Notes from a Spinning Planet—Papua New Guinea

by Melody Carlson

  NINETEEN

  Would you girls like to take a canoe out?” asks Donna after r %/ we clean up the lunch dishes. “We have one you can use to tool around in if you want.”

  “That sounds great,” says Lydia. “As good as that book is, I think I'm ready to go out and get some fresh air and exercise now.”

  “The canoe is down at the dock,” says Donna, “over behind the boathouse shed.”

  So Lydia and I go down to the dock and untie the canoe. I ask Lydia if she knows anything about canoeing, and she assures me she's had some experience.

  “I've only been in a canoe a couple of times,” I admit, “but I do know they're tippy.”

  Lydia finds some paddles hanging on the boathouse, and we line the canoe up with the dock and carefully get in. I follow her example by grasping both sides of the canoe and placing first one foot in the center and then the other. To my surprise it feels fairly sturdy. Unlike the aluminum canoes I've been in, this one is solid and heavy and doesn't rock and roll as much.

  “Ready?” she asks as she lets go of the dock and gives us a gentle push into the river.

  “Nice launch,” I say as I dip my paddle into the water and try a tentative stroke.

  It takes us a few minutes to get a rhythm to our paddling, but soon we get it down, and before long we re going upriver at a pretty good pace.

  “This is fun,” I tell her.

  “So peaceful,” she says, leaning back to look at the blue sky above us.

  The waters not moving very fast, but we can tell it takes more paddling to go against the current, so we decide to keep going upriver. “Then if we get tired, we can just let the river push us back to Kauani,” says Lydia.

  We see women in canoes, either alone or in pairs, with their little cook fires in the rear and a trail of lazy smoke following them as they paddle back to the village. I spot some baskets with what looks like produce, I'm guessing from their gardens, probably for tonights dinner.

  “This isn't such a bad way to live,” I say.

  “Not at all,” she agrees. “For the most part anyway. The biggest challenge of tribal life is the lack of good medical care and treatment. The worst threat for these people is getting sick.”

  I nod. “And I'm sure the tropical climate doesn't help that much. Still, it's a beautiful place to live.”

  “Yes. I like the Sepik region.”

  “I really like where your family lives too,” I say. “In fact, if I had to pick one over the other, I'd go for Lomokako in a heartbeat.”

  She smiles. “You would?”

  I nod. “Yes. I felt totally at home there.”

  “You did?” She seems genuinely surprised by this.

  “Yes,” I tell her. “Very much so. In fact, your parents remind me a lot of my own parents. Your mom and my mom could almost be related-maybe they were twins separated at birth.”

  “You mean they look alike?”

  I consider this. “Well, not exactly. But they act alike.”

  She frowns now. “Hows that?”

  “Well…” Now I dont want to offend her, but she seems genuinely curious. “I guess it was the way your mom was being so protective of you-you know, when you were going to come here with us.” I smile and shrug. “That's exactly like something my mom would do too.”

  She nods. “Well, to be fair, my mom wasn't always like that. She used to let me have lots and lots of freedom, just coming and going without her asking any questions. She didn't worry at all.”

  This surprises me. I mean, that sounds like a totally cool mom. Like my friend Katies mom. She's so laid back that I've always been slightly envious. “So why did your mom change?”

  We've gone quite a ways now, and I think we got tired simultaneously. Our paddles are balanced across the top of the canoe, and we're just sitting, drifting along as we take a little break, allowing the slow current to move us back downriver.

  “Oh, it's a long story.”

  “I have time.” I smile and wait.

  But her brow is creased, and she seems troubled now. Suddenly I wonder if I'm being too nosy. Maybe something happened to her mom that's none of my business.

  “I'm sorry,” I say quickly. “I mean, maybe it's personal. I didn't mean to be so-”

  “No, it's okay,” she says. “And, yes, it is personal, but I've been thinking I should tell you anyway.”

