Notes from a Spinning Planet—Papua New Guinea

by Melody Carlson

“No,” I say quickly. “Why shouldn't you pursue your dreams? You're obviously smart enough to go to med school.” I consider telling her more about our idea for creating a scholarship fund, but after the way her parents reacted, I'm not so sure. I think Sid and I need to discuss it again. We don't want to insult anyone or step over any invisible line. I just wish I understood why they are acting so strangely about this. You'd think parents would be happy to talk about a scholarship for their daughter. Maybe we hurt their pride.

  “I guess it's in God's hands,” she says. “He knows what's best. Anyway, for now I'm earning pretty good money and saving most of it. That's good.”

  I nod. “That's really good.”

  She leans back in the chair and stretches her hands over her head. “But at the moment I'm on holiday. I don't want to even think about work.” / “Holiday?” I say. “Is that like vacation?”

  “Yes. I have the whole week off. I'll be here until the Bible dedication next weekend. Then it's back to work on Monday.”

  “That's great,” I say. “I'd just assumed you and Peter were going back with us to the airstrip.”

  “No. But Peter will drive you back to Aiyura for your flight to…wherever it is you and Sid decide to go.”

  “The Sepik actually sounds pretty interesting.”

  She nods. “Yes. I haven't been there since I was about ten, but I loved it. I'd love to go back someday.”

  “Why don't you?”

  She shrugs. “I don't know. I guess I could sometime.”

  “Maybe you could come with us,” I suggest. “I mean, if we're really going. It's been so great getting to know you. It'd be cool if you could hang with us awhile longer.”

  She seems to consider this. “You know, that would be cool.”

  “What would be cool?” says Sid as she comes out to join us.

  So I tell Sid about what I just suggested, and she confirms that we've been officially invited to join the Hanovers in Kauani in the Western Sepik region, and she thinks it's a great idea for Lydia to accompany us. “That is, if your parents are okay with it, Lydia. They might've been looking forward to having you home this week.”

  Lydia considers this. “Maybe. But if you're really sure you'd like me to go with you, I can ask them. I dont want to be a party crasher.”

  “We would tove to have you come with us,” says Sid. “In fact, if you dont mind, we could really use your help. First of all with the language, since our pidgin isn't so hot. But I could also talk to you about the AIDS article I'm working on. It sounds like you've learned a lot while volunteering at Saint Luke's, plus teaching your AIDS-awareness classes. I can tell you'd be a great resource, but I haven't had much of a chance to talk with you about all that.”

  “That's true,” says Lydia. “And I'd love to help you in any way I can. I know things won't change in my country without getting more people involved and getting the truth out.”

  “If you come with us, you'll have to let me cover your expenses since it will be part of my research for the articlç.” Sid shakes her head. “That is, if I ever figure out exactly how I'm going to write this story.”

  Lydias eyes light up. “Let me talk to my parents-see what they think of this new development.” She heads back into the house, and I tell Sid about my litde tour of the village and how I got to meet Peter's wife and see their home.

  “I missed out on that?” she says with disappointment. “I've been curious about the living conditions for the villagers.”

  “I'm sure Mataswai would be happy to show you her house,” I tell her. Then I explain how it reminds me of camping.

  “So, do you think you could live like that?” she asks.

  “For a week or so,” I say. “But that's about my max for being a happy camper. About seven days and I'm pretty much craving things like indoor plumbing, a good shower, and a comfortable bed.”

  After a while Lydia and her parents join us on the porch. Her mom has brought out a pitcher of iced tea and some ginger cookies.

  “Lydia said you ve invited her to join you this week,” says her dad in a careful tone. As he sits down across from Sid, he gives his wife a sideways glance. I can tell by her posture that she's uncomfortable about something, and I have an idea that it's us. Still, I wonder why.

  “That's very generous of you,” says Mrs. Johnson as she pours a glass of tea and hands it to Sid.

  “I hope you don't mind,” says Sid. “I mean, that we invited her. But Lydia was so helpful to us at the AIDS clinic in Port Moresby, and that's really why I'm here. My primary interest is in putting together a good, informative article. And she knows so much about the disease as well as the country and the language-she'd be a great asset.”

