Spit Boy

It’s time I wrote a bit about the kids I meet in the places I visit. Their big white smiles in their dark faces always make me smile in response. That then sometimes causes a giggle-and-run as they’re awkward about the white woman noticing them. They’re back soon enough, to see what strange thing I’ll do next.

Kids, floral confetti and hand carved guitars in church
(I.Glissmann)

I’ve already mentioned the passionate singing of the kids in church on Djaul, but like all kids, they got bored during the long sermon. Some of them entertained themselves by carefully dismembering any flowers they could get hold of from the decorations. The result was floral confetti over the church floor, which was beautiful in its own way.

Often the kids around us are dealing with a mix of curiosity and caution. They want to know who we are and what we are up to, but if they’ve not been to town too often, may not be used to white people and are not quite sure if we’re to be trusted. I recognise that mix and try to be friendly without being scary.

On Djaul Island we must have succeeded in moving from foe to friend as the kids took to crowding around us. There was one particular pair of boys who took to watching our every move very closely. A little too closely much of the time. They enjoyed watching me type at the computer, with every little thing being new and of interest. They even enjoyed watching the blue circle go around and around!

Unfortunately one of the boys was practising chewing buai and developing his spitting skills. Spitting on Djaul is an art. There are few red blobs on the ground, but the entire mouth of spit is aerosolised into a cloud of red that dissipates into the air. I thought about practising with my mouth full of toothpaste one night, but expected it would end in a minty disaster, so left it to the experts.

This boy was still learning to spit well, but that did not stop him spitting all the time, even when right beside me. At one point he was even under the table where we were working and spitting there. I was not impressed. In fact, I was rather grossed out by the whole affair.

That night when my workmates and I were sharing time together in prayer, my prayer was for Spit Boy, that he might nurture his natural curiosity and use it to discover more of God’s glory…but please God, keep him at a safe distance until then! I believe in honesty in prayer, but this was apparently a little too honest for my workmates, as rather than an amen, we ended with a fit of giggles.

The next day, Spit Boy stayed at a safe distance all morning. After lunch he started to return to us, edging across a bench during one of the teaching sessions. Just when I was thinking ‘here we go again!’, he fell asleep, half on the bench and half off. An answer to prayer? I like to think so!

Suddenly sleepy Spit Boy (R.Drew)

Dedication

Love hearts...just what every phone tower needs!

To complete the echoes of one New Ireland trip in the next, we finished our time on Djaul Island with a dedication to attend. Last year Catherine and I were VIP guests and singing in the choir at the dedication of a fuel pump. This year, we were part of the crowd for the dedication of a phone tower.

We’d been warned early in the Sunday School workshop that the tower dedication was planned. Slowly we became aware of the fact that everyone was planning on attending and if we ran the workshop at the same time, we’d have few people in attendance. We got the message and adjusted our workshop plans to end a day early.

Among the earlier arrivals, we did a lot
of waiting as we watched shade be
planted among the bench seats.

Eventually the big day of the dedication came. We watched as the ambulance, packed to overflowing, ferried people to the dedication site. The beat up ute and the two tractors with trailers were also hard at work, carting people and food to the hill top. Eventually it was our turn to get a ride in the ambulance. We climbed in ready to play at sardines, but the VIP treatment meant that we were not to be crowded. We rode along with space to spare as others walked.

Arriving at the hilltop we were greeted by a shiny new phone tower, an open space in the jungle that the workmen had created and a LOT of decorations. The fence around the tower was decorated. A walkway for the ceremonial arrival was decorated. The stage built just for the day was decorated. Another shelter built for the day was piled with food for the eventual feast. A toilet built for the day was a blessing.

We were given seats in the shade, watched over by our host parents and left to watch the spectacle. It was nice to be the side show, not the centre of attention for a change, although when your skin glows, you are never out of the spotlight! Kulau (green coconut) was brought for us to drink and pomelo (a type of citrus) was given to us to eat.

Shade being brought in from the jungle.

Our island friends were aware that we whiteskins burn easily. We got encouraged into the shade, we got smiles of approval when we put up umbrellas for shade and we had shade brought to us. Actually, everyone was collecting shade. They did this by heading into the jungle with their bush knife, cutting branches off trees and then standing them up in the dirt around their seating as an immediate and temporary forest.  

