Work

I realized the other day that I have made little mention of the actual work that I do here in PNG. I guess since I am knee-deep in it every day, I didn't much feel like writing about it. Still, I suppose it is appropriate to mention a little something about my purpose for being here in the first place - a justification of my existence if you will. Besides, I get the feeling that some people think that I am on an extended vacation. Well, jerks, this one's for you.



Quick background: VSO has been supplying Rosary with volunteer teachers for the past decade. VSO teachers are a hot commodity - they bring in new, effective teaching methods and their mere presence increases the status of a school. Rosary simply assumed this arrangement would continue on forever. VSO had other ideas. This is a crude excerpt from a meeting that took place last year with the VSO program managers and the Rosary executive committee:

VSO: Look, we can't just keep giving you new teachers every other year just because you want them. However, if you have a school development plan in place and a VSO resource can help you achieve the goals you have set out, then we would be happy to recruit another VSO volunteer to teach at the school.

Rosary: (blank stares)

VSO: um… ok. Would it help if we provided you with a strategic planner to help you put together a school development plan?

Rosary: YES! That is what we need, a strategic planner!

And just like that, I was born.

So here I am. The brass here at Rosary had absolutely no idea what to do with me. However, they liked the fact that an 'American Business Man' was here and figured my presence guaranteed that Rosary would continue to receive VSO teachers in the future. I was given absolutely no parameters for this project, so I had to create them on my own. I have spent the last three months pinpointing the current situation of Rosary, the ideal situation and formulating practical solutions to bridge those gaps. I have tried to come up with simple solutions that can be implemented immediately and more importantly, continued after I leave. For instance the school did not have a master calendar for each term with key dates (school holidays, staff meetings, assessment dates) so we built one for Term III.

On the other hand, VSO is insistent that I create a 5 to 10-year plan for the school. I think this is wildly unrealistic. I am trying to get the school to look at the next TERM - 10 years is a whole other lifetime. I doubt ANY of the current staff will even be here in 10 years. However, I built one anyway. I created a 5-year plan that lists goals and milestones and indicates VSO's role at every step. I put a lot of effort into it and it looks pretty, but in my opinion it is barely worth the paper it is printed on.

Of course, this whole process has been very unique navigating through the cultural maze of PNG. I scheduled all kinds of fancy meetings and conducted 'vision exercises' with the teachers and department heads. It was very difficult getting people to participate - I think they may have thought I was a spy for the administration, trying to root out the bad seeds. It took a couple weeks to establish some trust. Still, everyone tip toes around each other and is hesitant to speak their mind. Furthermore, people would not show up to meet with me or simply not be in school for a few days.

Meetings are very formal and are all lead off with a prayer. Something like 'thank you God for bringing us together today, please help us and guide us during this meeting so we can make good decisions…' That is no joke. People are referred to as 'Mr. Apa' and 'Mrs. Thomas'. Long speeches are made during these meetings and are often repeated (verbatim) by another person, immediately following the conclusion of the first speech. It was a struggle just to keep these gatherings moving in a forward direction.

I have found that every recommendation I have made receives a resounding 'yes'. At first, this was good positive reinforcement at a time when I was unsure about what I was doing. Now, I find these responses empty. It has been engrained in the PNG's psyche that the western world is vastly advanced and educated. They take everything I say as gospel or are intimidated to challenge my opinions. It is very hard to get useful feedback. You really have to watch what you say.

I often find myself conflicted in my work. I have found some administrators and teachers to be spectacularly ineffective and a real drain on the school. It would be highly inappropriate if I were to report this - that is not why I am here. I am not sure who I would report it to anyway. So what am I supposed to do with this information? I guess I just eat it.

On the whole, my work is pretty stress-free and since I have been given carte blanche, I can be as creative as I want. I have a computer set up in the copy room of the administrative office - it is a hive of activity with the secretaries zipping around making copies all day long. I like the action. With 500 students and over 40 faculty members (not including the maintenance crew, security force, cowboys, etc) there is always some form of drama blooming every morning for all to witness. I am never bored at work.

Term II is coming to a close and I am at the halfway point of this project.

