Notes from a Spinning Planet—Papua New Guinea (19 page)

Without releasing my bag, I glance at Sid, hoping for some direction, but she looks totally blank. Then we both turn to Lydia to find that she has a slighdy puzzled expression, as if she's not too sure either. So she begins to speak politely to him in pidgin. I try to follow, and I get the sense that she's questioning him, but then their conversation starts going way too fast. Judging by Lydias tone of voice, I think she's getting really mad at him. Finally she raises het arms and yells at him, and he turns and runs away, straight into the trees growing alongside the airstrip.

“What just happened?” asks Sid as Lydia takes us both by the arms and hurries us over to the guesthouse.

“That man was
not
Micah,” gasps Lydia.

“How do you know?” asks Sid. “It sounded like he said he was Micah.”

“I know. And I know it must seem strange,” she admits as we're going up the steps to the guesthouse, which overlooks the river. “To be honest, I haven't seen Micah in years, not since I was a little girl. I'm sure I wouldnt recognize him today. But something inside me made me suspicious. And when I asked him some questions about the Hanovers and then about my own parents, he didn't have the right answers. Not even close.”

“Who do you think he was?” I ask. “And how did he know where to meet us and to use Micah's name?”

She shakes her head. “I don't know. But I do know he was up to no good.”

“Seriously?” Sid turns and looks back as if she expects to see the impostor again, but he's long gone now. “Do you think he was going to rob us?”

“I think it's a possibility.”

“What if we'd gone with him?” I say, feeling my knees get a little wobbly at the thought.

Lydia sighs. “I don't know.”

“Wow.”

“Should we report this?” asks Sid.

“We'll tell the guesthouse people,” says Lydia. “But I doubt it will do much good to contact the police.”

“Man, am I glad you're with us,” I say as we go inside.

“I'm glad too,” she says. Then she smiles. “I think God wanted me to come.”

Sid gives Lydia a little sideways hug. “Maybe you're our angel, Lydia.”

We tell the woman who's in charge of the guesthouse about what just happened on the airstrip.

“We've had trouble like that from time to time,” she says in a heavy Australian accent, “but not anything recently.”

“I wonder how this man knew to use Micah's name,” Sid says.

The woman frowns. “Well, Micah arrived about an hour ago. He was fueling up his motor down at the dock. I suspect that rascal overheard him talking to someone down there. Or perhaps someone greeted Micah by name. I'll tell you this much, if a rascal is up to no good, he will find clever ways of procuring information.”

“Well, thankfully, Lydia figured it out,” I tell her.

“Good girl,” says the woman. “Unfortunately, you can't be too careful these days.”

A
fter lunch we meet the real Micah down at the dock. I can
JfP'
tell that Lydia isn't the least bit worried, but its reassuring that she takes the time to quickly quiz him just the same. He looks a little confused, but he politely answers her questions.

“He's the real deal,” she tells us. “I'll explain to him why I was grilling him just now.” So she turns and, speaking in pidgin, tells him what I assume is our little story.

Micah nods with concern in his eyes. Then he says something, which she translates back to us.

“Micah says there
was
a stranger hanging around the dock this morning. But he was friendly, and Micah, being a good Christian man, spoke to him. He's very sorry now.”

“Well, I guess we all learned a lesson today,” says Sid.

Then Micah helps us onto a motorboat, and once we're seated, he starts the engine, and we are on our way.

“It's about three hours from here,” says Lydia. “Relax and enjoy the ride.”

And it is an enjoyable ride. Even though it's hot, we sit under the shade of the awning, and the wind rushing by as we move upriver is
refreshing. I had no idea that our trip to the Sepik would include an enjoyable boat ride like this.

“Look,” says Lydia, pointing to what looks like a partially submerged log, “a crocodile!”

I squint at the brownish thing, and then Micah slows the boat down and steers closer to it. When we're about ten feet away, the object suddenly moves, and with a whip of its tail, it dives under the water and disappears. Then Micah laughs and takes off again.

“That
was
a crocodile!” I exclaim, my heart pounding with excitement.

