Tari villages. 27 June

Today we were supposed to have gone back to the Tari Gap to see more Birds of Paradise.   Benson informs us that we cannot do this, since the bad guys know that he narc'd on them with a cell call to the police.   So we have to lay low.   He implies that now they actually might attack us.   This makes no sense to us, but we have no intention of going back to where those madmen were.   Birds of Paradise, y'all are pretty, but watching you on the Discovery Channel in the relative safety of our living rooms seems very attractive at this moment.

There are so many stories we collected from Tari.   The area is a virutal mother-lode of stories, folklore, near-death experiences and almost extraordinarily good photo opportunities.  Honestly, it's quite difficult to come away from the Tari area without any good photos.

We learn, right away, that PNG is all about "compensation" and "payback", and that if there's a problem, it's usually about one of these things:

•  Dispute over land (or money), need for compensation
•  Dispute over pigs (or money), need for compensation
•  Dispute over women (or women needing more money), Bride Price, compensation and associated headaches
•  Dispute over injury or death, need for payback

To illustrate what "compensation means", here is an example:

Suppose I am a single woman, living in a Huli village, and I have one pig.  Now one night, Benson comes to steal my pig, and I see him making off with my pig into the dark night.   Next day, I accuse Benson of pig theft, which he denies... it's my word against his.   His relatives get wind of the story though, and a cloud of suspicion hangs over him now.   Meanwhile, I go and purchase another pig, with my hard-earned Kina.   I sacrifice this pig, and burn its body.   Now the sacrificed pig's spirit goes out and causes trouble for whoever stole my pig in the first place.   By an by, Benson's sister's son becomes gravely ill with malaria.  The sister goes to Benson, as her son's illness is clearly his fault.   She accuses him, "Benson, this is your doing!   You stole Kris's pig and now my son is very sick as a result!"   And she demands compensation from Benson, by way of many pigs and bags of Kina.   As sad as the story is, note that I get a raw deal here.   I lost one pig to theft (300 Kina), and one to sacrifice (150 Kina, sorry, it was a sacrificial pig, and I was cheap).   So I'm out 450 Kina, and I don't get a bit of compensation.   However, I do have the satisfaction of knowing that the scales of justice are balanced once again.

One of the stories gleaned from Benson is that at some point, some scoundrel killed his mother.   We did not think to ask how she was killed, or why it happened, or when, or any of the specifics of the story, alas.   And we don't learn, until many days later, that Benson's mother was the original owner of the land where Ambua Lodge is now situated (John Fairfull tells us this at Karawari Lodge).   It is probably by virtue of this fact, that Benson owned all the land around Ambua (and may still do) that we were not attacked by the raskols, or so John surmises.   In any event,  since his mother was killed, Benson, by virtue of PNG tradition going back for thousands of years, was compelled to seek out the perpetrator, and kill him.   Very simple.  An eye for an eye.    Benson explains that he found the guy and hacked him up pretty bad with a machete.   Again, we don't know the specifics.   Benson is not the sort of guy you keep pressing on for "more information."   Anyway, the other guy didn't die, but was in the hospital for some time.  We asked Benson, "Well, what happened to you after you attacked that guy?"  He shrugged, and said he had to go before a judge in a courtroom, who sentenced him to 2 months in prison.   Not much of a penalty for hacking someone to bits with a machete.   We ask what would happen if Benson ever saw that guy again?   "I'd kill him."   Very simple, very matter-of-fact, no problems with clarity here.

So, instead of a the Tari Gap, we head first for an early morning visit to a waterfall, very pretty.    Then back to the heli pad to meet Dave, who flies us around for about 20 minutes or so.   We fly up to a mountain near Tari, past the Tari Gap (where the raskols were), then finally over the waterfall we'd just visited (very cool!)   All too soon, we're on the ground again.    Dave says if the weather holds and it doesn't rain, he'll fly us out again for a quick tour late this afternoon.

Dave, our heli pilot, with Rachel and the Big Red Bird
Too bad you can't see Dave's wonderful croc tooth pendant.

We dash back to the Lodge, where we meet Benson, and head off for another busy day full of village touring and photos.   This time, we are able to photograph a group of Huli Wigmen painting their faces yellow and red.   Some of the "models", older men with plenty of war paint, feathers and PNG party garb, show us places on their bodies where they've been injured in clan wars.   This one says he's killed 3 men, that one has killed 5.   We're not sure that all of this is true, but it's probably pretty close to the truth, as it's become clear that extreme violence is the norm here.

Back in the Obama-bus, we drive through a small village, where it looks like there is a market going on.  We see lots of regular people standing around, and some are wonderfully photogenic:  men and boys with crowns of ferns.   Rachel and I ask if we can stop to take photos.   Benson looks dubious, but agrees.  Michael stays in the bus with our stuff, and Benson leads the way.  He says we must stay very close to him.   We stick to him like glue.   Then something small happens, which sends a shudder through my body, then and now.   A small boy, about 8 or 9 years old, comes up to Benson and, for no apparent reason, hands him 3 darts.   Over the heads of a small crowd, some 20 people, Benson casually tosses, the very sharp and pointy metal-tipped darts to a set of dart boards about 20 feet away.   Rachel and I are secretly horrified.   We try not to think about what might have happened if he missed the targets.  I am too freaked out to notice, but Rachel observes that Benson hits the bullseye.

