where did that journey lead you?

Recently, I reflected on my PNG experience which lasted 9 years. They were not consecutive years. The first experience lasted 6 and a half years and the second, 2 and a half. The second experience was very different from the first. The first was almost ideal. That was why I wanted to return. However, the second experience was radically different.

PNG had begun self rule after years of Australian nurturing. I say, nurturing, because most of the time under Austalian leadership the country was stable. When I returned in the late 80's PNG had been on their own for about 10 years. Crime was prevalent and everyone I knew had a story. It made me sad because the PNG I knew and loved in the 70's was gone. I grieved much of the time. Two of my three children were born in PNG. When I returned they were middle and high school ages. My son was only 4 years old. When going into town on shopping trips (which amounted to trade store shopping for the essentials) I had to keep a close eye on the girls because they were often bothered by PNG men. Having girls that age drew unwanted attention. My son, however, blossomed in his new country. He ran barefoot everywhere and had countless friends of many nationalities. Despite the negative aspects, all three children still feel their international education was enjoyable and challenging.

We eventually had to leave because we were living under constant stress. The stress came from not knowing, if the next time you went out of your house, would be the time you were attacked or robbed. I felt immense empathy for the PNG people who were terrorized by those who were discontented. The lure of the city brought countless people who had no education or jobs. The system in place did not allow for equal opportunities. School was a privilege from which only the brightest could benefit. If students didn't pass the 6th grade test they were out and back in their villages. Most did not want to remain in the village. I hear it hasn't gotten any better.

Before I end this post I want to remember the beauty of PNG and its people. Some of my best memories are of "singsings". Everyone dresses up and dances for hours. It is like a festival. Drums play and people sing. The bright costumes of the people have been photographed by National Geographic Magazine. Another good memory is eating kaukau and greens with the rare delicacy of chicken or pig. I remember one time I bit down on a chicken claw and ever so discreetly removed it from my mouth. One would not want to offend when such generosity was being shown.

The children I worked with were my delight. They were so eager to learn and I learned so much from them. The women also have a special place in my heart. Such hard workers they are and bear the brunt of the physical labor. They are the gardeners who cultivate the land. That gives them status within the village. The women often walked past my house carrying huge bundles on their heads. The babies are carried in bilums handmade from special plants that grow in the bush.

I also remember the relationships that I enjoyed with fellow teachers in PNG. Conversation and gossip were the major pastimes. Potlucks, with the best food anybody ever ate, were often held at one another's houses. The older people, who had spent years in PNG, would share their stories of what it was like long ago. We would marvel at their adaptablity.

I remember the airplane ride as I was leaving PNG for the last time. I watched as the green mountains and winding rivers finally gave way to the ocean. I was saying good bye to so much. I would never be able to talk about the experience with people who truly understood. There was nothing at home that compared with PNG. I couldn't say it was like this or looked like this or tasted like this. All of that was gone forever. I will never return because of malaria. But for years afterward, every time I heard a single engine plane fly overhead, I was flying over the green mountains I had grown to love. Sometimes, it seems, it all happened in another lifetime, to someone else. It took someone to ask, "Where did that journey lead you?" and I am there.