My Mother’s Belly Beckons

By BARBARA MASIKE LIRI
THE cock crow from somewhere in the distance woke me up from my sleep. I slowly opened my eyes and wondered what I was doing in a mosquito net in unfamiliar surroundings.
My mind soon switched back on and I remembered being on this special trip with my sister Anna to our mother’s Yimas homeland in East Sepik.
Iexcitedly get out of bed as we planned to visit the Yimas Lake, and also Yimas 1 village further up the Arafundi. The Yimas Lake, although smaller than the Black Waters Lake and the Chambri Lakes, is as an important place in PNG. It is home to some of the country’s rare varieties of the dendrobiumlasianthera orchid such as the Sepik blue,the Yimas lakes variety, and other dendrobium such as the Yimas Yellow.
The Sepik Blue, I understand,is unofficially the national flower of Papua New Guinea.
A sudden burst of light wind brought on rain. But this was not enough to dampen our spirits. The trip was Anna’s idea. I was fortunatein that she asked me to tag along.
We began our day with a word of thanks to our Heavenly Creator and asked that he keep us and continue to guide us.
Before breakfast, I made sure my work tools – mobile phones, biro, notebook and camera – were in order.
Not long after, we found ourselves at the back of an old Toyota jeep owned by the lodge. It was the only open backin that part of the woods and soon we were making our way on a bumpy and winding track to the waiting boat below.
The red earth was moist from the early morning showers. Our driver skilfully guided the old bomb as we happily rocked from side to side in the back. This was my Sepik safari!
Down by the riverside, we quickly climbed onto a dinghy and were soon off. Destination, Manjiman village and then further up into the Arafundi.
The 10 of us in the vessel included cousins and in-laws. Our tour guide was my cousin, Willie Marikin.
The morning sun beamed merrily down and I could almost see evaporation taking place on the leaves by the river banks.
We passed a dugout canoe loadedwith firewood, as two girls standing with paddles in their hands skilfully guided the wooden craft through the waters, prompting me to wonder about my mother’s childhood among my Sepik ancestors.
Growing up in my father’s Bougainville home of Siwai, paddling was never a way of life.
We passed several families heading out to the lakes and forests in dugout canoes in search of their daily sustenance of fish and sago.
It seemed like a National Geographic documentary film was unfolding right before my very eyes.
Village life is so carefree. There is no restriction on time and what you do with the 12 hours of daylight doesn’t really matter as long as there is food on the table.
The Arafundi is a tributary of the Karawari, which is a tributary to the mighty Sepik. These waterways have for thousands of years enabled passage and transportation of the people – past and present.
My thoughts again centered on my father. A young Bougainvillean policeman and how he ended up in these very remote parts of PNG, I wondered. But that’s another story.
After 45 minutes or so and we were nearing the lakes. As we entered the passage from the Arafundi into the lakes, I could see birds of different types flying off into the forest and trees yonder, disturbed by the engine of the boat.
Thanks to my work with NGO – the Nature Conservancy- I now know some birds by name. I recognised egrets, pied herons, white terns and whistling kites hovering off. Pairs of wild ducks also quickly scurried away, in time to miss the stones from my cousin’s sling shot.
Anna’s interest lies more in flowers than in birds. We passed orchids and lilies along the lake. She was last here as a 10 year old in 1970. The lake looked different now compared to what she saw on that school holiday 46 years ago.
Then, passage through the lake was nearly impossible because of the water lilies that padded the surface.
The colourful scene looked like lilies on shiny glass those many years ago.
Local knowledge pointed the finger at the pacu. This fish was introduced into the Sepik river systems in the 1980s by authorities to address food security issues. Pacu originates from the piranha family.
Locals claim it is responsible for the disappearance of the water lilies because it feeds on the roots of the water plant.
The pacu is locally known as the boltcutter following unverified stories from around the world that the fish can actually bite off a man’s testicles if he gets on the wrong side of the pacu in the drink.
I pondered for a while on the probability and improbability of these assumptions.
We soon came across a lone fisherwoman in her dug-out canoe, and asked her if she has caught anything yet. She holds up a medium sized pacu. We take shots of it and wave her goodbye.
We are also on the lookout for orchids.
We catch sight of one here and there. Anna and our relatives agree that orchids are not as plentiful now as they used to be. Hopefully, we will see them still there when we return another time.
There were a couple of brief stops to meet and greet other relatives.
One was at a camping spot where they had gathered to fish. At both places, we were again surprised by the same traditional greeting of our clanswomen jumping into the water, and splashing water on to us followed by hugs and tears, followed by explanations of our connections.
At the fishing camp we shared our cut lunch with our family. Rice, corned beef and tubuk (sago) was passed around. There was fish too. Pacu, in fact, which had been caught and smoke dried over a fire.

• Next week; Anna and Barbara visit their brother’s grave, and say goodbye to family.