Once settled in we waited for the VIPs. For over an hour we were told their helicopter would be landing in ten minutes, a story we would not believe until we could actually hear the aircraft. When they did arrive, the extent of the decorations became evident, as they had taken over the landing space and the helicopter had to divert to the local school oval. We did some more waiting as the ambulance went to collect them and bring them to the hilltop and the rather large waiting crowd.

The welcome party for the official VIPs

Their welcome was grand. The speeches were long. The kids doing a dance were cute. The string band was unique. The thunderstorm was building.

The string band played on hand carved instruments of unique tuning. We’d heard some of these instruments in church and I was impressed at the sound. My favourite was the instrument carved to look like the electric bass of a rock star.

Just as the speeches reached an end, the dignitaries were returning to their helicopter and the feast was being readied for serving, the thunderstorm struck. We’d seen the clouds building up and felt the wind front hit. We were surprised when the helicopter still took off in the middle of it. Then the rain came…sideways. There was little shelter for anyone except by huddling together and being shielded by the next person.

The gathered crowd listening to the string band.

In the middle of the downpour the ambulance returned to collect us. We piled in, dripping and laughing. The policeman who has been escorting the VIPs was still inside and was also wet and smiling. As we drove back to our house and dry clothes, we got caught behind one of the tractors. There are four vehicles on the whole island and we had a traffic jam with two of them! The tractor had a loaded trailer of people, all hiding under banana leaf umbrellas that dripped more water on their neighbours than gave shelter to the people under them. I wish I had a photo, but bouncing in a car in the rain while taking a photo of a tractor sliding on a muddy road in the rain is beyond my camera’s ability.

So it was that we finished our work time on Djaul. We were overtired before the dedication and wet and silly by the end of it. As one of the ten days of the workshop was given up for the tower dedication, the joke was that we had been decimated. If being decimated means spending a day hanging out with new friends and ending it with laughter, then it is not such a bad thing.

Djaul Island

Ready to depart for Djaul, which is just
visible on the horizon. (H.Schulz)

Our two weeks on Djaul Island were two weeks in a picture perfect corner of paradise! I’m not saying that everyone’s life on Djaul is perfect, as they have the same troubles as people anywhere, but that it is the sort of stunningly beautiful place that postcards and calendars are made of… the picture of paradise. My photos do not do it justice.

It was about a 50 minute dinghy ride from the mainland to Djaul. We travelled on a day with light winds and seas around half a metre, so it was a comfortable ride. The water was so clear that we could see the coral reefs beneath us that had to be navigated close to shore and could even see the fish in the water.

The coral is what eventually becomes the sand, so the beaches were bright white. When we had time to go snorkelling on Saturday, we got close and personal with the multitude of beautiful fish and the range of coral growth.

The beach on Djaul Island. It is whiter
when in direct sunlight. (I.Glissmann)

We also taste tested a range of the marine creatures, as we were served crab and (sadly) turtle as well as fish, fish and more fish during our time on Djaul. This was accompanied by sago, taro, rice, bananas and greens. Our daily intake of a kulau (green coconut) or two kept us from dehydrating in the humidity. The people provided so much food for us that we were joking that we’d have to increase our kg booking for the plane going home!

The daily feasting was just one part of the warm welcome we were given.

Catch of the day (I.Glissmann)

The day after we arrived we went to a big combined church service in a neighbouring village, riding there in our VIP transport, the ambulance. The songs, the handshakes, the flowers, the food… all of it made clear that we were very much welcome.

The church was packed, so the kids were all sitting on the floor at the front, with a supervisor to keep them in line. The supervisor had a big stick, not for hitting kids, but for poking them gently when they needed keeping in line, and to wake up the one kid who fell asleep during the extended prayer time. As we were sitting in the front row, we were closely watched by the children through the whole service, and nearly deafened by their strong and passionate singing.

Orchids. 

Our host parents while we were on Djaul were the Reverend and his wife. In the United Church system, this is a role of great responsibility and respect. Reverend James was responsible for the whole of the Djaul circuit, including the Pastors and Deacons also serving there. With him as our ‘waspapa’ (host father), we were being placed in a position of respect.

Djaul is a beautiful place, there is no doubt about that, but even more beautiful was the welcome that we were given. 

