 | From Ocean Navigator #139 July/August 2004 |
Craggy, raised limestone Panasia Island is home to turtles, seabirds, crocodiles and occasionaly itinerant voyagers.
Things commonplace across much of the Pacific were notable in the Louisiades for their absence. We came across no hotels, lodges, guest houses, restaurants or anything else that spoke of a tourist trade that was, or might be. Fiberglass skiffs and outboards were largely absent as well. Instead, graceful, handbuilt sailing craft served as the primary mode of travel for most islanders. And we met no “raskols,” as the young men who band together and engage in violent theft are rather misleadingly described in the local Tok Pisin language. Villagers spoke with a quiet seriousness about the safety of their islands and were consciously courteous, almost to the point of formality.
Once we adjusted to what wasn’t present, we began to see what was. We tried to understand the complex system of trade and exchange that centers around canoes, shell money, pottery and stone axes, and which continues to regulate marriages, land ownership and clan relationships. We marveled at the archipelago’s rich linguistic heritage, where five native languages are used within an area spanning just 50 miles. And most of all, we took inspiration from a people whose values are so grounded they matter-of-factly rejected the economic prosperity offered by gold mines and logging schemes, choosing instead to preserve their islands and culture.
A chosen lifestyle
Peter was perhaps typical of the men we met in the Louisiades. In his 30s, he lived with his family in a simple thatched house on the outskirts of his village, with few material possessions. Peter and his wife tended their garden plot on the island’s slopes; he fished from his small paddling canoe, and in his spare time dove for shells with which he made traditional jewelry. The outward appearance was of a simple man leading a simple life. When we got to know him, we realized Peter was bright, articulate and very interested in what was happening beyond his small island. Books and conversation were among the things he craved most, and we were almost embarrassed by his profuse thanks after we gave him a few novels and magazines. He seemed much more worldly than one might expect of someone who lived in a remote chain of islands off the coast of Papua New Guinea. Why, we wondered, was Peter living there? What kept him in this little place?
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What kept Peter there were the same things that made the Louisiades a fascinating place for us to visit: a beautiful environment, a distinct local culture and a village society that works. We learned that Peter was no stranger to big cities. He’d spent several years in Port Moresby, PNG’s capital, studying art. He’d found the city stimulating but was repelled by the violence and had returned to his small island of Nimoa to raise a family. “It’s hard to make a living here,” he told us, “but it’s worth it.”
Peter was one of many islanders in the Louisiades who did not take their lifestyle for granted. Paison, a trader on Rossel Island, told us that young men who returned to the village after living for a time on the mainland often thought to act tough and ignore village law, emulating behavior they’d learned in the city. “We sit them down and tell them they can’t behave like that here,” he said, adding that these talks almost always solved the problems. Such a talk from the elders in western communities is probably the last thing that would change a miscreant’s behavior, but in the Louisiades, the elders’ word still carries weight. The islands have no chiefs, but they are run by a council of elders; all older members of the village participate, and having gray hair seems to qualify a person as “older.” One might expect younger members of the community to chafe at such a system, but we met a number of men and women in their 20s and 30s who, like Peter, had returned to their villages by choice rather than necessity.
Peter was perhaps typical of the men we met in the Louisiades. In his 30s, he lived with his family in a simple thatched house on the outskirts of his village, with few material possessions. Peter and his wife tended their garden plot on the island’s slopes; he fished from his small paddling canoe, and in his spare time dove for shells with which he made traditional jewelry. The outward appearance was of a simple man leading a simple life. When we got to know him, we realized Peter was bright, articulate and very interested in what was happening beyond his small island. Books and conversation were among the things he craved most, and we were almost embarrassed by his profuse thanks after we gave him a few novels and magazines. He seemed much more worldly than one might expect of someone who lived in a remote chain of islands off the coast of Papua New Guinea. Why, we wondered, was Peter living there? What kept him in this little place?
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What kept Peter there were the same things that made the Louisiades a fascinating place for us to visit: a beautiful environment, a distinct local culture and a village society that works. We learned that Peter was no stranger to big cities. He’d spent several years in Port Moresby, PNG’s capital, studying art. He’d found the city stimulating but was repelled by the violence and had returned to his small island of Nimoa to raise a family. “It’s hard to make a living here,” he told us, “but it’s worth it.”
Peter was one of many islanders in the Louisiades who did not take their lifestyle for granted. Paison, a trader on Rossel Island, told us that young men who returned to the village after living for a time on the mainland often thought to act tough and ignore village law, emulating behavior they’d learned in the city. “We sit them down and tell them they can’t behave like that here,” he said, adding that these talks almost always solved the problems. Such a talk from the elders in western communities is probably the last thing that would change a miscreant’s behavior, but in the Louisiades, the elders’ word still carries weight. The islands have no chiefs, but they are run by a council of elders; all older members of the village participate, and having gray hair seems to qualify a person as “older.” One might expect younger members of the community to chafe at such a system, but we met a number of men and women in their 20s and 30s who, like Peter, had returned to their villages by choice rather than necessity.
