Friday 31 July 2015

Generosity

I struggle with generosity.

This may seem like a strange statement from someone whose income is based on the generosity of others  who give to support my work. It is stranger still when in the last six months I’ve been given a house in Ukarumpa, been built a house in the village and been given a car. The car is almost a bigger deal than the house in Ukarumpa, as they are in much higher demand. So much has been given to me, and I try to always be giving to others, but still, I struggle.

My struggle is with how much to give to whom and when.

Compared to my people in my village I am rich, so in a position to give lots. From my perspective I have given up much in coming here and want to be a good steward of my resources over a long period of time. Where is the balance between holding on for later and blessing someone now? What is judicious giving that does not create a power imbalance and impossible obligations, but builds relationships and expresses generosity?

In a conversation with a village sister, she was telling me about her father. She said that “He was a good man, he did not hide his money but shared it with everyone”. Later that day she shared her last three damp matches with a neighbour. When this is the standard, how do I respond? I clearly have cargo, how liberally do I share it? When I prefer giving in secret, how do I deal with a expectation of visible giving? How do I deal with this long term?

As I pack to return to the village, I realise that if I was being a scrooge, I would probably have half the cargo I currently have. I have packed far more food than I can eat, based on the fact I plan on sharing most of it. I have assorted gifts which I bought on the basis of knowing they are helpful but hard to get in the village. Fishing line, fishing hooks, soap, tea towels, knives, vegetable seeds, rope, sweet potatoes, regular potatoes, carrots, salt, popcorn… small things that build relationships but are not overwhelming. If matches weren’t classified as dangerous cargo, I’d take a pile of them too. There are some larger items, such as a kettle or a lantern, for particular people who have made an extra effort to make me welcome, but most things are small. I don’t have a final answer on how to be a generous but balanced giver, but my cargo pile says I’m working on it.
How to thank the ladies who looked after me in their house for five weeks,
feeding me and boiling hot water for me? A new kettle, a new knife,
a new strainer because I know theirs is broken, fresh
Highlands vegies and maybe some small items.


What I struggle with most is ‘askims’, or expectations that something will be given. I’ve had some clear messages about exactly what someone would like me to bring with from the Highlands for them. Sometimes these requests are reasonable, in that it is from someone who has done a lot for me and reciprocation with a gift is appropriate, but I still struggle with the direct request. So far I’ve been buying some things as requested and being creative with other things. I am trying to both hear the request and reciprocate, while not being forced into purchases. Other people who ask I have a limited relationship with, so I don’t feel so bad saying no.

How to thank the person who did most of the building
 of my house? A long cord on an LED light that will 
attach to my solar power system and extend from 
my house to his, and tools to help him rebuild 
his own house seem appropriate

People also ask me to buy things that they will then purchase from me. It is true that I have access to the outside world, to shops and resources in a way that local people do not. To buy things and bring them for them is to bless them with access they did not previously have. Yet, I do not want to run a business of buying and reselling as that will detract from my community based work and undermine local micro businesses. Somewhere there is a balance between being helpful and being a business person. The request for me to find and buy reading glasses to resell seems both reasonable and helpful, and I intend to follow up on it for a future trip.

There are some requests that are easy to turn down, like the day someone asked me to give them their depo family planning shot! They had the capsule, they just needed someone to inject it. The look of surprise and horror on my face when they asked gave all the answer they needed and the conversation ended in laughter. I am not a medic and not going to give shots! I doubt anyone will ask me that again.


How to thank all the women who have helped me with language learning,
 making the thatch for my house, feeding the team at the working bee
and much more? Food and assorted small gifts will hopefully express my thanks.
At the moment I have more questions than answers when it comes to generosity and the giving of gifts. I want to bless others with all the good things I have been blessed with, but I do not want to set myself up for constant cargo expectations. I am sure I will get this balance wrong many times over, in fact I may never find the balance, as it will change with circumstances. At the moment my preference is to err on the side of giving too much. 




Friday 24 July 2015

Going my way?

I like a plan. Really, I do.

It suits my personality to have a plan, and a backup plan, in place at all times. I like to know what I am doing, when, where, why and with whom. In PNG though, plans are rarely this clear or reliable. I am sure there are some PNGns who equally like a plan and I know there are some Aussies who thrive on having no plan, but me, I like a plan. Let me illustrate changing local plans for you through the adventures of my two trips from Ubuo to Kikori.