Tiang Sunday School Workshop II

The Tigak team working on their translation (H.Schulz)

This year’s trip to New Ireland echoed and expanded on my trip last year. Both times we followed up Tigak hymns with Tiang Sunday School materials. Last year we ran a Sunday School workshop on the main island of New Ireland. This year we went out to Djaul Island and ran the workshop in a Tiang village, Piliwa. We expanded the team as well as the workshop, going from two coordinators  to five and inviting all the villages on the island, which includes two Tigak villages. Not only did we do Sunday School materials production, but we also did teacher training for the Sunday School teachers. All in all it was a full but good time.

Our workshop venue (the
open sides catch the breeze nicely)
and our VIP transport- the ambulance
(H.Schulz)

Each morning we started our workshop with a devotion and a time of translation skills training. Each language community was working on translating a different book of Sunday School stories and activities. The Tigak were starting with Genesis and the Tiang were onto book 3, the Israelites in Canaan. We taught the skills to translate the material and then we put them into practice. Each language divided into smaller work groups that drafted, edited, back translated and checked their work. As workshop coordinators we circulated among the groups, helping as needed and doing all the typing as drafts were completed, edits readied for entering and the final product ready for formatting.

Each afternoon we would return from lunch with a time of teaching the teachers. Many of these teachers had had little training, so appreciated anything we could share with them. We taught using dramas and games, in both the morning and the afternoon sessions, and enjoyed seeing people catch on to new ideas and gain deeper understanding. In teaching games, everyone was involved. It was hilarious to see mature adults enjoying duck-duck-goose as much as any kids I’ve ever seen!

 Our amazing house! (R.Drew)

Over the course of two weeks, with about 40 Tiang and 7 Tigak attending the workshop every day, we completed the entire Tiang book and half the Tigak book. As we were at the far end of the island to where the Tigak live, there were fewer of them at the workshop and they’d done an amazing job of getting that much work done. Since then they’ve drafted the rest of the book and it waits to be seen when checking, editing and printing can be completed. The work that was completed during the workshop we already printed in Kavieng and should be back with the people by now.

The day we left the ambulance
was not available, so we all piled
onto the tractor’s trailer with our
cargo and rode to the beach
that way (S.Pederson)

Village workshops are always full of unknowns. Some things are normal, such as that the workshop will include at least one chicken, some flea-bitten puppies, a pig or two and some half naked toddlers. Other things, like the gift of a regulator from a Kavieng businessman and a reliably working village generator  are extra blessings. Then there is the entirely unexpected, like living in a new house that was fancier than almost any other village house I’ve seen, having a generator there at night and being transported about in the ambulance (one of only a few vehicles on the island- it was real VIP treatment)… these things are the icing on the cake! We were so very blessed by the people of Djaul, and hope that through our training we were also a blessing to them.

Workshop group photo (R.Drew)

In saying ‘yes’ to one place and one project I am by necessity saying ‘no’ to many other people and places. In saying ‘yes’ to working alone, I am effectively saying ‘no’ to the work partnerships that had been discussed. We are parting ways as friends and colleagues and the door is open to future team work options, but at this point it is ‘no’ to continuing to wait for others and ‘yes’ to going now and going alone.

Learning to say ‘no’ is as important as learning to say ‘yes’, and it takes discipline. In the world, and in the organisation  I work with, there are far more needs than there are hours in the day or workers in the field. Even when prioritised, there are often still more significant needs than available people…and ‘significant’ is a slippery term that each person measures differently.

Learning to hear someone else’s ‘no’ is as important as learning to say my own ‘no’. If I want people to respect my ‘no’ to their urgent priority, then I need to hear the ‘no’ of others to my urgent request. I hope that people respect that when I say ‘no’ it is because I have listened, reflected and decided. I do not say ‘no’ to cause pain, but because it seems the best path from the place in which I am making the decision. I hope that I return the respect when someone else’s ‘no’ is returned to me on a different matter at another time.

Learning to say ‘yes’ to things I don’t like but can see the value of and can make the time for is as important as being able to say ‘no’ to similar things. To balance the needs of others with my own, to sometimes do the unpleasant job that needs to be done, to take on the dull job that everyone is avoiding, to recognise that some things simply need doing if we want the whole to progress… I need to sometimes say ‘yes’, yet other times say ‘no’.

The spiritual discipline of ‘no’ and the spiritual discipline of ‘yes’. They are things that I am working on and things that I have had to practise a lot this year. I expect I will be a lifelong learner in this field, as saying ‘no’ or saying ‘yes’ is not always as easy as I would like. 

