Here we are in Kudjip, Papua New Guinea, at the last of the early style Nazarene Mission Stations in the world. As with all things in life, change is inevitable. This particular station is unique in that it has a beautiful hospital that serves over 50,000 people per year. We also have Chapels, Schools and housing for both Missionaries and local support Staff. This is a very light overview of the station, but I am sure we will discuss more detailed aspects of this station from time to time.
I use the title "First Things First", because there is so much to tell that we need to start at the beginning. As many of you know, Karla and I have stepped into the opportunity to become full time Missionaries. We are just beginning to grasp what that really means. For now, it means settling into our new home, learning new names and faces, getting local drivers licenses, understanding our responsibilities and most of all learning this new language.
We have been in PNG just about one month now. Karla and I arrived on the 24th of February, after a stopover in Tokyo, Japan, to visit with Nicole and Andrew. Upon our arrival in PNG, we spent the next few days unpacking our suitcases and finding a proper place for each item. Our house is really great, and from the beginning it felt like home. Our many new friends at the station had stocked our kitchen with food, and had a "Welcome Deuels" sign posted so we saw it as we first walked in. All these small touches were huge for us and helped us to feel welcome. As I say these things, it is most likely apparent to you-the reader that we are presently missing. So to you we want to say "We love each of you, and thank you for what you are to us".
Four weeks in PNG and what about adventures? After getting settled enough to call this spot in Kudjip, PNG home (5 days), we packed up and headed for the airport! We met our Missions Aviation Fellowship (MAF) pilot Brad, and loaded into the Cessna 206 (5 seats total) for our flight to a spot in the mountains named Dusin. These guys that fly for MAF are the best! I flew quite a bit growing up with my Dad, but there were only a couple of times we experienced anything this exciting. Then there were the bush flights in Alaska out of Kotzebue, and perhaps that was a bit of preparation for this sort of thing, but to my pilot friends I've just got to say, "I am not making this stuff up".
If in the future I use that line again, just accept it as truth. After loading and belting in, Brad covered safety in the event of a crash landing. Brad's commentary ended "…and if I am unconscious, just crawl over the top of my body since you don't have an exit door". After all of the customary preflight checks, we taxied to the end of the runway and did more preflight checks, then full power, full brakes. When he was satisfied, Brad released the brakes and away we went. We were off the strip in about 800-900 feet. The weather was cloudy with spotty openings. We climbed rapidly and banked sharply to the right as we cleared the end of the runway. You always wonder about life when you are inside a fully loaded single engine plane, 6,000 miles from home banking hard to the right with the very loud sound of the stall indicator in your ear. We later learned that this was just to get us ready for what it would sound like when we landed! We were soon through the clouds, so we could see the ridge we needed to climb above, to see yet the next vista. We flew across the Jimi Valley and that was truly beautiful. The beauty was not only the rugged topography, but the depth of color in every shade of green. The valley spread out below us and allowed a few minutes to absorb how different these mountains are from what we normally see in Washington State, namely, jutting razor backed ridges of jungle for as far as we could see. It dawned on me that the handheld global positioning satellite system I had brought, would be of little value in the event of a crash. I am learning about that 5-letter word-faith. Faith that the engine will continue to purr, and faith that the pilot can find and land on a strip of earth called Dusin.
Beyond the Jimi Valley is the Bismarck Range. This marks the completion of our northward progress as we bank right again and east around this rising bit of the Bismark called Mt. Blum. Our pilot pointed at a bit of smoke rising in the middle of the mountain ahead and stated that "the runway is there". Point #1, I could not see a runway. Point #2, since I saw no runway I figured the smoke was there to guide us in. (The smoke really only marked where a man was clearing for a garden, but it did help me finally spot the airstrip carved onto a tiny mountain ridge.) Brad flew the plane along the hillside and across the runway to check for children, mud, fallen trees, pigs, that sort of thing. Beyond the runway we circled out into the valley to begin our final approach. The word "final" came to have a new meaning as we took what was about to happen into perspective. Imagine with me if you will, a dirt/grass/mud runway, gloriously one thousand, four hundred feet long. This all starting on a cliff face, then angled uphill at an eleven percent grade, then think about all this wonder terminated by a mountain. Once again I say "final" approach. We are not gliding into some 5,000 foot concrete runway at sea level, but instead, we are with a purpose accelerating toward a mountain with a sort of flat spot that is really, really short. So again, for my pilot friends; full flaps, throttle on, nose down. Earlier I mentioned that stall indicator noise, well, this is where it comes into play, just about the time it seemed like it was going to be a really bad day. Brad pulls the nose up sharply, cuts power, and stalls the Cessna as soft as can be into, or on to the dirt and grass. I told Brad he was my new Hero! All of this activity has gotten Karla and I all the way to the morning of day six in Papua New Guinea. I must interject here that though I resolved not to mention names in this blog, for the sake of accuracy I will recount a comment I made to Karla about my adventure prone friend Chris Rodes, "Chris's got nothing on me now". So Chris please take that as a personal challenge.
Dusin, what a place. If there is a place that mostly time forgot, Dusin is pretty close to it. There is a rustic mission home here that the true pioneers of missions built. The home still stands, with it's quirky hand pump water system, kerosene refrigerator, and the old wood stove that must have cooked thousands of meals in those early days. Candles and kerosene lamps are the path Karla and I chose in spite of the fact that there are now battery operated lights if we chose. I think we wanted to live in that moment of time gone by (and to conserve energy for the radio that the nationals used everyday).
The real asset of Dusin is the people, friendly, and almost shy at times. Our boss and friend Harmon Schmelzenbach has flown in with us. We receive introductions, and make assessments of the property. We are then handed into the care of Pastor Dickson. This is a man with a smile that is bigger than his face, and over the next two weeks, seldom did I see Pastor Dickson without that smile. He helped me pump water for hours, and he helped Karla and I for endless more hours as we struggled to get a grasp on this language called Melanesian Pidgin. This isn't the pidgin that some of you may be familiar with from Hawaii, but a language developed long ago during the early days of trade with other countries. PNG is very interesting in that it contains perhaps 25% of the worlds present languages. So Dickson and others speak Tok Ples as his first language, Tok Pisin as a second language and English as a third language. It is very interesting to me that from the porch of the mission house I can look across the valley that we just flew in over, and see another village that speaks another and completely different Tok Ples language. For you readers from Washington State-that would be like looking across the Orting Valley from Puyallup toward Bonney Lake and knowing that they speak a completely different language. So it is in PNG, thus the 847 completely distinct languages.
This leaves Karla and I with the task of learning Tok Pisin. There is hope for us! We are learning PNG Pidgin, bit by bit, and here is Pastor Dickson patiently teaching us, word by word. No, maybe just a word, and then that same word over and over again. The grammatical patterns are also different, so the words I have learned are still often placed in the improper order. Our confidence is high and we are studying diligently, so in time we will be able to communicate well with these highlands people.
While at Dusin we also rested. We have been going hard for some time now, actually for months prior to leaving the states. We have been out of any routine, and adjusting to the idea of what was coming-like no car or cell phones, and intermittent power and internet. Here now in Dusin, my mind still goes off on tangents from time to time, but I am learning that it is ok to rest and be still, and in turn listen to the birds, the people, and to God. The word faith often comes to my mind. To rest is linked to faith. God is in control, my hard work must be for other people and possibly me. As we rest and study, read about some of those that haves gone before us in this place. I am thinking about Romans 8:19 "the creation waits in eager expectation for the sons of God to be revealed". I have time to think about this place called Dusin, where only four years before I was born, those first missionaries came. Really that was just a heartbeat away in time. Even now, as Karla sits and sings with the ladies and girls, they want to touch her hair, and later her feet and ankles, a rare thing in this part of PNG.
Our feet are soft and white, while most of these people have never worn shoes and their feet are wide and strong. Dickson and I hiked down the mountain to a river some 2.5 miles below, and those strong feet of his were far superior to my top of the line ASOLO hiking boots from REI. Those mud covered roots were nothing to him, while from time to time I would slip on them, then hear a gentle and concerned "mi prêt". Dickson's words for –I'm worried about you. During the five plus mile excursion we descended down to the River Kaironk and visited the school and the training center. We also visited the new building that had just been put up for a clinic. These folks know what they need and want, but often it is difficult to find the resources to make it happen.
Crops are cultivated for resale but nearly every garden is on a steep hillside that is worked only by hand. After the crops are harvested, they are carried by hand uphill, more then 2.5 miles to be flown out. This whole process leaves very little room for profit. After many conversations with various people, Dickson and I hike on. It is at the river crossings that his strong bare feet show their benefit over and over again. My feet are soaked with only 2 miles of uphill grind left. It's pretty warm on the way up and the altitude is taking its toll on me. Dickson is kind and does not laugh as his seemingly very old Auntie has caught up with us as she carries a load on her back. I stepped to the side of the trail a few times so she could pass, but she wouldn't. I think she enjoyed watching as I strained and panted to keep ahead of her. After a mile and a half or so, the trail split and we said good-by. Interestingly this is the same trail that children from far away travel each day to get to school. This path really brings home the point that life is different here. I tell Dickson how I get to church in Puyallup, and he explains to me how he will walk down this trail and across the next two ridges and valley's to preach on the coming Sunday. I really cannot explain what this did to me as I grasped to understand what that meant, remembering also the missionaries in the past days that had hiked these same trails. Before the old lady parted she said I should walk all of these trails and visit each church with Dickson, that left a mark. We did make it back before dinner time and I walked tall as we neared the house so Karla might think it was nothing, but she knows me to well. We finished with coffee and tin fish soup.
Our days in Dusin concluded with a broken down plane that delayed our departure by a few hours, this is how it is, and I don't think Karla and I could walk out, so we wait.
This seems like a good spot to break, I'm thinking the next installment will be titled-
"Welcome to Air Adrenaline."
