November 9th 1983

The market at Mt Hagen

A cold night, but we huddled together + stayed warm that way.  And then a bowl of porridge to finish the job.  Then we strolled out of town to catch a PMV back to Hagen – our visit to Mendi had been very short + sweet.  Very lucky to find a comfortable bus to take us back, + tho’ we took the usual tour around the houses to drum up custom, we were soon enough on our way.  We both buried ourselves in books for the duration of the trip.  I was somewhere in the midlands, Val back in Australia (“Jane Eyre” + “A Fringe of Leaves”)  And by these means the trip back to Hagen was far less tedious.

Had some chores to perform then – a trip to the Post Office to send off our Christmas cards – we’d found some postcards with an interesting design on them, so they were serving the purpose.  We also had to go to the bank, of course, + the guy there located a mate of his who had just a few Indonesian rupaiyah left over from a trip to Jayapura, + then, both feeling in an absolutely famished condition, we went round to Mr Chips.  They advertise themselves as the best chips in PNG – I don’t know about that, but they were delicious, especially with a big fat sausage to go with ‘em.

We asked in the govt. office for advice as to cheap accommodation, + the bloke there, a rather dour bloke named Ian, booked us in by phone at the nearby hostel at K14 a night.  Great.  But he did look after our bags for the afternoon.  Plus, during our travels, we saw a sign in a shop window advertising accommodation for travellers at K7 per person.  This sounded much more our ticket, so we made some enquiries about it, which improved it even more.  The lady in charge of both the shop + the hostel was not in, but her assistant was able to give us more information.  The place was 7 kms out of town,  but if we turned up at the shop at 5 pm, we would get a ride up there, + in the morning, a ride back again.  It sounded good to us.

For the rest of the afternoon, we wandered around town, + down to the market.  Hagen’s market is magnificent, with most of the vegetables one could want, in English tastes as well as New Guinean.  We bought some potatoes + some green beans (tho’ we regretted buying the latter when we saw a beautiful bunch of broccoli) to go with some bangers.  Various other little luxuries were purchased too – a cassette (they have no copyright law at the moment in PNG, so they have very cheap bootleg tapes), + a copy of Time.  The big news in the world at the moment concerns the US.  First they lost 229 marines in a terrorist attack upon their base in Lebanon.  And they have invaded Grenada, which has just gone thro’ a Marxist coup.  Pity + anger with the damned country, intermingled.

We were at the shop a little before 5, + were surprised when we met our host, Maggie Wilson, to discover that she was a national (the polite word for native.)  It is unusual for a national, especially a national woman, to have the sort of place, a fairly high-class fashion shop, that she has – but then she is a fairly unusual woman.  She gave us the promised ride up to her place, + on the way told us something about herself.  She had been taken away from her village when quite young, + given a scholarship to study in Australia for 8 years.  On coming back to PNG, she had been able to take her pick of jobs, but she had finally elected to return to her home village, from which she ran her shop in Hagen.  It wasn’t a complete return, of course – she now had an English husband + 2 children, + their house was thoroughly modern + comfortable, tho’ on the outskirts of the village proper, + without electricity.

The ride in the truck was quite amazing, because of the condition of the road.  It was so boggy + muddy, they had to have logs laid horizontal across the track.  It made for a bumpy ride, + even with the 4-wheel drive, Maggie had her work cut out getting us through.  At the top, tho’, a number of pleasant surprises.  First of all, we were taken on a brief tour around the village, + shown where a new headman’s house was being built.  It was a neat + pretty village, with a terrific view down over Mt Hagen.

Our second pleasant surprise was to see the accommodation provided for us.  It was a house built right next to Maggie’s own house, + was, like her house, a pleasing combination of traditional + modern.  It was both huge + comfortable, + very nearly self-contained – all that was lacking was a bathroom, + it was made quite clear that we were welcome to use Maggie’s at any time.  We were even provided with a key to the house, in case we needed the facilities during the night.

While there was still some light, we walked back to the village + took some photographs.  We also felt very privileged.  In one of the huts, there was a great number sitting around + having a chin-wag, + they had no objection to us sitting in the doorway + drinking in the atmosphere.  We didn’t understand a word, of course – they weren’t even speaking pidgin.  And they allowed us to take some photos.  It’s not often you can have the opportunity to witness something like that.

We returned to our less than humble abode, + cooked a superb tea.  In the evening we went to take showers – hot! – but Val, who went in at 9, did not re-appear till 12.30.  I was not at all surprised to discover she had been sitting with Maggie + a couple of the other village women, learning how to make a bilum, or native string bag.  Another craft under her belt.

It did make a nice change to experience some life that is not seen directly through expat eyes, even though Maggie was not exactly living life the way the majority of the local people were. We did feel ourselves somewhat swept up by the expat community, though actually I am not at all sure how comfortable we might have felt if we had gone native entirely; it would have meant sacrificing quite a bit of comfort.