Yes!

Over the last year I’ve written blog posts on the various aspects of making a decision about where to work long term in PNG. The country is vast, complex and there are many communities requesting help with translation and literacy, and I am but one person.

The discernment journey has meant thinking about what I mean by ‘call’. It has meant reflecting on what it means to be a single  person in this work, discussing partnership and exploring the option of a bigger team. There has been plenty of research, discussion, prayer and exploration. In the last few months I have visited both GulfProvince and New Ireland to spend time with potential projects. Finally, I have reached a decision.

That decision is to work in Gulf Province long term. This will be work that is alone but not alone. After all the discussions of partnerships and teams, the reality of life events and timing is such that  I am the only one going in a Gulf direction. At the same time, it is not alone, as I have friends working in that region. I may end up the only expat in a village, but I’ll have expat friends in the region, will soon have local friends in the village and know there is always Immanuel. So I’ll be working alone, but not alone.

I have been blessed with a real sense of peace about both the place and about stepping out on my own. For a long time I had little peace about working solo, so this change of heart is not of my own doing. There will be challenges in the aloneness and I’ll have to be deliberate about self care. There will also be blessings as I will have to build closer local relationships and will have more intense times of language learning.

Currently, the Pettersons are the only language workers for a cluster of about twelve languages in that area. They do an amazing amount of work in literacy and in translating the Jesus Film. I’ll be joining their project, initially by working with the Kope people in Ubuo village. There was an expat translator and a local translation team  there in the 1980s, but various factors meant that the work stopped, although bug-eaten drafts of portions of Acts and Mark remain. Last week these people finished recording the Jesus Film, so there is also new momentum and interest in translation.

Old drafts, new momentum… this is the place where things are happening and it is coming together as the place for me to move. The idea is that I move to their area, learn their language and support the community in reaching their translation goal through training, encouragement and advisor work. Their goal may be the Gospel of Luke plus Acts, building on the Jesus Film script and the drafts from decades ago, but these things are still to be established.

In years to come, as their initial goal is met, we will see what the next step is. Kope is closely related to Anagibi, Urama and Gibaio. Some call them dialects of each other, the locals consider them to be distinct languages. Maybe in the future I can work with these groups as well. Maybe neighbouring languages will also be inspired and things will move to more of a training focus. Maybe…maybe…maybe I should wait a few years and see what is happening before making plans, but the needs and opportunities in the area mean that there will be plenty of work for many years yet. 

Tigak Hymns II

Last year Catherine and I were able to help Miskum format a hymn book  in his language, Tigak. This year we were able to hear the hymns in action as we attended a day of hymn singing and recording. The book has not yet been printed, but the copies of the draft are numerous and the anticipation is great.

Welcome song and dance (H.Schulz)

The location of the hymn fest was Kaut village on the west coast of New Ireland. In the morning we travelled out there in a dual cab ute. As we were too many to fit in the cab, Susie and I rode in the back. Two white women sitting in the tray of a vehicle… we attracted plenty of attention and waved to as many strangers as a royal must wave to! We travelled south from Kavieng enjoying the ocean views along the coast, experienced a brief cool change as we crossed the mountain ridge that forms the spine of New Ireland, passed the new phone tower and bumped along a muddy road to Kaut.

Rain tree (S.Pederson)

After arriving, we waited until the welcome party was ready, then walked a decorated walkway to the singing of a choir, were giving a welcome wreath of flowers… or tinsel… and took our seat on the stage built specifically for the day. After the official opening of the day was over, we could move off the stage to the sit in the shade of an enormous rain tree. With white coral sand under our feet, a backdrop of clear blue water and a soundtrack of heartfelt praise it was the sort of setting tourist brochures are made of.

Choir and conductor in action (R.Drew)

During the day the choirs from different congregations presented their songs. Each choir was in a matching uniform and sang with passion. The conductor would change between songs, but each one had some form of stick to use as a baton. Conducting styles varied enormously, occasionally making my musically trained colleague twitch at the randomness of the swinging stick in relation to the music. As I was not having to sing to the beat of the stick, I could just enjoy the passion and attitude with which it was wielded.

Stephen spent the day recording the songs. A generator was running in the distance, with a long enough extension cord that the noise did not interfere with the recording. The miracle of the day was that not a single rooster was seen or heard. They are the bane of village recording and had somehow been banished. Once Stephen has edited the tracks he recorded, he will return them to the community on CDs and SD cards.

