Date: Sun, 24 Aug 2003 12:01:45 +1200
From: arthur <rochopa@xtra.co.nz>
Subject: Bird of Paradise Part 2

					BIRD OF PARADISE

					Part Two

					By Arthur


Authors Note:

I must offer my apologies for an error in the first chapter of this story.
Due to my bad memory I stated that the aeroplane crashed by Heli was a JU88
that was incorrect as it should have been a JU52 cargo/troop carrier,
Thanks Pete, and I will try to get my mind back on the job.

One reader was a little disappointed with the sex, for what its worth the
scene was as real as I could remember it and the fact that to most of those
boys in PNG, sex is an outlet and nothing more. They do not get emotionally
involved so for those of you looking for love and affection in this story
sorry it is not in their make up, apart from one or two that were a little
extra special, but that is yet to come.

Most of this story is factually based and as it was suggested by a straight
friend of mine that I should one day sit down and relate my time in the
Territory, but he was unaware of what truly went on up there and would not
have liked the resulting sexual content that was a big part of my time in
the country.

This is a story I am using as a soul cleaner so if it bores you then tough,
it is something I must do for my own sake so that I may lay to rest a few
ghosts. So sorry for any imbalance but this is what I must do and this is
the only forum where it can be told.

If some of the happenings seem strange or they give you the idea I was a
bit of a kid, then you are right, I was 25 going on 15 and the whole world
was my own personal oyster to enjoy and it is only now as I approach 60
that I realise some of the errors of my ways.(Grin)

You may ask if I regretted anything I did in PNG, the answer is NO, I would
do it all again in a flash and not change a thing except my own personal
attitude, although both the highs and the lows were all a part of growing
up to be who I am today.

Now it's time to get back to memory lane.


I was awoken sometime on Sunday morning with the realisation that my two
partners of the night had vacated the bed and that there was a haunting
sound coming from outside the open window of my room. The sound was like
nothing I had ever heard. It was like a bass flute but had a higher pitch
as an off beat with many variations to the rythmn as it went on and on
until I couldn't ignore it any longer and decided to fall out of bed and
weave my way to the shower.

The customary cup of steaminig hot coffee had appeared from nowhere and was
waiting for me beside the bed when I returned from the shower. Those boi's
were a gem. The haunting tune disappeared down the garden that surrounded
the Hotel and I was to learn it was the morning and evening New Guinea
version of the dinner gong.

The are called Mambus, they are a bamboo flute about 3" in diameter, open
at one end and blocked at the other with a small hole worked into the top
near the blocked end to blow across the same as a normal musical flute. The
are played in tandem by two boi's from Chimbu and are one of the
distinctive musical features of that area. The tourists loved them to wake
up too, for me they were the devil incarnate after five days of booze, sex
and uppers.

I worked my way to the central area of the Hotel to see Kym sitting bleary
eyed at a table waiting for me. I pulled out a wooden chair and slumped
into it as he looked up with a smile.

"So, how was the menage au trois?"

"Bitch."

"My my, aren't we grumpy in the morning. Simon and Joseph to much to handle
for a city boy."

"Bitch."

"I see you're in your normal morning mood, want coffee?"

"Bitch, yes."

"PITA!"

It had been Pita's day off yesterday so I hadn't met him as yet but when he
arrived I could see why Kym had him around.  Pita was about 5'10" really
very solid and about mid twenties in age. His bare chest was very hairy
(not my cup of tea, but right up Kym's alley) and he was very well put
together. being from Chimbu Pita was the epitome of a young strong
highlander.

Pita came to the table with a glint in his eye as he looked at Kym and I
was sure something passed between them.

"Kisim tu pela copi plis." (bring two coffee's please)

"Yes Masta Kym."

Pita disappeared toward the kitchen door as we both surveyed the morning
sun showering it's new day heat over the distant mountain ranges.

"Looks as though I'm not the only one got some last night."

"Ah so the butch bitch is awake now?"

"Hrmph."

Pita arrived with the coffee just in time to stall any more slanging and
smiled openly as he chatted with Kym.

"Tupela boi emi ai pas lon haus kuk, Masta pred emi tu mus lon tupela."
(The two boys are asleep in the kitchen, Mister Fred was to much for them)

Kym looked over at me and joined Pita in laughing just loud enough for the
rest of the staff to hear as well as the rest of the station.