The first time I went to Kikori from Ubuo, we had asked around for several days if someone was going that direction. In the end we got a tip-off that a boat was going from Karati. We sent messages to let the people know we’d join the boat there and were told that all was well. On our way to Karati, for a meeting and to join the boat, we passed them going the other way, already underway for Kikori. Mid river we stopped for a chat and a planning session. No, they had not got the messages the day before. Yes, they could wait for us to join them after the brief meeting we first had to get to at Karati. We went on our way.

At Karati we found another boat leaving for Kikori. It was decided that it would be better for me to travel with them and several phone calls were made to tell the first boat to continue without me. I’ve no idea if they really received the message, or if they just continued without me as they figured I’d find another ride. The second option worked out and we headed off to Kikori in good time. There was a stop of nearly an hour while the driver bought extra fuel at a village along the way, but I made it to Kikori in the end… about 15 minutes ahead of the first option. As they had a 15hp engine and we had a 40hp, we clearly spent a lot of time buying the extra fuel.
Refuelling while underway, although it still was not enough!
The second time I went to Kikori, I was planning to go on ‘fortnight’, or the Friday every second week when people get paid. The previous fortnight several boats had gone from Ubuo to Kikori, so I thought I’d be fine, but no one seemed to be going. Discussions were held and I was told there was a plan. Friday morning it rained heavily and continued all day. One person who was to come pulled out, meaning the whole trip was on hold. By Monday the rain had stopped and enough people committed to the trip that I made it to town.
A beautiful short cut (that actually is shorter!) on the way to Kikori
On the Thursday I started asking around about any boats going back towards Ubuo that I could get a ride in. At the town market I caused much curiosity as I asked around for any Kope people, found a cousin-sister of a village-sister of mine and put in my request. I asked the hospital administrator if he knew anyone. I stopped by where the dinghies and dugouts pull up and asked if they knew anyone going my way. I sent an sms to the village to see if they knew anyone planning a return trip. I cast a wide net and waited to see what would happen. On Friday I repeated my request.

Late on Friday someone came to the door. They’d heard the doctor wanted to go to Ubuo. I am not a doctor, but as I was staying in the doctor’s house, the confusion was understandable. One of the hospital staff recommended the person, he was from a neighbouring village and a plan was made. I gave him money to buy fuel as my contribution towards the trip.
Sunrise in Kikori, looking across the river
The next day the boat turned up, a little later than expected, but that was not really unexpected. I loaded myself and my things and we headed off. As we took bends in the river, it seemed like we were taking a different route to what I expected. I couldn’t do much about it but trust the people who helped with the plan and pray that things were on track. After a few hours we were pulling into a village near Paia. I thought we would just drop someone off and be one my way, but the whole canoe and all its contents was emptied out… except me. Um?
Heading back to Ubuo by dugout
‘We will just get some fuel at Paia and be on our way’, I was told. ‘Do I have extra kina for more fuel?’

We crossed the inlet, rafted our dugout up to a timber company tugboat and sent someone to town to buy fuel. The store was closed and we had to wait a few hours. As we waited, the story came out that although the driver was from a neighbouring village, he lived in his wife’s village in a different area. His brother, who worked at the hospital, had convinced him he had to take me back to Ubuo, even though it was out of his way. In trying to be helpful, people had actually ended up causing frustration for both of us.

Eventually the fuel was purchased, we were under way and we made it back to Ubuo, where they dropped me off and promptly returned to Paia. What would have been a 3 hour journey if direct had taken nearer seven hours because of detours and delays.

After these two adventures in getting to Kikori and back, I have been thinking about buying my own boat and motor. This will of course create all sorts of other frustrations, but my hope is that they are less than the frustrations of not owning one.


I like a plan, and to always be asking ‘are you going my way?’ is not a plan that works for me.

Friday 17 July 2015

9 ways to make a child smile… or cry

There is a fine line between a child's smile and their tears, and it is a gamble which one you will get.

1. Smile
Scenario: child is staring at you, so you smile at them.
Response:
J She smiled at me! I’ll smile back!
L Look at those teeth! Surely she wants to eat me. Wah!!!
photo: ywamships.org.au

2. Speak language
Scenario: you try out the little language you know and say ‘Good morning, my name is…”
Response:
J Ha ha ha! She sounds silly!
L  She knows our language… she must be a returned spirit of our ancestors and now I’m scared. Wah!!!

3. Help with steps
Scenario: toddler is standing at the top of steps they can’t climb down crying for someone to help them, so you help.
Response:
J Yay! She helped me and I got to zoom through the air!
L She touched me! Wah!!!

4. Children and knives
Scenario: small child wants to play with big sharp knife and you let them…
Response:
J I got the knife! It’s what I wanted!
L I cut myself! Wah!!!

…or you take it away from them.
J(eventual) safe child, no wounds, finds another toy
L (initially) she took my toy from me! Wah!!!