(R.Drew)

The highlight of the day for me was the drama representing the coming of the gospel to the Islands region over 100 years ago. One group was in a dinghy, singing hymns as (so the story goes) George Brown and his party did on arrival. On the beach was a gathering crowd of people dressed to look like they were wild bush people, threatening the boat load with their spears. As the singers came closer to the shore the wild people grew still and quiet. The boat came closer and the wild ones took a step back. The boat emptied onto the shore, the people still singing, and the wild group stepped back again. They then stood still, listening. One by one their spears dropped to the sand as they stopped their fighting and welcomed these new people with their new song and their new message.

Fallen spears (R.Drew)

The drama was completely in the local language, but the meaning was clear; the gospel in song had brought new life and peace. With this as the history they re-enact, it is no wonder hymns play such a big role in the life of the local church. 

Beacons of light

Here is another story from my sailing time to help illustrate why I think Bible translation is important.

In 2006 I joined the Sail Training International festival, which concluded in Antwerp, Belgium. I was on the Danish ketch Jens Krogh at the time. I’d had a lovely time and as they all spoke such good English, I had not bothered the learn Danish. Once or twice, this caused some challenges, as when the captain felt under pressure, he would no longer use English.

One time there was a meeting on deck. I was warned it would be in Danish, so was given the helm and left steering the ship while everyone else gathered a bit further away. When the rest of my watch (my team) returned to me, they apologised for not being able to tell me what the meeting was about, except very vaguely. The captain had been so fired up that even as native Danish speakers, they could not follow what he had said. I promptly told them what the three things were that he had said, not because I knew Danish, but because I knew ships. I had seen him pointing at the rigging and could guess the reason. There was also something that had happened earlier in the day that I expected he would have addressed. I no longer recall the other thing.

The other time was when we arrived in Antwerp. It was the early hours of the morning and I was on the helm as we navigated our way through one of the busiest ports in the world. Thankfully at that hour it is pretty quiet, as the captain once again forgot that I don’t speak Danish. The previous time I had been okay because I had spoken ship, this time I knew how to speak navigational markers. All those red and green lights in harbours have meaning, a meaning I could read and safely navigate by. Occasionally I would confirm my reading with someone who had heard the Danish instructions, but generally I could find my way and so kept us all safe. Once we got to the locks and small channels, I handed the helm over to a Danish speaker, as understanding the captain was more important at that point.

In both these scenarios, I could understand and keep safe because I had the comprehension skills for the situation. For me, Bible translation is about putting the Word that gives life into a form which people can comprehend. They can then use this to navigate through the complexities of life.

On a beach in Australia I found the remains of a boat within sight of a lighthouse. The lighthouse was there to provide safe navigation, but for whatever reason, this boat had still ended up as a wreck. Bible translation helps people to know light and through it to find safety. Having the Bible in another language of which you have a limited understanding, or having a limited understanding in your own language so easily ends up as a shipwreck in sight of safety. Giving people the navigational skills helps to bring them safely home.

(I do not have photos from sailing on Jens Krogh with me in PNG, but here  they are on the flickr page that I no longer update)

Humbled… again

I may come away from my trips to villages having achieved a list of things, but I have also been enormously blessed by the people I have been with. Time and time again I am humbled by their generosity and their servant hearts. Here are some stories from our recent trip…and yes, the mud continues to feature in stories, as it featured in our journey!

Lunch: We had said we would come to lunch, but along the slow and muddy walk to the house of another expat couple, we were wondering if it was really worth it. When we arrived, we were blessed with soft chairs, fresh lemonade, a flush toilet and the offer of a shower and a towel. After recent outhouse adventures, this toilet in particular really was a blessing! We ate a wonderful cooked-just-for-us lunch and were able to catch our breath and revive our spirits before continuing on our way. The muddy walk was definitely worth it!

 About to leave with our chickens (Photo S.Pederson)

Chickens: As we left Aimei village, the children were busy chasing chickens... so that they could give us one each! It was a very generous gift for which we could not express our thanks sufficiently. We were also given a basket to put our chickens in, as they were about to face several hours of dinghy travel to their new home.

