Christmas in Papua, or All I Want for Christmas is some Quiet

Thanksgiving has come and gone, and I think I'm over my recent bout of Seasonal Delusional Disorder.  It's a good thing, because now it's time to face Christmas.

I long ago stopped trying to recreate American Christmas in Indonesia.  Our first Christmas in the country, way back in 2001, taught me that it wasn't possible, and not even desirable, to make it "feel" like the kind of Christmas we were used to.  We found a happy compromise of incorporating some of our traditions from our home culture into the local Christmas culture.  It worked for us in Kalimantan.  But here in Papua, I'm struggling.

This summer I read an enlightening article about Highly Sensitive People.  Apparently, according to the quiz I took, I am one.  You can check it out for yourself here and see if you, too, are an HSP.  I guess up until I had my unofficial HSP diagnosis, I thought I was a bit weird for getting so bothered by loud noises, freaked out by violent movies, grossed out by the tiniest smells, and I'd wonder, how can David take all of that in stride?  How does the constant noise/puppy smell/etc. not bother him? What's wrong with me????

Well, apparently, nothing.  According to one website, HSP'ers cry easily (check), feel things deeply (double check), get upset when hungry (isn't that called being 'hangry'?), have a hard time saying "no" (me? no...I mean yes), consider noise to be a mortal enemy - and they are perfectly normal people.

The Christmas noise is what I'm struggling with most right now.  Papuans have a tradition of setting up pondok Natal every December.  These quaint, wooden Nativity structures disguise a hidden evil within - a sound system - that blares out the worst variety of Christmas songs, 24-7.

Pondok Natal

Up until this Christmas, I had only observed them from afar.  But since our move up to Pos 7, we're right smack in the middle of Pondok Natal Central.  There's no rhyme or reason to what is played (right now, it sounds like one is blasting out a movie and another is playing Vince Gill's Christmas with Donald Duck - I swear that's what it sounds like), or when it's played.  We've heard it through the night, early in the morning, at supper time.  The only respite we get is if it rains hard, or the power goes out.  The power went out yesterday and I actually raised my hands to Heaven and thanked the good Lord for power outages.

One Sunday afternoon the noise was starting to make me batty, and David brought his new noise-canceling headphones over and lovingly put them over my ears.  It was nice, but that's not how I want to get through the next few weeks, with headphones on my head, shouting "what?" at my kids when they try to talk to me.

I've tried to make light of it, to laugh about it - but friends, at 6 a.m. when I get up and just want a few minutes of peace, my sense of humor is nowhere to be found.  Even stopping to ponder the irony of "Silent Night, Holy Night" played at volumes that can be described as neither silent nor holy, won't bring a smile to my face.

After struggling through the first few days of Noise Assault from the pondoks, I thought, "maybe I'm missing something culturally.  Maybe there's something behind it all that I'm not understanding."  Seeking insight, wanting to be culturally in-tune, I started asking different Papuan friends what was the deal with the pondok Natal.  Did they like it?  All the people I asked responded, usually with grimaces on their faces, that they were too loud, that they couldn't sleep at night, that it was the young men who do it, that they ask them to turn it down but they won't listen.

So it's not just me being a culturally insensitive American.  And it's not just the music from the pondoks.  There's also fireworks, and bamboo cannons, and the worst, the carbide cannons that guys set off and make it sound like we're living in a war zone.

My nerves are frayed.  And my Christmas spirit - well, I'm having to dig deep and the well is still dry.

So it's back to the internet to find coping mechanisms for HSP'ers like me.  I've already tried most of the suggestions I've seen: headphones, barriers (we hung quilts over our windows one night to try to block out the sound so we could hear our movie), having a quiet place to retreat to (my English classroom).  Other suggestions aren't feasible, such as approaching the local authorities about noise ordinance violations.  Yeah, that won't be happening. 

Trying to block the noise with quilts

There is one other approach I'm trying this weekend: escape.  Our family is planning to head interior to the village of Mokendoma where our friends the Wilds serve.  How does this sound: 7,000 feet elevation, gorgeous mountain views, and nary a pondok Natal. 

