by Tim Flannery
Dan explained that literally everything about the grove was sacred. Not a single leaf, not even an annoying mosquito, could be disturbed in it. Over generations the birds had learned about this, and even normally shy creatures such as the birds of paradise sometimes display fearlessly within easy reach of an arrow. Open displays by valuable birds such as the Splendid Astrapia chagrin the Telefol—which explained the glum look on the face of my guide. It must be a bit like seeing a jewel on the ground, but not being allowed to pick it up.
Telefol believe that human life itself began in the sacred grove and cult house at Telefolip. For them, this is where the first human being lived, and it is the place from which all Mountain Ok people originated. To Telefol, Telefolip literally is the navel of the universe. I think I became enchanted with Telefomin on hearing this. The Telefol are the Melanesian people I feel most happy and at home with to this day.
After chatting for some hours with Dan, I entered the Telefolip cult house for the first time. The tiny doorway is perched high on the side of the building, at the top of a rickety ladder. From this insecure perch, one must somehow squeeze through the small oval hole to gain access to the interior. The squeeze is so tight and the venture so perilous that the experience is somewhat akin to being born. The symbolism of this is doubtless not missed by Telefol boys when they enter the cult house for the first time, soon to emerge as men.
I led with one leg and my head, and had to double my leading leg up under my chin to get it in. My back was meanwhile bent double and followed only with considerable persuasion and the helpful positioning of two Telefol acting as midwives.
After entering the house and unbending, I could at first see nothing. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom I perceived that the four walls of the building were decorated with tens of thousands of pig jaw-bones and skulls. Between them hung bilums containing human skulls and limb bones, while a few old Telefol shields, clubs and other implements were propped against the walls.
Two hearths were present on the floor. Dan had told me that the one on the left was the taro hearth, the other the arrow hearth. A few implements relating to the respective activities of agriculture and war were scattered near or above the hearths, and some firewood lay nearby.
Dan explained the significance of the two hearths in the cult house. Rituals associated with the taro hearth were performed for the benefit of agriculture, pig husbandry and related matters. Those of the arrow side were responsible for warfare and hunting. The people of Telefolip were divided into two major groups which corresponded with these hearths. The arrow clan had been in decline since the arrival of the Europeans. This was due to the fact that warfare and hunting became less important after the Europeans brought peace and western goods.
The room was not very tall, as most of the height of the building consisted of a vast area enclosed below the floor. This space underneath had no entrance. I had difficulty learning anything about it, but some years later an old man intimated to me that it was actually inhabited by Afek.
Dan Jorgensen did me an invaluable service by providing introductions to two senior men from Telefolip. Amunsep and Tinamnok were both arrow men. I was fortunate, he said, that in Amunsep I would meet one of the last of the old arrow clan. His knowledge of the mammals of the region was unequalled.
On leaving the cult house, I was led directly to Amunsep's house, which lay to the left, just a few doors down. It was, if anything, even darker than the cult house itself and the roof and walls were blackened with soot. The space was divided into two chambers. The one at the rear was presumably used for sleeping and cooking, while the larger antechamber at the front of the house seemed to serve in part to entertain visitors.
A group of Telefol men sat in waiting for me. They grasped my hand and greeted me with the click handshake so characteristic of west New Guinea. This is done by placing the knuckle of your forefinger between two knuckles of your friend's fingers. The friend then pulls away rapidly, producing a loud clicking sound. After performing this ritual, one man announced that he was Tinamnok, Amunsep's nephew, but that Amunsep, unfortunately, was away hunting.
The decorations in the antechamber of Amunsep's house were extraordinary. Some beautiful bilums, bows and arrows, and other items hung or leaned against the walls, but the centrepiece of the display was suspended over the entrance. There, in row after row, were the jaw-bones which the great hunter had collected over a lifetime. There were hundreds, nay thousands of them, and they were all arranged according to size and species. Even I, as curator of mammals at the Australian Museum, could not have done a better job at classification and display. Curiously, no rat jaws were present, and a few other species were notable by their absence. I learned the significance of this only as I began to understand Telefol culture—Amunsep had caught and collected only the jaws of animals which were considered suitable food to senior men.
