Interior - Lelambo

            This past weekend (September 9-12) I went Interior Papua for the first time and survived! But oh, how do I possibly describe my experience? It feels like a strange dream…

            Thursday (Sept. 8) was like any other school day until we received Pastor Darron’s text. “Hi Girls.  There is a standby possibility that 1 of you will get to fly interior with Kathleen for the weekend.  After school today we will need to talk…”  All of us were filled with excitement at the idea of being the first one (of our SM group) to fly interior.  We talked briefly over our lunch about who would be the lucky one, it was narrowed down between Paige and myself. Both Paige and I attempted to square away our classes and prepare to hand the reins over to Ashley, who kindly agreed to be our substitute. However, at our meeting with Darron it was pointed out that my class would probably be the easiest to step into on such short notice because I only had a review and test.  So it was agreed for me to be “the one”.

            Then came the struggle of packing while clouded in uncertainty.  Darron and I spoke briefly with Pilot Gary and the conclusion was a definite maybe that I would fly the following morning.  Everything depended on the weight of the cargo, the weight of the passengers (including myself), if this or that person showed up, etc. Basically, I was to pack as light as humanly possible and even then it was up in the air *pun intended ;)*.

            Friday morning came quickly and suddenly.  In a whirlwind I ate a small breakfast (due to excitement and concern of weight), said quick goodbyes, and hurried out the door.  We arrived at the hanger to a big crowd of people saying their goodbyes to a married couple who was going to serve long term in a village, and to a mother and child that was returning home.  After they weighed our luggage, we all gathered inside the hanger. Just like the Biggest Loser each of us had to step onto an industrial sized scale while a guy tallied the total weight.  Talk about pressure!

My “ok to fly” was when I saw my bag get thrown into the back of the prop plane and then the nervousness hit.  After more goodbyes and prayer, Gary assigned us our seats.  I was graciously assigned the seat with the most leg room, being that I was the tallest passenger (not including the pilot).  My seat was by a window! But said window was covered by plywood that the married couple needed in their village.  So I couldn’t really see much of anything, but perhaps that was a good thing since it was my first flight in such a small plane….

After about 45-60 minutes in the air (I ended up sleeping some on the plywood so it’s hard to say how long it was), we suddenly banked left around a massive ridge and quickly descended. All I could see out the front of the plane was trees, then ground, then sky...  With my stomach in my mouth I whispered a quick prayer, and we came to a halt on grass airstrip. Soon the doors slide open and all 7 passengers flooded out of the cramped plane.  Only 4 of us ended up staying in Lelambo.

The entire village had come out to see the plane land. At first, most kept their distance from us foreigners.  We quickly pulled out the luggage, and Gary turned to me and asked, “So, do you know what you will be doing here?”

It was then that I fully realized I had not been briefed on what was expected and all I could think was, “Oh my goodness!!  I have no idea what I’m doing here.  What have I done to myself?! Gary take me back!”  But all I could say was, “Nope.”  Gary kindly proceeded to explain that Kathleen (an Indonesian nurse), Mama Anne (a teacher), and I were simply here to survey the village and report on what they would most benefit from. He continued to say, “Just be with the people, hold babies, play with the kids…” And immediately this thought popped in my head, “Be Jesus to these people.” Again, I was struck with fear and a longing to go back to Doyo because I had no earthy idea of what that looks like or how to even portray that.  I don’t speak Indonesian, I don’t speak their local language, I don’t understand their culture, and I had no idea what would be seen as rude or unacceptable. How in the world was I to “be Jesus” in Lelambo?

Looking back and mulling over these first few thoughts, I realize now I will never have an earthly idea of what showing Christ’s love looks like.  Perhaps that is the point, it must to come directly from God; it must be a heavenly thing.  I read this morning (9/13/16) from Leviticus 10 and it’s just now hitting me how well it applies: 

“I will display my holiness through those who come near me, I will display my glory before all the people.” Lev 10:3 (NLT)

Back to Lelambo… We stood with the people watching Gary prepare for take off, props spinning.   Kathleen then turns to me and says, “KD, I’m nervous.  I’ve never done this before.”  With wide eyes and a squeaky voice I say, “What do you mean you’ve never done this?!!”  Turns out none of us had ever stayed over night in a village.  Let the adventure begin.

That first day, Friday, we arrived around 10am. We spent the rest of the day walking around the village with Mama Simson (the mother and child we had flown back to Lelambo).  Her story is one that needs to be told. So here’s a short side story:

Miriam and Simson came to Doyo 4 months ago because of a medical emergency.  During that time they lived with Kathleen. Simson is about a year old now, but you would never know it just looking at him.  So far Simson has had a very hard life and it’s a miracle he is still alive.  During pregnancy Miriam became very sick, Simson was born premature and they don’t live in a village with a NICU or medical care.  Simson was very weak and could not feed properly.  He was placed in a “Noken” (a crochet bag the mountain people use to carry everything from food, tools, books, babies, etc.) and continued to get weaker and severely malnourished. It got so bad he didn’t even have the energy to cry. Because he laid in the noken for days on end with little movement his spine became curved.  To add to his problems he was born blind and is very sensitive.  Before he came to Doyo Baru, he was scared of sounds and things that touched him because he couldn’t understand what they were. When he is scared he tenses up.  His entire body becomes stiff as a board.  He has been contracted for so long that now it is hard to take his hands out of fists and you can hear him grinding his teeth. When Miriam and Simson left Lelambo the father said if he dies in Doyo don’t bother brining the body home.  So when we arrived with Simson healthier than ever his father asked why we brought him back, and that they should’ve left him in town.  But praise the Lord, by the time we left Lelambo the father was beginning hold Simson, and show more affection towards him.   Mama Simson (which is what we called Miriam) was so excited to be home she had 3 other children that desperately missed their mother. 

Back to Lelambo… Mama Simson showed us around her village.  We went to their school first.  To get there we had to cross over a small river on a bridge that had support logs and then flat pieces of wood nailed on top. However, some of the wood slats were broken or completely missing, so I carefully walked on the support beams. We then had to follow a very narrow path on the side of the clay and rock ridge.  This path also had some interesting “bridges” over washouts.  Most were like the main bridge, but one was extra special. Basically, they put a log that was maybe 5 inches wide and cut slits for grip.  Oh, and it was on a hill with a drop off on one side that steeply led to the river and on the other side was probably 3-4 feet away from the side of the ridge. Think of walking on a tight rope, because that’s what it felt like. We finally reached the school and talked to some of the locals.  Turned out the school has no books, no paper, no pens, and no teachers or principle.  It is just a building that the children come to and play volleyball or soccer.  We spent time with the children and taught them some songs. 

After the school, we saw the honais (grass and bamboo huts) that most of the people lived in.  There was a 2-story honai where all the adult men slept, and surrounding that was smaller honais where the woman and children slept.   Inside these houses they would have a small fire for cooking, and sleeping areas. We made our way to their church, and eventually hiked up to what used to be a clinic.  It has long been abandoned, but it is close to their clean water source. The other river was where they would bathe, wash dishes and laundry, and even use as the restroom.

At some point that day we ate supper.  But it all kind of blurs together. The locals kindly made our meals for us (and I like to imagine that they washed their hands and sterilized the plates). Our first meal was boiled ubi.  Ubi is basically the Indonesian form of the yucca root.  They don’t have many seasonings in the village, so thank goodness for salt and hot peppers (and cliff bars!).  Breakfast came and it was left over ubi. Then our next meal was ubi and papeda.  Then our next meal was ubi and papeda… get the picture? All but 1 meal was some form of ubi and papeda. What is papeda you may ask?  It’s pulp from a tree that they boil and the end result is something that looks very similar to snot.  But the consistency is more like thick gelatin or animal fat. I was expecting a very unique flavor when I tried it, but it actually has no flavor.  I have never tasted something with such little flavor.  However, what it lacks in taste it makes up for in texture!

Friday evening, we gathered the village together at the top of the airstrip to bring in the Sabbath.  Most of the people in the village are Protestant so a Saturday Sabbath is a strange idea for them.  But they sang one of their worship songs, which had a really cool sound! I’ll try to upload a video of it.

The place where we slept was not in a honai, like I was expecting, but on the floor of a small wooden house.  The floors were dramatically slanted and the walls had holes but it kept us dry from the rain that poured every night. 

Saturday morning we woke up bright and early.  Gary had told us that he would be on the radio at 7am.  So we waited eagerly by the radio to hear from him.  After playing with it for a while (trying to get the right frequency), we finally got through to him.  Talking with him and his daughter was the highlight of my day.  For some reason, being able to communicate to those back in Doyo gave me a new mental strength to make it through the long day ahead.  We did this every morning, and each time I was just as excited to hear their voices, and again filled with renewed strength.  It may sound odd that this was such a major highlight in my day, especially since I was only staying there for a few days. But you must factor in that I was (and am currently) working through culture shock, and waves homesickness.

We had planned to go to church with some of the people, but most of the adults had left the village to tend to their farms or hunt.  So it ended up being just Kathleen, Mama Anne, Mama Simson, the local kids, and myself.  We had a small Sabbath school type worship and built crosses out of sticks we found outside.  Sabbath afternoon, again we had originally planned to go from house to house visiting the people and pray with them, but most everyone was still gone.  So I went to the river and spent time alone with God.  Sitting in silence with the cold water washing my feet, praying and reading was exactly what I needed. Brilliant colored butterflies and dragonflies would flutter around, and birds I’ve never heard before were singing.  I was so relaxed that I fell asleep on the cool rocks (plus I was quite sleep deprived).   After a long time, Kathleen and I walked up to a small waterfall and then proceeded to pray for each other.

Sunday was the village’s normal day of worship, so we joined them in the church again. They took up an offering, which surprised me for 2 reasons.  1: I assumed most people did not have much money, and 2: the offering turned out to be food.  Everyone had brought some type of vegetable as an offering.  There were sweet potatoes, ubi, cucumbers, ginger, and many others.  I asked Kathleen where the food went after the offering and she assumed the pastor.  But in actuality, the offering was given to us to take home.