We have put together some programs that will be tried out in Term III. I have submitted the 'PLAN' to VSO and they are going to see if it aligns with their vision for the province as a whole. I am proud of the job I have done and I think some of the results of all those meetings and reports and workshops could actually help the school. So there you go.

The Highlands Highway

The mountain range that encloses the Simbu valley is relatively young. Therefore, the slopes consist almost entirely of mud and loose gravel. This leads to a lot of mudslides and ground shifts - especially when there is heavy rain. Well, we have had plenty of rain the last couple weeks. At night, it comes down in torrents. As a result, the ground is moving and the loser in all this erosion is the pitiful Highlands Highway - our lone connection to the outside world. The Highway snakes through the valley and is in desperate need of complete reconstruction. There is little depth to the road - a layer of mud, a layer of medium-sized gravel, sand and cement. There are entire stretches where the cement is completely gone.

There is one section that the road is especially bad - adjacent to a village called 'Minima'. It looks like the Germans (why the Germans? Why not?) carpet-bombed the road. Pretty much every other day, a semi truck gets stuck. When this happens, traffic comes to a complete standstill and a social gathering ensues. I think some people like the inconvenience - it gives them a chance to catch up with old friends, buy some buai, etc. When the trucks get loose, the mob goes flying in all directions back to their respective rides. It's a riot.

In PNG, everyone wants a handout. I can talk about this for hours. It's the reason the nation is broke. Anyway, the villagers of Minima expect - nay, demand compensation for all the doings that is happening around their village. Since the road crews have to maneuver their machines into the villagers' property, they demand payment. This usually involves putting up a makeshift roadblock and requiring a toll to pass the small stretch of road. Sometimes, villagers will do something as trivial as fill up a pot hole (poorly, I might add - usually with mud that washes away after one rainfall) and block the road to ask for a toll payment. It's ridiculous and no one does anything about it.

Now, on a major situation like the one at Minima, the police will actually show up to keep the peace. These corrupt bastards lounge around, smoking cigarettes with assault rifles slung lazily over their shoulders. They are basically there in case a riot breaks out and will allow the villagers to go on with their tollbooth. The other day, a truck full of second-hand clothes was stuck at Minima. I was talking with someone who told me that the villagers were hoping that the truck would stay stuck so they could loot the cargo. I had some questions. What about the police? Well, they go home at 5pm. What about the driver? He'll get the hell out there - he's not going to be torn to threads over a pile of used clothes.

There is also a wonderful ritual called 'the car swap'. My friend John was driving his Nissan truck to town the other day when he came upon a particularly severe situation at Minima. A semi was stuck and had blown its engine. Nothing would be moving for some time. He ran into an Australian bloke that was going the other way, stuck on the other side of the messy area. They had a chat and decided to switch vehicles and made loose arrangements to swap back in the next few days.* Apparently this is standard practice. Good times.

*The funny thing about this is that the principal advisor for the Simbu Province, a short, stocky little man that looks a bit like a turtle, was in the same situation. He saw John on the other side of the road and wanted a car swap of his own. John took one look at the advisor's vehicle (a run down heap with the driver's side door attached by bungee cords) and decided it was not a fair trade. When the man discovered that John made another deal, he had an absolute temper tantrum in the middle of the road, screaming at the top of his lungs 'I asked you first! This is not fair!' and on and on, creating quite a little scene during the afternoon road picnic.

Mt. Wilhelm

Mt. Wilhelm

At 14,793 feet, Mt. Wilhelm is the highest peak in the South Pacific. This is a major source of national pride to the people of Papua New Guinea. I have heard so much about it that I felt obligated to scale the beast. This past weekend I did just that and decided to keep a running account of what occurred.


Friday – 6.10.2005

10am – Departure from Kondiu with John and Jane, the English couple who are volunteer teachers at Rosary. The plan is to drive into Kundiawa and catch a PMV (which is supposedly pre-arranged) at 11am in order to be in Mt. Wilhelm by 4pm. I have come to realize that ‘plans’ in PNG are more like ‘lofty dreams’.

