asked him if he liked the music. “Yes”, he said, “I am a music student”. “Then why aren’t you dancing?” she asked. “I need some help finding the dance floor.” “Are you spak man (drunk)” “No ai pass” (blind). So the girl led him onto the dance floor, they danced together and that was the start….

Those who know me will be aware of how cynical I am about Valentine’s Day, mostly because I disagree with the commercialising of love, but also because it puts such pressure on anyone in a relationship, and makes single people miserable. I will be marking the death of a Saint who was stoned, flayed and decapitated for undertaking marriage ceremonies by dancing on Ela Beach to raise awareness of domestic violence. Then I shall dress in black and go to an ‘Anti Valentine’s day’ party.  

I will however still accept romance on any other day of the year and I raise a glass to all of the romantics out there that still believe.  Much love to you all.

http://www.cbn.com/spirituallife/ChurchandMinistry/churchhistory/st_valentine_the_real_story.aspx

Half Way There: A Six Month Progress report

I’ve just done a six month report for VSO on the work I’ve done so far. I thought for this blog I’d do something similar but with slightly different headings.

Activities

Six months ago I left behind the snow in the UK and made my journey via Singapore to Papua New Guinea. It has been a life changing experience in so many ways. I have never seen a more beautiful country with such amazing heritage. I’ve flown in a tiny plane over the mountains and landed on an airstrip the size of a garden. I’ve seen the lush Highlands of Goroka, and the tropical paradise of Alotau. I’ve seen bats in Madang, Tree Kangaroos in Loloata and Orchids in my garden in Port Moresby. (http://www.loloata.com/)
I’ve been to cultural shows and been privileged to dance with my friends from Koki. I’ve snorkelled at Lion Island and met a sea krait near Fisherman’s Island. I’ve also chewed too much Betal nut, got ‘spark’ and had to lie on a beach at Hula to recover.  I’ve learned to sing in Hiri Motu, to swear in Australian and to say I love you in Tok Pisin: “Mi laikim yu tumas”. I’ve been allowed to visit the Sanguma (sorcery) collection at the Museum, joined the French friendship society and drunk cocktails with the Prime Minister. I’ve learned to rally drive in a minibus on the Port Moresby roads, stood up in the back of a ‘ute’ and fallen in a swimming pool fully clothed. I’ve seen dead bodies, I’ve watched people attack one another with bush knives and I’ve seen parents cradle dying children in hospital.  I’ve shot a hole in a wall with my Bow and Arrow and really know how to use a stone axe. I feel cold when the temperature drops below 26 degrees and I’ve got sunburned in a very interesting pattern. I’ve eaten food cooked with hot stones, in a pit (muumuu) and I’ve learned that I don’t like sago.

Physical Status

I am a slightly different colour and there is now less of Lisa. One of my biggest fears when I left home was that I’d catch some interesting tropical disease and fall ill. Well I did.  I contracted Typhoid whilst working in Goroka. I won’t go into graphic details about the symptoms but I was glad to have my own bathroom! A good friend also contracted something equally as horrible and we found we were texting one another from the toilet comparing our symptoms. I was 72 kg when I left home and I’m now 64kg. I’m still very tired and have little appetite. At this point I am going to say something very aid worker, and a bit clichéd, but that’s because it is true. I was very lucky. Once I realised how sick I was, I went into a private Medical Centre and was immediately put onto a drip and given very powerful drugs through an IV. I was able to come home and keep taking my very expensive medication and was able to afford hand sanitiser and disinfectant for my house.  I have a bit of a credit card bill to pay but it was worth it.  Local people here are not as fortunate. They often avoid seeking medical help early because of the cost and the hospitals are grim. The sheets are dirty and torn, families are camped under beds because food is not provided for anyone who is sick. There are piles of rubbish in corners. One father explained that his teenage daughter, who also had typhoid, would not be safe in the hospital on her own so he needed to stay with her. As part of my job includes reading to sick children in the hospital I’ve seen enough to make me really value the NHS when I get home. I’ve seen some disturbing sights and had heartbreaking moments with parents whose children were dying, often from illnesses that we vaccinate against, or are able to treat in the UK.  I’m not here as a health worker so there is nothing I can do about the hospitals, I just try my best to help our librarians develop activities, games and book corners to make the time children do spend in hospital a bit more bearable.

