Stories from the Bush, Part 3
October 6, 2018
“Em klostu. Yumi go long 8:00 na kam bek long 10:00.”
Some phrases spoken by a friend here should make any outsider wary. For one, “It’s a shortcut.” If you hear those words, go the other way, unless you love doing one-leg squats up a muddy ninety-two degree incline, sliding down the other side on your derriere, and/or balancing on slippery pyramid-shaped sticks over a twenty-foot drop to the river below.
Closely following the “It’s a shortcut” phrase is “Oh, it’s nearby” (“Em klostu”). When you hear those words, prepare yourself for a journey to the center of the earth. Then, you’ll be pleasantly surprised when your destination is only a couple hours’ walk away.
On Sunday, Sila told me that she was taking Marie to her garden later in the week.
“May I come with you?”
“Mm,” and she nodded.
Plans materialized into a Saturday morning excursion. I had been told of Sila’s garden, accompanied with a warning about not falling into a hole or down the side of the mountain. Fairly confident I could handle those two goals, I was excited about the chance to spend time with Sila, get out of the house, and learn about life here.
“Wait, I told Selestin I would teach her guitar on Saturday afternoon. Will you be gone all day? Is your garden near or a long way away?”
“Oh, it’s close to here. We’ll leave at 8:00 and come back at 10:00.”
Perfect. We’ll go to the garden in the morning, work on some stuff at home after, and then finish the afternoon with guitar lessons.
Saturday morning rolled around, and Sila came for us at 7:45. Water bottles, bilums (string bags that can be used to carry everything from sweet potatoes to small children), biscuits (thick crackers = lunch) – we’re ready to go. The only question was which shoes to wear? My Chaco sandals had given me blisters the last walk I took, and I had failed to clean all the mud off them, so they didn’t seem a good choice. The garden is close by, I thought. I’ll just wear flip-flops. I’ll clean the sandals later. (Spoiler alert – that was the wrong decision.)
Following Sila across the field, up the hill to her house, and down the hill to the stream, I marveled at the beauty around me. It’s easy to get caught up in the work of the clinic and miss the fact that this place really is breathtaking. The sun was shining (a recent phenomenon) and the sky was clear. Both the foliage around us and the mountains in the distance seemed to sparkle. The water in the stream we splashed through was cold and clear. What a perfect day!
“Hey, you wore flip-flops,” Sila observed with a half-laugh, half-grimace. “You’re going to fall.”
Of course, I’m going to fall. That’s part of walking here. Every time I leave the house, unless I’m going to clinic or church, I plan on falling – that way it’s a win when I don’t.
Should I have known better, and run back to the house for actual shoes at this point? Yup. Did I? Nope.
We crossed another stream and headed up a steep incline…then another, and another. Sila was so kind and patient. “Yumi rest here.” She picked plenty of places to stop so we could catch our breath. I didn’t mind. I like breathing.
As the trail became muddier and narrower, I began to realize the error of my footwear choice. The flip-flops sank into the mud, sometimes remaining there after my foot emerged. The mud here is like grease. Once my feet were muddy, they would no longer stay on the soles of my shoes. Sliding left and right, slipping and falling, I decided to drop the offending flip-flops into my bilum and proceed barefoot.
Another incline…still going up…more mud. Tree roots created steps in some places, and thick layers of soft, green moss covered others. Sticks and stones may or may not break my bones, but they sure can make my feet tired.
How far is “close to here”? I wondered. Wait…I remember this now…never ask someone who doesn’t own a watch how long it takes to get somewhere. There’s no telling how far away this garden is.
The surrounding bush really was beautiful, if I stopped walking to look up at it. And Sila was looking out for me so well – she stopped walking often to cut footholds in the clay. When we reached a small pit crossed by a log bridge, she laughed, “When I took Chelsea here, she fell into this hole.” So THAT is what Chelsea was talking about…Noted. I will follow Sila stepping down INTO the hole and NOT across the log. Success! I’ll make it to the garden without falling into a hole.
I wasn’t worried at all until we came around the side of one incline, and the trees opened up to reveal the garden. I took a step and was startled as the “ground” wasn’t actually ground – just grass and sticks that disappeared beneath my foot. I fell. Again.
Sila apologized, “Sorry – step HERE,” pointing to the barely perceptible trail.
Oh, I see now. Step HERE, not six inches to the right. Step here, and you’ll follow the path. Step six inches to the right, and you’ll fall down the mountain (probably not very far, but still not a comfortable turn of events).
“Wait here. I’ll go make a road.” And Sila scampered off, practically prancing along, chopping away at brush and grass with the greatest of ease. I marveled again. These people are amazing. And Sila is so kind and patient.
We made it to the garden without further mishap. Sila taught us how to dig up taro, gather kumu (greens), and find siko that is ready to eat (We harvested quite a few that were too big and prickly. She laughed at us, split them open, and tossed them aside. They would become new plants to produce more siko).
I loved being with her. She gave us easy jobs, and then jumped across a stream fifteen or so feet below to gather kumu on the other side. She reminded me of a gazelle – just gracefully bounding from one place to another, filling her arms with kumu…nevermind the drop to the water and rocks below. We clumsily attempted to follow her directions. I felt like a child.
After eating our crackers, we bundled everything up into the bilums to head home. Marie was following PNG fashion. You sling that thing over your head, girl. You will make Sila happy…and procure a sore neck and a headache in the process. I was too lame to carry stuff on my head.
The walk home was just like the walk there, only in reverse (shocking, I know). We stopped at a stream to wash the taro and kaukau. Once we reached Sila’s house, she turned and pointed. “You see that tree at the top of the mountain?” Yes, we do. It’s tiny. “We passed that and went down the other side.
Wow. Perspective. That was quite the climb.
But for Sila, it was just a walk to get some food for a couple days. No big deal. It’s like running to Walmart for some milk and eggs.
I understand now what it means when Sila walks up to our door with a shy smile, holds out a bundle of kumu, and says, “This is for you.” She walked barefoot over a mountain, wandered through her garden, leaping from rock to rock, plucking the tender ends from the vines that cover the mountainside. Then, she put the kumu on top of the kaukau and taro in her bilum, slung it over her head, and returned home across the same mountain. She stopped at a stream to wash the dirt from her root crops, dropped off some at her own home, and then walked across the field to our porch to share with us the life that she had gathered that day. It isn’t just food that she’s offering. It’s friendship.
That day we spent together – every time she chopped away at brush or mud to make the path easier to walk, every time she extended her hand to grab mine, every time she paused and smiled, “Yumi rest here” – there was a picture of divine grace. Sila didn’t need us. There was nothing we could do to help her with her work. We actually made her work harder. She could have been to the garden, gathered the food, and returned home in less than half the time we spent. So why did she want to take us with her?
Because she’s our friend. And that was the point of our Saturday trip. None of this was about our helping her. But just like a mother who tells her toddler, “Yes, you can help me – hold the dustpan,” Sila loved us by bringing us into another part of her life. Our garden excursion was her gift of friendship to us.
What a precious gift that is!