10:30am – Traffic has stopped due to a semi truck stuck on a steep incline. We mill around on the road with the crowd that has gathered to watch – it’s quite a social event. People sell beverages and chew Buai. It’s like an impromptu festival. Suddenly, the vehicle manages to lurch forward and escape its muddy prison. The crowd scrambles wildly to their abandoned vehicles to regain their position. I really can’t explain how fun this is.

11am – Kundiawa. My faith in our organizer is plummeting. There is no ride ready for us. He skulks around in circles, trying to ‘find’ him. In reality, he is simply asking other drivers to see if they are going to Mt. Wilhelm. The organizer is a teacher at Rosary who is from Mt. Wilhelm. I thought he was simply exercising a kind gesture by assisting us in organizing this trip. I have come to learn that he is basically an amateur travel agent who wants a piece of our foolish money. My anger and cynicism are rising.

1pm – Our ride is found – a Land Cruiser truck. 13 people pile into this vehicle, including ten in the back sandwiched between bags of rice, spare tires and random canned goods. I find a perch on top of the wheel arch in the truck bed. Comfort is a distant memory.

1:10pm – The man sitting behind me has his foot jammed in my butt. I squirm yet he doesn’t seem to notice. I shoot a look back and he asks ‘is this your first time in a ride like this’. I said ‘no, but it is my first time I have ever had a man’s foot stuck in my butt’.* Unlike people in the USA, PNG people have no issues in regards to personal space. This comes from years and years of being jammed into packed PMVs and truck beds with complete strangers. Unidentified elbows or hands or feet do not faze them.

*In reality, this is the response I came up with 15 minutes AFTER the question was proposed. My actual response was a throatal grunt that sounded something like ‘mumphzz’

1:20pm – The road conditions are abominable while the view is serene. We are driving through the mountains now, clinging to a dirt road that wraps around the cliff sides like a string.

1:45pm – We stop suddenly on the road. The explanation is that we are waiting for another truck (The ‘blue truck’) so we can ride together. I am confused. I am told that this is for security purposes, in case one of the vehicles breaks down. I take a walk down the road, pondering this intently.

2:15pm – A woman walks by dragging an old, pregnant goat. The rope she is pulling the poor beast with is tied to her front leg. She has become the center of attention, as people advise her to attach the rope to the goat’s neck. She does. This fails to work as well and she is forced to carry the stubborn animal on her shoulders while the crowd cheers in approval. I join in the cheering and I have no idea why.

2:30pm – The blue truck rolls by, filled with passengers. I do not know what one truck is supposed to do for the other if a breakdown occurs since we are both at capacity but we continue on in tandem.

2:40pm – I realize we now have 14 passengers in the back for a total of 17. I have absolutely no idea where the others came from. They must have sprouted from the bags of rice.

2:50pm – The blue truck breaks down. We drive right on past, ignoring them like we owe them money. This is the point where I stop trying to comprehend anything.

3:00pm – I move to a standing position, resting my arms on top of the cab and suddenly the world opens up. Everything is fine and my frustrations melt away. I am reminded of an omni max film, as we thrust through the mountains snaking over a river in the valley below. Except now I am part of the landscape with the sun and wind on my face. I wave to everyone I see and all is fine.

This has been my PNG. Everything is falling apart and you are on the brink of frustration and then somehow, someway, it all works out.

3:30 - I have to duck along the way to avoid the low branches. PNG is life in the raw. The US is sterilized – everything has a warning sign or is behind 6 inches of plexiglass. Here, all you have are your eyes, ears and wits. If you don’t watch out, you may just be clotheslined by a banana tree and sent tumbling off the back of a truck.

5:00pm – We are dropped off at Mt. Wilhelm high school and begin the walk towards Betty’s lodge – our Friday night resting place before the journey towards the summit. We are told that the walk to Betty’s is ‘not far’, which seems to be the distance to everywhere you want to go to in PNG.

5:40pm – Betty’s Lodge.

6:30pm – A group of 15 Europeans and Australians arrive from Port Moseby. One of them is a beautiful woman. – I haven’t seen a woman like this is months. She shines with confidence as she strides to the lodge. I fall flat on my face in love with her. My lonely eyes follow her wherever she goes. John and Jane pick up on this immediately and the teasing begins. She’s tall. I am terrified of tall women. I can’t even talk to her. She’s too much.