Dress Sense

PNG has a lot of second hand clothes shops and clothes are very cheap. In particular black clothes (my favourite) are sold cheaply because they are not really wanted by the locals. I have been able to find new tops and shorts to accommodate my new shape for as little as 50 toya (about 16 pence). I’ve also been able to indulge in my fascination for wacky clothes because Australians donate the weirdest things to PNG. Finds include a lime green, pleated, satin ball gown and a union jack top with safety pins. I do find however that black clothes are a bit brutal in the heat so I have had to invest in more white and paler clothes. Most of the time I spend in my Buk bilong Pikinini uniform mainly because local people react really well to it and I am able to walk around more freely in the settlement areas because they know why I am there.  The biggest issue is underwear! It is impossible to buy good cotton underwear here and the evil twin tubs destroy anything lacy or delicate. Six months in I have a lot of very grey, slightly torn, knickers and bras. Goodness knows what they will look like in another six months. I have made myself quite popular by giving away all the clothes that I brought with me because they are all too big.

Accommodation

I’ve lived in five different places since I arrived and will shortly be moving to number six. I’ve also stayed in some lovely places as I’ve travelled around PNG.  Madang is beautiful. I stayed in the budget accommodation in the Madang Lodge for two weeks and would happily have spent all my time here in such simple accommodation. Each morning I drank coffee on the sea front and watched the giant bats fly over. Moving to Port Moresby was a culture shock. The first house there was like a prison, bare breeze block walls, no sun and metal bars on everything. I did get quite depressed living there, particularly as I didn’t know anyone and I felt very trapped. I’m also not a big fan of cockroaches and there were a lot of them. Since then I’ve been really lucky to have been able to dog sit and house sit in some much nicer places and I currently live in a nice apartment with a view over Ela Beach.  In Alotau I stayed with a friend in a lovely little place about 10 yards from the sea which was heaven, children jumping into the sea from the jetty, parties at the weekend and the opportunity to walk and swim in rivers. In Goroka I stayed with the best cook VSO has to offer and although I did put on a little weight I lost it all when I got ill. I’d love to see more of the villages, and perhaps live in one for a week teaching local children to read and getting to know PNG better.

Work

So what have I actually done since I got here? My day to day role can involve anything from helping organise events, such as a visit from the Governor General, a Cultural Show or Book Week activities.  I’ve helped organise a Cocktail party, Raffle and a Teddy Bears Picnic. Met the Prime Minister and become friends with his lovely wife. I spend some time each week in the libraries, observing the sessions or reading with the children. I also deliver ‘show’ lessons where other librarians come and watch me teach so they can observe and reflect on ways to develop their own library sessions.  I have researched and developed a model for teaching literacy in BbP libraries. This combines international research on what works in literacy, with an understanding of the particular issues of language in PNG and takes a child focussed approach to creating sessions that focus on encouraging children to love books. It’s the best things I think I’ve done so far in my career. I’ve presented a paper on the model at the National Education Conference and will be presenting another one later this month.  I’ve also worked with my lovely colleagues to develop a training programme and I’m sharing some of my training skills with them, and learning new ways of training that work better in PNG. I feel that I have become a better trainer as a result of my work here.  It has also been a great experience in terms of developing my creativity and resourcefulness. I’ve had to learn to deliver training without flip charts, in a power cut with no chairs. It will be hard to return to the UK and start wearing shoes for training again. I’ve also discovered that I have a great talent for public speaking when the PA system has failed due to a power cut. The voice that can span the Thames can also do crowd control in PNG. I’ve designed a syllabus for a Family Literacy programme and I am currently piloting that, although I think it still needs a lot of work.

 I’ve been able to introduce some practical systems into the organisation, a more streamlined approach to book sorting, a monthly handbook to guide librarians, and regular monthly meetings to look at the progress of each library. It has been hard to leave behind my role as ‘boss’ and come into an organisation as a fairly unimportant volunteer, however that has given me the chance to build good relationships with the team I work with and get to understand more about PNG culture. I hope that by working with people to help solve problems we can put things in place that really work.

Music

It’s been a while since I blogged and this is in response to a question no one has actually asked me yet:

What sort of music are they into in Papua New Guinea ?