  “This must be a fairly expensive piece of journalism that you're writing,” says Mr. Johnson.

  “Well, I work for a pretty big magazine,” admits Sid. Then she explains how John, her editor, spent some time in Papua New Guinea. “Naturally, he okayed the budget for this trip. He felt it would be an important piece. Important enough that he agreed to cover Maddie as my assistant, which has been extremely helpful. Plus, after hearing about the dangers of women traveling alone in this country, well, I'm extra glad to have the company.”

  “Yes,” says Mrs. Johnson eagerly, “that's probably what concerns us the most. Women traveling alone. They can be such an easy target. We really don't like for Lydia to travel alone. We almost always try to make sure she has someone with her on trips.”

  Lydia kind of makes a face. “Oh, Mom, you know I go by myself a lot of the time. There's no escaping it when I work in the city.”

  Her mom frowns. “Yes, and that bothers me a lot. You know that.”

  “But I can't help it,” protests Lydia, sounding more like an American than ever now. “I need to work to earn tuition money, and you know I couldn't ask for a better job or a safer place to live in Port Moresby. But it's not like I can have a bodyguard on me twenty-four/seven.”

  For the first time since we've been here, I sense some family discord, and although I feel bad, I'm sort of relieved too. It's hard to believe any family can get along without a few bumps. It seems only natural for the Johnsons to have theirs. Although I am surprised that Mrs. Johnson is treating Lydia this way. I mean, Lydia is almost twenty-two, and if you ask me, she's a very responsible person. Why are they so worried?

  “I suppose Brenda and I are a little overprotective,” says Mr. Johnson. “But Lydia is our only daughter. And New Guinea can be a rough country.”

  “And we'll understand if you're not comfortable letting her come with us,” says Sid. I can tell she's getting uneasy now. She's probably wishing I'd never brought up this idea. “Maybe we should ve asked you how you felt first.”

  His brow creases. “Well, to be honest, I really don't have a problem with Lydia joining you.” He glances uneasily at his wife. “I actually think you women will be very safe flying into Wewak, staying at the guesthouse, and then heading upriver with one of the Kauani fellows. In fact, I specifically asked Tom to send Micah downriver to get you. He's a very responsible fellow who worked with us as a boy. He's in his thirties now and is still Tom's translation assistant. Like Peter, he also helps to pastor their village church. I can't imagine you being in better hands on the Sepik.”

  “Micah would bring them upriver?” says Mrs. Johnson in a tone that sounds a bit softer and slighdy more positive. “You didn't tell me that, Mark.”

  He smiles now. “I thought I had. Anyway, I can't imagine Lydia being safer anywhere in this country.” He glances at her. “Certainly not in Port Moresby.”

  Mrs. Johnson sighs. “Yes, I know you're probably right. You're all probably right. I'm sure I must seem very silly.” She looks at Lydia now, and I think I see tears in her eyes. “I'm sorry, Lydia. I know I need to stop overprotecting you.”

  Lydia reaches over and takes her mom's hand. “I understand, Mom. You know I do. But you do have to let go of me. You have to trust God to take care of me.”

/>   Mrs. Johnson frowns. “Yes. And I try. But you know…things don't always go the way we think they should.”

  “Isn't that life?” says Mr. Johnson in a lighter tone. “So, I guess it's settled then. Lydia can go along if she likes. I'll let the Hânovers know they'll be having three guests instead of two. And don't worry. They have plenty of room. It's a bit more like camping than here, but you should be comfortable.”

  Sid looks a little surprised at how this turned around. I think she must ve been ready to give up. I'm so glad the Johnsons changed their minds. I think it'll be great having Lydia along. I also think her mom needs to get beyond this overprotective thing. It's just not healthy. In fact, she reminds me a little of my own mom. But in all fairness, my mom's getting better at it. I mean, she did let me come here, didn't she? Of course, I realize she had no idea what sort of country this really is. For that matter, it seems I haven't totally figured it out either. I mean, I feel very safe here in Lomokako. Well, other than that little earthquake scare this morning. Still, if Mom knew all nit details… well, she might act just like Lydias mom.

