I wrote previously about doing a number of flights for the Min Baptist Women's conference, where hundreds of ladies came together to worship and fellowship.
In a different kind of celebration of life, I recently flew three body charters in four days. In PNG culture it is important for a person to be buried in their home village. The more status the person had, the bigger the haus krai (funeral), to show respect, so often the coffin will be accompanied by hundreds of kilos of food.
When I land at a bush airstrip with a coffin on board, there is usually a big crowd waiting. Different places have different customs - some are subdued, while others mourn loudly and publicly. If it’s the latter, the passengers in the plane often start wailing just as I am preparing to land - a distraction I don’t need at that point!
At Wanikipa, a group of ladies wearing white tunics were singing and waving tanget leaves as I taxied up to the parking bay. After shutting down, I did what I needed to in checking over the aircraft, remove the cargo straps holding the coffin in place (and the other cargo accompanying it), then opened the door and move away from the aircraft to allow the community to do their thing.
One of the locals approached me to shake my hand. He often did this when I came to that airstrip, so I obliged. Like the other mourners, he had smeared his face and arms with mud. I suddenly found I was turned from observer into participant, as he grasped my hand, pressed his face into my shoulder and started wailing. He continued for a minute or so, then let go and proceeded to the next person, as others lifted the coffin out of the plane and carried it up the hill to where a noisy crowd was waiting.
“It’s just their custom,” explained a teacher standing nearby, who I would be flying out.
“I know,” I replied, feeling a little awkward but also honoured, in a way, to have been included.
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Tumolbil airstrip, destination for one of the body charters I flew this month |
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