Come away with me down a winding sealed road, through a forest, past beaches and fringe reefs to a place that the time zone forgot. A small village where the sun rises an hour after the rest of the country and sets an hour after the rest of the country.
A place of thatched roofed houses nestled on a beach with a fringe reef, where children's laughter intermingles with the sound of motorbikes. Where mobile phones with internet access are common place in string bags filled with betelnut. Where sounds of tokpisin intermingle with the local dialect and Bahasa Indonesia. Where the only radio signals for FM are Indonesian and friday night rugby is watched using a reciever dish at the local community school. Where life and death brings out a community and differences are forgotten. Where a family argument is usually loud and boisterous with the whole community knowing about it, where apologies are also usually public affairs.
Come away with me to a place where we bury the dead with sad songs in a sandy cemetary with the sea breeze blowing and blue waves crash in the background. Where children sit on the surrounding gravestones, smiling despite the solemnity of the occasion as they listen to the priest conduct the burial. Where after the burial we meet all the new babies of the community whose mothers have brought them along for the outing.
Where special days are filled with music, singing, food and beverages from house to house. Where old dutch glass beads are valued currency alongside cash. Where family ties are strengthened through adversity and through happiness.
Come away with me to a clear flowing river rushing over coloured stones, where waterfalls flow and fish swim around your feet. Where hours merge while you sit beside the stream and when you stop to check the watch you note with sadness you have to go home and start dinner...
Come away home with me.....
A place of thatched roofed houses nestled on a beach with a fringe reef, where children's laughter intermingles with the sound of motorbikes. Where mobile phones with internet access are common place in string bags filled with betelnut. Where sounds of tokpisin intermingle with the local dialect and Bahasa Indonesia. Where the only radio signals for FM are Indonesian and friday night rugby is watched using a reciever dish at the local community school. Where life and death brings out a community and differences are forgotten. Where a family argument is usually loud and boisterous with the whole community knowing about it, where apologies are also usually public affairs.
Come away with me to a place where we bury the dead with sad songs in a sandy cemetary with the sea breeze blowing and blue waves crash in the background. Where children sit on the surrounding gravestones, smiling despite the solemnity of the occasion as they listen to the priest conduct the burial. Where after the burial we meet all the new babies of the community whose mothers have brought them along for the outing.
Where special days are filled with music, singing, food and beverages from house to house. Where old dutch glass beads are valued currency alongside cash. Where family ties are strengthened through adversity and through happiness.
Come away with me to a clear flowing river rushing over coloured stones, where waterfalls flow and fish swim around your feet. Where hours merge while you sit beside the stream and when you stop to check the watch you note with sadness you have to go home and start dinner...
Come away home with me.....
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