Most of us take food for granted. When we get hungry, (and often we aren't truly hungry) we just visit the refrigerator, grocery store, or a restaurant and don't give it any more thought. Unfortunately that is not true for many people in PNG. We are blessed to live in the Highlands where food grows abundantly in the rich volcanic soil. However, the same is not true for the swampy Lowlands where food is much more difficult to come by. Below you see a picture of a typical market day for me. However, I have to admit that going to the market is not my favorite activity. You would have to experience it to believe it! I would love to have taken some pictures to share, but it is not worth the risk of loosing my camera to the thieves that hang out at the market. How can I describe the Goroka market to you? Mud, mud, and more mud. Mixed generously in the mud is spittle and thick red betel nut juice. Masses of humanity are trampling through the mud, so thick you can hardly walk through the crowds at times. But oh the fruits and veggies are lovely ... laying on the ground in the midst of all the mud. (-:
I, who have never been a successful gardener in my life, bravely decided to plant a garden in the hopes of cutting down on the amount of trips I would have to make to the market. It is a battle of the wits between me, the bugs and the weeds. I am valiantly trying to win the war. Here you see green beans and okra growing. (Yes, okra! Bill and I have a little southern blood in us.)
Here you see the squash taking over the garden...and not producing anything but leaves to date.
Lettuce seems to thrive here.
I have a small pineapple patch. This is for those of you who have never seen a pineapple growing. You plant pineapple by just cutting off the top and replanting it. So every time we eat a pineapple I go and plant the top so I can expand my little patch.
And yes, we do have a small banana patch as well.
Here you see Bill attacking the ever pervasive bush trying to take over the garden.
Below is a typical PNG garden plot. You can see sweet potatoes, cabbage and bananas growing. That is about the extent of most local gardens. Sweet potatoes and greens are the staple of the Highlands diet. The greens can be any edible green leaf. For example, did you know that you can eat squash leaves? They are a bit furry but I eat them all the time in an attempt to keep them from taking over my garden.
This is a sweet potato patch growing on a hillside. This is a very common sight as PNG is very mountainous and you will see some very steep garden plots. Speaking of food, following is a letter Bill wrote...
...Seems there hasn’t been time for anything beyond eating and a bit of sleep. I’ve spent a good deal of time flying for the Western Highlands Mission (as well as three other missions, the Union, and ADRA). The WHM covers a territory starting about a 15 minute flight West of Goroka all the way out to the boarder with Indonesia. In fact, one of the airstrips out there is actually in both countries as the boarder goes right across the middle of it. One stop you’re down at 250 feet in hot humid conditions along some big river letting off 4 or 5 pastors, the next stop 15 minutes later you’re three valleys over and landing at 6,400 feet on the side of some mountain range which goes up well over 12,000 feet. A half hour later and you’re dropping off another group of 9 people for meetings down in the lowland swamps. Forty minutes after that and you’re back up in the mountains dropping off iron roofing sheets for a church building and over 2,000 lbs of food supplies. And so it goes. To say it’s a challenge is a huge understatement. But I’m really thankful to be flying a turbine-powered bird this go-around with good performance. It’s a simple machine that does a good job in this environment.
Looking back over the last four weeks, I’ve flown nearly 100 hours which have taken me all over the country. The challenges are immense, only eclipsed by the greater needs. I’m in a prime position to see a lot of it first hand. There are many stories I could tell, but allow me to share one.
Thursday last week was a very heavy schedule. I was out in the Western highlands clear out at the boarder, up to the rivers on the North side, as well as clear down to lake Murray in the Southern swamps. Late afternoon I was tired and headed for home. But the weather wasn’t looking too encouraging for getting back up across the mountain ranges into the highlands. And it would also be right at dark by the time I reached Goroka. Now I have a rule about these things when flying VFR over here. There are three main variables to battle – weather, fuel, and daylight. I will never take on more than one of these at the same time. So instead of returning to Goroka, I changed course for Kikori, which is headquarters for the Southwest Papua Mission. The weather was clear in that direction and the mission property is adjacent to the airstrip. So as the sun was casting long shadows out over the ocean, I gently touched down on the landing mat strip at Kikori and got the bird “put to bed” for the night. Then I walked over to the mission.
