A Feast and a Dance
Perhaps nothing stands more in the way of the advancement of the Papuan
than his love for feasting and all-night dancing. Nearly every incident
connected with his life, from his entering it to his leaving it, gives
occasion for the feast and the dance, and if the energy put into these
were spread over the year’s work in the garden, the hunting and fishing,
he would rarely know what hunger means, and would be able to put by for a
rainy day.
[Illustration: WAITING FOR MOTHER.
_See page 33._]
[Illustration: THE FRONT STEPS.
_See page 34._]
[Illustration: PAPUAN TREASURES.
_See page 36._]
[Illustration: COOKING FOOD UNDER THE HOUSE.
_See p. 41._]
In some villages informal dances take place nearly every night, but
for these no special preparations are made. A big dance is a more
important matter, and is talked of for months before it comes off.
Invitations are sent out, but not on printed cards. Someone representing
the founder of the feast walks into a village, and in the easy,
no-hurry-to-morrow-will-do style begins to tell that So-and-So is
beginning to gather his food and fatten his pigs. Of course they all
know what that means, and are prepared to see the visitor produce some
betel nuts (the fruit of the areca palm) and hand them round. Each person
receiving a nut accepts it as an invitation. Perhaps the date has not
been fixed, but later on word of that will be passed from village to
village.
I have been present at several of these dances, and have seen as many
as three thousand taking part. That was years ago, and I told many of
you about it when I was in England, so I will deal with the last, the
particulars of which are fresher in my mind.
Nara consists of a group of inland villages, not far from Delena. The
principal village is Oroi, and there reigns Queen Koloka, the only woman
I have known in Papua who is the recognized head of a village. Others may
have plenty to say in the management of affairs through their husbands,
but Koloka is the undoubted head, recognized by both husband and people,
and is strong and wise and rules her people well. We were included in the
invitation to her feast, and as a special inducement were informed that
twenty-three pigs were to be killed.
The Delena people were busy for some days getting their feathers in
order, and furbishing up their ornaments, and then started off ahead of
us. The south-east wind made our progress slow, and the sun was nearly
down when we landed with a three hours’ walk ahead of us. Lamps are great
conveniences, but they do not give much help in showing what is round
your feet on a bush track, and Nara has its full share of snakes. The
last half-mile of the track winds round the side of a hill, and here we
suddenly found ourselves in the dressing-room of the Delena people. It
was a dark night and fires had been lit at intervals, and round these
were grouped the performers and their dressers. Here a wife was painting
the lines and patterns on her husband’s face. There some girls were
having their new grass skirts fitted, and cut away to the right length,
so as to leave enough weight behind to give the required swing. Yonder
one young man was arranging the hair of another, and next him was one
blowing the oil over a companion’s body. Others were tuning the drums,
and along the line went old men and women advising and criticizing.
Tongues were busy as well as hands, and the firelight reflected from the
gay feathers, the well-oiled bodies, and sparkling from the leaves and
branches which met overhead, made a picture one longed to reproduce in
colour.
Having traversed the whole length of this strange dressing-room, we
reached the teacher’s house, and had time for an evening meal before the
signal was given for the festivities to begin. The roll of drums could
be heard in all directions, for eight villages were to be represented,
and each had its own forest dressing-room. Then came the shrill call of
a policeman’s whistle (certainly a new importation into a Papuan dance),
and the first party marched in in Indian file, to the accompaniment of
drum-beating and chanting. Their ball-room was an open space that might
have been called the village green if only it had had grass growing upon
it, and here they began to dance with the monotonous swinging of the body
and slow lifting of the feet, distinctive of this district.
In quick succession in marched other groups representing other villages,
till seven lots were in motion at one time. Each group of dancers
supplied its own orchestra, nothing but the drum and the chant, and as
there was no conductor to give the key and the time, seven different
times and seven different keys were going simultaneously. Result—Bedlam,
but happiness for the natives.
