4466 This is a makeup shot I forgot to send with the last day at sea. Lilly and Diana in the jewelry fashion show.
4539 Not to bad for a shot taken through a green tinted window on a van in motion. School kids everywhere will smile and wave.
4556 These are the two village idiots, stuck to the shaman’s stick. This dance had everyone laughing. Slapstick is universal.
4623 The young man’s dance during our first stop in the Dadul Village.
Nov 11 – Rabaul, New Britain Island, Papua New Guinea. The sail in to Rabaul harbor was interesting. This is a very volcanic area. Just around the city of Rabaul, there are five, two of which are active. The harbor at Rabaul is the caldera of a huge extinct volcano. As we sailed past it ejecting plumes of smoke. This is a desirable state for an active volcano because it allows the pressure inside it to vent peacefully, rather than build up and explode. The only real downside is that there’s a lot of ash in the smoke and the sulfur smell can be bothersome after a while. Tuvurvur last erupted in 1994 and covered more than half the city in mud and ash. Both sides of the narrow entrance to Simpson Harbor have a volcanic history. There’s so much activity here that they have a Vulcanological observatory just outside town near the other active volcano, Tavanumbatir. Pretty much in the center of the harbor are The Beehives. They are the remains of the old caldera core that has not eroded like the edges because it’s made of much harder rock.
Since Papua New Guinea (PNG) is another new country for us, here’s the obligatory background.
PNG, officially named the Independent State of Papua New Guinea, is a country in Oceania that occupies the eastern half of the island of New Guinea (the western portion of the island is Indonesia) and numerous offshore islands, including New Britain (the island of Rabaul, our port) and Bougainville (site of my dad’s last battle in WWII). It’s in the southwestern Pacific Ocean, in Melanesia. Its capital city is Port Moresby. Our cruise last year was supposed to stop there but civil unrest caused the cancellation of the call to the port.
PNG is one of the most culturally diverse countries in the world. They have 841 distinct languages but some of these are not currently spoken. Our guide says there are over 700 different cultures practiced here by various groups. These groups may live within a few miles of each other and yes speak a different language and have different customs. PNG has a total population of about 6.3 million, so none of these groups is very big. Only 18% of its inhabitants live in cities making it one of the least urban countries in the world. The country is one of the world's least explored, culturally and geographically, and many undiscovered species of plants and animals are thought to exist in the interior of Papua New Guinea.
All this would seem to be a problem for the economy but it’s also the sixth fastest-growing economy in the world, mainly from growth the mining and resource sector. Of course, rate of growth is almost a meaningless statistic when comparing countries as a country with a very small economy like PNG does not have to have much growth to make the rate very high. If you only have one mine and you open another mine of similar size that’s 100% growth, but really, it’s only one mine. That’s why, despite this statistic it is still a very poor country. Almost a third of the residents live on about $1 per day. Most of the people still have subsistence farms and live in villages with a traditional society. The country’s constitution encourages these small societies to continue and the government supports their uniqueness.
PNG obtained its independence from Australia in 1975 but remains a Commonwealth with Queen Elizabeth II reigning as Queen of Papua New Guinea.
Rabaul is a township in East New Britain province, Papua New Guinea. What all that means is that it’s not on the Island of New Guinea. The town was the provincial capital and most important settlement until it was hit by the eruption of Tuvurvur in 1994. Volcanic ash is very fine, like talc, but extremely heavy. The weight of the falling ash from the eruption collapsed 80% of the cities buildings. As a result, the capital was moved to Kokopo about 12 miles away. Because it was built on the edge of Rabaul caldera, the flooded caldera of a large pyroclastic shield it is under the constant threat of eruptions. Our guide told us that the government has advised everyone to leave but they will not.
Like so many of the islands down here, it was originally German. In WWI Britain took control and that was transferred to Australia. During WWII, the Japanese invaded Rabaul and it became the main base for their Army and Navy in the South Pacific. One significant event of the war occurred on April 18, 1943. On that day a plane carrying Admiral Yamamoto, the architect of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, took off from Rabaul and was shot down by a US P-38 Lightning (one of my favorite warplanes of all time). Communications discussing Yamamoto's flight were intercepted and decoded by US Navy cryptographers. Sixteen US Army Air Forces P-38 Lightning fighters took off from Guadalcanal and shot down the two bombers of the Yamamoto flight and damaged some of the escorting Japanese fighters. Because Yamamoto was a passenger in one of the bombers, he was killed in the crash.
Instead of capturing Rabaul, the Allied forces bypassed it by establishing a ring of airfields and naval bases on the islands around it. With their supply routes interrupted and the constant air raids, the base was totally ineffective. The Japanese controlled the island until the war ended in August 1945. Rabaul’s large and protected harbor, Simpson Harbor, was one of the main reasons the Japanese captured the island in 1942.