But enough about me and my issues.  Here's some fantastic news: our beloved helper Orpa gave birth to her second child last week, and named her Natalie!  It helps that my name means "child of Christmas" and it's almost Christmas.  Isn't she beautiful?

This is how awesome Orpa is: she went into labor, hopped on a motorbike to ride to the midwife's house, gave birth, and a few hours later got back on the motorbike with the baby and went home! 

And if one namesake isn't enough, my lovely cousin Lindsay went and had a daughter a few days ago and also named her Natalie. 

Babies at Christmastime are so special; three of my kids were newborns during Christmas and I remember snuggling them, spending lots of time contemplating what it must have been like for Mary when she had Jesus. 

And look at those babies now:

 And their mama - despite her struggles with noise - is still able to find something to laugh about:

Merry Christmas dan Selamat Hari Natal from the Holstens!

Flyalong

At the start of every school year, the whole high school heads off to the beach for a retreat to get to know one another, be challenged spiritually, and frolic in the sand and waves.  The kids look forward to it, and so do I, since it’s two days off from teaching.

David preflights the plane

For one of those days, I went flying with David.  I’ve been flying with him several times since we’ve been in Papua, but it had been a while since my last flyalong.  It’s always good for me to break out of my two-mile radius world in Sentani and connect with what David does.

The passengers on the first leg of our flight were several ladies who had been in Sentani to do supply-buying for their families.  We had a bit of a delay in Sentani, waiting for permission from the air traffic control tower to take off, but these ladies and their kids took it in stride.  I don’t know many little babies that would tolerate being strapped down in a hot airplane for very long, but these babies did great.  We were soon airborne and the little ones fell asleep.

Satisfied customer

I have such complicated feelings about Papua.  Sometimes it really scares the yahoohoo out of me, but other times the beauty of this place is breathtaking and I could just give this crazy bird-shaped island a kiss on the cheek.  On our flight to our first destination we passed loopy rivers, rugged mountains, and huge waterfalls.  We wove through valleys until David pointed out Bime, a short airstrip carved into the side of a mountain.

I’ve heard there’s a show called “The Scariest Places to Fly” and that Papua has been featured in it.  People, that would be one reality show you can believe.  As David – calm and collected as ever - was circling over the airstrip, a mountain loomed large in front of us.  David must have sensed my anxiety because he calmly said, “Don’t worry, I will turn the plane.”  Of course, of course, I told myself.  He knows what he’s doing.

Can you spot the airstrip?

He did indeed turn the plane, with air to spare, and then deftly landed on the airstrip.  He hopped out of the plane to handle the second most challenging aspect of his job – sorting out the next flight’s passengers and cargo.  There are airstrip agents (often the pastor of the village church) who help with this job, but David still has to count money for tickets and verify the weight of the cargo.

The villagers surround the plane as David preps for the next flight.  Almost everyone wears a nokin, or net bag, even if it's empty and they have nothing to carry.

Some of the cargo: sweet potatoes, sugar cane, and a bow and arrows

While he was doing that, I wandered around the edge of the village.  I tried talking to some of the people, but their Indonesian is limited and my command of the local language is limited to one word of greeting - "telebe."  I made a few babies cry, from the sheer whiteness of my skin.  It’s hard not to feel like a bit of a freak show when going interior.

It was a short hop to our next destination, where some passengers got off and I found a bathroom.  Then it was on to the final village, which was down in the lowlands and had a decidedly different feel.  When David shut off the engine, he turned to me and said, “Stick close to me here.” I peered out of the window and quickly saw why.  Some very rough looking characters emerged from the jungle to check out the plane.  They were all friendly enough, but when one sidled up next to me to get a photo, David said no. 

On our way home, David got clearance to do a low pass over the beach where the kids were.  I’ve been to these beaches many times, but never seen them from the air.  Oh, the blueness of the water!  The kids were on the beach and appeared to be having fun.  This mama was relieved to see that.