"Whats so bloody funny."

Kym's reply was to sing in a familiar show tune.

"He's just a whore who can't say no...lalalala."

"Bitch."

Pita had returned to the kitchen to get Kym's breakfast under way, I was
not in the habit of eating before the sun went down so refrained from
ordering anything more solid than coffee.

"So what's on for today, Kym?"

"There's a sing sing out the back of Banz, thought you might like to go see
it. Got a camera?"

"Yes, got both the super eight tri lens and the Pentax. What's a sing
sing?"

"It's ceremonial dancing and feasting. They have a sing sing for weddings
or funerals and anything else they can think of to celebrate, it's great
you'll like it, very different from your Maori heretige but I know you'll
get into it."

"Ok, when do we go?"

"No hurry, it won't start to get going until about midday and it'll only
take half an hour to get there then ten minutes walk into the bush to the
village."

Pita arrived with Kym's breakfast and fresh coffee for myself and as he was
about to leave I'm sure he gave the eye to Kym and by the smile I knew he
wasn't going to be sleeping alone tonight.

The mornings in Minj on a fine day were some of the best I was to ever
see. At the alitude of Minj and surrounded by towering mountain ranges on
all sides the air was clean, fresh and crisp as the sun rose over the tops
of the Jimi valley and shed it's heat and light down into the Wahgi valley
until by 9am the heat took over and the next day in the tropics began in
earnest.

The heat in the highlands was a dry heat and it wasn't until I went to work
and live on the coast that I found out what 95% humidity was. Most days in
the highlands were in the 80 degrees area with about 60% humidity so they
were pleasant for my love of hot climes and although you had to shower at
least twice a day to remain comfortable it was nothing to what awaited me
on the coast later on.

Kym advised me to change into 'Station Formal' dress as it was going to be
a long hot day. 'Station Formal' was a light tee-shirt or open neck short
sleeve shirt, shorts and thongs/jandals/rubber slippers with a toe thong
like japanese slippers.  It took only about a week for me to wake up to why
the locals never wore underwear and I started doing the same. Because of
the location of PNG, an infection can take hold over night and leave you
with some very real problems and even a mosquito bite unattended can become
infected and result in a tropical ulcer within twelve hours. Personal
hygine was always the primary concern and even a small rash can become
dangerous in hours.

Over time I was to learn skills and survival techniques in PNG that have
stood me in good stead over the rest of my life.  Least of which was how to
be an emrgency medic and it is to the natives that I owe most in this area
as without some very good people amongst them and their willingness to
share their local skills that I owe my present knowledge.

I had grown up with the belief instilled in me by a father who was totally
self reliant, that Hospitals were a place to go when you wanted to die, so
I had to learn very early on that you helped yourself when it came to the
repair and maintainence of your own body.

It may be due to his philosophy of 'god helps those who help them selves'
that I grew up with a very high tollerence of pain, that enabled me to do
some things others would never contemplate without being under doctors
orders. I mention this not as a boast but just as a natural fact of who I
am.(Damn I digress once again)

Midday arrived and Kym got us started out for the sing sing village in a
cloud of red dust with the back of the utility car filled to over flowing
with most of the boi's from the Hotel singing and laughing in the back as
we bumped and jolted over the marvelous hand made roads.(Not)

After half an hour and the crossing of a river that had only two fallen
tree trunks parallel to each other for a bridge that were just far enough
apart for the ute's wheels to shakely run over, and a game of dodgems with
the ruts and corrigations of the roads from the downpours of tropical
rains, we pulled up beside the road in the middle of nowhere with only a
small foot track worn into the encroaching bush.

My ears could hear a very strange drumming sound that seemed to carry
around the whole valley and echo off the far off mountains. It wasn't the
loud thumping and rattle of bass or snare drums but was more like an
internal vibration that was almost soothing in its continuous thrumming.

Interspersed with the drumming I could again here the ultinating pitches of
the Mambus and the drone of what I assumed was deep bass voices that at
times ended in a high pitched yell. The jungle we were walking through was
refreshing in its dampness and vitality of growth as we headed toward the
sounds ahead. I was to learn that this magnificent jungle held a lot of
very nasty surprises for those who didn't understand what it was telling
them.