After church we opened up a makeshift clinic in the house we were staying in.   Most of the patients had some sort of respiratory issues, cough, colds, possibly bronchitis or TB.  Probably close to 90% of things the people complained of we could not treat. It would require a lifestyle change or further health education. For example, scabies, smokers cough, back and knee pain, etc.  Or it was things that needed further and more extensive tests.  There was one lady who had a mass in her abdomen.  All Kathleen and I could do was feel it, and giver something for pain.

We saw probably close to 40 people before we had to stop for lunch (around 2pm).  We were all extremely hungry and were excited when an elderly lady said the food was ready.  We followed her up to the main circle of honais.  She brought us to one honai that was different than the others.  It had the same grass roof like the others, but the walls were not filled in.  It looked kind of like a gazebo but it was a big kitchen area that the people used for special occasions, or when they all cook together.

The sight I walked in on was jaw dropping. The elderly woman had said they prepared Buah Merah, but I had no clue what that was.  Buah Merah translates to Red Fruit, and it is RED! I honestly thought they had killed an animal and were preparing it for us.  But it was simply fruit pulp. They would take the meat of the fruit and mash it together in a bowl made out of tree bark.  Then add river water.  They then form balls and squeeze the juice out to make a sauce to go over potatoes, ubi, or any other vegetable. I tried hard to hide my concerned expressions.  Kathleen turned to me and said, “KD, I’m nervous about this.  I’ve never had it before! Did they wash their hands?” We both laughed nervously (and I imagined that they used hand sanitizer for the sake of my stomach) and proceeded to eat out of curiosity and fear of offending someone. 

Again, I was expecting some unique flavor that I would either love or hate, but nope.  Buah Merah has very little flavor.  It’s just all color. So I was very happy when the salt and peppers were passed around. 

When Sunday evening came we could definitely feel that we had not showered since Friday.  So Kathleen, Mama Anne, Mama Simson, and I (followed by several small children) went down to the river.  The only reason I tell this story is because it impacted me so much.  The entire time I was in Lelambo, for some strange reason, my balance was terrible.  Call it lack of sleep, lack of nutrition, a growth spurt I’m not sure.  I was just extremely clumsy! That particular night I continually slipped on the rocks in the river. I was soaked before I even took my shower! The ladies would look at me and say “Hati hati! (Be careful)”.  When we were returning from our shower I again kept slipping until finally I had a big fall getting scraped and bruised.  I didn’t think that any one had seen because they were a ways ahead and it’s hard to hear over the rushing water. I thought to myself, “Goodness KD, get it together!”  But Mama Simson had seen. She spoke in the local language to her son who ran over the rocks grabbed my stuff and then sprinted (in the dark, and barefoot) over the rocks back to the bank.  Just as fast, Mama Simson was by my side, grabbed me by the hand and pulled me behind her as if I was her child.  I was so grateful for her!  Even though I continued to slip and stumble, she never let go. Her grip only tightened. She never slipped, never even wobbled, and all while being barefoot and holding onto me in the dark. 

We finally got to the bank with the log bridge between us and home. I was expecting her to let go, but she held tight until she was sure I was across the rickety bridge.  She then let go, swooped to pick up her own daughter, all with out missing a beat, and walked on. I doubt she’ll ever know how much I needed her that night, and I didn’t even know that I was need of some mother’s love until then either…. Don’t cry when you read this mom!

Our final morning was a rush of mixed emotions. We had originally planed for Gary to fly in around 10am.  But as Kathleen talked to him on the radio (in Indonesian) I saw her face begin to fall.  I immediately started preparing myself mentally to stay another day.  After, the conversation she turned to me and said, “He’ll be here at 7:50.  We got bumped to the first flight.”  I was so relieved, but Kathleen had bonded with Simson, Mama Miriam, and the people in a different way than I had.  She could speak the language and loved them more fully than I could. Plus Simson had lived with her for 4 months now. She thought 7:50 was too soon, while I was excited. 

In a frenzy, we packed our things and soon heard the buzz of the plane.  The entire village again ran out so see him land (including myself).  His daughter, Cherise was able to fly in with him and surprise us (she too had grown close to Simson and Miriam in the 4 months they were in Doyo).  After checking the runway, and tearful goodbyes, we had one last prayer with the people of Lelambo. Cherise kindly offered me the front seat next to Pilot Gary, which I gladly took.  Very much like a Six Flags rollercoaster we powered down the hilly runway and soon we were airborne.  The view was amazing!!

As I still work through my culture shock, I am so happy to be back Doyo again.  By American standards I was “roughing it” in Lelambo, but I was still living better than most of the locals. I now can’t help but feel that I have a mansion here in Papua.  We have such a variety in food, and I totally believe God used this Interior adventure to humble me in ways no other place could!  And yes, I am glad to be back but then again I cannot wait to go interior again! It’s just something that get’s in your blood!  (Photos to come...)