  Now I'm remembering the concerns I had for Lydia when we were in her village, like the possibility that her parents were doing the traditional New Guinean thing and setting her up with a husband, asking for a bride price. Maybe she was already spoken for, and they were trying to protect her for her betrothed. Okay, I suppose that seems crazy and overly dramatic, but after some of the things I've seen and read about this totally different culture, well, you just never know. Plus, there's definitely something about her relationship with her parents, particularly with her mom, that feels strange to me. Even Sid noticed it. But we assumed Mrs. Johnson was just extremely protective. Like my mom times ten.

  “You see, my brothers and I had always been raised to be independent,” she begins. “It's that way with a lot of kids whose parents are translators. We had to learn to come and go and take care of ourselves at a fairly young age. And it was never a problem. Like I told you, we were sent to live on the mission base and attend school there. And, sure, it was a little hard in the beginning, but I got used to it.

  “Then, after graduation, my brothers and I, one by one, went to the States for our first two years of college with paid tuition. I was seventeen when I graduated, and I couldn't wait to go to Oregon and start my 'grownup' life. I stayed with my mom's relatives, just like my brothers had done during their first year. And even though it was a challenge to adjust to American culture, I sort of got the hang of it. I wanted to follow my brothers' examples, and I got good grades and stayed out of trouble. But somehow I just didn't fit in as well as they had. Maybe it was my skin color, or maybe it was genetic roots back here.

  “My brothers both got jobs after the first two years to earn more tuition money, and they continued their education. Jeremy graduated a couple of years ago and Caleb just last June. They both seem very settled. In fact, Caleb just got engaged.”

  “But you came back here?”

  She nods. “Yes. I finished my two years with a very respectable grade-point average, but I just couldn't acclimate. I think I was homesick. And perhaps that's because I am New Guinean. In fact, right before coming home I chose to return to my birth name, Obuti. I decided to come back to my homeland and find a good job in Port Moresby. I suppose in some ways, I felt a little lost right then. I didn't really fit into American culture, and I didn't really fit in here either. But I thought I could find my place better in my own country.”

  I nod. “That makes sense.”

  “It did to me too. In fact, I was so glad to get back here that I told myself I'd never leave again. I really believed somehow I would make my own way here. I wasn't sure if I'd return to college or try to settle into some work I enjoyed. And I suppose I sort of distanced myself from my parents just then-I think I wanted to show them I could make it on my own.”

  “And?”

  “Well, because of my knowledge of languages, I easily got a job with the government. I shared a flat with another girl who worked in the same place. Our flat wasn't in such a great part of town, but it didn't concern me since the rent was affordable, which meant I could save more.” She sighs. “And to be honest, I wasn't being very careful. In fact, I'd been more careful while living in Portland than I was when I returned to my homeland. I was so happy to be back home that I think I got a false sense of security here.”

  I nod but suddenly feel worried about where this story is going. “I can understand how that would happen,” I tell her. “I mean I've been hypercautious here in your country. And I'm sure I'll completely let my guard down at home. But I realize that's not so smart either. Especially if you're in a big city.”

  “That's true.
” She looks directly at me now. “Something happened. Something that changed everything.”

  I wait for her to continue, and I can tell by her eyes that it's not easy to tell this story.

  “I was coming home from work one night. I'd stayed later than usual, and it was already dark. I should've called for a taxi, but I didn't want to waste the money, and, of course, I felt perfectly safe.” She shakes her head. “It's not a new story; it happens all the time in my country, but you never expect it to happen to you.” She pauses now, and I see her dark eyes glistening.

  “Were you attacked?” I ask.

  She nods with tears streaking down her smooth brown cheeks. “Two men caught me from behind. I thought they were just going to rob me, and I actually let go of my purse, hoping they'd take it and run-and leave me alone.”

  “But they didn't?”

  “Oh, they did eventually. But my purse was not the only thing they wanted. I pleaded with them, begging them as they dragged me from the sidewalk and into a dark, nasty building. I prayed out loud, asking God to help me.” Now a little sob escapes, and she holds her face in her hands and just cries.