The foot track led down into a small valley and on the other side I could
make out the tops of grass roofs surrounded by a light haze of wood smoke
and the indistinct sillouettes of people moving around. After wading
through a small river at the bottom of the valley we made our way up to the
village on the top, the sounds now very loud and clear as I sweated out the
last five days of partying. Now I'm a pretty fit person and played sports
as much as I could but with the altitude and the unrelenting heat and
closeness of the jungle it wasn't long before I was panting like a novice
nun in a laundry.

The first impression of the village served to, for the first time in the
couple of days I had been in the Territory, instill in me that I was really
in a new and foriegn country. This was what is meant by cultural shock, the
first realisation that, "Yes you truly are a long way from home."

What greeted me was a double line of round huts made from bush materials
and with grass roofs made from bundles of Kunai grass bound together and
woven into the slats that made up the lattice of the roof. The huts were
spaced about thirty feet apart and the central area was bare tamped
earth. Underneath the overhang of the hut roofs sat all the women holding
either young kids or piglets and eating something that made their mouths
look as though they were bleeding from the gums.  (Betel nut, called buai).

At the far end of the cleared center was a group of about 60 to 80 men and
teen age boys all packed together like a roman phlanx. They were six
abreast and would have made a drill sergeant proud. In their hands were the
small drums (Kundu's) that were held in one hand and beaten with the
other. The drums were shaped like and elongated hour glass and had the skin
of either snake of lizard stretched over one end. The drums were tunde with
the used of three or four small spots of tree gum placed at various spots
on the skin until it sound right to the ear of the player.

It appeared that the front four or five ranks had the drums and apart from
the two rear ranks who had the Mambus, the rest held spears in one hand and
locked elbows with the man beside him. While the dance itself seemd rather
simple I was to find it was very tough on the leg muscles. At the drum beat
and in unison the men would take six very short fast paced steps forward
then as the drums and Mambus reached a cresendo they would take the same
type step backwards for three paces. This went on for hours with only small
breaks now and then to eat or drink.

Their dress (Bilas) can not be truly described in words and even though I
will attempt to there are just no real words that would do the colours and
movements justice. The men all had ankle bands made from woven grass,(Pas
pas bilon lek) these were so intricate that it must have taken the women
weeks to complete each one.

Around the mens waist was a bark belt(Sikin diwai) about seven inches wide
that wrapped around them at least twice and was held closed with another
belt of woven grass. (Pas pas bilon bel) The belt fit them snugly from
their hip bones to the bottom ribs and some were carved while others were
unmarked.

Folded through the belt was a long flowing length of hand made cloth
(Bilum) doubled over twice and hung from the top of the belt to their
ankles giving it a flowing action as they moved back and forth like the
waves flowing on an acean. These were hand woven much like crouche from
string made from various tree barks and hand turned to make the fine string
and had tufts of different animal furs interspersed within it.

The Bilum was of a tawny brown colour with only the flashes of fur to
releave the sameness. The mens chests were rubbed with grease made from pig
fat and were dusted over with crushed ashes and charcoal. Around their neck
they wore a bamboo necklace (Mak mak) which was to denote their wealth and
in most cases how much others owed them in Dinau.(Credit) Over this were
also other necklaces of sea shells (Kina) made from the gold lip pearl
shell and traded from coastal villages.

On their arms they wore the same woven grass bracelets (Pas pas bilon han)
and some of them had brightly coloured wrist bands made from store bought
glass beads. At the rear of their waist they had what looked like leafs
from a local bush (Ass tankad) that were creased into a pattern and then
the stems were pushed up through the back of the belt to cover just the
crease in their cheeks, their flanks being bared.

Their faces were painted with red,yellow and white ochres with an
underlying layer of black charcoal, through their noses was a sliver of
kina shell and a number of plume wires from the King of Saxony bird of
paradise. These wires were about 6"-7" long and very flexable, the
scalloping of the actual feather was like small pieces of plastic with pale
blue and white edges. The two top ones were turned upward to be attached to
their head band and framed their faces while the two lower ones were taken
to below the chin and fixed in most cases in their beards or in the case of
the beardless teens they were tied. The last of the wirse were allowed to
hang free to each side of their face.

The head band was made from beaten tree bark and had small kauri shells
sewen to it in a very small and intricate pattern and this band was used to
hold the head bilum on to which was added their large wig. The wigs were
made by cutting the hair off all the Manki's (Young boys) in the village
and then as the owner sat patiently for four or five hours the small tufts
of the boys crinkley black hair was poked into the head bilum and kept in
place with tree gum until the wig was formed in a reverse version of a
first quarter of the moon.