Tinamnok and his family more or less adopted me while I stayed at Telefolip. They decided that the best place by far for me to carry out my research was in an area of garden land near the headwaters of the Sol River. This area was adjacent to some rugged limestone country which was inhabited by tree-kangaroos.
Tinamnok was a gentle man in his forties and a superb hunter. He was someone whose company I enjoyed immensely. He owned an aged blunderbuss of a shotgun, the accuracy and reliability of which were extremely questionable. He was deeply attached to it, however, and steadfastly refused to use the more modern weapon I carried. Each time I suggested he borrow it his eyes would widen and he would bite on the knuckle of one finger as he displayed mistrust, even fear, of my shiny new gun.
Despite his abilities as a hunter of medium-sized marsupials, Tinamnok professed no skill in catching D'bol, as the Telefol know Doria's Tree-kangaroo (Dendrolagus dorianus). For that I would need to consult Amunsep, and he was still away up-country hunting. I was dismayed, but decided, instead of just waiting, to accompany Tinamnok and a young man called Willok on a journey to a high valley on the Sol River, half a day's walk away. This was Tinamnok's country.
FIFTEEN
Journey to the Sol
The trek up to the Sol is a steep one. Most of the way lies through primary forest and is relatively easy going despite the ascent, except for a constant succession of slippery logs which would test the balance of a tightrope walker. The only substantial barrier to be crossed is the Sol River itself, which one encounters about halfway along the track.
The Sol is a major tributary of the Sepik. It is a considerable, tempestuous river which floods frequently. On this first trek we reached it at about lunchtime.
I knew well before I saw it that we were in for a difficult crossing, for I could hear the roar of the water from a great distance. As we drew closer I could distinguish dull booms above the roar, as of distant cannon. These sounds were made by great boulders which were being picked up and dashed against the stream bed by the current. As we neared the riverbank, the gunpowder-like smell of crushed rock filled my nose. The stream was grey, like a furious flow of liquid mud. Although unpolluted, it looked and smelled like a river filled with mine tailings.
Heavy rain must have fallen in the catchment of the Sol to cause such a torrent. The old log bridge which previously spanned the river at this point had been swept away and I was certain that we would have to turn back. Tinamnok, however, had no such doubts. He strode into a clump of casuarina trees growing by the stream and began felling the tallest.
After a few minutes the trunk fell in a graceful arc over the torrent, its top just reaching the opposite bank. Tinamnok's dog was the first across. It strolled over, winding its way around obstructing upright branches as if it were negotiating a broad pathway between villages.
Tinamnok himself was in the middle, walking just as casually, when he realised that I had misgivings about making the crossing. He came back and cut me a long stick with which to stabilise myself, then led me by the hand across the impromptu bridge. By keeping my eyes fixed firmly on the opposite bank
I found the first part of the crossing relatively easy. The casuarina bole was clean and covered with rough bark, which gave a good grip.
It was only when I came to the centre of the stream, where some large branches blocked my way, that I struck trouble. There I made the mistake of looking down. The water was moving with such frightening speed just half a metre below me that it was dizzying to behold. I could not focus my eyes fast enough to see anything but a vicious, rushing blur which threatened to pull me in.
I began to lose my balance. But the thought that to fall off the log meant instant death snapped the hypnotic hold the torrent had on me. Trembling and holding Tinamnok's hand more firmly than ever, I negotiated the obstructing branches, and in a few moments was on the opposite bank.
After this perilous crossing, it was difficult for me to relax for the remainder of the trip. The thought of the Sol, ready to rise at my back and cut off my retreat at any time, preoccupied me. I was not sure that I had the courage to cross it in flood again.
Almost immediately on arriving at the little lean-to that Tinamnok used as a shelter when hunting, I fell ill once again with symptoms similar to those that I had experienced at Yapsiei. I later learned that I was suffering from giardia, contracted from the dirty water of the Yapsiei River. The return of this illness on the Sol left me helpless. I had not eaten properly for more than a week, and it took all my strength just to crawl around my trapline each morning and to weigh, measure and skin the specimens I caught, as well as those which Tinamnok brought to me.
While I stayed around the lean-to, Tinamnok would go out hunting, often for two or three days at a time. He would sleep in a hollow tree or nap on a sunny riverbank, returning only when he had met with success. In this he was accompanied by Willok, the youth whom Tinamnok had adopted. Willok, an Atbalmin (whose territory abuts the Telefol to the west), was a clean-shaven, open-faced lad who seemed to attach himself to me with genuine affection. He was not a good hunter, but like many Atbalmin had endless patience when searching tree-hollows and potential nest sites for the smaller arboreal animals. He collected some of the rarest and most interesting mammals I encountered during my work at Telefomin.
Willok, though, had a most unfortunate habit, which turned everyone's stomach, even his stepfather's. Whenever Tinamnok returned with a Coppery Ringtail, and this was a very common species, Willok would eagerly offer to help me skin and gut it. His assistance consisted of removing the intestines and feeling excitedly along them. On detecting a small lump, he would carefully pierce the bowel wall with his fingernail and victoriously pull out a large, yellow tapeworm. Next, by way of culinary preparation, he would run it between his fingers to remove some of the adherent fecal matter—then he would drop the writhing parasite straight into his mouth!
My Telefol friends informed me that Willok's habit was an Atbalmin foible which was quite as abhorrent to them as it was to me. As a biologist I was intrigued by the possibility that this apparently edible parasite might infect its human consumer. So I beat Willok to several of the worms and, when I returned to Australia, sent them to a parasitologist for study. The parasitologist was intrigued too, for edible parasites are rare indeed in nature. He doubted, however, that harm would come to Willok from his dietary predilection, for the guts of ringtail possums are highly specialised. Anything which could live in them would find the human intestine a hostile environment.
Some years later I received a copy of a scientific paper in the mail, in which the parasitologist had described the worms I had collected. As it was a species previously unknown to science, he coined a new name for it—Burtiella flanneryi, apparently in my honour! To this day I feel somewhat ambivalent about being associated with this culinary wonder.
One night, as I was lying sick and alone under my shelter and feeling rather sorry for myself, a dog walked casually into camp. Presently, it was followed by another, then another. Some minutes later a man arrived.
It was Amunsep. He had arrived back at Telefolip and, hearing of me, had come to help me find tree-kangaroos.
Amunsep appeared to be in his fifties. He had a broad face with a typically large Melanesian nose and frizzy hair which was greying at the temples. Over one eye was a boil the size of a hen's egg. He wore ex-army shorts and a military beret, but had doubtless spent his early years dressed in kamen and autil, the traditional Telefol penis gourd and cane waistband. Over his shoulder he wore an exquisite bilum made with the care and eye to utility that only Telefol women possess. It was decorated like no other I had ever seen, for the tail tips of at least twenty D'bol tree-kangaroos adorned its outer surface. Around Amunsep's neck hung a miniature bilum which was even more beautiful than the first. It looked impossibly small to be of any use.
Amunsep was doubtless surprised to find anyone at the camp. Perhaps he thought me too lazy or incompetent to follow Tinamnok as he hunted. Whatever the case, it was difficult to disabuse him of his opinions, for Amunsep was a traditional man who spoke neither English nor Pidgin. After less than a week at Telefomin I had picked up precious little Telefol. Still, I greeted him with the customary phrase, ‘Ngum saro,‘ which he returned before sitting by the fire. After an awkward silence I fished a cooked sweet potato out of the ashes (these formed our principal food at the camp) and passed it to him. As he ate, I began to read aloud the list of Telefol animal names which I had laboriously collected from Tinamnok.
With each name correctly pronounced, Amunsep would mime the animal's behaviour, imitate its call and indicate, by pointing either up, down or around, its elevational distribution. First there was Bogol, as the Telefol know the New Guinea Harpy Eagle (Harpyopsis novaeguineae). So powerful is this bird that it is reputed to carry off young tree-kangaroos, and even human infants neglected momentarily by their mothers. The call of the male sounds like the release of a tense bowstring. This is followed by the low clucking call of the female. Amunsep imitated the calls perfectly. His mime of Bogol’s terrifying descending talons and the fierceness of its eye had my heart in my throat.
