Those Cook Boys!

Trials of Housekeeping in the Territories

COMING to Papua? Well, leave in the South anything that you value. An alternative is to learn to “take cheerfully the spoiling of your goods”.

And please try to realise that the cook boy who does all the cooking, or the house boy who keeps the house spic and span and in perfect order is merely the figment of a dream —at least to most of us here. In reality he is a most exasper ating person and the cause of many pre mature grey hairs. It seems to me that the most sensible of them at times “go silly”, like the moon.

“Sinabada! You savvy sixi big new plate thing he stop?” (My new dinner set.) “Yes, Heni, I savvy.” ■Well, that plate he stop four dis time, I bin finis look.” This is the brief an nouncement that two of the new plates have been broken.

What’s the use of scolding, even a quiet weep. The boy is as cheery as ever, and to him the white man has plenty of money to buy new plates. Why, he does not even have to give money for stores! They come on the boat, and no one takes the money away. How lucky these white people are!

Next announcement —same day; “Sina bada! One dish he finis break up. I think that one too much old maybe, Sinabada.”

Thus goes a really lovely wedding pre sent.

“Sinabada! This one thing you talk be fore, he cook hot, he no catch’em break up. That one lie, Sinabada, fire he make ’im finis break.”

Gone is my delphinium Servex ware.

Seeing me about to throw out the water in which eggs had been boiled, the perfect cook boy intervened with: “Sina bada, bubble water no stop for teapot. I like make table tea this water. He boil good before, this one water.” Which ac counts for peculiar tea or coffee at times.

The dull grey shade on the tea towels caused a new kitchen rule to come into being. Tea towels must be boiled every second day. A peep into the boiler showed the boy’s rami (loincloth) also in the boil. A pity (he had argued) to waste good soapy water on mere tea towels.

Last night the tea did have a queer taste. Thinking of the egg episode, the boy was interrogated. His reply: “Clean water, yes Sinabada. First time I make potato cook. Alright, he finish up, I put all water along tea pot too much quick, water plenty boil before time.“ (The water from the potato pot was boiling, so he used that.) When, one day, shown that his none too-clean rami was dangling in the milk, his majesty of the kitchen grew all con cerned and bothered. Oh, no, not for the milk or food, but for his rami, and he dashed outside to get water to clean it. r[E ordinary boy is ever mindful of his “inner man”. I bought some crabs one day, and the boy informed me they were not good crabs, and would make me sick inside. On being told to throw them away, he decided that: “My stummick too much strong Sinabada; I eat them crab thing.”

The poultry seemed to be extra hungry.

A few discreet inquiries proved that the paw paws, table leavings and other foods were being given to his girl friends

around by the boy, as “too much good kai kai for Kakaba”.

Economy is a thing unknown to our people. If there is food for to-day noth ing else matters. You may be quite sure that when you are on your last pound or so of flour, and do not know when a boat may be in, an accident will happen to that flour, or you will find as much flour on the floor as in the tin.

For a long time, I had been leaving the bread-making entirely to Heni. I noticed that on bread days he began work at daylight. As the flour was getting very low, Sinabada decided to be on the spot to see that no waste occurred. At daylight I went out and found the bread already in the tins, rising—and a spare loaf also rising, in a dirty tin belonging to the boy. And flour —it was everywhere, on table, floor and stove.

Explanation by his majesty: “I bin make plenty one time too much flour bread. You talk you want two breads.

Alright, three bread he stop. I put one bread one place for me.” And I had been carefully rationing ourselves on flour for a week.

The boat being long overdue, rice was rapidly reducing in quantity. Heni, all con cern, asked: “Sinabada, what time boat he come? Close up now one day, cook boy rice he finish altogether.”

Not a word about my shortage of flour, sugar and other necessities. And rice is an extra to the boy, who has plenty of native food, sago and vegetables, as well as shell-fish and fish.

AND your washing! If you indulge in “dainties”, be prepared to launder them yourself; or, better still, don’t bring anything that is not guaranteed for hard wear.

Washing day errors have brought tears and worries to us women of the tropics, until we have been broken into the dis appointments.

A really good white quilt came out of the wash dyed brown, and spotted. A brown check cotton had been put in the copper, and also boiled. To this day, boy cannot understand why I should have talked “loud and wild”. The other articles did not matter much, anyway, but to see the pride of your bedroom, your best white quilt, looking like a yellow-brown spotted dog—well, who would not talk?

Boy usually has the glorious idea that the soap does the work, so he keeps the soap store well down for you. Nor can he understand why these fussy white Sina badas waste good water for rinsing.

And the blue. Well, take my advice and make the blue water yourself. Our front posts were gaily decorated recently with bright blue; and, at the last village dance, the head-dresses were painted with

the same hue. Which accounts for the oft-repeated “Blue bin finish up”.

If he gets to the starch stage, every thing goes in, if you don’t watch. And, though the starched things do look nicer, they are also good eating for the cock roaches. Don’t be surprised to see your guest shake out, for his serviette, a hole surrounded by calico. It is a habit to fold tears inside.

If you don’t see to it, your boy’s rami will be washed with your linen. Carry a good supply of pegs. The Spirits walk off with them.

WITH all his faults, and no matter how exasperating he is, you can’t help but get to like your knave of a boy. In cidentally, he will like you and stay with you, if you mean what you say, and occasionally box his ears.

There are some really good boys to be had, if you have plenty of money to pay high wages and plenty of time to watch and teach your boy.

But do not get the idea, as many have, that the women of the tropics have noth ing to do but sleep, eat, play bridge and entertain. A few, very few, have such a life in the busy ports; but it is not the lot of the ordinary Sinabada. Away from the ports, we have to drop many of our feminine ways and be man or woman as needs be —more especially in handling native labour. It does not do to be too lenient, particularly if alone for long in tervals.

The natives, as I have found them, can be made to respect and like you. It’s your own fault if they don’t. My experi

ence is that in times of danger you are their chief concern. In times of sickness or trouble their quiet sympathy is a com fort. I would rather be entirely alone in a primitive Papuan village than in many parts of Sydney or Melbourne.

And Papua gets you. While on leave, you long to be back home with the people and country of your adoption. At least, I do.—E.S.