  SIXTEEN

  We get ready to leave Lomokako on Monday morning. I p %/ feel a little sad as I pack up my things, since I've really enjoyed my visit here. It sort of reminded me of a safe shelter in a storm. But at the same time I'm anxious to see more of this country.

  “Thanks so much for your hospitality,” Sid tells the Johnsons.

  “Yes,” I add. “I felt so much at home here. It was really a treat.”

  Mrs. Johnson takes my hands in hers. “Well, feel free to come back and visit anytime you like.”

  I laugh. “Yes. Next time I'm in the neighborhood, I'll be sure to stop in.”

  “Perhaps you'll want to come back with Lydia for the New Testament dedication next weekend,” suggests Mr. Johnson. “You'd both be more than welcome.”

  “Thank you,” says Sid. “We'll see how things go this week. And if it seems at all possible, we'll let you know. I assume Lydia knows how to reach you by radio?”

  “Of course.” Mrs. Johnson nods. “She's known how to work a radio almost as long as she's been talking.”

  Peter drives us over to Ukarumpa, the mission base for the translators. The plan is to spend one night with some good friends of the Johnsons there and to fly out of Aiyura in the morning. It's all set up for us. That way we'll get to tour the base, and our flight to the Sepik region will be on Tuesday.

  It's almost noon when Peter drives us onto the mission base. Last time we were here, we only saw the airstrip. But today he gives us a short driving tour of what looks like the town Leave It to Beaver was filmed in (I used to watch it on Nick at Nite when I was in middle school). He eventually drops us off at a neat little white house down near the river. It even has dark green shutters.

  “Conrad and Beth are full-time support personnel,” explains Lydia as we get out of the Land Rover. “She teaches preschool, and he's a pilot.”

  “Hello,” calls a petite redhead as she pops out of the front door. “Lydia,” she calls out, “so good to see you.”

  She hugs Lydia and greets Peter, and introductions are made. Peter takes our luggage up to the house, and then we tell him good-bye and thank him for all his help this past week.

  “It's been a pleasure,” he says with a bright smile.

  “Conrad and Beth are my parents' support team,” Lydia tells us as we follow Beth into what looks like a typical American home.

  “What does that mean?” I ask.

  “It means we stay in weekly contact with them by radio,” says Beth. “We do their shopping at the grocery store or get them books from the library or whatever they might need. Basically, we're their connection to the outside world, and we try to do what we can to make their life easier.”

  “And they're great at it too,” says Lydia.

  “Thanks, sweetie,” says Beth. She eyes our luggage, which is piled in their small living room. “Wow, you ladies don't travel too light, do your

  Sid laughs, then teases me. “I think Maddie overpacked.”

  “I didn't quite know what to expect,” I say in my defense.

  “You know, you probably won't be able to take all that on the flight tomorrow. If you like, you could leave some things here and just take what you need.”

  “And that won't be much,” says Lydia as she holds up her own small bag.

  Beth pats Lydia on the back. “Lydias been doing this for a while.” Then Beth shows us to a small room that Sid and I will share. “Make yourselves at home.”

  Beth makes us a nice lunch of soup and sandwiches. Afterward, she gives us a walking tour of Ukarumpa. I'm surprised at how much larger the place seems when you're on foot. And even when we're finished, she tells us we didn't see everything. “There's the primary school and the joinery, where the carpenters work, and some of the newer neighborhoods.”

  “This really is like a small town,” I say as we carry the things we purchased at our last stop, the grocery store, into the house.

  “Yes, people are usually surprised at the size of it. You just don't expect to find a place like this in the middle of the remote Eastern Highlands of Papua New Guinea.”

  “I can see how it would be nice for the translators to have this place,” says Sid. “It must give them a feeling of stability while they're out there working in the villages.”

  Beth nods as she puts groceries away. “Yes. And not having to send kids off to another country for their schooling is huge.”

  “Speaking of kids,” says Lydia as she peeks out the kitchen window, “I think I see yours coming now.”

  The rest of the day feels so normal that if someone told me I was in the United States, I think I might believe them. Lydia and I ride herd on Beths kids, and Sid helps Beth fix dinner. Then Conrad comes home, and we all sit down to eat.