This has been inspired not just by the theft of my MP3 player but also by some of my recent experiences in meeting musicians and artists here. If the missing MP3 player is an indication of local taste then the population here enjoy their rock music including Metallica , Slayer and Rival Sons. As yet, however, I have not seen anyone seriously rocking out so I suspect that my music has been wiped and replaced with ‘Morobe Feelings’ or something equally interesting.  If you haven’t heard it here you go: 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EEAq0kQNqdI

PNG isn’t really on the ‘stadium band’ circuit but the local music here is fascinating, and as I’m beginning to discover the local musicians are also very talented. My long terms friends will know that I have a passion for drums (and occasionally drummers) and any band with more than one drummer gets my vote. So imagine my great excitement the first time I heard a Garamut or three of them at the same time. These musicians came from Manus Island and played with such intensity and passion I was quite caught up. I loved to see how the beat created such excitement in the children, and the accompanying dancing involved a lot of leg kicking, jumping and shouting. 

 

I found one clip of three drums – but you need to turn the volume up to 11 to get the real impact. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wPY4cvRuCJI

A little research told me that the Garamut is usually played at sacred ceremonies, communal celebrations and dances. It’s made from a hollowed out log and can come in lots of different sizes.  I’ve also been told that because of its resonance it can be used for long distance communication and standing close to one of the big ones you get that thump in your chest (a little like a Prodigy gig). It’s used instead of a church bell in some places. It is worth getting close to one because each Garamut has intricate designs on its handles and body to indicate the area of PNG that it comes from.  

The hand held drum here is called a Kundu and it is an hourglass shape and used during tribal dances by both men and women. I recently attended the Goroka Show which was three days of outstanding performances of singing, dancing and drumming. Getting together for these events is called a ‘sing sing’ but it’s much more than singing, it’s awesome performances, some of which would have Lamb of God wincing. I watched one group of young boys with kundu drums perform a dance that ended with two boys holding their arms in the air while another broke a cane across the outstretched arm.  I watched an equally unsettling performance of ‘Cane Swallowing where a group of young men poked canes down into their bellies to the sound of an eerie pan pipe.

I found this interesting if very colonial reference to Cane Swallowing from 1934 http://trove.nla.gov.au/ndp/del/article/36741579

Each Sing Sing group had up to 20 drums and there were at least 100 groups in the field at the time so the combined rhythm of all the drums, plus the singing and the dancing meant that the ground was shaking and the whole air was filled with sound. I felt simultaneously uplifted and energised, a little intimidated and also rather impressed with the physique of some of the performers (perhaps more like a Metallica gig).  Its 20 years since I studied anthropology but I reckon that that’s what the war paint and noise is for; to assert one’s own identity, prove you are more powerful than your neighbours and show off to the opposite sex. I was impressed by the stamina and dedication of the performers who were there all day, some wearing hot and heavy costumes, including one group who were wearing fireproof headdresses which had a small fire burning inside.  One group of young people were making music with old plastic pipes which they hit with flip flops. The highlight for me however was being invited onto the VIP stage to meet the Governor not just because she is a powerful and inspiring woman, but also from a higher viewpoint I spotted a circle of dancers forming in the centre. So I left my bilum and joined in the PNG mosh pit. Holding hands in the heat with two strangers either side of me jumping up and down in total synchronicity was great fun and everyone was so accommodating of the mad white meri who wanted to join in.  The need to jump up and down and make noise clearly transcends cultures. 

Whilst in Goroka I also attended a rehearsal of children in the church orchestra where over 20 young people demonstrated great talent and a dedication to practice. I discovered that the church helps them to purchase their own instruments and I listened to some beautiful hymns being played. It was lovely that they had learned ‘When I’m 64’ to celebrate my friend’s birthday.   

Music is a huge part of PNG life. Buk bilong Pikinini has very talented pianists, guitar players and vocalists working in the libraries teaching children to love their musical heritage and using song lyrics to teach children to read.  The libraries recently held their own Cultural Event where each library dressed up and performed songs, dances and poems. I was honoured that the ladies of Koki dressed me up and painted my face and body so I could join in the dancing. There was a moment with all the children in their PNG flag t shirts, and national dress, singing ‘My Land is a Land of High Mountains’ that will stay with me till I am an old woman. 

So what sort of music are they into in Papua New Guinea? 

All of it