The mothers at the Mt Hagen Handicraft Group weaving bilums

A very rough and ready, unedited, video of the women of the Mt Hagen Handicraft Group hard at work weaving bilums.

Held up on the Highway

Firstly let me say a big thank you to everybody who contacted me after my "Some days are harder than others" post. It was great to receive so many supportive messages and encouragement. from my wonderful friends. Thank you, am feeling much better now.

This weekend I was expecting visitors. Two VSOs from Kundiawa, about two hours away, were planning to come and stay for the weekend. They phoned earlier today to cancel because of trouble on the Highlands Highway. Don't be misled by the use of the word Highway! Its an atrocious road often blocked by flood damage or landslides and a surface that puts great demands on even the most robust 4x4. People who live along the highway will occasionally "repair" the road and then demand payment from passing drivers.

The tribe from one of the villages along the highway between Kundiawa and Hagen had set up a roadblock and were forcing pmv (bus) drivers to pay a "toll". These requests being backed up with bush knives and other weapons. One pmv driver took exception to being held up in this way and he & his crew kidnapped one of the children from the offending village. Nobody knows what happened to the kidnapped child but the child's clan was so outraged that they are now stoning every pmv that drives along the Highway! It will undoubtedly get worse before it gets better - particularly if the kidnapped child has been hurt.

Since my two friends were planning to travel by PMV they decided that they didn't fancy running the gauntlet of furious, rock throwing, knife wielding tribesmen so they will wait for things to calm down - they should be here in a couple of weeks, just before I leave.

I'm afraid this is not an unusual event and is one of the reasons why travel around PNG is so difficult.

What's it like where you work?

I'm often asked what my workplace is like so here's a few photos.


The Handicraft Group Workshop is in the centre of Hagen just behind the Highlands Bakery. The bakery has a Kai Bar attached (a sort of PNG fast food joint where you can get a pretty filling meal for a few Kina)

Handicraft Group Front Door

My desk - pretty well equipped here

Highlands Bakery

Highlands Bakery Front Entrance

Highlands Bakery Kai Bar and customers

Highlands Bakery - main counter  (High security grills are a common site in Hagen)

The street outside our workshop

Street outside

The view opposite

Some days are harder than others

Let me start by saying that I enjoy being in Hagen. However there are times when I feel like I'm living in a benevolent open prison. I am released during the day and go off to work for 8 hours which is enjoyable and sociable (particularly when the mothers come in to weave the bilums). There are people to talk to, its interesting and fun. Then in the evenings I come back to the Baptist Union compound and lock myself in my cell and spend the next 16 hours in solitary confinement - I read (I've lost count of the number of books I've read), listen to music, cook, maybe watch a dvd on my pc, write to friends and do some Facebook. Sometimes I can borrow a guitar and play.

The security situation in Hagen is such that most people simply do not venture out after dark. Without a vehicle it would be plain stupid to risk such a thing and even with a vehicle I would never drive through Hagen at night on my own.

This means there is little or no social activity in the evenings. The exception is Friday night when my friends and neighbours, Ray & Trish Bartell, invite me over for pizza ( and very good pizzas they are too) and I play tennis with them for a couple of hours each Saturday.

Normally I cope pretty well on my own. Maybe its because I can see the finishing line (only four weeks left before I leave Hagen) but I am finding this isolation more difficult to cope with. Have not yet started talking to myself ( well no more than normal!) but I suspect its only a matter of time.

Think I would find it very difficult to do more than 6 months here on my own. Messages and emails from home are really important - so please keep writing!

A beautiful morning

A really heavy storm last night seemed to have washed all the mist and haze out of the atmosphere around the town. This morning was spectacularly clear with none of the usual early morning mist - the whole scene had a crystalline sharpness as if the Wahgi valley had just been freshly made.


Mt Hagen itself (the extinct volcano from which the town takes its name) had shed its usual cloak of cloud and stood out bold and sharp against a perfect blue sky. It somehow gave the impression of being much closer to the town. Shame my camera isn't really up to the job of capturing this remarkable sight, so I borrowed an image from Flickr just to give you an idea.


Reminds me that I'm fortunate to be in such incredibly beautiful, if savage, surroundings.

