As doing a large tour of the Sepik had become out of the question, I sought a less expensive way to see the village life. Indeed, there was a typical tourist route which was followed, as much as anything is typical in Papua New Guinea; still, though, the cost was somewhat high. The price for the boat was acceptable, as well as the price for the guide. But the fuel for the day was more than the cost of the boat and guide combined.

I met my guide for the day, a stocky middle-aged man who spoke a few languages. He said his last tourist had been a French lady, who was seeking masks. We headed down to the small market, where typical Papuan products were being sold: betel nut supplies(including small bags of lime, mustard plants, and the actual nut, as well as containers to hold your lime powder), fresh tobacco, both cooked fish, raw fish, and live fish - but the live fish weren't in water; they were simply gasping for air on plastic tarps.

After listening to my friendly guide describe all of the products on sale, we hooked up with two young girls who were carrying plastic lawn chairs to the docks for us to sit in, in the boat. Walking along narrow handmade planks to the boat, we hopped in, sitting low amongst the swampy grassland that lined either side of the river.

The boat's engine roared, as we sped away from shore and into the wetlands. Flocks of exotic birds swarmed between the trees. We stopped dead in our tracks at one point, to observe a crocodile sleeping on shore. Indeed, these are not swimming waters; saltwater crocodiles ply these rivers, and while some young men are brave enough to hunt for them on occasion, they are best left alone.

Perhaps an hour later we arrived at our first village: dozens of huts erected on stilts, the boat slowed to a crawl as we crept through the area. Children emerged from all the houses, some leaping into boats, all smiling, most without clothing, and began paddling alongside the boat. They seemed ecstatic to see a tourist.











This was the guide's village; we would pass through another similar village that was the chef's village, the one who would cook for me at the hotel. That these people relied on tourists in some way for their livelihoods, yet so few of them came through; in fact, money is nothing in this part of the world. Certainly it helps these folks to see tourists, and to benefit from their coin, but whether or not these people have currency and trade from foreigners coming through their villages does not dictate their survival. By existing through traditional means, and subsistence upon their land, their alleged 'poverty' is anything but. Their lifestyle has absconded the requirement for modern economics; their ancient methods of surival render them exempt from the pressures of western living.

We weaved through some smaller waterways, with tall grass stalks and trees filled with more birds, until we exited the boat and agreed to meet them on the other side. I was led by the guide into another village, and immediately leaped upon by hundreds of mosquitoes; around this time of year, mosquitoes are less of a problem, I had thought - so it made me wonder what it was like in the 'wet' season when mosquitoes were out in full force. Needless to say, malaria is a major killer in Papua New Guinea; a staggering 10% of the country's population is or has been infected with the disease.








We headed to the riverside, where a dozen children and women were hard at work making sago, the staple food of the Sepik villages. Amazingly difficult to make, and apparently very bland to eat, it seems a strange miracle that these people would figure out how to make food from the vegetation in such a manner. Sago is taken from a local tree, the inside of it; the centre is beaten to a fine grain by boys with sticks, who toil away for most of the day to make the wood mulched enough. Then, the mulch is poured into a basin, where water is poured into it, and pushed against a thin cloth so the sago can filter down with the water into another basin and sit at the bottom. The water evaporates, and what is left is a gooey white substance that is then eaten. Elaborate indeed; wouldn't it be easier to grow bananas?








I met the chief, as well as plenty of children. They still build their houses on stilts, perhaps to deal with varying tide levels that probably flood the ground in the wet season. With that, we continued onward, through a few more villages and more tall grass. The wetlands were spectacular, the people wonderful. Who says I need to go far to experience village life here. Surely, these people are familiar with tourists, and some of them make a little extra money selling masks to the occasional European who comes through looking for such things, but the tourists have not altered their way of life at all.

Who has altered their way of life are the missionaries - Papua New Guinea is overrun with them; indeed, the missionaries even operate their own airline to the smaller villages. It was interesting to hear my guide discuss the religion on the Sepik; "people in this part of the Sepik are Catholic, but further upriver they are Adventist," he said. So much for simply 'converting' these people to Christianity - they draw their lines between the practices, between the lutherans, catholics, adventists, menonnites, and whomever else comes here seeking for "lost" souls.

Voting is also another interesting process here on the Sepik - all of the people of age are allowed to vote here; I asked my guide if they go to Angoram, all of them, to vote. No, he said, the election people come here and ask them who they wish to vote for. The government coming to the people, in some respect.











Upon returning to Angoram, watching a boy catch shrimp, drinking coconut milk with my guide, I retired to my quarters and listened to the massive cockroaches in the bathroom bounce around. At night it would sound as though someone was throwing rocks at my door, as the large insects bounced blindly around on the porch.

Very early the next day, I caught a bus back to Wewak. Watching the sun rise over the grasslands as the covered flatbed truck headed north, crammed in between large sacks of something or other and plenty of people. Before I knew it I was walking along Wewak's pristine beach once again, under cover of large palm trees. But what to do next? I had planned on more than one day on the Sepik, but considering that going by boat would be far more than going anywhere by aircraft I cut my tour short. I thought for awhile, anyway, on what to do with the rest of my time on the north coast of Papua New Guinea.......

Vanimo



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