Battling the muddy track to Vasira

TRAVEL

By WENDY BAI MAGEA

VASIRA village is located approximately two hours outside of Kwikila station in Central.
Like all remote villages, it is accessed by a rough road that runs into deep muddy patches, small rivers, up steep sides of mountains then along a big river reaching the village. In the wet rainy season it can take more than two hours to reach the village.
On Saturday, Dec 12, 2020 we started our journey into the village some minutes after 2pm. My partner and I accompanied his work colleague and close friend to attend a bride price ceremony. As initially planned, we would go drop them off and return.
The real trip started after the sealed road ended. We were welcomed by very slippery knee-deep mud caused by the rain. We stopped at the side to wait for two vehicles to cross the mud before we baptised our tyres. The first vehicle drove past smoothly followed by the second one, a white Toyota Hilux Fifth Element which got stuck in the mud. The first one had to reverse and tow it. We drove past the first muddy patch smoothly.
A few minutes after the muddy patch we were welcomed by the revving sounds of a Land Cruiser struggling to free itself from the grips of the muddy river bank. The wet season caused the river to overflow destroying the road. We spent some time screaming out instructions and trying out ideas before the men eventually freed the vehicle and pushed it up the road.
Then it was our turn. My partner slowly drove down, calculated the risks with advice from the village men and manoeuvred the vehicle through the river onto the other side. There were screams of triumph everywhere, especially from men who were ready to push the vehicle had it got stuck in the mud.
Local men told us we had passed the most difficult area and would drive smoothly until the village. We drove on with great relief only to see another Land Cruiser slowly sinking into the mud. As we got closer, the muddy men on the ground told us that their driver got the wrong side causing the vehicle to get stuck. They showed us the right path and we drove across. Most of them were intoxicated.
We drove on. All throughout the journey we had local men navigating my partner when we approached muddy patches or small rivers. We arrived at Vasira village some minutes after 5pm. It took us more than two hours and we were all tired and muddy.

Welcomed with a meal
The villagers welcomed us with plates of local produce and smoked wallaby meat. I got off the vehicle, sat on the green grass and started feasting on the delicious meal. The air was fresh and the place was zen; one could hear the sound of the flowing creek beside the road.
As the daylight slowly turned into night, I started to miss my children. The local elder and our host advised us not to drive back but spend the night instead. They shared stories of how men who travelled the road in the dark were attacked my sorcerers from neighbouring mountainous villages.
I checked the mobile phone to call my children but saw ‘No Service’ instead. I asked the young boys of their local telephone booth (a spot where they can get mobile phone service) and they said it was about 30 minutes from the village. I told myself this was an adventure and my children were in my mother’s care so I should just let it go and enjoy the experience. I turned to see my partner staring into the mountain lost in his own thoughts. He later told me he was feeling the same way; missing our children.
We were called up to sit on a platform that was specially built for the family that we accompanied. We climbed up the bamboo platform and comfortably settled in. They served us extra dishes of food. I smilingly accepted but my stomach was already full from the magani I had earlier on.
Stories by our host’s daughter revealed that Vasira was home to the wife of Vitis Industries owner and the Central governor. In my mind, I wondered when these prominent people last visited their village.
I learnt that there were no trade stores in the village, basic health services were obtained from Kwikila station and children in upper primary school walked miles to Kwikila. The elementary school was on low land and classrooms were usually destroyed when the river flooded. The villagers sell local produce like banana, yam, water melon and mustard at Kwikila market. Most transport their produces to the market by foot. The main source of protein was wallaby and bandicoots meat, and fresh water prawns caught from the big river.
Our stories were continuously disrupted by a villager using a battery powered loud hailer to summon people to gather and contribute for the bride price. We were on the bride’s side of the village.
After dinner, we were escorted with a flash light to a very big river to bathe. I remember walking down the slippery sides of the river without a rail for support. The water was so cold and refreshing it washed away the city dirt and prepared me for the whole Vasira way of life.
We walked back to the house, sat and chewed more buai. The smell of the smoke from the fire was welcoming. I could not help but think of my experience growing up in my father’s village in West New Britain. Then it was bed time, by then my partner and his colleague were entertaining us with the sounds of their engine-like snoring.
I woke up to the sounds of birds chirping and smell of morning fire made by our host’s family. Breakfast was delicious garden food with chunks of pork and wallaby meat downed with milk tea. But before that, we had loads of sugar cane and carrot mango.
We went to the river to bath again, this time the river was full with young women washing dishes and children splashing everywhere. The sight was therapeutic for me.
We bid farewell to our hosts and drove off after they packed the vehicle with garden produce and meat. I got some crotons to plant in my block of land.
I remembered the smile on my partner’s face when I was picking the cuttings. He knew those poor cuttings would not make it into the ground on time but be left to wilt like the others before – simply because I always forget.
But I will never forget my Vasira experience.