THE SONG OF THE CHIMBU WOMEN

by Sabrina Pascht (Germany)

Making a local connection Papua New Guinea

It all started with sweating. Sweating, because this was Papua New Guinea (PNG), and I felt anything but prepared. Sweating, because my host, Kelly, who was supposed to pick me up from the airport, didn’t show, and I had neither money nor any option to contact him. Sweating, because I was forced to trust two guys from the Asaro Mudmen tribe, who told me they’d bring me to a safe place to spend the night, before sunset. They’d started talking to me in the small fenced area next to the airport, because after three hours of waiting, I must have looked like I felt - miserable and totally lost. I was sweating while following them through Goroka, a city in the highlands, where the pavement is covered with dust, mysterious red puddles and everyone was staring at me. It’s been almost two weeks in Goroka now. Kelly had contacted me that next morning, after my arrival, and I made it to his big and hilly property in the outskirts of town. I was now able to sleep through the night in his warehouse and I was able to find my way through the jungle to use the bathroom, which was not much more than a hole in the ground. I also got used to washing my clothes in a bucket and myself behind a holey bamboo matt. A lot had changed in those two weeks, mostly my understanding of luxury. You can’t imagine how much I appreciated the running water and electricity on the property, the only one in the neighborhood, with such amenities. Right now, I was sweating again. The skin on my cheeks was itchy as the sweat merged with some clay a woman of one of the tribes had put in my face while I was making my way through the crowded streets to get to the Goroka Show. It is a yearly event, where tribes, called “Sing Sing groups”, from all over PNG gather to show their traditional dressing and dancing performances. Completely fascinated by all the colorfully painted bodies, elaborate hair ornaments made mostly from feathers of the birds of paradise, and exotic dancing, I spent hours absorbing it all. Now, I was desperately searching for a little bit of shade to escape the burning sun. I saved myself alongside a wall of a little bamboo hut, where water and snacks were sold. My knees were curled up close to my body, so no part of me needed to fight the sun anymore. I was just there, huddled and overwhelmed. Not far from me, a group of women was sitting on the grass. Looking at their dresses and accessories, I knew they came from the province Chimbu. We began by curiously staring at each other, followed by smiling, where they exposed their red colored teeth, made so from chewing betelnuts (that is, by the way, where the red puddles on the streets come from). Suddenly, one of the ladies stood up and sat next to me in the shade. She was so close, that our upper arms touched. As this wasn’t due to a lack of space, I tried to understand why someone would sit so close in such a heat, when I noticed she was humming a song close to my ear. The humming transformed to a song with lyrics in one of the 832 spoken languages of PNG. The moment the other women took notice of it, they stood up to occupy every inch of space around me. They repeated the song, over and over again, looking and smiling at me. I felt my mouth opening, trying to form the words and my vocal chords following the melody. By their approving nods, I could tell that I got it, and sang along with them for minutes or hours. One of Kelly’s first messages had been, “expect the unexpected in PNG”, and every single day had proven him right. While writing this story, the melody popped into my mind and whenever this happens, a colorful carpet of memories dances to it.