Enter the West

Me with a lady from the village who presented me with an arrow. She wears a Western t-shirt with style and grace.
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My first impression of the village was, in a naive, Rudyard Kipling kind of way, one of a beautiful paradise lost full of wide eyed innocence and unspoiled wonder.

This was abruptly shattered on my third night there, when I was woken up at about 11pm (you go to bed pretty early when there's no lights) by dance music drifting across the valley. Someone had found some speakers and a stereo, hooked them up to the village's only electricity source, and started a disco.

Otherwise dignified villagers wore t-shirts saying things like 'Mr Poo'

The kids with balloons on our last day in the village. Notice what they're wearing.
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The prevailing attitude seemed to be that West was best, which was kind of depressing in a country with such a rich culture of its own. You could see it in the clothes, castoffs thrown out by some rich suburbanite, shipped to PNG and sold cheaply in the local town (so that otherwise dignified villagers wore t-shirts saying things like 'Mr Poo').

One night the pastor had a stomach ache, and people immediately came to us for help (what if we hadn't been there?). We gave him a few indigestion tablets and the problem cleared up. A few days later, he came to us about a problem with his foot, and we had to convince him he didn't need pills. It was just a wound that needed cleaning and re-bandaging - no Western drugs necessary.

Even at church, the people sang Western hymns - very very badly. PNG voices just don't suit our songs (and probably vice versa). And I had a sneaky suspicion that was why we were there to build a house - because although their wicker ones were equally beautiful and useful, we were going to build a Western-style wood one. Sigh.

It didn't help when the Americans turned up. I hate cheap shots at Americans, but they were dishing out all this stuff with not a lot of cultural sensitivity. There's still a remnant in PNG of something called the 'cargo cult' (see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cargo_cult), which associates magic powers with white people and the goods they bring. White people come, they bring stuff, and life is better. Therefore white people's stuff is better. Doesn't take much to see why visitors need to be sensitive.

And although I appreciate 90s dance music as much as the next person, I still think it's kind of sad when Corona's 'Rhythm of the Night' breaks the perfect night-time stillness of the bush.