Isolation and trade
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Many people would find living in such isolation difficult, but Louisiade islanders seem to relish the challenge. While anchored off Panapompom Island we watched a 35-foot sailing canoe tacking into the bay. We took photos and exchanged waves with the crew, who promptly sailed up to our boat. The five-man crew was headed by Noino, a very fit middle-aged islander who spoke excellent English. The canoe was fully laden with yams, and after giving us several, Noino explained that they were just returning from a trading trip to Normanby Island, easily a 100-mile sail across open water. Yams &mdash and many other foods &mdash were on short supply on Panapompom as a result of a recent cyclone and a long-standing drought. Christmas was coming up, and Noino’s yams would be a welcome addition to the island’s feasts. With a smile he explained they couldn’t stay long, as they’d been away for days and were eager to be home.
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In fact, Noino’s trip to Normanby was not a rare event brought on by food shortages; we discovered that the islanders traded regularly with distant islands and the PNG mainland. Each island within the Louisiades has a specialty; one island specializes in building sailing canoes, another in shell necklaces and one in clay pottery. The network serves as a means by which necessary goods &mdash such as Noino’s yams &mdash are exchanged between islands; the custom of trade and exchange also serves to maintain relationships with landowners, other clans and other islands.
Social relations in the islands are complex. We spent some time on the island of Panaeati, which shares Deboyne Lagoon with Panapompom and Nivani Islands, talking with the island’s canoe builders. When we weren’t admiring the marvelous materials and craftsmanship that go into their large wooden canoes, we discussed the intricacies of the clan system. Weda was one of Panaeati’s foremost canoe builders. Although his father was head of the island’s principal clan, Weda had to pay a traditional tribute to his father in order to be allowed to build a house on the island. This was because children are of their mother’s clan, and islanders typically marry outside their own clans. Living on Panaeati, Weda’s tribute consisted of a sailing canoe, which for him presented little problem. We encountered other islanders on Panaeati who were building canoes that would be given in tribute as a bride price; if they lacked the skill to build the canoe, they might seek help from family members or hire a canoe builder.
Perhaps inevitably, the islanders are being drawn into the larger cash economy, and we saw both canoes and shell necklaces being sold for cash, as well as being exchanged in the traditional manner. But trade remains the rule in the Louisiades, and even visitors are involved. While we were there we never paid cash for fresh fruit and vegetables. Instead we traded a variety of basic goods &mdash batteries, clothes, soap and fishing gear &mdash for fresh fruit and vegetables and for locally made handicrafts.
Linguistic and cultural diversity
Given the long-standing tradition of trade and exchange in the Louisiades, it came as quite a surprise that the islands were linguistically quite isolated from one other. Four of the archipelago’s five languages are closely related, but the fifth, spoken on Rossel, the easternmost island in the Louisiade chain, is distinct from any other language found in the Pacific.
While on Rossel we were fortunate to meet a British linguist, Steve Levinson, who has studied the Rossel language for a number of years, translating many of the local myths and legends. He told us the Rossel language was the most unusual and distinct of any he has come across and that translation has been extremely difficult, as some 100 letters or characters are needed to adequately represent all the subtle tonal nuances. While most Louisiade islanders are able to understand the gist of what their neighbors are saying, locals remarked to us that this was not the case with Rossel; many conversations between other islanders and those from Rossel take place in English!
Rossel’s isolation means that visitors are rather infrequent. We spent several days at Jinjo Catholic Mission at the invitation of Father Michael Sims. We’d met Father Michael during a visit to Nimoa Island, and he encouraged us to make the trek to his mission on Rossel. We were the first boat to visit Jinjo in 18 months, and Father Michael and the sisters at the mission put on a lovely spread for dinner, including large pitchers of cool mango juice, and a freshly baked pumpkin pie. The latter was a special treat for us, as it was close to Thanksgiving. But what struck us most was our hosts’ explanation of Rossel Island’s tribute system, one that was still in use.
Rossel islanders make use of a unique type of money, one which is said to be carved from shell, though to our untutored eyes, its smooth, polished feel suggested it was crafted from bone. The money is strung on a cord, and is valued both by the quality of the shell and the length of the string. Shell money is used on Rossel much as canoes are on Panaeati &mdash for a bride price or to pay a landowner. But it also functions to compensate for insults or to settle grievances. Shell money is no longer made, and to accumulate enough, it may have to be borrowed from neighbors or relations, thereby incurring further obligations. Interestingly, the shell money is kept only temporarily by the recipient; after an appropriate period &mdash a few weeks or months &mdash the money is returned.
Language and customary exchanges were not the only thing that made Rossel Island culture different; houses and canoes bore little resemblance to those used to the west. Traditional Rossel houses were built low to the ground, and although the practice of building atop poles had been adopted in some communities, we visited one village where ground-hugging dwellings were still the rule. The graceful proas that we saw sailing in the western islands were nowhere to be seen on Rossel, and instead simple dugout canoes, without outriggers, were the norm.
Our voyage to the Louisiade Islands was a fascinating insight into a Pacific island culture that has remained largely untouched by the effects of western development.
Mark Smaalders and Kim Des Rochers have voyaged in the Pacific for 12 years on their 35-foot wooden sloop, Nomad. They are currently based in New Caledonia.
For a detailed list of anchorages in the Louisiade Islands, go to www.OceanNavigator.com and click on the Web Extras button.