Crabs: We could have had fresh crab for breakfast, lunch and dinner, except that we asked nicely to only eat them once a day. I was humbled by the gentle tutelage of Joel, our dinghy driver, as he taught me how to use a spoon to break into a crab to get the good parts for eating.

(Photo D.Petterson)

Foot washing: With mud everywhere, we washed our feet several times a day, before we entered any sort of building. One time, I actually had my feet washed for me, as a generous lady poured water over my feet and scrubbed the above-ankle mud off with her hands. Such hospitality!

Welcome: When we arrived at Ubuo village, the tide was in. The school kids were gathered on the riverbank singing us a welcome song and showered us with flowers. We stepped straight onto the river bank and shook about a hundred hands as we were guided along a decorated walkway to the house where we were staying. All our cargo was carried to the house for us. As we ate food prepared for us, all the kids crammed into the house and continued to sing to us. We were the VIP guests and we were serenaded beautifully.

The hand rail and descent to the boat (Photo D.Petterson)

Hand rail: When we left Ubuo village, the tide was out. A single log reached down the muddy bank to the dinghy. As we looked at the log with trepidation, the community built us a hand rail and used an axe to hack some steps into the log for us. They then held our hands as we cautiously descended to the boat. Local kids and grannies can scamper up and down the log unassisted, but they generously added a hand rail and many hands to keep us safe. 

Radar Brightness

  In our navigation space, with radar
and chart plotter on the screen behind
me (Photo B.Kuchel)

Why Bible translation? Why not just teach people to read in English?

These are questions I and my colleagues regularly encounter and this is a story I hope helps illuminate the reason for our work.

Before I came to PNG I worked at sea on traditional sailing vessels. For all our love of the traditional skills and ways, we were also equipped with modern navigational equipment. This included a radar that was interfaced with the GPS and the chatter plotter so that all the information was conveniently on one screen.

When I was first mate I would come on watch at 4am each day. I would have the radar screen set to its dimmest level so that I could read it without ruining my night vision. The dimness of the screen in the cabin allowed me to see more in the darkness around me on deck. Even at its dimmest I could read the screen from several metres away.

Around dawn the effect of the rising sun warming the air creates changes in wind speed and direction. On a sailing ship, this also creates plenty of work for everyone. As the day lightened, I would be busy on deck managing sail changes and so forth. When I next went into the cabin I would find I could not read the radar screen at all. The brightness of the day compared to the darkness of the screen left it useless for navigation. With the touch of a button or two I would have it back shining at a level I could use to keep us all safe.

Compass and sunrise

To me this is what Bible translation is about. When people first come to know God’s love and forgiveness through Jesus, they are living in darkness and the smallest spark of truth is light enough to guide them. Like a dim screen at night, it is enough to show the way. In fact, greater knowledge at that point would probably be overwhelming. Yet to remain mostly in the dark, with just a small amount of light, is not enough. As people come to live their faith, to live in the light, they need more knowledge of God to navigate by. Bible translation gives them a tool to navigate life. It makes the road map accessible for everyday use and puts it in local hands, rather than in the hands of an outsider or an expert. Teaching them English may be helpful for many things, but it rarely fully illuminates the heart. Translation into heart languages turns the radar screen up to be useful to people who want to live in the light.

Shifting Coastlines

 The Kivaumai beach that used to be inland of the village.

As we travelled about Gulf Province by dinghy, I heard stories of the changes in the land and water around them. Much of what I heard I could confirm from my own observations.

At Maipenairu village, we were told that they had moved there a few generations ago and that it had been the beach. Now the beach was a kilometre or so away, beyond more rivers and islands. At night you could sometimes hear the breakers on the beach, but it was not within easy access. The growth of land in this area was put down to soil coming down the river from the Highlands.

At Kivaumai village, we were told that the village had moved inland some generations ago, because the ocean had reclaimed the land where it was before. Some sticks in the water indicated where the village had been. Once again the village is thinking about moving inland, as the ocean continues to invade.

While we were in the area, we experienced unusually high tides. People told us that high tides have been happening for generations, but not with such frequency or severity. The water would come into the village maybe once or twice a year and never so deeply. For three days we saw the water flood the entire village twice a day.

 Exposed roots show where the recent high tide
 pushed the beach towards the village yet again.