"Middle" beach is one of our favorite spots in Papua

The high schoolers at "Outside" beach

When we landed in Sentani David practiced a short-field landing.  We were in the Kodiak and it must be what a dragonfly feels when it zooms in, hovers for an instant and then lands, because that is what we did.  Okay, we didn’t hover, but he brought that plane to a complete stop in less than 300 feet. 

Home sweet home in Sentani

Like I said, I’ve flown with David numerous times, and every time, I am amazed at what a darned good pilot he is.  On the days he goes and flies, so often I just sort of dismiss it, and don’t really think about what it is he’s doing.  Then I fly with him, and the coolness of it, the scariness of it, the “oh yeah, this is why we’re here” of it hits me again.  This is what he does.  And he rocks it.

Name That Relative

My yard guy, an ancient Papuan man, came to me recently with a request. It went something like this:

Pak Aki: “Ibu, saya minta ijin tidak masuk, karena ada keluarga meninggal.” (Ma’am, I ask for permission not to work today, because a relative has died.)

Me: Siapa meninggal? (Who died?)

Pak Aki: Itu kakak punya anak ipar saya (My older brother/sister’s son/daughter-in-law – OR my brother/sister-in-law’s uncle/aunt/older sibling - OR perhaps something totally different)

Me: Jadi itu saudara kandung Bapak, nggak? (It was your sibling – literally – of the same womb?)

Pak Aki: Ya, kakak punya adik dari sepupu saya (Yes, my older sibling’s younger sibling’s cousin)

Me: [Still quite confused but feigning comprehension]  Oh jadi itu saudara Bapak (so it was your relative)

Pak Aki: Ya itu saudara saya (yes it was my relative)

And so concludes another round of “Name That Relative,” a little language game I get to play frequently with my Indonesian friends and acquaintances.  

Oh, how I sometimes yearn for the precision of English family terms.  We don’t just call someone our “saudara” but our second cousin by marriage on our mother’s side.  I loved it when my grandmother would refer to her “double first-cousins" who were not to be confused with the regular first cousins. Why are we so precise?  Why the detail?  Why is it so important for me to nail down the relation of the dearly departed to my yard guy???

I have yet to hear a word for “half-sister,” “great-grandparent” or “double first cousins.” Indonesians seem content with their family words.  They are liberal with their use of saudara (sibling or relative), kakak (older sibling or relative), adik (younger sibling or relative), sepupu (cousin), and tante (aunt).  In fact, I have been called all of these at some point by Indonesians, despite the fact that in Indonesia I am related by blood only to my children.

Indonesians, on the whole, are a gracious people.  Arms open wide, they’ll take you as a saudara.  And their language and culture make a beautiful allowance for forgetting or not knowing someone’s name.  Can you determine the person is older than you?  Call them kakak.  Is it a child?  Adik will suffice.  Your neighbor lady?  Ibu works wonderfully.  An old man? Kakek (Grandpa), or Om (Uncle) will do. 

Doesn’t matter.  You’re family.

Semua Harus Tahu - Everyone Must Know!

I remember being in middle school when the gravity and reality of HIV-AIDS struck me.  I heard in the news that Ryan White, a kid not much older than I was, died from AIDS after contracting the virus from a tainted blood treatment.  I remember thinking, wow, someone my age can get that, and die from it?

Fast-forward 20 years and great strides have been made in AIDS awareness, prevention, and treatment.  It doesn't seem to be the hot topic that it once was, at least not in the U.S., perhaps.

However, here in Papua, the effects of HIV-AIDS are devastating, and unfortunately, the virus is spreading rapidly.  Statistics show that Papuans are contracting the virus at a rate more than 10 times the national average.  Buzz and Myrna Maxey, longtime CMA missionaries in Indonesia, have a burden to educate the people of Papua about this virus.

Last Thursday Buzz and Myrna presented to the MAF Sentani national staff about their program called "Semua Harus Tahu," or, "Everyone Must Know."  