5. Immunisations
Scenario: Medical ship comes to town and you help with immunisations.
Response:
J (eventual) Child does not get seriously ill from a preventable disease.
L (initial) She stabbed me! Wah!!!
immunisation tears (photo: ywamships.org.au)

6. Lolly
Scenario: you give the child a lolly
Response:
J Sweet! Yummy!
L (eventual) rotten teeth, very limited access to dentists, and ongoing pain. Wah!!!

7. Literacy Testing
Scenario: you help with literacy testing as part of ongoing research into what helps and hinders literacy in the region.
Response:
J (eventual) Child grows up literate, gets work and helps their family.
L The white woman is asking me questions. I thought I knew what that mark on the page meant, but now my mind has gone blank with fear. Wah!!!
How does class size and resources affect literacy levels?


8. Walk through the village
Scenario: As you walk from the house to the toilet and back, you pass a child.
Response:
J Yay! The reality TV star just walked by and made life interesting.
L She’s a ghost, I’m sure of it! Wah!!!
                True story: there was one child of about 3 years of age who cried every time I walked past his house. One time as I passed by he was playing with his bow and arrow. In fear, he froze, pointing it at me and crying. I was a little concerned that fright would turn into fight and that I was about to get an arrow in my leg! Thankfully he remained frozen and I continued on my way.
Shooting practice…just don’t aim at me!

9. Make eye contact
Scenario: yet another child is staring at you, and you briefly make eye contact.
Response:
J She’s real! She’s friendly!
L The ghost lady noticed me! All sorts of bad things could happen now! Wah!!!


The longer I am in the village, the more that children are familiar with me, the less fear I create and the more smiles I receive, but the tears are still there sometimes.

Friday 10 July 2015

YWAM comes to town

My first experience of Gulf Province was two years ago when I visited on the YWAM medical ship, Pacific Link. It introduced me to the area and was the start of friendships both locally and on the ship. Last year we were in Gulf on our exploratory trip when the ship returned on its annual visit and it was good to renew friendships. This year I’d moved into the neighbourhood when the ship came to visit. This year though, it was the new ship, and it was BIG. The medical needs in Gulf Province are big too, so the ship is not disproportionate to the need, but it was still a strange sight as we rounded the river bend and saw her at anchor.

The day we knew the ship was due, we loaded into the dinghy and went for a visit. The ship did not come to my village, Ubuo, but was in the Kope language area when they anchored near Karati. In the village the YWAM guests slid their way along the muddy path to the official welcome in the church. After songs, speeches and introductions, they squelched back along the path to their various places of work for the day; at Karati health centre, in the dental clinic on the ship or doing primary health care in another village further upstream.

The BIG new ship anchored by Karati
I hung out with a lady from my village who had come with us and surprised a few locals by introducing myself in the Kope language. As it was only the third day of language learning for me, that was about all the talking I could do. My friend would then take over and explain who I was and why I was learning Kope. There was then a second round of handshakes to express their pleasure when they understood that I’d come to work alongside them longer term.

Once on the ship I stepped into another world. From the air-conditioned and glass-sided dining hall, I sat in one world and watched my other life as if it were a documentary. I had fine views of the Gulf delta and Karati village, all from the comfort of air-conditioning while sipping a cappuccino. It was very strange. Returning to Ubuo late in the day two of the leadership team came with to see a village they had not yet visited. The outcome was that they sent a team to do an immunisation clinic the next day.

As I listened to the reports of those who had gone with on the ship visit that night, their overwhelming impression was of how big it was. I smiled at the descriptions of numbers of tables and chairs, layers of decks and strength of outboards on the zodiacs. Yet I too had been a bit overwhelmed by the bigness and the newness of the ship, especially in contrast to the area.

The immunisation team arriving in Ubuo for the day
The late notice about the immunisation clinic meant that many village families had gone fishing or to their gardens before the health team arrived the next morning. Even so, we had a crowd of mothers and children turn up for their immunisations. At the end of the day when the tally was complete, there had been 79 children immunised! This was so many that the zodiac had to return to the ship for extra supplies part way through the day.

Many of these children had not seem many white people before, and never up close like this. One’s first impression of someone so different being that they weigh you and then stab you is not helpful. Children that age cannot appreciate that a little pain now can prevent a lot of suffering later, they just know that the white person made them hurt. 79 children crying from fear and from pain makes for a noisy and exhausting sort of day.