“We disturbed his nap,” says Lydia.

“Are we in any danger out here?” I ask.

“No. They're probably more afraid of us than we are of them.”

We're going by what appears to be a village now, with houses on tall stilts not far from the river's edge. Some young children with very little clothing on are playing in the water, taking turns jumping into the river and climbing out again. But when they see us, they stop and yell and wave.

“Aren't they worried about the crocodiles?” I ask.

“They're careful,” says Lydia. “They know this time of day is pretty safe since
puk-puks
are nocturnal.”

“Puk-puks?”

“Pidgin for 'crocodiles.' “

“Watch out for the puk-puks,” I yell out to the kids. Of course, this makes them shriek and laugh, and then they start pushing each other toward the water.

We also see people traveling in long dugout canoes. For the most part they seem to be women, and I notice they have a trail of smoke coming from the back of their canoes. I ask Lydia why that is.

“The women take the canoes to go work in their gardens. Some gardens are far away from the village. They take a pot with some coals along with them so they can use it to cook lunch and then to start their cooking fire when they get home. It saves time.”

“And matches?”

She laughs. “It s so damp here in the Sepik that matches aren't all that useful. And lighters run out after a while. I think their traditional ways are probably still pretty handy.”

“Do they make their canoes?” I ask.

“Yes. They're always on the lookout for a good tree. When they find one that's big and straight and solid and close to the river, they'll cut it down and float it back to their village.”

“How do they hollow it out?”

“They have some hand tools,” she says. “And they use fire to burn away the wood they want to remove. It takes weeks of hard work, but they eventually get it all hollowed out, and then they seal the outside of the wood with fire and heat. That's why they look so black and sooty.”

We spot a few more crocodiles, or puk-puks. I take lots of photos and enjoy all the passing scenery while Sid asks Lydia a lot of questions and takes some notes. Then, as our boat is going through what seems like acres and acres of sugarcane growing right there in the water, a beautiful white crane flies in front of us, almost as if it's
leading us through this maze. To be honest, I wonder if we might possibly be lost, but eventually we re out on the river again. Around four o'clock, we approach what appears to be a fairly large village.

“This is it,” says Lydia as Micah eases the boat alongside a sturdy dock.

“Hello, ladies,” calls a middle-aged white man who's coming down the steps onto the dock. “Welcome to Kauani.” He extends a hand to help us out of the boat as Micah ties it up. Lydia introduces us to Tom Hanover, and we report on our trip. Then Micah hands us our bags, and Tom helps Micah remove the outboard motor from the boat.

“We'll just be a minute,” he tells us. “If we don't lock this thing up, it'll sprout legs and walk away before morning.”

Lydia laughs. “Yes. My dad said that happened to him once.”

“Once is more than enough,” calls Tom as he and Micah lug the heavy motor to a shed at the end of the dock. They put it inside and then padlock the door.

“All right,” says Tom. “Donna can't wait to see you ladies.” He points up the steps. “To the house.”

Lydia leads the way, and we follow.

“The river is usually low this time of year,” he tells us when we get to the landing on top. “We're about ten feet above the river here, but sometimes during the big rains, the water will come up quite high.”

“And see those houses?” says Lydia, pointing to brown structures that resemble storks on their tall, stiltlike legs. “Sometimes the water is right beneath them. It completely surrounds them.”

“So how do the people get around?” I ask.

“They just tie their canoes up to the door,” explains Tom. “Pretty convenient, huh?”

“That'd be cool,” I say. “Climb out of your house and hop right into your boat.”

“What about the crocodiles?” asks Sid. “Can they swim up and get into the houses then?”

Tom laughs. “Well, I've never heard of that happening, but you never know.”

“Hello,” calls a woman from a large house that's also built on stilts but sits on top of a knoll. Its much bigger than what I assume are the village houses down below. And unlike the village houses, this one has a corrugated metal roof and what I'm sure must be a water tank off to one side.

“Companys here,” says Tom, taking a moment to introduce us. “And if you ladies will excuse me now, I have a few things to take care of before dinnertime.”

