Papuan Treasures.
Cooking Food Under the House.
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.