Myrna and Buzz

Buzz shared that every day in Wamena (an area in the mountains where MAF has a base) three to four people die due to AIDS.  And, he said, 99 percent of the cases in Papua are transmitted sexually.

"It's a disaster," Buzz said.  "But people aren't shocked by it anymore."

Through the use of video, drama, and posters, the Maxeys' program emphasized purity before marriage (suci sebelum menikah) and faithfulness after marriage (setia setelah menikah).  They warned of the dangers of alcohol (a major problem in Papua) and pornography, factors which lead to sexual promiscuity and the spread of the virus.  They explained how the virus is transmitted, and how it is not transmitted.

Buzz showed how each of the five fingers of the hand can be used to remember key points about HIV-AIDS:
1. Love people with the virus
2. Love your family
3. Tell others about the dangers of HIV-AIDS
4. Be faithful to the Lord
5. Save Papua

Buzz, who has flown on MAF planes his whole life, announced a partnership with MAF at our meeting on Thursday.  He and his "Semua Harus Tahu" group have developed a brochure that will go in each seat pocket in our MAF planes.  The laminated brochures include information about HIV-AIDS, as well as a hotline number to call for help. 

Myrna and Buzz with Papua Program Manager Mike Brown

Yakobus, helper with the Semua Harus Tahu program, with MAF pilot and good buddy of ours Dave Ringenberg, insert HIV-AIDS brochure in the seatbacks of an MAF Cessna Caravan

David has told me how the passengers, perhaps bored and with no reading material of their own, will read every detail of the safety briefing card in the seat backs.  Now every seat back will have this important brochure and has the potential of impacting many of the 40,000 passengers a year that fly with MAF.  

Semua Harus Tahu!

Papuan Handshake

How do you greet your friends?  With a handshake? A bear hug? A side hug? A bro hug? A high five?  An air kiss by the cheek?  Here's a greeting to add to your repertoire.

Here in Papua, certain tribes have a unique greeting that I just love.  It starts like a normal handshake:

Then you connect your fingers like this with your knuckles overlapping:

And then you pull hard for a satisfying SNAP!

Now, go and do likewise.

The lady in the picture often gives bananas to David when he flies into her village.  Maybe she's trying to appease the Scary Giant Pilot?

Nah, I think it's just that she's a generous soul.  

Okbab

This past weekend our family went to Okbab (pronounced Oak-bop), a district in the area known as the Eastern Highlands.  When we lived in Kalimantan we went interior several times a year, but for a number of reasons, we just haven't made it interior much since moving to Papua.  So I was thrilled when David set it all up for our family and another family, the Bergs, to head to the mountains for a few days.

The flight was about an hour from our home in Sentani.  The airstrip at Okbab is at 6,000 feet elevation, so the cool weather felt wonderful to us.  We stayed in a house that was built by missionaries who came in the 1970s, bringing the gospel and literacy to the area.  The house hasn't been lived in for about 30 years, but enough people stay in it from time to time that it's stayed in fairly decent shape.  I was pleasantly surprised that we had no nighttime visitors (especially surprising considering the formidable hole in the kitchen floor), since I have a slight phobia of cockroaches.  

The house was sparsley furnished so it was a bit like camping.  

However, unlike camping there was a very nice man who came along at meal times and washed up the dishes for us.  He used to work for the missionaries who lived there thirty years ago.

We read books, played games, enjoyed the fire in the fireplace, went for walks.  It was very relaxing.  I enjoyed chatting with some of the people in the village and learning a little bit about their life.

On Sunday morning we walked to church, passing under several of these cool little covered bridges.  They looked like something from the Shire.

Church was interesting.  It was the first time I'd be to a church where the men sit on one side...

...and the women on the other side.

David gave a short greeting to the church, thanked them for their prayers and shared how privileged we as MAF feel to serve their people.  He asked for a show of hands of those who have ridden on an MAF plane before, and quite a few hands went up.  One man stood and told how he was on a flight with David and the weather was rough, and he and other passengers in the plane prayed for safety.  Several people in the church expressed their appreciation for MAF.