At the end of the day, the medical team loaded themselves and their empty immunisation coolers onto the zodiac to return to the ship for the night. I stood on the bank with the community and waved them off. A head taller than most other women and the only white person in the crowd, I definitely stood out as we all waved together. As the boat pulled away, someone commented in Kope that ‘Sister is staying’ and that made all the screaming babies worthwhile. The identity of being family to the community, of being the one who stays instead of just dropping in, and who will be sitting on the floor and sharing a meal of fish and sago with them that night rather than returning to the comforts of the ship, was a precious moment for me.

Friday 3 July 2015

A village house in pictures

Let’s go on a guided tour of my village house.

In February there was a block of land and an idea. 

On the empty land with Sampson, who is a literacy teacher, translator,
my neighbour, my  village brother and the one who was in charge
of building my house.
I didn’t expect there to be a house on that land when I returned in April, but it was well under way.


Over the next five weeks, it was finished!

There were two big working bees involved. The first was the biri party, when about 40 women from Ubuo (my village) and Goiravi (a 15 minute walk away) came to stitch thatch for the roof from nipa palm leaves or to cook food for the workers. About 30 men and boys turned up to finish the roof frame and attach the thatch.

Expert biri stitchers

Novice biri stitcher, but the centre of attention for giving it a try.
I completed three lengths of biri

The team doing framing and putting the biri up.
They’ve already completed the far side of the house.

When the decision was made to dedicate my house on the coming Sunday, my house was far from complete.

Thursday, when the dedication is to be on Sunday.
No end walls,no internal wall, holes in the floor,
an open patch in the roof…!
Thankfully the next working bee was on the Friday,  when a work team came from Kapuna hospital to install my toilets, wash place and rain water tanks. Due to technical difficulties, the tanks did not get done that day. The team arrived in the morning, offloaded their supplies and worked hard all day. Others from the community turned up and an amazing amount was achieved.

Cleaning up ready for the working bee to start
The Kapuna team turns up and offloads supplies…

…including the ark of the covenant?!
No, just a big, heavy box full of tools....
…including power tools, so they brought a generator too.
Later in the day, the end wall is finished,
the front stairs are in place and decorative
railings are being installed.
Inside, the Kapuna crew install
composting toilets and a wash place.
 A lot more work happened on the Saturday, and on Sunday we really were ready to dedicate the new house. The land owner was the one who gave me the key to the front door and said that he gave the land to the Kope translation project.

Dedicating the house was quite the ceremony…
… and of course was finished with a feast.

Inside my house I have three bedrooms (who of you will be first to visit?), a store room, a bathroom, a kitchen space and my long open living area. There is also the translation verandah, which is my attempt to have some sort of work/private divide in the village. We’ll see how that goes!

Finished house looking towards the front door.
The sawn timber is all off cuts from the local timber mill
Finished house looking from another angle.
The low bit is my translation veranda.
The window up higher is my kitchen window.
My bedroom, which is basically a mattress on the floor
under my mosquito net plus a small amount of hanging storage
Standing in the front door looking at the living
space on the left and translation veranda on the right
The space that will become my kitchen once benches are installed. I’m organising a gas bottle through the hospital, so shall be cooking with gas on my two burner stove. Once my rainwater tanks go in, outside this window, I will have a tap in the kitchen and one in the bathroom. These will be high enough to put a bucket under, not high enough for a sink or a shower, but that is still indoor plumbing!
My bathroom, and yes, I have been saying toilets in the plural.
 The twin toilets are part of a sanitation scheme being trialled by the hospital. Most Gulf toilets drop straight into the river, where the tide flushes them twice daily. This is the river people bathe in and eat the fish from.
 It is hard to dig a septic toilet on land, as the whole area is a swamp and the ground is saturated. This means that the tide comes in and out in holes in the ground as well as in the river. Even places on higher ground get flooded by the occasional king tide.
The idea of this system is that the barrels (recycled from an oil drilling company) hold the waste away from the water. The solids remain in the barrel and slowly compost. The liquids escape through a pipe in the bottom into a pit beneath. I will use one toilet at a time. Once the first toilet is full, I will leave it to compost while filling the second toilet. Once the second toilet is full, the first one should be done composting, and can be emptied onto the garden for the process to begin again.
At the moment this is still in the trial stage, but the hospital is hoping to get funding to widen the scheme to villages across the region.
Looking from my kitchen along the living area. Sampson is installing the door on the storeroom. You can just see my mossie net in the bedroom on the right. The camp chair on the floor is my one piece of furniture. As it is light and portable I take it almost everywhere with me. A little bit of cushioning and back support make a huge difference when sitting for hours on the floor of a church or in a dugout canoe.
Looking back at the front door along the translation verandah.
Through the house windows is the living area.

Some of the beautifully woven panels of wall inside my house.