8pm – Dinner at Betty’s of fresh trout (she owns a fishery), mashed potatoes and vegetables. The pile of potatoes look glorious. All I want to do is destroy my plate of food but the woman (Elisa) sits next to me. She turns out to be English, charming and adorable. She talks while I try to eat with my mouth shut. I think I said some things but I have no idea what. She has reduced me to a lumbering mammal.

10pm – The men are sent to a dorm room with 5 bunk beds. It is freezing up here in the mountains. As soon as the light goes out, the snoring begins. I hate sleeping men. I try to go to sleep while thinking of the 1987 Cotton Bowl when the OSU Buckeyes all wore red sneakers and crushed Texas A&M.

Saturday – 6.11.2005

8:30am – Little sleep. Chilly morning. Breakfast of eggs and baked beans, which has become a favorite. I start to think about the climb.

9:00am – A large reception of Highlanders greet us outside of Betty’s – prospective guides and porters. There are at least 75 people that all gaze at us like orphans, hoping to be picked. Most of them will be turned away.

9:30am – We set off. The plan is to walk to the lakes by midday. Rest, eat and go to bed early. We will then continue at 1am in the hope to reach the summit by sunrise. John, Jane and I are lead by two guides* and a porter who carries Jane’s bag. Rocky terrain, under the canopy rain forest. Surrounded by mossy trees. The ground is wet and steam rises from the surface.

*I like the word ‘sherpa’ better than guide. I am going to use that from here on out.



11am – We emerge from the rain forest into a valley filled with fern trees. There is an endless variety of terrain.

Noon - Ever since I have been in PNG, I cannot stop thinking about what I am thinking about.

1:30pm – The lakes – this is the halfway point of the hike. Mountains jut upwards from the perimeter of the lake. Waterfalls dump into the mouth of the water. The mist is strong and sometimes consumes the water so you can’t see where it ends. The mossy ground is comfortable to lie on. I feel like I could climb the rest of the way right now. The tour group heats up coffee and makes it clear that they are a separate entity than the three in my group.

2:30pm – Lunch of bread, cheese and corned beef – and not Izzy’s, sliced corn beef. This is the kind of corn beef that comes in a square tin, like SPAM. I have basically lived on this and tuna for 2 ½ months.

3:30pm – I take a short walk around the lake and find some exposed rock in the middle of the waterfall where I can sit down. I try to sing some songs to myself but I have trouble remembering any lyrics.

4:30pm – Dinner time. We must be in Orlando, Fla. Rice, baked beans and tuna. I force the food down.

6:00pm – A group of VSO volunteers from Madang were supposed to meet us up at the lakes early evening. I set off to find some high ground to see if I can spy them coming up the trail. Elisa comes with me. We walk and I forget what I set off to do in the first place.

7:00pm – Lights out. I am in a back room of a hut with John and Jane. The wood floor is my mattress and I am freezing even with all my clothes on and a blanket. John starts fussing around with Jane and she calls him a ‘lecherous old man’ for the 10th time since we set out this morning. I start laughing so hard that tears roll down my face.

Sunday – 6.11.2005

1:00am – Mercifully, the time to start the hike arrives. I was not able to get a hint of sleep and am overjoyed to peel myself off the wood floor. It is very cold. I put on every piece of clothing on that I have. Jane has decided to relax at the hut while the men set off into the night. She’s the smart one.

1:30am – A group of five, including me, John and 3 men from Australia take the lead. I never really considered the reality of hiking at night. It is pitch black and my lone visibility is the hazy, 5 foot wide circle created by my flash light. And we are not walking through a graveyard. We will be scaling a mountain over unstable footing and steep inclines. I start to question the wisdom in this trek.

2:30am – The altitude has become a factor. If I exert a short burst of maximum effort, the wind is sucked right out of me. Dizziness begins to take over and I have to stop myself to regain my breath. It has become a test of will. Strangely, fear has not been an issue, despite the fact that I am one misstep from tumbling down into despair. This is no doubt aided by the fact that I cannot SEE the drop down the cliff side.

