The Scenic Route

 There are two ways to get to the city of Goroka from our campus...both involve lots of potholes, ditches, bumps and dirt (that's including the paved sections).  We normally just stick to one route, though, and after four years of living here and never having travelled the other way, I knew it was time to explore.  Not being able to drive here, I began dropping hints to the guys on campus (our "chauffeurs") and one day I finally got my chance.  We'd been in town doing some errands, and not being in a rush to get back home we decided to take the scenic route back.  There really isn't an un-scenic route around here but having never been on this road before it held some adventure for me (and sometimes you just need to see your every day life from a different perspective). 

 There's a set of tree-less hills that we can see from our campus that always (except for in burning season) look lush and green, and I'd often looked longingly in their direction (humming "The hills are alive..." and picturing myself bounding through their grass).  The back road takes us right behind these hills so we, of course, had to stop.

 The only leaping and bounding we did was over these ditches.

Interface is right in the center of this picture (you can see several white and green rooves).

 

This is a view of the hills (at far right during burning season) from our campus.

 We had a clear, almost 360 degree view of the valley where you can see the town of Goroka in the distance.

The "Sori"

 

Several weeks ago I got news that an elderly lady in the village had passed away.  "Mamma Wie," (Wee-eh) as we called her, was a tiny little lady that only spoke the tribal language, so our limited communication was either through a family member's translation or a lot of smiles and handshakes.  She was surprisingly "with it," for her age, although the rigorous life that people lead here tends to add years onto their appearance making it almost impossible to guess anyone's age.  Below is one of my favorite pictures of Mamma Wie.  I had already made plans to be in town that day but on the way in we stopped off to show our respects to Mamma Wie's family at her "sori" (sorry) - an extended time of mourning the deceased and burying them. When we arrived, Esta (Mamma Wie's daughter, with me above) and many others in the hut were covered in mud, a common sign of mourning. 

 

  

 It may be a little bold to post a picture like this, but life is bold here.  It was so uncomfortable being in this room!  There are no funeral parlors here to make death "presentable," but in their own way they made Mamma Wie beautiful with their flowers and blankets.   Everyone was thrilled for us to be there and take some final pictures to remember Mamma Wie by. 
 

 
When we came back from town later that afternoon we were flagged down by a group of people still sitting around after Mamma Wie's funeral.  It's customary to make a huge mumu (food steam cooked underground) at times like this, and we were given a bag of leftovers to bring home.  We got a mix of pork, chicken and lamb, and graciously took the gift. Mumu food really is delicious, but we just couldn't get over that hairy piece of pork!
 

 The next day when I had more time to visit I went back with a co-worker to see Esta and Piku (Mamma Wie's other daughter).  There's always lots of kids smiling and giggling along the road.

 We were taken to where Mamma Wie was buried the day before.  No fancy tombstone...just a simple cross to remember her by.  The Bible teaching that had been taking place in the village was being done right outside of Mamma Wie's house, and although she never officially attended the teaching we often hoped that she would have heard and understood as she sat by the fire in her hut. 

After a long time of sitting and reminiscing about her mom, Esta walked us home.  Esta has been a God-send to me in PNG, and she's never short of a smile, even in circumstances like these!