The ball-room floor was far from tempting. The village is built round
the top of a hill, formed by an outcrop of stone, and the softer parts
had worn away and left knife-like edges running from end to end of the
village. These may have interfered with the comfort of the dancers,
but certainly did not put an end to their performance. Hour after hour
the same tom, tom, tom of the drums, the same chant made a little more
objectionable as the voices became tired and hoarse. As any dancer became
weary he withdrew without any effect upon the figure such as it was. Two
at least who were present wearied of the monotony and wished they were
back at the Mission House at Delena. Sleep was out of the question, and
at last light began to show at the back of the great mountain range,
and as it became stronger revealed a bedraggled remnant of those who
had started with such energy some ten hours before. They were evidently
tired out, but native custom would not allow them to stop till the
all-important pig-killing had been accomplished, and they were called to
receive their share.
Painfully deliberate were the movements of those in charge. The sun
mounted higher, and the ground got so hot that the dancers were obliged
to put more energy into their movements, like the much-talked-of cat
on hot bricks. When they could bear it no longer their friends brought
banana leaves and refuse from the food, and threw amongst their feet so
as to make a carpet. The dancers never travelled over a great area, but
it was amusing to watch how they now took care not to move off the leaves
so thoughtfully provided for them.
Some of the weary men were, I think, relieved when we asked them to step
out of the dance and let us take their pictures. The village club house
was like a theatrical property shop. Feather head dresses eight and ten
feet high were standing round the walls, hanging from the rafters, and
one even on the roof. We hardly recognized some of our friends under the
paint and feathers. Will any of you, I wonder, recognize an old friend in
an unfamiliar head dress.
[Illustration: MIRIA THE SORCERER.
_See page 45._]
[Illustration: DELENA CHURCH.
_See page 53._]
[Illustration: NARA VILLAGE AND CHURCH.
_See page 46._]
[Illustration: QUEEN KOLOKA.
_See page 73._]
I remember once being told at a bacon-curing factory that three hundred
pigs were often killed before breakfast, and that no unpleasant traces
of the slaughter remained. Dispatch of that kind would not suit the Nara
folk, nor would they care for so few traces of the slaughter. Under the
club house lay the twenty-three pigs, their legs fastened together so
that a pole could be passed through, and each pig carried head down. Much
to the disgust of our boys we left the village as soon as the squealing
of the pigs began, but those who remained behind to receive our share
described how all the due formalities were observed. Koloka’s eldest son,
Naime, is always master of the ceremonies. When all the pigs have been
put in a row no one can lay a hand on them till Naime, with his fighting
stick, has killed his pig by a blow on the side of the head. His cousin
must then kill his and then the village men can kill theirs. Naime must
also take the lead in the cutting up and distribution of the joints. The
women and children are allowed certain small portions, but all that is
considered best is appropriated by the men.
Great preparations had been made for this feast, and what was the
occasion of it all? Five young men were to be invested with the Garter.
Not the elaborately bejewelled Garter so much coveted by those of high
degree, but a neat little pair of string garters made like the macramé
work. Not much to look at, but to the native the sign that the wearer
was now a man, and had a man’s place in the village. Five mothers had
worked the garters for their sons, and when the day arrived, the sons
were taken outside the village, and for once in a way their bodies were
really cleaned and then carefully oiled before the garters were placed
below their knees. They must not be seen, however, till after the feast,
so that the legs are carefully swathed round with strips of bark cloth,
and coated with red clay and oil. These five young men were the centre of
the feast, and they were conscious of it. So fond of praise are they at
such times, that they actually pay for it. As they strut round a friend
will say, “Naime, you do walk grandly. Mine is a wallaby”; and Naime will
later on go and catch the wallaby and give it to the friend who praised
him before others. Another will tell Naime that he handles the drum well,
and mention that he is fond of fish, and Naime is in honour bound to
supply the fish within a reasonable time. One can well understand that
too many friends may at such a time become a serious burden, but it is a
burden that the praise-loving young fellow is quite willing to shoulder.