The wig was adorned with the shells of the iradescent green bettle and had
small lorikeet and parakeet wing feathers worked into it. The most
magnificent of the whole outstanding appearance were the red and yellow
bird of paradise (Kumul) plumes that topped off the wigs.

The red (Ragiana) and the yellow (Lesser) were occassionally interpsersed
with a blue (Prince Rudolph) plume and served to make the head dress give
the men the appearance of being over seven feet tall. The smooth flowing
movements of the plumes were almost hypnotic in their action and with the
dancing and moves of the men and teens, as well as the lower thrumming of
the drums and flutes, all I could do was stand in the middle of the area
spell bound, my camera long forgotten.

The phlanx came nearer and nearer and still I was rooted to the spot unable
to move until a hand grasped me and pulled me aside as the men suddenly ran
at full speed past where I had only moments before been standing. I'm damn
sure they wouldn't have stopped for the gape mouthed idiot standing in
their way.

Although I have been to many sing sing's over the years that first one was
the defining moment in my decision to spend more than the contracted two
year term in this magical island. I don't know if it was something from my
Maori heretige or just my normal nosiness to learn new things but this
place had something about it that would not let me leave until I had
learned all I could about the culture and the people. Okay, okay, so the
guys were in my mind as well and from that first night with Simon I have
never been able to sleep with another white person. Was I being
conditionoed or was it something deeper and more primevil I dont know and
never really want to find out. It is just that the attitude, and yes, the
primative earthy nature of the place gave me a feeling of peace and
contentment that all the rushing around in big cities and travelling the
outback of Australia and the hunting in the mountain ranges of my home had
never given me.

I noticed that most of the women sitting under the hut roof's wre all older
and then I heard a high pitched cry from the far end of the village and
looking up saw a group of about 20 young girls all dressed up similar to
the men except for the colours on their faces and the different type of
covering around their waists. On their heads they wore only a small version
of the feathers and no large wig and around their waist was a narrow belt
of woven grass with about a dozen woven strings attached which was just
enough to cover their groins while at the back were fewer strings so that
their buttocks showed round and plump for all the young men to see. the
modern women could take a lesson from these girls about "If you got it
flaunt it" attitude.

The girls formed a small circle at the end of the vilage and with
interlinked arms began to jump up and down in unison as they seemed to
taunt the men who had turned their phlanx around and were now facing the
girls. At a high pitched yell from the girls their jumping stopped and then
the men began again with their to and fro dance style. The whole scene with
its primative musical beat, the natural smells of the village and the
bright flashing colours on both the men and girls had me entranced to such
a state I don't even, to this day, know how long I stood there gaping my
camera's totally forgotten.

Later in the afternoon I felt Kyms hand on my arm as he indicated it was
time to return to the Hotel for the afternoon rush of a dozen or so
planters to have their final fling in town for the week. As we left the awe
inspiring sight of those men and girls still after all this time dancing
and teasing each other I realised that the boi's that had come with us,
except for Pita, were not following us.

"Where's the other boi's Kym?"

"Oh they'll be back in the morning, there's a karim lek (Carrying Leg, a
form of native disco for single guys and girls when it gets dark. The rest
is up to your imagination) after the sing sing."

"Ah ok."

We made it back to the Hotel in time for the second round of drinks and it
was then that Kym metioned something that had slipped my mind completely
during the sing sing.

"So you get plenty of photo's and movie film?"

"Plenty of what?"

"Your pictures, stupid."

I looked down at the two camera's still in my hands with their films
unused.

"Uhm, I sort of forgot about the camera's."

"Bloody typical, so which guy caught your eye to keep you busy."

"None of them, well not like that Bitch, it was just the whole thing, the
smells and sounds, all the dancing and movements of their dress and
feathers, I sort of got hypnotised by it all."

"Probably the bloody Maori coming out of you. Come on the sun's over the
yard arm and I'm as dry as an old Meri's (Woman) tit."

Well today I was sure was the last day to play as tomorrow was the first
day of work and a lot to learn. Okay so I didn't know how things work up
here, but the reality was far from the truth when it comes to PNG.


TO BE CONTINUED: