My first destination after Port Morseby was Kavieng, New Ireland - one of the many Islands
North West of the PNG (Papua New Guinea) mainland. The people are amongst the friendliest
I have met thus far, and I am surprised at how far a smile and a wave will get you. The men
look fierce at first, with betel-nut-red stained mouths, scowling expressions and historical
penchant for eating human flesh, but a simple 'Apinun' (g'day in Pidgin) and their faces light
with a broad welcoming smile.
I was startled when I first arrived in Port Moresby by the prevalence of this practice.
Everyone in PNG has, is or will chew Betel Nut: I saw some children who couldn't be older
than 5, happily chewing away with their parents. Betel Nut is essentially a stimulant and an
appetite suppressant that I have heard, can sustain the body for hours without food or sleep,
and also seems to be habit forming, from the amount of people I saw chewing it. I tried it
one afternoon when I went to visit Bianca's sister, Wendy, and her family in New Ireland.
It is offered for the same reasons the English will offer visitors a cup of tea, as a social
ritual of welcome, an icebreaker and something to chew while you chat. First you break off
the outer shell with your teeth and chew the nut inside, without swallowing, then you dip a
'mustard stick' in lime, which is made from dried crushed coral, and bite off a small piece.
Mixing these three ingredients, turns the now copious amount of saliva in your mouth, blood
red and you are forced to spit long red jets of saliva. Apparently its a "mild" stimulant, but
I started sweating profusely and felt so nauseous that I had to lie down before I passed out.
They say the first one is bad, but you get over it eventually. I wasn't prepared to
experience that sensation again and don't think I will make a good user. It turns your teeth
red, rotting them eventually and according to government sponsored TV ads, causes mouth
cancer. But despite that, and the unsightly spitting, it is so widely used that I even saw
government ministers chewing it on TV.
Once in Kavieng, I was surprised to find a dive operation run by a couple of South Africans,
Dorian and Cara, who invited me to a 'braai' (that barbecue for the rest of the world) with
them and a Zimbawean plantation farmer the one night. I really didn't expect to find South
Africans in this part of the world, but it seems you just can't get away from them. They
always seemed to be on edge, as some South Africans tend to be, and I didn't enjoy the
condescending way they spoke to their staff, which consisted of local New Islanders. But
despite our differences, I have to thank them, as I might have died without their help. I got
Malaria. On the third day in Kavieng, I fell ill with a fever, nausea, back and neck pain,
headaches and diarrhea, which got steadily worse though the night and into the next day. I
went to the hospital only to be told that the Malaria and Typhoid tests were negative and
they just gave me some "antiworm" pills (I couldn't quite establish what they meant by that,
but took them anyway). These didn't seem to help. Cara came round later with some Chinese
treatment for Malaria, called Arthemeter, which all the expats in Kavieng swear by, and
suggested I take it anyway. She said that Lariam, which I had been taking as a preventative
prophylactic, made it easier to treat, but also much harder to detect, especially if I had
Vivax, a recurring strain. So I took it and started to feel better almost immediately. But it
was 3 days of crackers and Veggimite and 5 days in bed before I fully recovered. They reckon
I got it in Mozambique and have brought a new strain to PNG - Oops!
This is not surprising to me, as everyone that I spoke to in Pemba had, or had just recovered
from malaria. One poor bugger had just come out of hospital after being treated using
Quinene, the side effects of which are supposed to be worse than those of malaria, and he had
dived into the sea only to split his forehead open on some shallow coral! Another woman who
instructed me on my PADI rescue diver course, had stopped counting after she had malaria 36
times! Now I have stopped taking Larium and am just carrying the cure with me - I would
prefer to know what I have and treat it than die because it can't be properly diagnosed, as
has happened to some other unlucky people. Apparently they won't treat you in Australia (or
in England, I'm sure) unless you test positive for Malaria, which only happens when your fever
is at its highest - i.e. Just as the parasite is breaking out of your blood cells - and people
have died as a result - scary!
Once I felt better I did some more diving, which was pretty good. Dorian had a neat little
trick of taking an empty plastic bottle underwater and rubbing it between his hands, which
would 'call' about 5 or 6 White and Silver tip sharks.
I then headed down the coast on a PMV (Public Motor Vehicle, which can be anything from a 25
seater bus to the back of a truck), usually packed beyond capacity, to visit some of the
villages. I stayed at a guest house about 5 hours drive south of Kavieng on the east coast,
run by one of the families in a village called Dalom. A lovely place where I bathed in an ice
cold, crystal clear stream that flows out of the ground near the beach; snorkeled on the local
reef; ate delicious local food; and not much else really. The local veggies and fresh fish
were delicious, although I wasn't such a fan of their 'special meal' for the guest: corned
beef,and ate it with long teeth, as it would have been rude not to. Everyone I met went out
of their way to help me and ensure I had a good time and make sure I get to my destination, if
not on the day I intended, then at least by the next day.
From there I got hitched a lift further south to a small town, called Namatani, on a supply
truck, for which I had to wait at the roadside for 8 hours, running out and stopping anything
that came past. I was intending to cross from there to the west coast and take a banana
boat to the next Island: New Britain. I was a bit dubious about this, as they are small
fibreglass boats with outboard motors, and don't carry life jackets. In rough seas they
often sink or run out of fuel and are lost at sea. We arrived in Namatani after dark, so the
truck driver drove me around looking for accommodation, and as both the guest houses were
full I had to stay at the hotel. What struck me about the hotel, was that it had a conference
facility, even though there were only 4 rooms! There were some pilots staying there, who's
plane had broken down and when they heard where I was heading, the kindly offered me a lift
to Rabual, New Britain in another plane that was coming to get them. Luckily for me, as the
wind picked up that night and didn't let up for week, so I would have been stuck, or had a very
bad trip over to Rabaul. Hitchhiked on a plane - Tick!
New Ireland
Papua New Guinea
