A Christmas Gathering
How many parts of the world are there where Christmas is not known and
celebrated in one way or another? If there are any, Papua is not one
of them, for Kisimasi is talked about and looked forward to before it
arrives, and long remembered and talked about after it has passed. In
the Mission it is the time for the big gathering of the teachers and
their followers and friends. At other times they have to come to the head
station of their district, but at Kisimasi they come as the guests of the
Missionary, and expect that the gathering shall be something out of the
common.
From beginning to end differences between Christmas in Britain and
Christmas in Papua are very marked. Instead of cold which makes blankets
and good fires necessary, there is heat so great that the host need not
worry if more guests arrive than he has provided accommodation for. They
can all sleep out of doors and be none the worse for the experience.
At home there may be two gatherings—the one for the young folks and the
other for the old folks, but with us the one gathering lasts at least a
week, and includes all ages, from the children in arms to the old men and
women.
A day has been fixed for the arrival of our guests, but some come a day
before the time and some a day after, for half are from the east and half
from the west, and the wind that will help the one lot will hinder the
other. Never mind about when they arrive, so long as we stick to the day
when the festivities are to begin. There will be but few missing then,
and each party as it arrives will make some contribution to the feast:
one a pig; another a goat; another some bananas; yet another some yams or
sweet-potatoes, or cocoanuts.
One canoe-load of our visitors announces its arrival by gun-firing, and
another by beating a tattoo on a hollow log. Others may come quietly to
the beach, but when they begin to unload the pig he lets us know that he
has arrived. Neither the Cook Islanders, nor the Samoans, nor the Papuans
believe in silently adding their contribution to the general stock.
Processions are formed, and everything, even to the poor, long-suffering
pig, is brought and put in front of the Mission house, while the teacher
indulges in a little speech. The year may have been a good one or a bad
one in the matter of food, but the speech always follows one line. It is
an apology for the very little the teacher is able to add to the general
stock.
All food is hung on a framework erected for the purpose, and there it
remains till the day of the feast.
Preparations are meanwhile going on inside as well as outside the house.
In the kitchen Donisi Hahine is making piles of cakes, and outside the
boys and girls are gathering stones and firewood for the native cooking.
Christmas morning dawns, and before the sun is over the hill we all
assemble in the church for the Christmas Service. To make all the
teachers feel as homely as possible, part of the service is conducted
in their own language, and three languages at least have to be used.
Emptying the church is slower work than filling it, for there is much
handshaking to be got through and many attempts to express good wishes in
English, to be heard.
Breakfast for all hands comes next, and then the separate little
committees which have been told off to attend to various matters, all get
to work. One lot sees that the boats and canoes are ready for the races;
another attends to the greasing down of the old mast of the _Niue_, which
for many years has been used as our greasy pole; a third see that the
rope is ready for the tug-of-war, and that nothing is left on the course
that would cut the feet of those taking part in the races; others get
ready for the distribution of the food; but the group which is the centre
of attraction is busy killing and cutting up the pigs and goats. This
is simply irresistible to men, women and children. They turn to it as
naturally as water runs down hill.
Gradually the interest moves to another part of the compound where
a teacher with a sheet of paper in his hand is superintending the
apportioning of the food. A delicate matter this, for none must be
overlooked, and the quantity in each heap of food must be in direct
proportion to the number of people who have come in with the teacher who
is to receive it. The foundation of each pile is laid with bananas and
cocoanuts, and on this yams are built up; then some rice and a few ship’s
biscuits, and a joint of raw pork. To finish all off well to the taste of
the Papuan a few sticks of tobacco are added to each pile.
The pork would soon suffer in the heat of the sun, so all hands are
promptly called together, and the Missionary makes the Christmas speech
of welcome, and after that is over a peculiar custom is observed.
A man with a strong voice is chosen, and if he has a dash of the clown
in him so much the better. The teacher walks ahead with his list and
announces the name of the man for whom the pile is intended. The
assistant, cutting capers behind him, smacks the pile with his switch and
calls aloud for So-and-So to come and take possession of the provision
made for him and his boys. Then with another cut at the pile of food he
passes on to the next, while So-and-So’s boys close in behind and see
that nothing is lost of what has fallen to their share.
After this fires are lighted in all parts of the compound and separate
cookings occupy the attention of many of our guests; we, however, will go
and see what all the smoke near the big bread-fruit tree means. There in
the open air the Christmas dinner is being cooked, and the need for the
stones and firewood gathered by the boys and girls is explained. A hole
has been dug in the ground and well lined with stones. On this a bonfire
has been lighted, and now, when nearly burnt out, the ashes are being
raked off, to the accompaniment of much hopping about on the part of the
bare-footed cooks, who are too excited to look for stray cinders and only
find them when they tread upon them.
