Angels and Saints

4.10.2005 - 11:25am (PNG)

During the final two days of the PNG volunteer orientation, representatives from our respective placements came to Madang for a partner workshop. The two men that came for me are the principal of Rosary Secondary School and the head of the R-Tech (rural technology) department. Their names are Francis and Gabriel – are those Catholic names or what? I feel very safe traveling with the name sakes of arguably the most notorious saint (besides St. Peter) and the boss angel. (boss angel being the official catholic title of ole Gabs). (I love parenthesis). I get the feeling that Papua New Guineans are easily seduced by Western business terms. First off, Francis and Gabriel are good people and have been very gracious towards me and are clearly passionate about the success of their school and students. However, when thinking about ways they could improve the school, they got ‘strategic plan’ stuck in their heads and have held on to those two words for dear life. Strategic plan. It sounds good, even sexy, but it means absolutely nothing. What are we planning? Who knows! Now here I am, the ‘American Business Man’, charged with swooping in and taking the school to new heights (using my bag of magic, Western business dust). Ah, but we shall press on into the breech.

Yesterday morning, I was scheduled to fly to Goroka and then begin the winding, 2-hour drive through the mountains to Kondu, Kundiawa and the secluded valley, which holds Rosary Secondary school in its belly. My flight was scheduled to depart at 7am, and the passengers included my men from Rosary and another volunteer, Eugene, that was headed to Mt. Wilhelmvia Goroka. My bags were on the airport shuttle (otherwise known as a beat-up mini van) at 6:15am. At 6:30, I began to assume that my employers had already left for the airport. Eugene, a teacher from Nigeria with impeccable comedic timing, suggested that my men may be trapped under something heavy in their rooms and dashed off to check on them. Try to picture this: I am standing by the van (it is now 6:40am) when I turn and see the valiant men from Rosary trudging towards, scraping sleep from their eyes with one hand and stuffing loose articles of clothing into their bags with the other. Poor Francis is barefoot because of a badly sprained ankle and boasts the worst field dressing I have ever seen. Gabriel is not faring better, and it appears that has been struck on his left hand side by a mild tranquilizer dart (it was later revealed that his leg was asleep). I lost the ability to speak for 11 minutes.

The race to the airport was on. We lost. We got to the terminal (which resembles the side of a barn) at 6:50am but the flight was closed. Attempts to negotiate were thwarted by random hand gestures. Immediately, the New Guineans begin explaining to me how it was a good thing that we missed our flight and alternative routes to our destination will be much better. Nothing gets these people down. Buais are chewed and everything is fine. I realize that I need to take control of this situation so I find the next flight to Goroka (Monday) and track down a ride to take us back to the hotel. I am suddenly tasked with working things out with the airline so I find myself driving the VSO van downtown to the Air Link office. I am on the left hand side of the road with a left-handed stick shift, hurtling through Madang and all of this seems normal. Our boarding passes are adjusted to Monday morning with white-out (literally) and hand-written notes on cocktail napkins (not really) and all is set. Now I am back in the same room I had left for good some 28 hours ago, it’s pouring down rain, and I am wondering what the hell just happened.