Today we are going native. Our goal is a traditional village on the other side of the island. They say it’s a 4.5-hour tour but I’m skeptical. It’s a long way to drive on what I’m assuming will be not very good roads at least part of the way. Maybe my research on the country is old but it was not very complimentary of their infrastructure. Our guide, Jackson, is from the Golai people, who he reports are vegetarians.
As it turns out, my research was pretty good. We were on paved roads for the first half of the trip and ungraded dirt roads for the rest. Bumpy does not capture the complete picture of the situation, deeply rutted, dusty, rocky and humpy would be a bit better but still miss conveying the actuality of their condition. The phrase, potholes that could float a boat with very steep sides is a fair description of some portions of the road. It took us almost 2.5 hours to reach the village so if we turned around without stopping the tour would take 5 hours. These are just observations because the village visit was one of the best since we visited West Africa.
We were greeted by most of the villagers when we arrived at Dadul Village. A local man was our host. The villagers have used an open space just outside the main part of the village to set up some areas where they are demonstrating some local traditions. In one area, they have prepared a pit in which they are placing layers of local vegetables separated by large leaves. Hot rocks were then placed on top and covered with a thick layer of the same leaves. In another area, they have a carving demonstration. The main activity that attracted me was the dancing. As we were entering the clearing, four men were engaged in a pantomime of some sort. Two of the men were obviously the village idiots one man was a villager and the other man was acting as chief or shaman, I really couldn’t tell which. For simplicity, I’ll call him the shaman because the evidence for that outweighs that for his being the chief.
In the opening scene, the villager and the shaman are walking together. The shaman is carrying a stick, which based on later events I believe represents his source of power, like the sorcerer’s wand Mickey Mouse picks up in Fantasia. After some conversation, the shaman places the stick on the ground and he and the villager walk away. At this point, our village idiots enter the clearing and see the stick. They obviously recognize it as belonging to the shaman because at first, they approach it warily, one hiding behind the other. After much hand waiving and discussion, the bolder of the two goes over and gingerly picks it up. It sticks to his hand, very reminiscent of Curley, of the Three Stooges, or Stan Laurel in their battle with the flypaper. No matter what he does, he can’t drop it. In the process of trying, it gets stuck to his other hand. To attempt to pull his hands off he puts it between his legs and that’s where the fun really starts. He yowls in great pain and distress as he tugs at the pole attempting to remove it from between his legs. He is dressed only in a loincloth so I’ll let you determine for yourself what the pole might be stuck to down there. No matter what you choose, it’s going to be sensitive.
His friend, and co-idiot, enters the action at this point. His friend has been pleading for help between his howls of pain. He also attaches himself to the pole facing the opposite direction but in the same predicament. Now they are both attached facing in opposite directions each trying to pull the pole out. In other words, the pain had doubled, in both frequency and quantity. All this yowling attracts the attention of the shaman who returns to the clearing and begins to laugh hilariously at what he sees. The villager also shows up to enjoy the predicament. The shaman begins to berate the two hapless idiots with a stern voice and harsh gestures. After what he deems an appropriate time, he grabs the stick and releases the duo after which he chases them around the clearing waiving the stick as they flee in total panic. One thing in this world is clearly true, slapstick is a common art form and universally funny the world over.
The next dance featured the bolder member of the idiot team but this time in the role of man doing what appeared to be an agricultural dance of some sort. He appeared to be alternately planting and harvesting something with an emphasis on the soil. I don’t know exactly what the dance represented but it was very solemn
After his solo ended, and we had all gathered in the open space, music began a bit down the road. It wasn’t long before the band, followed by a troupe of dancers ‘marched’ down the road to enter the open space. The band consists of seven men striking different lengths of large bamboo sticks and two men playing more traditional drums that were not very large in diameter, about 6-8 inches, and 2.5-foot long, hollowed out tree limbs with a skin attached on one end. As with some African drums be encountered in West Africa they play the drums with the skin side toward the ground so the sound comes out the top to increase the apparent volume.
The dancer’s dress is interesting. The area below their knees is coated with the tan soil of the area. On top of this base coat of soil, they have painted black spirals with white dots extending from the knee down to the space between their big and second toes. They have a bracelet of white feathers around each ankle. Atop their heads is a headdress with an effigy of a god at the top. He has a pointed head and is adorned with feathers and small garlands of plant leaves. He’s mostly black with white eyes, mouth and vertical stripes on his head. Around the dancers necks are large garlands of leaves, the bottom layer is made of large red leaves and on top are thinner, grass-like bright green leaves. They have a red cloth tied around their waists and there’s a large plume of green and yellow variegated leaves like a tail at the back. They have a bracelet of white flowers on each wrist and they are carrying a large bunch of leaves in each hand. Our host, I believe his name is Sebastian, said that this is a young man’s dance and I see why. It’s very hot and the dance is very energetic and very long. I could not determine the story or message of the dance. They hopped, skipped, jumped and swooped around the open space with great abandon. After a time of formation dancing, they assumed a rectangular array facing the band. At this point, the dancers took turns rotating to the front of the array to do improvisational dance steps directly in front of the band. Reminded me of a tango duel in Buenos Aires. Each set of dancers trying to outdo the others.