The service was mostly in the local language (called Ketembang), so we couldn't really follow the sermon (except for the one word I was able to learn - "telebe" - which is a word used in greeting).  But it was still fascinating to observe.  The pastor kept repeating one verse over and over (Luke 2:31) and the congregation would repeat it back.  I guess it was for the benefit of those who can't read or don't have Bibles.  The New Testament and parts of the Old Testament have been translated into Ketembang, and work is still being done to finish the entire Bible.

We noticed the homemade instrument below sitting at the front of the church and wondered how it sounds when played.

After church we chatted with some of the people, and learned that many girls in the village get married at age 15.  There were certainly some very young-looking mommas in this group.

There is a school that goes through junior high, and is fully staffed (often the schools interior don't have teachers), but not all the children attend.  I asked one mom why her child doesn't attend and she said the child was "malas"  or lazy to go so she stayed home.  

Later in the day, Zoe wanted to play with the kids but was a bit shy to go out on her own, so I helped bridge the gap for her.  We played frisbee and taught them a game, then asked them to teach us a few games.  When we were done playing I gave them a little pep talk on the importance of going to school and learning to read, but I'm not sure how well they understood me.

We met a local guy, Pak Niko, who could speak English and had spent time in Sentani as well as China and Australia.  We hiked to his village (well, Zoe and I made it part-way) which was situated on a 60-foot wide ridge.  The trail to get there was a bit sketchy in places, but the views were outstanding. 

The two dots in the middle of the photo below are me and Zoe.

David said when they reached the village, a bakar batu was taking place.  Heated rocks placed in a pit are used to cook food, usually pork and sweet potatoes, but this time it was sweet potatoes and buah merah, a popular local fruit.

David arranged our visit to Okbab with the man below, Pak Yuli (yes, the one wearing the funky "Punks Not Dead" hat).  He worked with the missionaries who came in the 1970s and is actively involved in the Bible translation project. He said that even though missionaries brought the gospel to the area in the early 1970s, many people didn't really put their faith in Christ until an earthquake in 1976 devastated their village, which was located on the other side of the mountain at the time.  About 2,000 people lost their lives in the ensuing landslides, and the village was moved to its current location.  Pak Yuli said he and many others were baptized at that time.

It was a blessing for our family and the Bergs to be able to spend a few days in Okbab, one of the many places in Papua served by MAF.  It was a good reminder to us of why we are choosing to live here, so far from our passport country, to serve isolated people and work alongside local churches in sharing God's love with others.  

This week in pictures

We finished the puzzle!  The kids helped me put it together, and I must say, it was way more satisfying to put it together without the help of the picture on the box.  So maybe my dad is on to something.

This week we went to the opening day of a Papuan cultural festival taking place on Lake Sentani.  It was very hot, but we managed to see some cool stuff before we succumbed to the heat.  

This guy was dancing up and down on the pier, "calling" to the boats full of warriors waving bows and arrows around.

This colorful parrot was riding on a woman's head as she watched the warriors dance.

There were several artists displaying their handicrafts, including this woman making pottery.

I got to try the local food, called papeda which is made from sago flour and has - according to one friend - the consistency of elephant snot.  I had been warned that to American palates, it's none too tasty, and I admit, it is a bit like eating paste.  It is basically tasteless, but the spicy fish eaten with it makes up for the lack of flavor.  It has been my observation that most cultures have their own version of porridge - in the South it's grits; out west it's cream of wheat; in other parts of Indonesia, there is bubur, a rice porridge.  On their own, these porridges are bland and boring - it's the yummy stuff we add to it that make them delicious (i.e. cheese grits with shrimp).  

Our other big event this week was taking part in another dousing of David, this time for soloing in the Caravan.  

After his shower, David had to do another flight.  Here's a picture of one of his passengers being loaded.

That's it for this week!  Today the kids and I are planning to plant our garden.  We are hoping that our okra seeds will like the tropical climate!