Dart boards in Tari.   This was exactly the sort of scene wesaw when Benson threw the darts
 in the village.   Now imagine that you have a handfulof non-child-friendly darts.   And that you
throw them over the heads of all the people in the photo.   Not your best idea today.

We continue on through the village, and we notice that every man under 30 is looking at us with pure malevolence and bad intent.   We are too nervous to take photos, and just look around carefully.   After about 10 minutes of this village and its scorching stares, we've had quite enough.   I learn later that other white women who come here describe the experience in equally fearful terms.  A white man at the Lodge points out to us that you can nearly always tell what the people here are thinking, it's not a culture that hides their emotions.   Something to keep in mind.

Next we are off to see some PNG men demonstrate how to shoot a bow and arrow.  Some wizened, feather-bedecked fellows fire off some arrows and hit some targets set up about 15 yards away.  (No passersby in between them and the target, not very sporting, really.)   The men allow me and Rachel to try also.  Let's just say we are not yet ready to fight in clan wars.   Next, the obligatory "here's how we make fire" demo which is always a must on these sorts of tours.  We watch politely.  Various folks with an array of ferns, paint, feathers, shells and pig, dog, and flying fox teeth come around, a man with a jew's harp (which he is trying to sell), men with very long stems of dried grass through their pierced septums.   Then we hear about the customs for a couple (a demo couple has come along, actors really) who has just gotten "married."  The girl, Grace, who is acting out the part of the "bride" is very pretty, maybe 17 years old.  We chat with her for awhile.   She has perfect teeth, which I admire.   No betelnut stains.  We ask why she does not chew betelnut.   She explains that her schoolteacher has forbidden her to chew it.   She tells us she's in the 8th class at school.   She also says her parents both died of malaria.  Everything, especially life, is tenuous here in PNG.

Re-enactment of marriage; here is the "married" couple.
Girl on right is Grace, who does not chew betelnut.

Back in the bus, we drive on down the road, where we see a family group, including the white-faced girl named Rita who is laden with a load of sticks on her head..  We ask to stop the bus, and ask the family if we can take their photos.   They oblige.   Rita wears a necklace of plastic beads and a plastic white cross, and a huge smile.  Rachel and I are drawn to her:   what a presence.   She graciously allows us to snap a candid portrait.   We wave goodbye, and Rita repositions her bundle of sticks balanced on her head.

Portrait of Rita.   She just had this wonderful energy about her,
that I loved.  What a happy, wonderful spirit, in such a difficult world.

The weather looks like rain, so we're a little worried that the heli flight late today won't materialize.  Miraculously, the weather holds, and Dave is there to meet us as planned at the heli pad.   Off we go for another 15 minute ride, across Tari town, and all the farms in the valley, then back to the waterfall that we visited on the first day.   A splendid day overall, and no raskols!

Rachel gets her first ride in a helicopter.

Flying over the Tari valley, PNG.

We congratulate ourselves for making it thus far, and head back to the Lodge, where, as it's Sunday, and the Exxon boys have the day off, they are having a big BBQ.   Some Lebanese men who have taking a liking to Rachel bring her gifts of beef or lamb kofta on some sort of flat bread.  Apparently, they had the meat flown in from Hagen.

Nevil sits next to us at dinner, and manages to get into an argument with us.    He wants to know (naturally) what birds we've seen today, nay, what have we seen in our lifetimes?   I tell him that I'm not a birder, but I have seen a Helmet Vanga, twice in fact,  in Madagascar.   I smirk inwardly knowing that this is one of those birds that birders go wild about, very rare and beautiful.  Hard To Find.   Rachel rubs it in.  "Oh, I've seen a Helmet Vanga many times."  Ooooo,we are naughty, naughty minxes.   A direct hit!   Nevil is incredulous.  "Where?" he demands.  "Where exactly did you see the Helmet Vanga?"  We tell him all but the GPS coordinates, in Masoala, in Marojejy, on the Northwest coast of Madagascar.  "Impossible!" he bellows.   He sniffs and tears off a bit of dinner roll.   "I have not been to those places, but I can assure you, they are not in the home range of the Helmet Vanga.  They are only found in the Southwest of Madagascar.  I'm absolutely certain of that."   We argue back and forth, and he remains resolute.   Ridiculous American idiotic non-birder losers, we couldn't possibly have seen this coveted species.   Nevil wins the award of Most Annoying Person of the Entire Trip.

My photo of a Helmet Vanga, taken in Masoala, Madagascar in 2007.
Sorry, I couldn't resist.

We chat briefly with an older Aussie couple who are staying at the Lodge.  Not tourists.   The husband, Barry, is a contractor and he is here upgrading the physical plant of Ambua.   Margaret, the wife, tells us the chain of Trans Niugini Tours resorts is owned by Bob Bates.   She recommends the place they've just come from, Bensbach Lodge:   wallabies,  thousands of deer, and great fishing (barramundi).   She is about 60, elegantly dressed, hair coifed, make-up.  She is wearing a lovely bracelet, which I admire.   It's a Pandora, a new sort of charm bracelet.

Rachel has taken a small liking to Caleb.   He certainly is handsome and funny.   Tonight in the dining hall we'd like to chat with him about his work here, could be a fascinating conversation.   Picking the brain of an anthropologist in action on the job.   Alas, Caleb is tied up in some sort of business meeting at a sofa in the lounge.