Mt Hagen from across the valley

PNG trivia

A cultural step too far?
It is of course important and good manners to appreciate and understand the cultural norms of the society in which I'm living. I try pretty hard to keep up with the PNG way of doing things and I've made a real effort to try and learn Tok Pisin so I can tok stori with the mothers at the Handicraft Group and with lots of other people I meet. Sadly there are two things that I just can't get used to - no matter how hard I try. Firstly I hate chewing betel nut (kaikai buai) just too awful (see earlier post). Secondly I can't get used to holding hands with men (sorry to all my gay friends but decades of conditioning can't be undone in a few months!). Its common to see women holding hands with women and men holding hands with men (NEVER men holding hands with women). Its just a natural thing that friends do over here. I try, I honestly do, but whenever a bloke holds my hand I get all awkward and embarassed. Pathetic really - but its something I struggle with

Outrageous theft
The water supply for the houses in the Baptist Union compound comes from the rain water that is collected off the roof of each building. It is stored in a large tank at the rear of each of building with an electric pump for each property providing the power to lift the water into showers, taps etc inside.
One of my neighbours returned from leave the other day (complete with newly adopted 3 month old baby) to discover that his water pump had been stolen! Thieves had got into the compound (so much for our so called security) unbolted the pump from its concrete base, undone the pipe connections and driven off with it!
His poor wife is now carrying buckets of water whilst coping with her new baby - men don't carry water.

Eric the driver
This week has been rather different. Robert, my driver, is away from work at a "haus krai" following the death of his brother. Its a lengthy period of mourning which follows a death - a very emotional time with extreme displays of grief (women quite literally pull their hair out). Whilst Robert is away I have taken over the role of Baptist Union driver. So instead of looking at a computer screen all day I have been driving various employees of the Baptist Union all over town. Its been great fun, certainly better than looking at a computer screen for hours at a time and I've been to parts of Hagen and surrounding districts that I would never normally get to see.

My House
Keeping up the attempt to write about everyday stuff instead of just the special or unusual aspects of life in Hagen so here's a couple pictures of where I live.

My place

My neighbours

More neighbours and the lawn where all the kids play

Neighbours

Next door neighbour

My place - ground floor in front of the 4 x 4

My Back Yard

My Porch

Caught in the firing line

It had to happen - the day after I posted a blog entry about all the good things in Hagen.

"You don't have to be the target to get caught up in the violence"


This advice was given to me by my PNG hosts when I first arrived in Hagen. Over the months that I've been here I have seen many scuffles/street fights from a safe distance and heard about many more violent incidents from people directly involved. However I have never felt as if I was in any personal danger.


That all changed today at Hagen market.

I have no idea what triggered the fighting but one minute I was happily shopping for fruit and veg with two PNG friends when the world around me suddenly erupted. Within seconds the market was filled with terrified screaming, shouting and a stampede of people running in panic. Most unusually for PNG they were running AWAY from the centre of the trouble - normally the crowds run towards the fight. It soon became clear what they were running from. Crazed young men were rampaging through the market with sticks and clubs attacking anyone in their path and smashing the market stalls to pieces. Amongst the chaos and the screaming there was the unmistakable sound of gunfire.

 I stuck close to Jacob (my personal security guard) - we scrambled over the market stalls to get out of the way (forget all that stuff about not stepping over food!) and crouched low behind the wall and kept our heads down. Fortunately the main focus of the fighting passed us by but within minutes security guards and police, armed with pump action shotguns, were in the market and the risk of being caught in cross fire or a stray round was high indeed.



My two friends and the market stall holders took it upon themselves to give me special protection. They surrounded me and, in spite of my protests, put themselves in front of me as a sort of human shield. They seemed more concerned about me than they did about themselves! After some time (it must have only been 10 minutes but it felt like an hour) the police managed to restore order and the three of us left the market at some speed.

No doubt I will find out tomorrow from my colleagues at the Handicraft Group what caused the trouble.

 Fortunately I had nearly finished my shopping when the trouble broke out - so I got to enjoy my fresh asparagus and strawberries for dinner but Hagen market will never feel the same.