Fi-fi is supposed to be a spirit always invisible and occasionally audible. It is considered a bringer of both good and bad luck, but although this is so no attempt is made to propitiate it. The cult indeed is so absurd that the wonder is that the people believe in it at all; yet, although there is apparently nothing supernatural on the face of it, the Papuans are willing to credit its manifestations. When a tribe wishes to know its luck, and when a hostile attack is imminent, it has recourse to the rites of Fi-fi; these are always celebrated at night. The crowd gathers round the fire, and the girl who is supposed to be the medium of the power is told off to communicate with Fi-fi; from that moment, by a peculiar confusion in their minds between the spirit and the medium, she becomes Fi-fi to all intents and purposes. She retires to some corner near at hand, where she is not seen, and from there she whistles in different keys. The sound is made entirely at the medium’s discretion, but the moment it is heard the people exclaim that Fi-fi has come, and they judge by the whistling whether the omens are favourable or not. They would seem to have an idea of two Fi-fis, for the girl’s first call is two short notes repeated. No immediate answer comes, and the people round the fire remark casually to each other that the other Fi-fi has not heard, but they say, “Gua-fua”—that is, “Wait.” The girl whistles again, and in a moment or two answers herself; then the listeners round the fire exclaim, “Oi-kai-yoi, Fi-fi-mai” (“You hear, Fi-fi has come”). Occasionally we have said to them, “Tell Fi-fi to speak,” but they refused point-blank; and when we asked them why they did not bring Fi-fi, they said they could not. The priestess varied her whistle, and then interpreted her own messages. Once a woman is chosen to communicate with Fi-fi, she retains the office for life. This form of divination occurred most frequently at Waley.
The priestess is not above the Delphic trick of framing her oracles to suit political necessity or her own inclinations and likings. One would think that people of such general common sense as the Papuans would see the possibility of deception, but they have implicit faith in Fi-fi’s manifestations.
Certain insects, I noted, were also regarded as “Fi-fi.” When a particular species of fire-fly entered the house at night the natives immediately predicted bad luck, or impending attack and extermination by hostile tribes. This failure of intelligence at one point is paralleled by their inability to grasp the simplest idea of number. Further than three they cannot count, although we often tried, by means of their ten fingers, to instil some notions of a higher calculus into them.
On the march we observed the existence of a curious system of warnings. Now and then a green bough, newly broken off, would be found lying in the path, and the sight of this almost drives the natives out of their wits; for it is the recognised symbol that some one has been there who does not want you to pass. It has a correlative in a friendly symbol, which is also a broken bough, but in this instance it is not entirely severed from the tree.
Another superstition is “Wada,” which, as far as one can ascertain, seems to be a belief in an invisible man who stands near a tree, but is so like it that he cannot be seen. As you go through the forest “Wada” may touch you, and then you are doomed. After this there is nothing for you to do but go home and die; and so great is the power of suggestion, that a person who believes he has been touched by “Wada” generally does die.
Mavai practised “Wada,” but it took a somewhat pharmaceutical form with him. He made an abominable mixture of rotten bananas, and all sorts of decomposing matter. This he kept in his house and gave to persons he wanted to be rid of, generally without any evil effect, but that never shook his belief in the efficacy of his decoctions. It was delightfully comical to see the seriousness with which he sat compounding his horrid messes, and telling you of their dire results. It may be wondered how ever he got the dread substance administered; but then, of course, Mavai was all-powerful, and the person who refused to take his “Wada” drugs would probably have encountered “Wada”—a sure and certain “Wada”—in the person of Mavai himself.
There was also some confusion of “Wada” with a stone or a stick, and therein probably one might find the truth about the real deadliness of the charm.
The Papuans are entirely without history as a people, and of personal tradition they have only the merest scraps. At Port Moresby they had a legend of an eclipse, and referred to it as “Labi labi” (that is, “night”). They have no tales of gods or heroes, and their chief interest is the question, “Where are you going?” and “What are you doing?”
They were very keen to see our photographs, and had no difficulty in understanding a picture: therein they differed greatly from the debased Australian aborigines, who could never grasp the graphic symbol, and in the famous instance, when shown a picture of Queen Victoria, said it was a ship. They picked out their friends’ photographs at once, and recognised them with exclamations of delight. For one of our men, however, our stereoscope proved too much, as the relief of the figures had probably been too realistic; and on being invited to look at a group of our retainers, he no sooner put his eyes to the glass than he howled and nearly dropped the instrument. He ran away, saying, “Mookau meego” (“Man lives there”), and could not be persuaded to look again.
I hope that during my next journey I may be able to pierce more deeply into the psychology of the Papuans, and it may be that, with greater familiarity, they will communicate more of what they know; for it appears improbable that they should be as destitute as they seem of legend or myth.