MARY’S POOL
A very black man took me to a very crisp pool in a very clear river in a very thick jungle in a very gentle corner of Papua New Guinea. I am submerged in the Mary’s Pool: the pool for women. The boys have their own swimming hole to wash-wash, a couple of bends up the river. I am alone.
Immersed, my face is the only part of me above the surface. When my ears emerge I listen to the throng of the forest, and the insects and the mosquitoes, the rhythmical beats and the busy zing high up in the canopy. PNG is a malaria hot zone, with vicious transmission rates, so I drop my ears back underwater, trusting the mozzies won’t land on my face.
We have come a long way to Malisiga Village. In 1983, our friends built a traditional outrigger sailing canoe to help the Tami Islanders maintain their traditional skills. The children then are elders now. We have sailed around 650 nautical miles to bring our friends back in search of the canoe and the people.
Imagine a four-day, four-night long-haul flight. Our days are divvied into thirds. We stand watch 4 hours on, 8 hours off through the rolling days and nights, and time distorts. It’s 32 degrees at midnight. 3am is not only the hour of lovers and poets, this time also belongs to sailors.
When there is no moon the sky is black, black, and the horizon is indecipherable. It’s 4am and the crew are fast asleep as I stand on Strannik’s bow, alone, with binoculars looking out for tree logs and lights. Forked lightning dances the sky vivid red around me, and I recall my friend Gabe saying, “but you are a scaredy cat”. It’s true. I am scared of many things: stick insects, going fast in a car, choking, people looking at me, role play in a corporate setting, and being struck by lightning. I listen to the messy rumble of the waves and think it’s ok to be brave and scared at the same time.
We chase the light as we sail eastward with the curve of the earth. We have a dragonfly infestation, can you think of anything more delightful? One by one I pick them up in cupped hands and set them free out to sea with a little blessing. Pixar has conditioned my mind to create voices and characters for our visiting wildlife friends. Hundreds of dwarf spinner dolphins sound like children playing. I listen for their “wahoo, wheeeee, yipppeeee” as they frolic in the bow wake. They play for an hour, then leave abruptly. “Let’s go! Byeeeeee….”
A sperm whale ambles by, I hear a slow, bellowing, baritone. A gentlemanly “how do you do”. His march-by has a cadence to it; he breathes and lolls to his own tempo. A formal flick of a tale, like the tip of his hat, or a chivalrous nod, bids us farewell as he leaves the room and dives deep. Our handy Field Guide to the Marine Mammals of the World helps us identify the bushy, blow, directed low, left and forwards. I tick off my imaginary whale bingo card.
Rivers to our starboard have us on high-log-alert. We dodge them if we see them in time. I call the boys, “large log ahead”! Then it shifts. Then it appears. Then it shifts. To our relief, and amusement, it is a pod of beautiful, black pilot whales. They glide leisurely through the water, a wall of whales, unhurried, their breaths taken with big, long, slow arcs. They cross Strannik’s bow diagonally, each politely sing-songing, “excuse us, hello, hello, good morning, pardon me” like a sidewalk shuffle, apologetically getting out of our path. They are graceful, real beauties. They disappear in our wake.
We arrive scratchy and boat-lagged. Long-boats greet us and direct us to an anchorage bordered by the village on all shores. The heat has a weight here. It radiates and pulls on our weary limbs, we wade through it.
We can hear village life around us. We drop anchor and rest. It has been work to get here. All worth it of course. I love wildlife, but I adore the people. As we like to say, what is the most important thing in the world? The beautiful faces of these people, people, people.
