Rounding the turn

The Highlands are a memory. I was annoyed when people told me that the time would fly by. First of all, it just seemed like a cliché thing to say. I hate generic statements. Like when someone says ‘well, what are you going to do?’ What does that mean? There were sections of my stay when time would lurch to a virtual stand still. But now, at the end, the six months appear to be a blur.

This has nothing to do with the experience itself. The human brain just does not have the capacity to archive six months of time. Moments are defragmented and compartmentalized. For instance, I have spent over 200 hours* staring at nothing in particular in a thoughtless stupor over the past 180 days. My mind has smashed all that empty time into one solitary moment. It does the same for all repeated acts and actions (and there were many). So did time go fast? No, absolutely not. My brain is just not that big.

*This could be considered an estimate. And likely an under-estimate, at that.

My last week was strange. I felt like everything was falling apart. I was happy to go and I think I felt guilty because of that happiness. I had, to that point, been very proud of my work but now I felt like I had not done enough. In the months of June and July I had become a fixture in the Highlands – a true Simbu man. Now I was just another tourist, going back to my REAL life. The goodbyes felt more awkward then emotional. Some people cried on me and I could not help but think ‘how long do I have to hug you before I can walk away?’ I had a vision for my exit and the reality did not come close. I’m lousy at goodbyes.

On my way back down from the Highlands, I went to the annual Goroka show. This coincided with the Independence Day celebration. PNG is 30 years old. PNG did not force independence with a revolution. In fact, most of the country did not want to be independent and favored Aussie rule. Australia took care of PNG, and the nationals feared the loss of the warm blanket of security and order provided by the big island to the south. Regardless, enough minds were changed and in the early 70s, the vote was passed and the Australians calmly lowered their flag.*

Back to the Goroka Show. The show/festival/cultural expose is a PNG institution. Sing sing groups from around the country travel to Goroka (covering great distances over wild terrain) to perform their traditional dances to the masses. The head dresses and face paintings were beautiful. The groups were surrounded by obnoxious ‘white skins’ with complicated cameras. They squatted and contorted themselves in all sorts of positions to get that ‘one great shot’. I was embarrassed to be lumped in their group. They’ll leave with great pictures but they didn’t use they OWN EYES, when these fabulous groups were right in front of them. I think I have become a cantankerous, anti-tourist. This involves a lot of eye-rolling and sarcastic comments made under your breath.

*I think the PNG flag is magnificent.