New Guinea (1979)

New Guinea: The Anthropologist and Tribal Justice

When Fran told her Uncle Art in 1979 that we were going to New Guinea, he couldn’t believe it. Art had fought all over the Pacific during World War II, and the time he spent in New Guinea was the worst of all: extreme heat, extreme humidity, extreme bugs, and extreme topography, culminating in a nasty case of malaria that kept recurring during his adult life. Why anyone would pay to go to that hellhole was beyond his comprehension.

But go we did. Our guide was an Australian chap named Keith who had lived most of his adult life in New Guinea. We joined a small group of intrepid travellers and flew from Sydney, Australia, to Port Moresby, an ugly city that served as the capital of the fairly new nation of Papua New Guinea. This independent country is located on the eastern half of the large island of New Guinea. The western half of the landmass was called Irian Jaya, and was a province of Indonesia.  The native population of Irian Jaya really had nothing in common with the rest of Indonesia, and kept revolting unsuccessfully to join their Melanesian brethren in Papua New Guinea.

Until World War II, very few Europeans had penetrated the steep jungle highlands and tropical forests of this country. Many of those who did brave the interior never returned, their bodies giving out to disease, fatigue, or headhunters. There were thousands of tribes inhabiting the land, and each one spoke their own unrelated language. In fact, there were reputed to be as many distinct tongues in New Guinea as in the rest of the world combined! The only common language was Pidgin, which was a combination of Dutch (Holland had colonized the East Indies for several hundred years), English, and some of the local lingos.

One member of our group was a very large woman named Louise. She claimed to be a professor of anthropology at some California college. However, Fran and I soon realized we knew more about the subject than she did, and we had never taken an anthro course. Nor was she a very good traveller. In fact, she was a pain in the ass.  This lady was a mistake waiting to happen.

The next day we flew in a small aircraft over the mountains to the Northern lowlands where the Sepik River emptied its vast waters amassed from the highland rain forests. Later, navigating across this broad river, we were informed that a toilet, literally a closet with a hole in the bottom, was on a small raft in mid-river. Louise insisted on being the first one to use the facilities. As she moved her large body from the boat, her weight forced the little raft downward about 8 inches into the river. It’s probably hard to pee when in a tiny room with the river water above your ankles, but I think she succeeded.

We had to cross from one boat into another. They were floating side by side lengthwise in the water. Louise started the transfer apprehensively, putting her right leg carefully on the new vessel while keeping the left firmly planted on the first craft. Unfortunately, while she was astride the two boats, a little wave came along and separated them. The unavoidable result: Louise’s butt plopped into the Sepik followed by the rest of her body. It took Keith and two or three of us to pull her out, but no harm was done except to her pride.

Flying up to the highlands in a small cramped plane, our guide told us we could expect the unexpected. The local tribe was supposed to be having a traditional Sing-Sing, which was a joyful gathering with dancing, music, and other activities, more for their own enjoyment than for the few tourists who would get to view this time-honored performance. However, the natives grew coffee, picked the beans weekly, sold them the next day, and then spent much of the cash on alcohol. Anything could happen.

The Sing-Sing was spectacular. The men were dressed only in loincloths and brightly feathered headdresses, their bodies painted with ornate colorful designs. They carried long spears and danced around in elliptical patterns, intoning ancient chants.

Naturally, Louise was standing right in front. All of a sudden a young native man burst out of the surrounding crowd, grabbed her purse, and darted into the surrounding jungle. The purse contained her money, credit cards, and her passport. Even we felt sorry for her.

This was a major incident. In the tribal tradition, one was to share whatever one had with the rest of one’s extended family. However, the natives’ extended family did not include tourists, so the theft was considered a major breach of etiquette. The local society also knew that an event like this could deter tourism, which was becoming a nice source of income for them.

What to do? Keith said not to worry.  The local headsman came up and told us, through an interpreter, that the purse would be returned within two hours. Knowing that the thief could easily disappear into the jungle, we were skeptical, but there was little else we could do.  Sure enough, just short of two hours, the purse was delivered to a thankful Louise with its contents intact.

Amazed, we all had theories about how the crime was resolved so quickly. The true explanation: the thief’s brother was put in the local hoosegow, and word was sent out that he would not be released until the purse and everything inside was returned. Under the local honor code, the offender could not disrespect his imprisoned brother, so he promptly came back to the scene of the crime with his ill-gotten gains. And so, tribal justice was served and a Western tourist made thankful.

I did get two souvenirs in New Guinea that I still treasure. The first I acquired when I went far upstream on the Sepik with just a local guide. I came across a young man holding a device made of two carved pieces of wood joined together with woven material into the shape of an “L”. (See picture.) The instrument was to be held at one end, and swung hard into a low arc so the outer part of the “L” would catch the enemy behind his knees, causing him to fall backwards. Then it was to be swung again and, as the far tip of the “L” piece was carved to a sharp point, the opponent’s stomach could be ripped open. The violently descriptive name of this weapon of war was a “belly pick”. However, the junction of the two pieces of wood was crafted by woven fibers into the head of a bird, with the long point then forming the beak. Even though I imagined that I could see some white belly-button lint on the tip, I always considered the object to be tribal art more than function.

The second souvenir was a very large penis cover, at least a foot-and-a-half in length. Formed from a gourd, it also has decorative shells around the wide aperture. (See  another picture.) A piece of string was attached so that you could tie it around your stomach. It sits in a prominent place among our mementos as a wonderful reminder of our trip to Papua New Guinea. I tell everyone I had it custom-fitted.

Notes on photos: The pictures, except for the two artifacts, were taken when we went back to New Guinea and the Solomon Islands in 2013 with an expedition ship chartered by the American Museum of Natural History.