I mentioned that I love going to see a show when I'm in a foreign land as a way of connecting with people and feeling like I'm part of what is going on. I have now found an even better way which will come as no surprise to any of you who play team sports… I have joined a netball team. I am now Goal Defender for the Frangipanis ladies team, and a fine bunch of friendly women they are. Happy to have me in their midst even though I don't speak the lingo and have not played for almost 4 years. At last night's training session I actually threw the ball back to my own keeper at one point instead of forward to somebody who could attack… I just got a bit excited that I'd intercepted the ball so I forgot you then have to do something useful with it;) Still, they asked me back and I was told I would be GD (not the position I used to play) tonight for a proper game in the A grade which is a bit of a worry, but I assume everyone thinks my (considerable) height advantage is going to be sufficient compensation for my lack of ability.
So tonight I was ready and primed to take on the KC Cats. As in Australia however, sometimes people just don't turn up (though here it could be because they had no transportation)… in this case the whole team didn't show so we got the points on a forfeit but it was a bit of an anti climax. When I played netball in Australia it worked a bit differently… if the other team didn't show, people headed straight to their cars and went home to watch Desperate Housewives. Here we sat around on the playing field for the hour anyway, chatting and chewing buai or beetlenut, though with everybody occasionally making comments about having better things they could be doing. Fiona (GK) is the player who invited me on the team after I met her a couple of times last week. She has also taken on the role of chauffeur as otherwise I couldn't get to the games (twice a week) or training (also twice) so by inviting me she has put her hand up to pick me up and drop me off in the wrong direction from her home 4 times a week. I am trying to stop feeling bad about this kind of imposition and just appreciate it – still a work in progress! We even have a coach (I've never been in a team with a proper coach!) Her name is Auntie Frieda and she is a character. Last night she had the whole team in fits with a story about why she can't run at the moment. It was all in Tokpisin so I only picked up the odd bit but enough to tell she had overindulged in the 'sex on the beach' cocktails at the weekend, and on leaving the Club had taken some kind of a tumble and injured herself in the moonlight. She is also a bit of an entrepreneur; at the end of the game she opened up the boot of her car to reveal a mini tuck shop with fags and beetle nut for the adults and lollies for the kids.
Tonight I was introduced to the rites of chewing buai PNG-style. You shell the nut then chew the soft centre till it's pulpy, at which point you add the mustard stalk dipped in lime powder. That turns the gunk red and you just spit the red juices out in big squirts until it's gone. It turns your mouth scarlet and is not particularly hygienic but it is universal. It was quite pleasant but I don't think I'm at risk of becoming a long-term user.
This place is known as the Land of the Unexpected and that counts for little things like like your hot water coming out of the cold tap and vice versa, to the interesting outburst in the parliament today, when the PM, Sir Michael Somare threatened to kill one of his MP colleagues outside, 'Bai mi kilim yu autsait! Bai yu dai! Yu dai nau! ' I can't quite imagine Julia doing that somehow….
One of the joys of any developing country (and even some developed ones) is that first brush with their bureaucracy … today I had to go to the Provincial Government's Treasury Dept to pay the K1,000 (outrageous!) needed to get a receipt to send off to Port Moresby with my passport to get a visa extension for a period of just 12 days (the original 60-day visa cost just K500) – go figure. The name of the department was the grandest thing about it – it is a run-down collection of shacks, literally with holes in the roofs and plants growing off it and parts of the buildings hanging down. Groups of people milled around seemingly aimlessly, moving between badly signed counters and closed offices in a vain attempt to give or take some money. Apart from the tropical ambience it could have been a scene out of Kafka. After a few wrong turns and with the help of Terence, the uni security guard detailed to escort me and my big wad of cash, I finally made it to the right counter where there were a few people waiting already but no sign of anyone behind the desk. It was difficult to work that out though as the desk was behind a filthy pane of glass and a rusty grid of unidentifiable metal, so you had to peer and twist and shade your eyes from the sun just to see if there was any movement on the other side. The sign helpfully read, 'Office hours are _________ .' I was in a slightly better position than most as a tiny circle had been cut in the glass just at my eye height , which of course is pretty useless for 99% of the people in PNG. Still, I got my receipt and as we came out onto the main road a police car (the first I've seen) went screaming by with siren blaring and at great speed. Why? Konie summed it up with a smile… "Mebbe a hold-up… this is PNG."
If I have mastered the art of adding photos you should also see here the interesting front page of the National today, showing a gang member being paraded naked and bound through the streets of Tari in the Highlands by the local police. Just in case, here's the link http://www.thenational.com.pg/
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