3:00am – Unwillingly, I produce the comedy quote of the weekend. Innocently, I muse aloud ‘you know, this mountain has a distinct odor… I can’t place it’. No one said a word. Later, John confided in me that the smell I detected was my sherpa.

3:30am – My sherpa is fantastic. He knows every loose stone, every solid foothold, and every nuance of the path – in total darkness. I can’t find a light switch in the dark yet he is able to negotiate this winding, rocky terrain. He is patient with his sluggish cargo and makes sure I am all right. His name is Marcus and he is half my size with twice the endurance.

5:00am – Still climbing. The end is nowhere in sight.

6:10am – The summit. The mountain has been conquered. I want to let out a ‘yahoo’ but I have no air in my lungs to do it. Everyone shakes hands and nods respectfully. Now, the whole point of traveling like mad men in the night is because the view from the top is the clearest at daybreak and you can see clear to the coast. Not as such on this morning. The precipice is engulfed in clouds – I can see absolutely nothing. An Australian whips out a flask filled with single malt scotch and passes it in my direction. The liquid warms my gullet and I feel a lot better.

6:30am – After sitting in the clouds for 20 minutes we decide to head back down. Despite the unfortunate view, we are all in good spirits.

7:30am – Going down is a lot more fun. Furthermore, I can actually see what we’ve been walking through – and the view is stunning. I take pictures but they never capture the panoramic view of my eyes so I give up. I’m a lousy photographer.

9:30am – I reach the lakes. I am the first one back down and I am wild with adrenaline so I pack all my stuff and scour the hut for something to eat.

10:10am – It is Sunday and the last PMVs leave Mt. Wilhelm high school at noon. I do not want to spend another night in Betty’s Lodge so I decide to hustle down to the pickup spot. The returning hikers are exhausted and cannot believe that I have energy and am actually trying to make the last PMV. They all decide I am a crazy person as I take off down the path.



11am – Singularly driven by the desire to reach my own bed, I go flying down the trail towards Betty’s. I am traveling at the highest speed the uneven ground allows.

11:45am – I am lost. I missed the turn down to Betty’s and now I am in the middle of the rain forest. I try to calm myself. I am still on a main path so I can’t be too far off. I want to keep going down because it feels so good to descend but I realize the truth. I curse my foolishness. Grudgingly, I turn 180 degrees and start heading back UP the path. Now the fatigue hits me – it feels like I am walking in wet cement.

12:15pm – I find two sherpas taking a tourist back down to Betty’s. They see I am in a hurry and one agrees to run me down ahead. I am grateful.

12:30pm – Back at Betty’s. The sherpa wants 10 Kina for his efforts – even though he was going that way already. I am too tired to protest. I find Betty in a huff and she tells me that my bill is 150 Kina, even though I KNOW John and Jane agreed on a rate of 120/per night. I suddenly wonder if I have the word ‘SUCKER’ written on my forehead. I inquire about the 120 and Betty tells me ‘that was her old rate’. I don’t budge and she agrees on the 120. I stomp off towards the PMV pickup in a sour mood.

12:45pm – By the grace of God, a mini-bus is traveling up the road towards Betty’s. They let me in. My body is dead and I look haggard. I get puzzled looks. They are traveling to Goroka, through Kundiawa. I have a ride.

1:30pm – The group in the van turn out to be a fledgling tourist company. They were here to check out Betty’s operation. They tell me about their business and are having trouble marketing their product. I offer advice. An unspoken arrangement is decided – I provide consulting services and in exchange, they feed me bananas and drive me to Kundiawa. It was not a fair trade.

5:30pm – Kundiawa. I offer to pay the fare but they refuse to take my money. Sweetest people on earth. I promise to send them an email so they can ask me questions in the future. They wish me luck.

5:35pm – My luck continues as I immediately land a spot on a transport going up the road towards Kondiu. It is packed. I am ushered to a seat. An old woman is sitting on the ground with bags and I offer her my seat. She is awestruck by my offer and doesn’t move. I practically have to beg her to take my seat. This move is received with some strange looks and some nods of approval. The elderly get little to no respect in PNG. They are generally perceived as a nuisance.