Finally, I came to the tree-kangaroo, D'bol. Instantly, the animal came to life before me. Its immensely powerful forearms, its fearfully sharp claws, its imperious stare as it looks down at its assailants from high in the canopy—all were conjured true to life. The snuffling sounds and grinding of its teeth to signify annoyance were there, as were its peculiar posture and hop.
When I finally looked up from my list of animal names it was nearly 2 a.m. A starry night promised good hunting on the morrow.
The first grey strands of dawn brought acrid smoke to my face. Amunsep was already up, kindling the fire to warm himself. As I watched from my wet sleeping bag, feeling sicker than ever, Amunsep took the tiny bilum from around his neck. From it he extracted what appeared to be some native tobacco. He rolled the leaves into a mini cigar, lit it and inhaled deeply. Grabbing the nearest dog by the foreleg, he roused it from slumber by blowing the smoke straight into its nostrils. The whimpering animal was released and the process repeated on the others.
Amunsep next took the pale bark of a plant known to Telefol as tabap kal. He chewed this scented bark until it was pulp. Again he took up the dogs and blew the white fragments straight into each one's face. Finally, he took from the bilum a pebble of beautiful, deep red agate, rolled smooth and pellet-like by a stream. With this stone he rubbed each dog gently on the forehead, all the while chanting under his breath. Then Amunsep was gone, and I was left alone for another two days in that beautiful forest.
One afternoon Amunsep and Tinamnok returned together to camp. They had the usual cuscusses and ringtail possums, but D'bol had eluded them.
By now I felt well enough to walk. The expedition was over without a glimpse of a tree-kangaroo, and together we descended from the world of D'bol into the world of people.
The raging Sol River of my nightmares had been tamed by rainless skies. I walked over it by stepping from stone to stone, even finding time to enjoy the sun on its bank, where I sat listening to the ti
nkling of its flow.
SIXTEEN
The cuscus has four fingers
The nights and days on the Sol with Tinamnok, Willok and their family were enchanted times. Between 1984 and 1990 I returned again and again to the valley to trek up to the forests growing at its head. Each time I shared their garden lodge, but over the years it was enlarged to shelter our party. Sometimes there were as many as four or five other Europeans with me, so these extensions were necessary.
I think that Tinamnok's family looked forward to our visits. They took great interest in the strange things we brought. On one visit I carried a gunny sack full of live mud crabs, which were then to be had very cheap at Koki Market in Port Moresby. The Telefol are entirely land-locked and had never seen such things. Their eyes widened in amazement as they examined them. I asked for a large pot which I filled with water. I placed some mud crabs inside and began to heat it. The kitchen was absolutely crowded with people who had come to see the marvel, but as the pot began to heat one of the crabs loosed the bonds which held its pincers down, and pushed off the lid of the pot. The sight of the great nipper waving above the steam sent the assembled multitudes screaming into the night. Most had returned by the time the crabs were cooked but few could be induced to taste them. Despite this reluctance, virtually every inhabitant of Telefolip went around for weeks afterwards adorned with bits of crab carapace or claw.
With each visit I got to know the area better. Once, the most extraordinary growth of luminescent fungus was evident throughout the region. Hundreds of small, slender toadstools, light brown by day, were transformed each night into bright green parasols. Other luminous fungi infected dead wood. A forest giant, which had fallen years before, seemed to have every fibre of its rotting frame impregnated with the hyphae of one variety which shone less powerfully than the green toadstools. You had to turn your torch off for a time before it took on its full glory. When your eyes adjusted to the darkness, a most amazing sight appeared, for there, running off through the forest, were segments of trunk and branches up to a metre thick, which had been shattered and separated during their fall. They shone with a silver light and one could play mental jigsaw with the glowing pieces. The astonishing thing about the scene was that no other plant matter was infected with the luminous growth. Yet, by day, you could not discern the huge broken tree, so smothered was it by other debris.