  I can feel my own tears coming as full realization hits me. I cant believe this happened to her. I want to stand up and go over to her, to hug her and tell her how sorry I am, how sad this is, but I'm afraid I'll tip the canoe. “You mustVe been so scared,” I say in a voice that sounds very small, like a child's.

  She nods. “Terrified.”

  Then there's a long, quiet pause, and I feel it's up to me to help her to finish her terrible story. “Did they rape you, Lydia?”

  She nods again, very slowly. “Yes.”

  “I'm so sorry, Lydia. That's…that's so wrong. It makes me so angry…and…and…” Then I begin to cry really hard. In fact, I think I'm sobbing even louder than she is now, and it feels like something inside me is just breaking, and I can't bear to think of poor, sweet Lydia subjected to something so horrendous, so brutal, so horribly wrong. It's like I physically ache for her. I bury my face in my hands too, and then I just cry.

  “Oh, Maddie,” she says in a gentle tone, “please, don't keep crying like that. I didn't mean to upset you.”

  I look up. “I'm…I'm sorry,” I say. “But I feel so sad for you. And it makes me so furious.” I shake a fist in the air. “Why do men do that? It just makes me want to go out and kill someone.”

  “I know. Believe me, I've been through all the emotions. Denial and disbelief, then a deep, dark depression, and then I got so furious I felt like I hated everyone. I was even angry at God. I honestly didn't know if I'd ever get over it. And I wanted to kill myself too.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I had to return to God,” she says.

  “But you were angry at him?”

  She shakes her head and wipes her wet cheeks with the palms of her hands. “I had to step away from my anger, Maddie. I knew if I continued being mad at God I would be left with nothing-I might as well be dead.”

  “Yeah, I guess I sort of understand.”

  “And, surprisingly, after going through all that, all those turbulent emotions and everything, and after I returned to God and put my life in his hands, I actually wanted to live. I mean I really wanted to live. Before all that happened, well, I guess I took things for granted, and I wasn't even sure what I wanted to do with my life.”

  There's a long silence now, just the sound of birds and the breeze in the trees and the water lapping the sides of the canoe. But I can tell that she has something more to say. So I sit there, almost holding my breath as I wait for her to continue.

  “There's something else,” she says in a quiet voice, “something I want you to know, something that I have kept very private.” She takes a deep breath. “As a result ofthat night, of being raped, I have HIV.”

  Somehow I knew this was coming, but even so, I feel as if I've been punched in the stomach. This is so wrong.

  “I didn't get tested, not right at first. Like so many others who live in fear, I didn't want to know. But then I got really scared about dying, and I forced myself to go in and be tested. Of course, it was positive. That's when I felt like my life was over-my dreams were gone.”

  “I'm so sorry.”

  “That was when I really struggled with God, trying to figure out what to do, whether or not to give up. Being raped was horrible, but HIV felt like the last straw, the thing that pushed me clear over the edge. Going down that low is what made me cry out for God. It's why I had to give in to him, to seek his way instead of my own. That's when I started going back to church, and I made a couple of really good friends. And they helped me realize that I needed to tell my parents the truth about all this.” She closes her eyes. “I think that was the hardest thing I've ever done.”

  “Your poor parents. No wonder they're so worried.”

  “Yes. I always believed they loved me, but I suppose I sort of took that for granted too. And it wasn't something we ever really talked about. But I was shocked at how brokenhearted they were to find out about this. It was as if they felt it almost as much as I had. That's when I knew they really loved me.”

  “And that's why they're so protective of you.”

  “Yes. I know it makes no sense. I mean what happened happened, and there is no changing that. But I do understand their fears, especially Mom's.”

  “Yes, so do I.” Now I feel guilty for judging Mrs. Johnson. No wonder she was freaking out over this trip. No wonder she's so careful for Lydias safety.