Now Pastor Soga was down in Daru and I was actually scheduled to pick him up and bring him back home on Friday, the next day. But his family was very gracious and welcoming. They had a guest room I could sleep in for the night. They are struggling valiantly against a lot of odds at this mission. Most of the buildings are in a sad state of disrepair and only recently Roger had taken initiative to get some new roofing sheets on some of the structures. They also had a new plastic water tank hooked up to collect rain water, as all of the old metal tanks have corroded in the humid salty air. But there is still no plumbing working to get water into the house so everything is carried up by bucket. The bucket shower with cold rain water was refreshing nonetheless. The mission generator has long since quit working and all the phone lines are messed up. (No end of projects to keep someone busy here…)
I migrated into the kitchen and found Mrs. Soga and the girls cooking on a little 2 burner gas unit by flashlight. I didn’t have the heart to ask what was being cooked for supper because I already knew that in spite of all my efforts to communicate to the contrary, they would be fixing the very best of whatever they had. Sure enough, a half hour later I was being served gluten steaks and the very last grains from a sack of rice. You see, they really have a hard time getting food there in Kikori, especially any fresh produce. All the store goods come on ships from Port Moresby and are thus limited and very expensive. And since the “town” (village would be more appropriate) has no bank, the Union is generally way behind time trying to ever get salary money sent along to any mission staff in that area. They have tried to grow gardens and other crops over the years, but everything gets stolen by the villagers before it is even ripe enough to eat! Bananas – stolen, pineapples – stolen, papayas – stolen, coconuts – stolen, taro – stolen, sweet potatoes – stolen, …you get the idea. They need fencing to protect a garden area, but there are no funds or materials available. Often it comes down to fishing in the river for food to eat, but mission presidents are supposed to spend most of their time out in the field working rather than sitting on the river trying to catch fish for the family….
So huddled there in the dark around the meager table by the light of a Chinese flashlight which kept springing apart and going off, we gave thanks over this last bit of food and ate it. As I lay on my mattress that night listening to all the frogs start their evening chorus and watching the moon rise over the palm trees, I thought about how easy I have it. After all, no matter how much rice there was in the bag or not, all I needed was just enough energy to drag my bones up into the cockpit at 5:30 the next morning and 40 minutes later I would be back home – in the land of stores and abundant veggies in the local market. But for these people, it was sort of like that widow story in the Bible where they had fed the visitor the last of everything they had. What would the next day bring for them?
Right at sunrise I let 750 horse power loose, pointed the nose up at the sky, and was soon sitting up at 13,000 feet in bright sunshine effortlessly winging my way home. While I did two local charter flights (a whole bunch of teachers going back to crater mountain area with school supplies, and another load of mothers and babies headed back to Karimui) I sent one of our hangar workers to the local market with all the personal money I had in my pocket, about 160 kina, with instructions to buy all kinds of fresh veggies and basic food staples. I then loaded all the food stuff in the front belly pod section along with a drum of JetA1 fuel in the back, and headed out for Daru. It was going to be a long stretch to get the Union and ADRA people picked back up and taken to Lae, so I climbed right up to 14,000 feet and powered back into “long range” profile. I had good tailwinds up there which helped as well. I landed in Daru and pumped in the drum of fuel I had brought along, then loaded the health team along with Pastor Soga to take back to Kikori. About an hour later we landed at Kikori and there standing along the parking bay was his wife and daughter waiting to meet him. But there was a special surprise in store. As Pastor Soga hopped out the back door and was joyfully greeting his family, I opened up the belly pod and started hauling out all this food. Sacks and sacks of potatoes, rice, cabbage, tomatoes, green beans, vegetables of every kind... about 200 pounds worth. Their eyes nearly popped out of their heads! Pastor Soga gave a yell, grabbed me and hugged me tight. I wish you could have been there to see them dancing around in the shock of unbelief and joy. Unless you have lived out in the jungle, you have no idea what this meant to them. It made both of our day!
Five minutes later I was off and headed for Lae to drop off the Union people, then back to Goroka in time for Sabbath. Yes, it is a busy schedule with mostly just a lot of hard work. But it’s not every day you get to bring someone’s Daddy home and drop a couple hundred pounds of food on them at the same time. It is truly more blessed to give, than to receive.