  “If I hadn't come here and seen this place for myself,” I say as we help Beth clean up after dinner, “I never wouldVe believed this is how some missionaries live.”

  “I have to admit I was surprised too,” says Sid. “I always imagine the poor missionaries' giving up all the comforts of home. But I think even I could get comfortable here.”

  Beth laughs. “Yeah, sometimes I almost feel guilty. Like we should have it tougher. And when I try to explain to my friends back in the States that it s not really the sacrifice some people imagine, they usually think I'm playing things down, like I'm some Christian martyr who's willing to suffer in silence. It's really pretty funny.”

  “Well, you can always tell them that you don't have Starbucks or Nordstrom,” I point out. “That might make some people feel sorry for you.”

  She laughs, then gets a little more serious. “We can't kid ourselves either. There are some very real dangers here.” She glances over her shoulder as if to see whether her husband or kids are nearby, which they aren't. “What Conrad does is actually fairly dangerous. Being a JAARS bush pilot in a country like Papua New Guinea doesn't come with any guarantees.” She lowers her voice now. “And sometimes he has to fly into some pretty frightening situations.”

  “Like the time he had to evacuate the Borden family,” says Lydia as she rinses a plate and hands it to me. “Their village got into a huge war with a neighboring tribe, and it got so out of hand that people were actually getting killed. Conrad had to fly in by himself during some nasty weather conditions and then airlift out a family of six as well as their translator assistant.”

  “They couldn't even bring their computers with them,” says Beth. “The flight was that full.”

  “Wow.” I finish drying the plate and set it on top of the others.

  “At times like that if I didn't have God to lean on, I'd probably totally lose it.”

  We finish cleaning the kitchen and go to the living room where Conrad and the kids are horsing around. If Lydia hadn't just told us that story, I'd still be thinking these missionaries have it pretty good. Not that they don't have it good, but I know things aren't usually wh
at they seem on the surface.

  The next morning Conrad takes us out to Aiyura with him. He's not the pilot scheduled to fly to Wewak today, so he introduces us to Gary Black from Texas.

  “But his friends call him Cowboy,” says Conrad, pointing to the straw cowboy hat.

  “That's right,” says Gary with a heavy Texan drawl. “And sometimes flying in my plane is like riding a bucking bronco in the rodeo.”

  “Really?” I feel my eyes getting big as I imagine rough turbulence during the trip ahead.

  “But it looks right nice out there today,” he assures me. “Shouldn't be a problem, little lady.”

  The flight turns out to be surprisingly smooth. Cowboy even points out the highest peak in New Guinea, Mount Wilhelm.

  “Sometimes there's snow on top,” says Lydia, “but I don't see any today.”

  “We have some good-sized mountains where we're from,” I tell them. “But Mount Wilhelm is taller than our tallest mountain.”

  “If I were younger, I might consider trying to climb it,” says Cowboy. “Some of my pilot buddies have done it. But they did it when they were young bucks. I'm a litde long in the tooth for that sort ofthing.”

  “I know you haven't been in New Guinea for too long,” says Lydia. “What did you do before you came here?”

  “I flew in South America. Now, we're talking about exciting stuff down there. A little too exciting.”

  “How's that?” I ask.

  “Well, I flew in Colombia for many years.” He slowly shakes his head. “Too many drug wars and too much political craziness going on in that country. We finally had to shut JAARS down completely. Too risky.”

  “Back in the nineties I did a story on missionaries who'd been kidnapped in Colombia,” says Sid. “It was a very sad situation.”

  He nods. “Yeah, places like that make Papua New Guinea look like a walk in the park.”

  “Is that the Sepik?” asks Lydia, pointing below us to what looks like a length of silver chain surrounded by green.

  “Good spotting, Lydia!”

  Within minutes Cowboy makes a sharp left turn, and we follow the silver snaking river for a while. “And there's Wewak, right where she's supposed to be,” he says as we begin to descend. Once again the airstrip looks awfully small to me from up here, but before long we land on it and come to a full stop before we reach the end.