Vegetables have been scraped and washed and are handy in tubs. First on
top of the hot stones is spread a layer of bread-fruit leaves. Next go
the vegetables to be served like the potatoes baked under the meat at
home, for the joints of pork and goat are piled on top. Already the mass
is beginning to steam, and causing some of those standing by to look
pleasant in anticipation, but none of this steam must be lost, so the
food is covered up with a thick layer of leaves. The earth is shovelled
on to all this and well beaten down, and the Christmas oven looks like a
gigantic mole hill, with little puffs of steam escaping here and there to
suggest what is going on inside. It might be called a self-cooker, for it
requires no attention, and though it may appear a strange way of cooking,
from long experience I can vouch for its being most satisfactory. If
properly heated such an oven turns out well cooked meat, and nicely
browned vegetables.
Leaving the oven to do its work we turn to the sports. The entries for
the various events are all made, and the handicapping all done on the
spot, and whether from shyness, or disinclination to exertion, there
is always a difficulty in getting a start. The prizes are all there
for inspection, and the start is usually obtained by holding up some
particularly tempting article, and announcing that it is the first prize
for the opening event. When once the ball has been set rolling there is
no difficulty. In quick succession follow races for men and for women;
big boys and little boys; for big girls and little tots; for teachers’
wives; three-legged races and jockey races (which cause undersized boys
to be in great demand as jockeys) and wheelbarrow races; sack races, and
hopping races; but the excitement is fast and furious when the tug-of-war
takes place between two well matched teams.
The greasy pole attracts little attention till the small boys have
worked hard for half a day, and have rubbed most of the grease off.
Then there are plenty of competitors for the last few feet, and great
excitement when one gets his hand within a few inches of the flag, just
fails, and comes down with a rush without it; but that is nothing to
the cheer which greets the one who at last gets the flag. He enjoys his
triumph to the full, holding on to the top of the pole, and smiling down
upon those who have probably done much to clear away the grease and
enable him to win the prize.
When tired of the exertion of racing the men turn their attention to
archery and a little spear-throwing. A man looks very warlike with his
long bow and his arrow nearly as long as himself, but judging from the
number of shots they send in before making even an outer, the success of
this method of fighting must depend more upon the cloud of arrows fired,
than upon the aim of any individual man. Perhaps the fact that the arrows
are not feathered may have something to do with this.
Of the Christmas dinner itself I need not write, as it was much like the
one described in the “Chapter of Accidents.” The main difference was that
we had seen to it that there were extra supports under the verandah and
so avoided another accident.
The first part of the day had been well filled, and you must remember
that the thermometer had stood at over 90 in the shade; so there was a
lull in the afternoon, and then the final preparations for the evening
party.
Though the verandah of the Mission house is a big one, it could not
accommodate all who wished to be present, so we had to restrict the
gathering to the teachers and their families, and the Delena Mission
family.
There was no Christmas tree, but its place was taken by a fishpond. Every
fish was named, and a little manœuvring let the man who managed the
inside of the pond know the name of the fisher, and so hook on the fish
he was intended to have. Big parcels sometimes contained only very small
fish, but that only added to the fun.
There were not many Christmas party games we could indulge in, but the
gramophone and the magnetic battery more than met the case. The mystery
of the gramophone was at first awe-inspiring, and the whistling bird
caused many a youngster to look round and close his hands as though he
had a stone to throw. Soon the awe passed and all were laughing over the
“Lancashire Lads’ Trip to London” as though they knew all about it and
could follow the fun; but the “Laughing Song” was the climax, and would
have gone far towards making the reputation of a man who wanted to be a
master of facial expression. At the first laugh they simply looked at
each other, but what looks they were. At the second they began to lose
control of themselves, while at the third all control had vanished, and
the gramophone could not be heard.
An entirely new set of facial contortions was the result of the
introduction of the battery. Some of the children simply set their teeth
tight together and took all that the machine could give them, but some
of the big men writhed and rolled about; bit their lips; opened their
mouths as though to shout; twisted their hands this way and that; stood
first on one leg and then on the other; and finally lay down to it, and
groaned “Vadaeni” (enough). They did not seem to enjoy the experience and
yet were ready later on for a second, but there was no doubt about the
onlookers enjoying it to the full.
Very few could be tempted to put their hands into a bucket of water
connected to one of the handles of the battery, even when a prize was
offered for the man who would get the nail from the bottom of the bucket.