After the dance ended, Diana posed for some pictures with locals, including one lady with two small parrots. We both went over to the underground oven location and found that they were handing out large leaves with small quantities of baked vegetables on them, a piece of plantain, some corn-on-the-cob and a green vegetable like Chinese broccoli. The plantain was good as was the vegetable, but the corn was what the Pennsylvania Dutch call field corn, extremely hard, very starchy and not at all sweet. We used to feed it to pigs. It was multi-colored like what we call ‘Indian Corn’. As we were eating, the call came to get back into our van. On the way back to the van Diana acquired some freshly cut pineapple that she shared with me. I’ve had pineapple that was a sweet but I’ve never had pineapple that was so juicy, it was delicious.
We drove a short way to what I thought was another village. It wasn’t. It was in the same political boundary, Dadul, as the last village but a completely different culture and people group, the Pimio Kivung Kivung Group. I never did learn the name of the first group. The people in the first location were dark chestnut brown; the people in this part of the village are very dark, nearly black. Their dress was also very different. The dancers who welcomed us were dressed in very skimpy loincloths with a jock strap like affair under it. I’m pretty sure that’s concession to modesty that was added fairly recently but maybe not. They have no feathers on and no part of their bodies is covered with soil. They are wearing headbands and necklaces of plant materials, mostly vines and leaves. Most are carrying spears tipped with feathers but one is carrying a sling and another has a very large form of the Fijian cannibal brain fork. That’s a two tined, carved wooden fork used in ceremonial eating of a foes brain.
This group danced in a small circle displaying their implements accompanied by a band made up of individuals pounding various lengths of bamboo poles on a piece of wood that lay on the ground. They produce a loud clicking sound much as a huge set of castanets would produce if you could find someone large enough to clack them together.
This was apparently a form of Welcome Dance after which the local group’s chief gave a welcome speech. The group started dancing again and they were soon joined by a group of dancers covered from neck to ground with long, slim green leaves. On their heads, they had cone shaped hats of long straight loose straw so even their neck was not visible. The small gap in the front so they could see was covered by a black mask with a large white circle where the nose and mouth would be, almost like a surgical mask.
For a time the two groups danced together with the green leaf clad group dancing around the perimeter of the armed group. Eventually the leafy group started spinning. They looked like the vertical spinning strap brushes of a car wash. It was then that I noticed they were carrying long thin branches or reeds of some sort. After a while, they started using these to whip the armed group periodically. The sounds were as loud as the crack of a bullwhip and must have been painful but the armed dancers never reacted to the lashes in any way. The lashings must be some sort of blessing or redemption ritual because the whipees seemed to be pleased to have received them.
After the dance, we were invited to stroll around the village to see how the villagers live and work. They were cooking using a grill like structure and roasting/baking things underground.
This was not village set, like so many of the ‘village visits’ that are made in the more popular ports. Like the places we visited in West Africa, this was a living, working village. A couple of buildings had a hand-lettered piece of blue lined tablet pages taped to the building identifying its function. One was labeled as a meetinghouse another was marked “Village House for the Feeding of the Village Dead”. Apparently, like Shinto, the local religion involves some sort of ancestor worship or at least veneration. Could be their way of implementing the command to ‘honor your father and mother’.
Very soon, it was time to start the trek back to the ship. The drive up and back was almost as interesting as the village visit. Our guide, Jackson, gave us a lot of information regarding the daily life on the island. We had the opportunity to observe the island around us at slow speeds due to the condition of the roads. The proposed 4.5 hours our tour was supposed to take have long since passed. By the time we returned to the ship, 6.5 hours had elapsed. I am not complaining at all. The village visit was the highlight of the cruise so far. The people were warm and friendly. Jackson said that not many of the villagers get into town so some of the younger kids might not have ever seen a white person before so we could expect a lot of staring and some initial reluctance to interact. He had been correct in both predictions. Once we waved and smiled at the kids long enough some started to interact with us. When the others saw that, the floodgates opened and most of the kids were smiling and waving with great gusto. Soon after that, they were glad to pose for pictures with the odd-looking visitors to their rural village. I saw one lady trying to teach them how to high-five. I guess that totally overdone and somewhat irritating gesture hasn’t made it to this corner of the world. The probable reason, no NBA, NFL or MLB, in fact, no TV at all in the rural areas.
Some of the people in the village had had very light hair although there was no deviance in their skin color from other members of the same group. Jackson said that they were children carrying the DNA of a people group from another island who have that attribute as a common feature.
Soon we were back at the dock just in time for all aboard. A half hour we cast off and sailed out of Simpson Harbor past the still smoking Mount Tuvurvur. It was a pretty sail away because the sun was low in the sky, the ‘Golden Hour’ of photography.
Our entertainer was Gary Guthman, a trumpeter. He’s really very good and we’ve seen him before.
No comments:
Post a Comment