Where the Voice of the Mosquito

is Heard O'er the Land

(Written for PIM by Ormond L. Speck who is in charge of Teacher Training at the SDA Mission on the Sepik.)

LOADED with almost three-quarters of a ton of boys, boxes and other cargo, our canoe moved slowly away from the bank and out into the current. Our destination lay a hundred miles down the Sepik River. The boys watched our station at Ambunti disappear from view with mixed feelings—only two of them had ever been farther than five miles down the river, and there were many fearful tales of the spirits, customs, and the people of other places.

Normally they would not have ventured out of their own district, but when we called for volunteers from our school pupils to undertake the long and arduous journey, the response was almost one hundred per cent.

We chose those who seemed the most stalwart, and set out.

Going down was comparatively easy because the 3-knot current carried our dugout along with a minimum of effort.

As we travelled downstream, we spent some time visiting the various villages along the banks of the river, and making friendly contacts with as many folks as possible. Some villages asked to be allowed to send boys to our school at Ambunti, others have requested that a teacher come into their village and teach them.

The second night after leaving Ambunti, we stayed in a village which will long be remembered for the warmth of its wel come. The head men immediately beat the garamut to summon the villagers to hear what we had to say. And in spite of the approaching dusk, with its legions of mosquitos, almost the whole village atended our meeting. But it was necessary almost to shout in order to drown the noise of hands continually slapping at persistent mosquitos. There was no lingering once the gathering was dis missed, all made a rush for refuge under hospitable mosquito nets, from which we could see and hear hundreds of nat-nats diligently seeking the tiniest ooening in the net.

On the third day we arrived at a village called Mindimbit, where our teacher, Palaso, is located. We were shown the neat church and school build ing erected by the natives themselves.

Logs have been split down, and the rough pieces of timber thus obtained have been squared off with tomahawks, and then planed so that it is almost impossible to know that it had not come from a saw mill.

The luluai or head man of this village has become a staunch supporter of the mission work. He has made himself a chair in which he sits at the back of the centre aisle of the church, and from this vantage point he maintains strict discipline, quickly silencing any inclina tion to talkativeness. He also assumes the same position in school where, sur prisingly enough, he is the brightest pupil.

MUCH encouraged by that which we had seen and heard, we took our departure from Mindimbit to make our way back to Ambunti.

We chose to return by an alternate route through the Chambri Lakes, so that we could make further new contacts and also to avoid as much as possible the direct current of the river. To enter the lakes, it was necessary for us to travel

through a small barad or narrow channel connecting the main river with the lakes.

Here we encountered our first navigational difficulties. Our canoe was too long to negotiate some of the many twists and turns in the barad and frequently, while rounding a bend, the front of the canoe would be caught in the vegetation at the side of the channel while the stern would be in similar difficulties. Often it was necessary for the boys to cut away some of the undergrowth before we could eventually take the bend.

Added to these difficulties, the tropical sun blazed down upon us in full strength, being also reflected by the water, and before the trip ended, even some of the natives were sun-burnt.

Along this barad we visited a number of large villages and here again, heard requests for teachers. Some have offered to be entirely responsible for providing the food, a house, and a building, if onlv we can provide the teacher.

After toiling painfully for some hours along this narrow channel, we finally burst through into a series of lagoons covered with red, blue and white water lilies, and an abundance of wild life When the Sepik river comes up in flood! these lagoons are linked and form the Chambri Lakes, covering an area of manv square miles. They are so vast that a slight wind is sufficient to raise waves large enough to swamp a canoe. Because of the amount of game, and the fertility of the small islands in the middle of the lakes, this area supports a very large population.

While we were there, two natives came and said they had some eggs to sell us.

They produced a sugar bag more than half full of wild-duck, ibis, water-hen, and herons eggs! The odour from one or two broken eggs was sufficient for us, but the natives were not at all dis appointed when we declined the offer.

Later we heard that the same eggs were relished by many mouths in the village that night.

Leaving the Chambri Lakes, we headed back towards the main river, travelling along another of these small barads, re entering the Sepik about forty miles oelow Ambunti. As we brushed along the grass on either side of the channel the mosquitos rose like clouds of dust and declared vengeance on their disturbers At one stage I counted forty mosquitos on one boy’s foot just below the ankle, and they would be just as thick as that all over one’s body if not continually chased away. Even clothing seemed to afford little protection; they proved themselves capable of stinging through almost any thing. J There is much that could be said about these mosquitos, but their numbers must be seen and felt to be believed!

THE difficulties indeed are many, but we are thankful for the privelege of assisting in this new area. We are very encouraged as we see what is being done here in the Sepik. On this trip we obtained names of about a dozen villages wanting teachers. The doors are wide open.

Lieut. Thomas Hagen, Noumea manager of Pan American Airways, has been pro moted captain in the French Army (re serve of officers).