Day 7 - The Slough of Despond

In each village the survey team gets a different reception. It depends partly on when we arrive, on whether they knew we were coming, and of course on who is around to welcome us. In some villages they make us feel very special and communicate that they are honored by our visit. Other places, for whatever reason, we’re given food and a place to stay and mostly left alone. The latter can actually be rather welcome following an abundance of the former.

We set off breakfastless and without much of a goodbye from Marauna, but that didn’t worry us. We had a guy to show us the way, and we had work to do! So off we went. Our hike began on dry ground, through gardens, past houses… pleasant. Then we entered the swamp.

Brian was trying to keep his feet out of the mud, as they were still covered in sores from our mountain hiking. He had no chance. We’d go through a bit of slippy-slidey mud and think “that wasn’t so bad” only to sink ankle-deep the next step. Hmm. Then we’d come to standing water. I don’t know whether to call it swamp, bog, creek, or just NASTY, but it wasn’t much fun. Generally there would be several feet of murky water under which lurked bottomless mud.

We were, of course, walking on trails frequented by people, so there were ‘bridges.’ This generally meant that somewhere under the water were logs and branches which you were supposed to balance on. Some of us made it across some of the time. Let’s leave it at that, and just be grateful that no one disappeared permanently.

Whenever you hike with a group, pace can be a tricky issue. The fast ones are annoyed at the slow ones and vice versa. In the mountains waiting on teammates wasn’t too big of a deal, but in the swamps, when you’ve got a swarm of 100 mosquitoes following you just waiting for you to pause, you really want to keep going! The trick was to keep the pace down so that constant movement by the whole team was assured. Oh, and bug spray. Thanks to Janell for that. I might have lost my mind otherwise. I hate feeling helpless against creatures smaller than my pinky toe.

We did survive this hike – it was under three hours – and, thankfully, we were able to wash in the river shortly after our arrival in Bencheng. Like most of the other villages we’d visited, Bencheng had standpipes, but apparently they hadn’t been laid very deep in the ground, so the water heated up in the pipes. Everyone made a practice of washing in the river (not the Watut, but a clear river), which we had no objections to.

I helped with the Main Questionnaire and also did the Walkabout Questionnaire for the first time, which I quite enjoyed. Sometimes when you get to a village you do your work, then sit around. You never see what most of the village is like. If you do the Walkabout Questionnaire you’ve got a great excuse to explore. It was a nice day, Bencheng had some lovely views, and I got to talk with some men about the possibility of Bible translation in their area. I returned very invigorated.

Let me give you a little tour of Bencheng. Hopefully you’ll get a picture of what life in PNG is like.

Grabbing my questionnaire and a pen, I follow our host Timothy away from the house. A stream runs just beyond his haus kuk (house cook – the separate building used for cooking, pot storage, etc), and I walked out onto a log jutting over it and hop to the other side. We walk up the dirt track – dry now and easy to walk on – to Nok’s house. He’s to accompany me on the walkabout.

His house, like everyone else’s, has plank sides. These are hand-hewn planks, but whatever wood they use, they’re able to split it pretty thin and even. In other parts of the lowlands I’ve usually seen woven bamboo for walls, but not here. And whereas on the coast sago leaves are woven for roofing, kunai grass is used here like it is in the highlands. This is clearly an in-between zone.

Step into the house and you’ll see its whole skeleton. No drywall here. No wiring to hide. Nothing fancy, just shelter from the weather. Some clothes, probably mattresses and mosquito nets. In some houses, a few books. Tools, like a machete. Maybe a bow and some arrows. Really not much in the way of things, or of decoration. For a PNG’an, a house is for sleeping in. Most of their time is spent out in the garden, in a community area, or out in a house cook or haus win (yes, house wind).

Nok and I head out. I’ve learned the local word for ‘good morning’ and use it at every opportunity. Thankfully it doesn’t sound like an English swearword, as it did in some of the other villages we visited. People are generally thrilled or amazed to hear their language spoken, and it’s a great way to demonstrate interest in them. We pass some folks cooking over a fire. At other houses women are preparing garden produce for cooking, whether that’s peeling various tubers, cutting up greens, or scraping coconuts. Some houses are empty, their occupants likely working in their gardens or perhaps gone to town.

We pass a ‘modern’ (non-bush) house. It’s the house of the APO (aid-post orderly). Aid posts sometimes have personnel, and they sometimes have medicine. Larger or central villages usually have them. It’s often the least traditional part of a village. Not far beyond this house is the school, a series of longish buildings housing different grades. Inside several grades are singing, which seems to be an important part of school in PNG. This is a primary school, meaning grades 3-8. Theoretically. It will often depend on what teachers are available, how many students there are, and whether the teachers think they are ready to move on to the next grade or not.

We’ve reached the upper area of Bencheng, and for the first time I can see out away from the village. To the west is a series of kunai-covered hills (kunai is very tall, tough grass), behind which are tree-covered mountains, their bulk imposing. We know what they can be like. To my east is a long view, since I’m looking across the Watut River – not visible – to the other side of the valley. The team would come up at sunset to this same spot and observe a strange phenomenon, where it looked as though the sun was setting both in the west AND the east.

Nok and I move on. We’re talking about the houses as we go. “Does this house have any immigrants?” “Yes.” “Ok, do their children know your language?” “Yes.” “Ok, how about this house?” 60-something times. We’re doing every other house here, so it’s quite a big village.

Our trail varies. Sometimes we cut through yards, ducking under guava trees or clothes lines. Other times we’ve got a hibiscus hedge bordering the trail, showing us the way. I salute everyone I see with ‘bong naru,’ good morning. We leave the outskirts where houses were scattered helter-skelter and enter the village center. Here the ground is cleared of trees and bushes, which keeps the bugs away. Houses aren’t exactly organized, but each has its own area. The church sits in the middle, an impressively designed building, all bush materials except for the gaudy purple curtain covering the stage. We pass a house they are thatching with kunai, as well as a few liklik (little) houses – outhouses. They’re using WWII oil drums for part of the pit structure. Bencheng was a big US air base back then, known as Tsile Tsile.

Finally we cross the river, mid-thigh deep, and I concentrate on resisting the fast current so I don’t slip and drop my questionnaire in the water. Wouldn’t want to do all that work again! A few more houses, and we’re done. Nok discusses translation possibilities with me earnestly. He says there was a survey back in 1990 (there was) and they thought a translation team was going to come. I explained that we have so few people, but that we’d really like to send someone. We talked about what that would look like. Would someone come to Bencheng? Maybe, or perhaps another village. Given that people go to town a lot, they might even run some training there. Who knows? Nok seemed genuinely passionate about needing the Word translated… it’s a pleasure to meet people like him. I just wish we were able to help in the more immediate future.