It was ten o’clock before the party broke up. Every hour had been filled
since six in the morning, and no room had been found for the boat and
canoe races. We were all very tired, but very happy, and looked forward
to finishing the programme on the morrow.
[Illustration: A WELL-OILED AMAZON.
_See page 167._]
[Illustration: UME AND THE CROCODILE.
_See page 172._]
[Illustration: MIRIA MAKING FIRE.
_See page 174._]
[Illustration: THE BLOW-PIPE.
_See page 176._]
The second day was not only devoted to the sports but to the second of
the Christmas feeds. The provisions were not native, so the method of
serving differed from that of the previous day. Under the shadow of the
Mission house mats were spread upon the grass, and round them plates
and all the drinking-vessels we could muster, whilst in the centre,
amidst gay decorations of flowers and leaves, were dishes of cakes and
sandwiches. Decked in all their best the guests arrived, and by close
packing all managed to get a share of the edge of the mats. A curious
restraint seemed to keep most very quiet and prevent them helping
themselves freely, but Paiti, one of the jolliest teachers we ever had,
soon put an end to that by jumping up and stepping into the midst of the
decorations and the dishes. A more energetic waiter was never seen. A
plate was no sooner empty than he filled it again, and the little eager
hands that were stretched out by the children nearly hidden behind their
parents did not escape his notice and soon had something to close upon.
Paiti saw all, and attended to all, while from the outside of the ring
the cups were replenished at a wonderful rate. Some of these people must
have belonged to Dr. Johnson’s tribe, to judge by the amount of tea they
could put out of sight. We had requisitioned every kettle, pot and pan we
could find, but it was a question whether we should not have to make the
announcement “No more.” Fortunately that humiliation was spared us, and
when all the remains of the solids had been packed in handkerchiefs—for
it is etiquette not to leave anything—Paiti made a speech.
Taking his stand in the middle of the mat, he began in English: “My
father and my mother. We very glad you say we come here this day. We
very glad we live one more year. We very glad all man and all woman and
all boy and all girl be no sick——” Then either his memory or his English
failed him and he broke into native speech, thanking us for the spread,
and remarking that we had shown true hospitality in not only providing
all they could eat, but more.
I have written that the gathering lasted a week, but please do not
imagine that the whole of that time was devoted to feasting and sports.
Meetings with the teachers had to be held to arrange for the work of the
new year. Advice and encouragement had to be given, and difficulties
adjusted. Long descriptions of mysterious sicknesses had to be listened
to, and medicine, that idol of the Samoan, concocted to meet each
individual case, and then came the STORE.
The word is printed in capitals to show how large it looms in the eyes of
the teachers and their wives. Fancy how important the word would be if
your mothers and sisters (I do not include your fathers and brothers, for
they may have the same objection to entering a shop as I have) had only
three chances of shopping during the year. How much talking and arranging
would there not be before-hand, so that nothing might be forgotten, and
the necessary things procured first. This is the teacher’s weak point. He
is like a man who wants a suit of clothes covered with gold lace, and is
so intent on the gold lace, that he forgets he has to pay for the cloth
and the making. They all want the special things first, and then begin
to wonder how they are to pay for the food for the next four months.
To adjust matters so that each teacher shall be sure of food, light,
matches, clothes, and other necessaries, and still keep within the limits
of his salary, is not an easy matter, but it is not so trying as having
to get down every piece of print in the store before a teacher’s wife
can decide which colour suits her style of beauty best, or every pair of
trousers before the man can decide whether he wants them dark or light.
A fair allowance of good temper is needed if matters are to go smoothly
till the end of the third day of this kind of thing, in an iron store
almost as hot as a baker’s oven. Still we all survive, and interesting
and happy groups are seen at the bottom of the store steps discussing
each other’s purchases. Despite all attempts to arrange matters
before-hand, there are many supplementary visits with such appeals as
“Please, Donisi, I have forgotten the blue,” or “How am I to sew my new
dress, for I have forgotten the needles?”
By the end of the week all the requests have been attended to, and we
hope all the teachers, if not satisfied, are at least well fitted out
for another four months’ work at their stations, but before they leave we
meet for the Communion of the Lord’s Supper, and then with mutual good
wishes, and plenty of handshaking, we separate.
Most of the parties leave during the night, and signalize their going
by firing guns, or beating their hollow logs of drums. That part of the
performance could be dispensed with, for it usually comes soon after we
have settled down at the conclusion of a very long day.
How much of all this is like your Christmas experiences at home? Not
much; but it is the way we spend our Christmas at Delena.