New Beginnings

So, many of you will know that I’ve got a new job. I’m the new Media and Communications Advisor for Mt Hagen General Hospital. As for the old job – it ended in disaster. Let’s just say the boss of my former host organisation was a little on the too-corrupt-to-possibly-work-with side. Corruption is unfortunately a common problem in PNG but nowhere is it more disappointing than in the charity/NGO/not-for-profit sector. Sadly, “Not-For-Profit” is all-too-often a euphemism for “Not-For-Profit (Unless Nobody’s Looking)”.
So anyway, back in April, I had become so frustrated with my work situation that I started looking for ways out. I had challenged my boss (over the phone) one too many times (he was always in Moresby) and much too often found myself listening to the sweet sound of dial-tone after he had hung up in my ear. I don’t think being challenged by a white woman over poor transparency, constant travel and failure to pay staff for more than six months was what he had in mind when applying for a volunteer. So when I discovered he found a way to gently let me go (sorry *insert relevant Australian aid organization*, we don’t have any funding to properly support a volunteer and we’d rather not waste your resources…), I breathed a sigh of relief and started talking turkey with some key locals. My problem was to find a new job quickly or be sent home. Thankfully, I had started a community development initiative called Friends of Mt Hagen a couple of months earlier and with the CEO of the hospital on the committee, we were able to create a new role for me at the Haus Sik (hospital: literally “house sick”). And so… here I am.
Life at the Haus Sik is unpredictable but always interesting. This morning I arrived at work to find about 100 people anxiously milling about the hospital entrance. This usually signals a major car accident, so I knew this meant a busy day was ahead. A PMV (public motor vehicle: usually 20+ seater vans) had overturned on a bad corner on the highway south west of Mt Hagen and a truckload of people had just been delivered to the hospital in varying traumatic states. My counterpart – the information officer – wasn’t in his office when I arrived, so it was up to me to venture into the Emergency Department to take notes and photograph the injured for possible later media requests and for hospital records. Sadly, four people were killed in the crash. One was the boskru (literally “boss of the crew” – the guy who collects the fares) and three passengers. The wailing from the women is the first signal of fatality after an event like this. In Emergency, it was like a warzone. Bodies with broken limbs, facial lacerations, head wounds, major dislocations and an unknown number of internal injuries, were lying everywhere. One mother was moaning in agony on a gurney. She had suffered a broken pelvis and her six month old was drifting in and out of consciousness in an attending nurse’s arms. It was thought the baby had been thrown from the vehicle. Passenger restraints are non-existent in this country and, even if they are available, nobody uses them – despite the relative frequency of motor vehicle accidents in the area. To make matters worse, the van had been carrying a load of timber and so, many people were crushed unnecessarily when it overturned. What never ceases to amaze me is the average Papua New Guinean’s tolerance for pain. One man with a suspected broken femur was sitting down and recounting the event for me as best he could. As far as I could tell, he had not been attended to yet and so, with no painkillers administered, I was amazed by the clarity of his recall. Similarly, the patience of the nursing staff amidst this chaos was something to be admired. With little resources and family members getting in the way, they still seemed completely in control.
I certainly have a newfound appreciation for A&E staff, and my office – although only on the opposite side of the hospital to Emergency – feels like an entire world away.


A patient’s head being shaved in preparation for stitches


One man with suspected major dislocations and an almost-completely split bottom lip being tended to by nursing staff

Conjugal visits

Long-distance relationships might test your mettle as a couple and give you opportunities to grow that you might otherwise not experience – but at the eight month apart mark, I must say the whole concept is highly overrated.
When I arrived in PNG someone asked me why any pair in their right minds would put themselves through such a gruelling experience. At the time I seemed to have a dozen good reasons. Right now, another four months feels like a lifetime.
Nick left Mt Hagen on Monday after a month-long blissful visit. We did all the usual Hagen things… trekking, visiting villages, baking, hanging out with friends and second-hand clothes shopping (if I haven’t mentioned before, the second-hand clothes here are BRILLIANT. I recently picked up a Scanlan and Theodore top for 70 toea [about 30c] and a pair of Hauser pants for just a couple of Kina [$1]. Nick was quite addicted to finding just the right shirt but only had a little luck in comparison to my finds).
It was interesting seeing his reaction when he got here. All the things that are normal to me now had him wide-eyed from that first drive into town from the airport – and all of those new-to-the-country feelings came vicariously flooding back. The number of betel nut, soap and vegetable sellers on the side of the road is pretty amazing at first. But then you realise that the country basically rides on the back of its informal sector.
Hagen is the kind of place that people fear to visit but is really not that much of a security risk. The highlander reputation of violence – though justified at times – generally relates only to the way villagers and townsfolk deal with their own family members or those from warring clans. Apart from the odd middle-of-the-night domestic violence issue, it’s not generally something you see out in the open. Unless there is a rock concert (see earlier blog entry).
So anyway, in a month, Nick was able to lose that startled newcomer look and even experience some of the frustrations of being one of only a few “waitman” in town. Being the local freakshow is something that never really subsides – you just find ways of tolerating it. Hagen is a big enough place that there are always new people in the main streets staring straight at you, motioning toward you and whispering to their dumbstruck children or just brushing past to touch you. For good luck, presumably? In the non-contact arena, Nick discovered the best thing to do was to wear sunglasses. Eye contact seems to be a major attention-grabber here. But for the most part, people are extremely friendly and just want to say “moning!” or “apinun!” and shake your hand.

Some pics of Nick's time in the Highlands....


One of our tireless Protect escorts driving Nick and me back from Rondon Ridge - the new TransNiugini Tours lodge overlooking Mt Hagen town


Nick watching his first mumu being prepared. A bit like a NZ hangi. Here, the food is wrapped in leaves and cooked in the ground over hot stones. Mumu means 'to steam'


Maggie Wilson serving Nick's welcome mumu. We bought the chickens and Maggie provided village-raised pork. Kumu (greens), corn, peanuts, pit pit (kind of like asparagus), beans, taro, kau kau (sweet potato) and cooking bananas abound...


Yes, that's a good inch of fat on the pig


One of the village children we met on a visit to Avi block settlement. This little one comes from a particularly progressive area in the province. Her elders have done away with compensation, instated welfare officers for settling inter-clan disputes and host regular multi-denominational church gatherings


Me and Nick in the Nebilyer Valley after trekking down Mt Kuta. The Nebilyer is the infamous site of the First Contact, Joe Leahy's Neighbours and Black Harvest documentary films