A Sandalwood Church, and an Incident
About a year before I came to Delena sandalwood had been found in the
neighbourhood, and at once traders began to get it cut and to export it
to China. Till then the people had no idea that the wood growing around
them was of any special value. “What has this to do with the Delena
Church?” you may ask, and my reply is “_Dohore_,” the word that has been
used to me so often that I am tired of it, and pass it on to you. It just
means, “Wait a bit. Don’t be in a hurry.”
A very fair church can be built in Papua at a cost of from three to five
pounds, but the trouble is they do not last long, and the one I found
at Delena was in a sadly dilapidated condition when I began to use it.
An expenditure of a couple of pounds would have put the building in
good repair, but Sunday after Sunday we held our services in the shabby
church, which let the rain in on us, and the people had their attention
repeatedly drawn to the fact, and were told what other villages had
done to supply themselves with a good church. They were slow to move,
and nothing had been done when I left for my first holiday, with the
conviction that there was nothing for it but to repair the church at the
expense of the Mission.
Upon landing again at Delena my attention was attracted by a pile of
freshly cut sandalwood stacked just inside the Mission fence. For a
moment I wondered whether my teacher had been doing a little trading on
his own account, or whether a trader had stacked his wood inside our
fence for safety. “Dohore,” said the teacher, “you shall know all about
the wood when you are in the house and I can talk to you.”
South Sea men usually go a long way round when they have a story to tell,
and once in the house Matapo settled himself comfortably and got ready
for a real good time. His story would be too long, so I will condense it.
“You remember,” said he, “that when you went to Thursday Island with
Tamate in the _Mary_ you took Naime and Henao. They saw many strange
and many new things there, and when they returned to Delena they talked
to their friends of what they had seen, and told of the stone church
you took them to on the Sunday (the Quetta Memorial Church, now the
Cathedral). How many times they told of that Church I do not know, but
one evening some of the men came from the village, and said it would be
good if they had a Beritani church in their village like the one Naime
and Henao had seen in Thursday Island. “Such a church,” said Matapo,
“costs a lot of money. It is no good your asking Donisi to build you one
like that. He could not afford it.”
“We have talked of that,” answered the Delena men, “and we think we can
pay for it ourselves.”
“How? You have no money.”
“Just so, but ‘dohore’. We have sandalwood growing on our land. That is
worth money. We can cut it and sell it, and so pay for our church.”
As good as their word they went to work, cut and brought in the wood I
found stacked inside the gate, and asked me to sell it and buy material
for their Beritani church. It realized £72, and to that a friend in
England added £30, and some friends in Sydney a few pounds more.
A concrete building was out of the question, but timber and iron were
bought in Sydney, and the children’s ship, the _John Williams_, helped
by bringing it all to Delena. Before we could build there was pick and
shovel work to do, for the side of the hill had to be cut away to provide
a site, and then we all turned carpenters and builders, and are rather
proud of our work—partly because we think we made a good job of it, but
more because the Delena men and women, and boys and girls—for they all
had a share in it—contributed most of the cost, and that when they had
little, if any, money in the village. The sandalwood they got for that
church would have made them rich for a time, but they handed it over, and
I have never heard one man regret that they did so.
[Illustration: DRESSED UP IN PAINT AND FEATHERS.
_See page 30._]
[Illustration: COOKING SUPPER.
_See page 31._]
[Illustration: THE CRADLE.
_See page 32._]
Delena having taken the lead Matareu, the teacher at Queen Koloka’s
village, tried to persuade his people to build themselves a new church.
They would not undertake one of “Beritani” material, but began to
collect, oh so slowly, the wood necessary for a new church after the old
style. Plenty of patience is needed, even when you have engaged Papuans
to do a piece of work and can tell them what they are to do each day, but
when they are doing the work as a favour the man in charge wants to be a
regular Job. Little by little the material was gathered, and now and then
a few posts cut the required size, but Matareu and his own boys had to do
most of the work. At last the frame was up and the thatch all ready to
be put on. A day for this was appointed, but when it arrived the men all
wanted to go hunting. Another day was chosen, but when that arrived the
men found that the pigs were in their gardens and it was necessary for
them to go and repair the fences. So it went on till at last Matareu was
fairly tired of the “dohore” and the excuses, and when another appointed
day arrived and the men did not put in an appearance, he and his boys set
to work and before sundown had half the thatch in its place.
Little did he expect the trouble that was in store. Instead of being
pleased when they saw how much had been done the men looked at it, and
then passed sullenly on to their houses, and later on held a meeting in
the club house. Matareu wondered what was the matter, but was not long
in doubt, for along came Keo, the village policeman, evidently with some
weighty message to deliver.
“Who has been putting the thatch on the church?” he asked.
“I have, with the help of my boys,” answered Matareu.
“Why have you done it?”
“Because I was tired of your saying ‘dohore’ so often.”
“You should have waited till we were ready.”
“I waited so long that I was tired. It was always ‘dohore,’ and I was
afraid we should not have the roof on before the rains began.”
“You should have waited. You have done wrong. If these were the dark
days we should take our axes and cut down the church and your house, and
probably kill you.”
“Why? What have I done wrong?”
“You have broken our custom. When we are building a new club house no
one is allowed to touch the thatching till Koloka’s husband has put the
first piece in position. I am glad for your sake that the dark days have
passed. As it is the village men are all very angry.”
Matareu explained to the village assembled that he had offended in
ignorance, but he and his boys had to finish the work themselves. They
could get no more help.
This incident not only illustrates the difficulty there is in getting
work done in Papua, but shows how a man with the best of intentions may
get into trouble with the natives.