THE BALIEM VALLEY
We saw no white people for a week. We visited the Baliem Valley in the Central Highlands in Western New Guinea. An area spanning 80km by 20km the valley was only discovered by the Western world in 1938.
The valley is like an island, like the yolk in an egg. For the longest time (40,000 to 50,000 years) there have been no roads in and no roads out. Today all freight, machinery, humans and supplies are flown in and out by plane only. The township of Wamena, sits central; an epicentre with a seedy vibe, a medium speed and the bustle of atavistic humanity, its home to people just getting on, getting on.
We were there to spend some time with the Dani tribes, folks living somewhat traditionally in villages dotted about the valley. As a greeting we were acknowledged with a slow, gentle “wa wa wa” welcome, and deliberately deep and long-linked eye contact. Proud to share their heritage we were invited to villages, hiked fields of produce, observed and tasted customary cooking from an above ground umu and experienced a pig killing ceremony – if you can call holding up a pig and shooting it through the heart with a bow and arrow a ‘ceremony’.
Kids feasting on the pig carcass
Much of life between men and women here is segregated. There is clear division of tasks, living quarters, social structure and activities, all in the name of their collective survival and harmony. Men live in one hut, women live in another, a third hut is used for making babies. Population control is managed by couples only visiting hut number three, every four years. Simple.
This is Sudin, our guide and cook. I asked his age, he said he forgot. Of my height, his 100kg of pure muscle, togged up in Paddington Bear style yellow boots, rocked hopped a rushing river with me on his back; he plonked me down with an enormous smile and a beetle nut fuelled giggle – all in a day’s work.
Baliem Valley was an unusual place to visit. It felt a little kidnappy, colder than expected, and curiously devoid of other palangi. Some things proved universal - coffee, snot nosed kids, cock-and-ball graffiti, a plethora of churches and ubiquitous Coca-Cola. Many things were inimitable: the distinct delineation between the sexes, rampant civil unrest, koteka (penis gourd) pig-worship, bilums and home-made bricks.
It was a privilege to visit this obscure little corner of the planet. I felt lucky to be safe, Kiwi and going home.
Book recommendation: Lost in Shangra La, a tale that follows 3 survivors of a US Army plane that crashed in the Baliem Valley in 1945. The book recounts their encounters with the tribes, paratroopers that come to save them and their eventual dramatic rescue in a glider pulled out by plane that did not land. A brilliant read and insight into the valley.