An extraordinary OPEN AIR MUSEUM

 

Holding onto the rope attached to the door of the thirty-year-old Suzuki taxi van offered me safety from the hot asphalt snake dominating my day. The wood benches lining the walls seemed invisible because of dozens of people held in place by each other. Handmade bags of cuscus fur called bilum covered the holes in the floor. Only females carried bilum bags sized small enough for a child to carry a few vegetables or an adult managing small pigs home from the market. Bilums have long straps which hang around the forehead and balance the bag over the shoulders and down the back.

Rice sacks (filled with yams or 1000’s of betel nuts), children, and baby chicks pleading for their mothers, fought for room to breathe. A child sitting on my feet peeled an orange and discarded the peelings in my lap after quickly wiping her hands on my pant leg. Everyone seemed to be hugging a neighbor, holding on tight as the taxi driver maneuvered the corners while he looked for a CD hiding under his seat. The 12 kilometer trip to the first village took almost two hours, not a concern for the locals. Time stopped hundreds of years ago on their island.

The decade-long fantasy of unraveling the mysteries of the island of Papua New Guinea became a reality when I finally decided I wasn’t getting any younger! Five days from Los Angeles, after crossing many borders and finally boarding boats and missionary planes, I reached that crazy taxi driver taking me to my first adventure.