Donna waves him away as we come up the stairs. “We wont even know you're gone, honey.”

Once we're inside the house, I see that it's like a giant screened box. The view of the river and palm trees and village houses off to one side is stunning. Tall palm trees bend toward the blue water. It's like something you'd see on a postcard.

“What a gorgeous view,” I say as I walk around, looking up and down the river. “And what a fantastic location for a house!”

Lydia chuckles.

“Why is that funny?” I ask her.

“Because Lydia knows the history of this house,” says Donna.

“What's the history of this house?” asks Sid.

“Actually, it's the history of this land,” explains Donna as she motions for us to sit down in the wicker furniture that's comfortably arranged by the window with the best view. “The original translators got a real deal on it.”

“You have to
buy
the land to build your house on?” I say. “Even when you come here to help these people?”

“In most cases you do. Sometimes a village is willing to give land in exchange for things like schools and medicine-or at least they used to be-but most of them expect cold, hard cash in return for land nowadays.”

“So why was this land such a good deal?” asks Sid as she pulls out a small notebook. “It seems like a prime piece of property.”

Donna nods. “That's what we think too. But when the first translators came here, no one in the village wanted them to stay. Especially the headman.”

“Headman?” I repeat.

“He's like the chief or the mayor or, in some cases, the dictator. Anyway, this headman did not want missionaries of any kind in his village. But they persisted. And fortunately for the missionaries, there were a few people who wanted them to stay. But the headman decided to play a trick on the translators by of Fering them this piece of property.”

“How could that possibly be a trick?” I ask, gazing out at the peaceful view.

“Because this was the site of an ancient burial ground,” she
explains. “And everyone believed it was haunted. No person in their right mind would ever want to live here.”

I glance around the room, almost expecting to see a ghost, which I know is ridiculous.

“But the translators said they weren't afraid, and they bought the land and started to build their house.” Donna sighs. “Of course, they did end up having some problems.”

Lydia nods. “Yes. The husband got a puncture wound in his foot and came down with tetanus before the house was finished.”

“Naturally, the headman claimed it happened because the spirits were mad.”

“The couple had to leave so he could get treatment,” says Lydia, “but then they came back and finished the house.”

“The headman was still certain the spirits would drive the couple away,” continues Donna. “And it wasn't long before the wife got sick. And, once again, they had to leave for medical treatment.”

“It turned out to be just appendicitis,” explains Lydia.

“However, appendicitis out here can be lethal,” says Donna. “Then they made it for about six years without any serious health problems.”

“Of course, during that whole time, the headman and his buddies did everything they could think of to scare this couple away,” says Lydia.

“Fortunately, none of it worked,” adds Donna. “And to the headman's great angst, the people in the village really began to love this couple. They figured if they'd survived that long, then the spirits must like them-or perhaps the spirits had sent them. It helped matters
that the wife was a nurse. She saved many lives here just by using the simplest of medical practices.”

“So what went wrong?” I ask, knowing the Johnsons had eventually taken over here.

“They went back to the States on furlough,” says Donna. “The woman had been having stomachaches, and when she was checked, they found out she had pancreatic cancer.”

“Ugh.” Sid shakes her head. “I've heard that's bad.”

Donna nods. “They never made it back.”

“That must've made the headman happy.”

“Oh, I'm sure he parried for days when they left and didn't come back.”

“But then my parents showed up,” says Lydia proudly. “Of course, they weren't my parents then. But they never had any serious health problems at all while they lived here.”

“It wasn't easy for the Johnsons though,” says Donna. “It's like they had to start over with the people. And even to this day there are a few old-timers who think that the Johnsons did something bad to the original couple.” She kind of laughs. “For some reason they took to us. We've made lots of good friends in the village.”

“What about the headman?” I ask. / “Oh, he's long gone. His son is headman now, and he's getting old.”

“How old is old?” asks Sid.

“The average life expectancy in New Guinea varies, based on where you live. Around here, we think it's about fifty to fifty-five.”