The truth of what we were told was confirmed by the loss of gardens and walkways. People in these areas know what the usual tide range is, so build their gardens out of reach of the salty and destructive water. For their gardens to be inundated indicated that the tides were not behaving within the normal range. Similarly, walkways which had been in use for some time and had been built to be above the range of the tide were being damaged by the higher-than-high tides.

We heard stories of people learning to adapt to the new normal, of finding new ways to plant mini gardens on every high point they could find. Still, I cannot help but wonder how rising sea levels will effect these people in the long term. The ground of their villages is not far above sea level and will easily go under. Where then do they go when their gardens and their land is taken from them?

Dictionary Dangers

For a long time I have had a love affair with dictionaries. I can sit and read them, wandering from familiar words with unexpected origins to words I’m yet to find a use for. That my e-reader came with a free dictionary was one of its more exciting features, as my own had been too heavy to ship overseas with me. As a family we bought a new dictionary for my parents at their 40^th wedding anniversary, as it is a requirement for games of scrabble. Dictionaries are good.

Dictionaries are also difficult and dangerous.

 A good source of knowledge for old words.

As part of my work as a linguist, data I collect in the form of stories or translations ends up collecting towards an eventual dictionary. Keeping all this data in order, labelling it and giving meanings in one, two or three languages is a challenge. We have computer programmes to help, courses to teach us and consultants to help us, but it is still hard work…and that is even before you start to think about formatting and printing!

While in Gulf Province, Robbie was working with one community to review the dictionary progress so far. He had a long list of words and meanings to go through, to see if people agreed on what was there. Before he even got to his session, the draft copy was being waved about as part of a spelling dispute; “But the dictionary spells it this way!” We suggested that both spelling alternatives could be included, with a note that one was from a particular village, or more common of a particular sub-group.

When we put words in a dictionary, we can end up pinning them down like butterflies in a case. Language is a dynamic thing, that changes between villages and generations. Words and ways of speaking come in and out of use on a regular basis. It is good to record these words, but also to make space for the new. As great as dictionaries are, they are also dangerous.

Sago Making

The canoe making I described last time was happening alongside sago making.

Sago is a staple of the Gulf Province diet. It is produced from the pith in the core of a mature sago palm. This is a process that takes a lot of hard work, but which results in a starchy food which tastes good when cooked with coconut and served with fresh fish.

To make sago, first let your sago palm mature. They are ready to cut down when a tall flower starts to sprout from the middle, unlike any of the ones in this picture.

(Photo C.Rivard)

In cutting down your sago palm beware the very sharp spines along every branch. Once the palm has been reduced to a log, float it along the river to your village and cut it into manageable pieces with an axe. The leaves can be used in roofing and for other purposes.

Split the log open and chip the pulp into small pieces.

Once all the pith is pulped, put it in a bag and transfer it to the beating station.

Put some pulp into the top of an inverted palm leaf and soak it with water.

Beat the watery pulp for all you are worth, forcing the starch to separate into the water from the pulp.

 The pulp is strained from the watery starch through a sieve.

(Photo R.Drew)

 

The edible sago then settles out of the water into a big brick.

The pigs will happily eat the pulp which the humans discard.

I have come to very much enjoy sago when it is cooked with coconut, which was common in Gulf. The place where we took these photos, Maipenairu, is a Koriki village. In this language the word for sago is ‘pu’. As much as I like the flavour, the thought of eating pu for dinner is a bit harder to cope with!

(Photo: S.Pederson)

Canoe Making

The afternoon was punctuated by thumping noises from along the riverbank. When we went to investigate, we found a hive of industry as men made canoes and women made sago. Both of these are heavily physical activities that contribute to the essentials of village life. Without a canoe, your family cannot travel to the garden or go fishing. Without sago, a large portion every meal would be missing.

As wooden boats are a personal interest of mine, I shall start with telling you of the men’s work.

First, catch a log and bring it home…

… don’t forget to put your name on it…

…or to tie it up so the flood can’t reclaim it!

Next, flatten off your log to make the top of your canoe. Shape the sides and underneath.

When an axe is swung with skill, a stern can be shaped and the bare feet are safe.

Once the outside is done, start to hollow out the inside.

Once you are happy with the shape, move on to decorations. The transom is optional in traditional dugout canoes, but is required if you wish to fit an outboard motor.

Decorations are done with lime and ash.

Burning dry coconut fronds under your canoe adds a greasy soot which helps prevent worms.

 Now it is time to go out on the water!

(photo C.Rivard)