6:15pm – I arrive in Mingende, which is the stop off the main highway that leads to Kondiu, and start the 45-minute walk towards home. Menacing rain clouds are gathering overhead. There is a Catholic mission at Mingende so I scurry over to the main building for cover. The priests, brothers and sisters are sitting down to Sunday night dinner. I am spied huddling outside and am immediately ushered in. I am greeted by familiar faces. Suddenly, these little nuns are buzzing around me, removing my bags and guiding me to a table. I am a zombie. I have not slept since Thursday evening and the only thing I have eaten in the last 16 hours is a cracker, a protein bar and four bananas. I devour three plates of food while the nuns chatter around me. I feel like the prodigal son, returning from his misadventures.

6:45pm – Father Charles, my neighbor, drives me home to Kondiu in the pouring rain. I am overjoyed to see my house. This is the first time that my PNG residence has felt like home. I shower and sleep for 14 hours. Best night of sleep in my life.

The PNG Mafia

The PNG Mafia
The dark side of the PNG tribal system operates a lot like the Italian-American Mafia. To be more accurate, I should say the tribal system mirrors the Hollywood version of the Italian mafia. I have no idea how the mafia works except from what the picture box shows me. Still, I feel like they have an understanding of the inner workings of the mob. But I digress. What I am trying to get at is that every time I hear juicy stories about village life, it sounds like an episode of the 'Sopranos'.

The Don - Big Man
The leaders of every tribe are known as 'Big Men' or 'Bikpela Man'. A Big Man can expand his umbrella of rule in several ways. The cleanest way to go about this is by granting favors (protection, food, cash money) to weaker tribes. By continuing this practice, a virtual debt is created that cannot possibly be repaid. Over time, the stronger tribe assumes control. Another way is to simply knock off the 'Big Man' and his captains of another tribe and take reign by force.

Even the Score
Last month there was a tribal fight in the mountains near Kondiu. In fact, I could see the smoke from the burning houses billowing up from the landscape. The catalyst for the fight is confusing and irrelevant. Fights will rage on until both sides feel that the losses on both sides match. In this case, tribe A killed a man from tribe B who was a notorious killer and thief. Tribe B responded by killing a respected, god-fearing man from tribe A. Tribe A cried foul, feeling that the loss was lopsided in B's favor since their man was held in higher regard. They wanted the blood of another man to balance the scales.

Cleaning House
A tribe can only tolerate a prodigal wontok so long. If a wontok (loosely translated as a 'member of the same tribe/clan') is a bad seed, he can become a considerable financial burden. A tribe may have to continuously pay compensation to cover this wontok's drunken episodes. It may come to a point where the tribe simply cannot afford the wontok anymore and decides to have him erased. In most cases, the police do the cleaning. The authorities will receive a tip from the family, informing them when a where their wontok will be. They will get the black sheep drunk, take him to the spot, and the problem is solved. Permanently.

Go to the Mattresses
When it is time to go to war, the fighting is not conducted in a traditional battlefield arena. The tribes do not line up in formation and charge. The fighting is conducted in a more guerilla warfare style. Small pods of men will conduct night raids on specific targets. Often, members of a tribe may be lured to a spot to conduct 'negotiations' and are then slaughtered.

What's yours is mine
Whatever is earned by an individual of a tribe expected to be shared. I don't know what the percentage is, but a considerable chunk is earmarked for the tribe. In many ways the wontok system is very positive, for it is a localized form of social security. The first Friday of every month is payday for all government employees, which includes teachers. This usually means a trip to the bank. On these first Fridays, an absolute mob materializes outside the bank. The ranks of people consist of family members and wontoks waiting for their chunk of the booty.

Police and Politicians
There is rampant corruption throughout the police force and the government. A policeman will never, under any circumstance, arrest a member of his tribe. This is a fundamentally understood fact. A fellow wontok with a badge is a serious asset - he is basically on the tribe's payroll. The government is worse. Essentially every seat in the house of parliament has been bought. The votes of an entire tribe are signed over. Elections are rigged. The same person hand in multiple ballots. People that are deceased will magically cast votes. I am quite relieved that my stay in PNG does not coincide with an election year for when the results go wrong for certain tribes, the countryside can turn into an absolute war zone.