  “After they found out, they didn't want me to go back to my job in Port Moresby, but I convinced them I had to do it. So they returned with me and met my friends at church. Then they helped me find a safer place to live, very close to work and to the clinic. My dad had heard about Dr. Larsons work. So he took me to meet him, and we discovered that although he may look old, the doctor has some very innovative ideas for treating AIDS. He took me on as his personal project, and Im getting some of the best medicines in the world. Unfortunately, they're so expensive that most people in my country cant begin to afford them. But Dr. Larson wont take no for an answer. In return I've been volunteering at the clinic, and that led to teaching the awareness classes. Sort of a trade-off.”

  I nod, impressed with how maturely Lydia is handling her life. “Wow.”

  “And I guess this is where God makes evil work for good, Maddie. Because through all this horror, I've come to care greatly about people with AIDS in our country. I have compassion now where I would ve held them in judgment and contempt before. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “And its given me the desire to go into medicine again. Oh, I wanted to be a doctor before, but I think it was only to prove myself, to show off and impress people that a young Papua New Guinean woman could accomplish something like that. Now I know I simply want to become a doctor so I can help people, especially those with AIDS.”

  “Oh, Lydia!” I feel fresh tears coming. Its like I cant stop them today. “That's so wonderful! Honestly, I don't think I've heard anything in this country that gives me as much hope as what you've just told me. It's amazing.”

  “Really?” She seems honestly surprised.

  “Really!” I have to shake my head as I try to allow all that she's said to fully sink in. “I mean, I feel so sorry for you and what happened-it breaks my heart-but then to hear how you're handling it, how you're trusting God and wanting to put your pain to such good use. Well, it totally blows my mind. I wish everyone could hear your story, Lydia.”

  She nods. “I know I should get more comfortable about telling it. But it's just not easy. There is such a stigma attached to this disease. Hardly anyone else knows.”

  “I know about the stigma. I've seen firsthand how people react to AIDS in this country, and I've heard the horror stories. And we went to that hospital in Port Moresby-to the AIDS ward. What a mess.”

  “Yes! That's exactly why I want to be a doctor. I want things to change here. An
d I want people to get educated. That's why I do the class. I even tell my own story, but I pretend like it's someone else's. I call the woman Tibisi, my birth mother's name-just to show that anyone can get AIDS and that we need to stop treating sufferers like criminals.”

  “And it looked like you were getting through to your class. You had their full attention.”

  She smiles. “Yes. Sometimes I wonder if they suspect that Tibisi is really me. But I want them to take AIDS seriously. I want them to get in and get tested or to use prevention or whatever it takes to start Controlling this horrible disease. That's all that matters. We need to stop the poison before our country is in complete ruins.”

  “Do you think it would be okay for Sid to hear your story?” I ask.

  “Yes. I've already decided to tell her. And if she wants to use it for her article, I'll give her my full permission.”

  “She could tell your story without giving your name,” I point out.

  Lydia nods. “Yes, whatever is best.”

  Just then I see a movement out of the corner of my eye, and I turn to see what I thought was a log now sliding down into the water without much more than a ripple. “A crocodile!” I gasp at Lydia with widened eyes. I cling to the sides of the canoe. “Do you think he can tip us over?”

  “Oh, I don't think he wants to do that,” says Lydia in a calm tone. But just the same, she picks up her paddle, and we start moving away from that spot.

  I take my paddle and try to imitate her calm, easy strokes, wondering how she can be so brave and then realizing this young woman has been through a lot. Soon we can see Kauani up ahead, and I feel myself beginning to relax.

  We dock the canoe and carefully get out. As Lydia secures it to the dock, I thank her again for sharing her story with me, telling her I'm honored that she trusts me with it.

  “I feel like we're related,” I say as she stands up straight. Then I reach out and give her a hug. “Like we could be sisters.”

  She grins, then pulls away and studies my face. “Well, we don't look much alike, Maddie.”