The Oasis

4.23.2005

There are few night clubs in PNG. Let me restate that – there are few night ANYTHINGS in PNG. So, when the opportunity arose to hit an evening locale named ‘The Oasis’, I was first in line.

PNG officially has three cities, one of which is Mt. Hagen – notoriously the roughest of the bunch. I was in Hagen last weekend for an education conference. I could feel the difference in intensity whilst walking through the main business district. The testosterone was palpable. Now, my senses were no doubt heightened by underlying paranoia, manifested by the ominous descriptions (even natives of PNG are scared of the place) I had heard of Hagen. Still, I had a feeling like everyone was sizing me up.

So Saturday night we were able to assemble a few brave souls to tackle the violent Hagen night. Upon arriving at the spot, a quick consensus decided (I suspiciously had no vote) that I should go in first, being by far the largest and ugliest. The front door was more like a cage, followed by a filthy corridor and narrow steps up to the club. Ah yes, nothing like entering the seedy corners of the world. The oasis indeed!

On the immediate left was the dance floor – moving down the left-hand side was a series of tables. On the right-hand side was a long bar, shielded by fencing save the small slots where one can exchange Kina for booze. At the back of the bar were a few pool tables, some dart boards and the condemned bathrooms. All in all, the standard bar layout.

We were fortunate to be with Martin, a 23-year old Dutchman that met his wife at the same bar on Christmas Eve, 2004. His wife is PNG, and grew up in Hagen. Because of this, she was well known in this spot and had many friends. A few of these sweet chaps voluntarily served as our guides and body guards, shooing away con men and warning us of trouble – which never came. They were our sentries and performed their task without request or compensation. We were grateful to have them.

A PNG band took the stage for their final set of the night. I thought something was wrong because the band played the same song five times in a row. Only, they weren’t all the same song – they just sounded exactly the same. It sounds like that silly music they play at German bier gardens – with a slight *island twist.* At the conclusion of each song, the dancers would scatter like eraser shavings blown off a piece of paper. It was amazing. When the next song started, the dance floor would immediately fill up again.

About half way through the night a woman asked me if I wanted to dance with her friend. This is standard practice. We danced. You’re not supposed to touch your partner so we performed our steps in isolation, stealing shy glances at each other. It was like grade school dance club. My new friend promptly latched onto me, which will happen. A white man is quite a prize in PNG. I managed to escape by telling her friend I was engaged to be married and I was returning home soon to claim my throne. She understood.

The night appropriately ended with a nervous walk home under the inky night sky, complete with an escort from a local ‘big man’ – who, among other things, is well known for car jackings and aggravated assaults. Not a bad guy if you don’t owe him money.

*I’ve been trying to figure out how to describe PNG music all week. Then, like a gift from above, I turned on the television to discover a program called ‘Super Sound’, which features one hour of PNG-made music videos.*

There are no words to describe what I witnessed. I can’t even rationally talk about it at this point. I need some time.