My first birthday in PNG was an interesting mixture of fieldwork, hassle and home comforts. I was emailed a few weeks ago by 2 PhD anthropologists coming to Goroka for a few weeks as a preliminary. Chris and Melissa, Canada and America, who could so easily have turned out to be dry, research driven purists, turned out to be sarcastic and sardonic kindred anthropologists, the like of which are rare at least in my experience. They have been staying in rooms next to mine, and took me to the decent hotel for dinner on the night, and the fact we knew we would be ill the next day as we ordered made it all the more amusing. The volunteers who live in the individual houses section of my compound dressed my door and donated a CHOCOLATE cake, which Chris and I immediately demolished for breakfast. I had arranged with my family in Kanchul Kemp to have a kind of party (denoted by the buying and eating of meat) which fell apart, as most research events have since the others arrived. Michael had work, and I was paying for almost everything (as it turned out), including the obligatory ‘lamp plaps’ (the very fatty belly of sheep or mutton), so this came as welcome relief. I was very touched though when yesterday they took me to the same hotel where one of them works and clubbed together for a pizza, which we shared, and I got the drinks as they were going to overwhelm me with their generosity. Incidentally we had to organise this and convince them that I was part of it in order for them to be allowed in. In the morning of the actual day I went and picked up the cake I had bought for everyone and ‘scaled’ it, taking half or so to the settlement to share out with my family and friends, and half for the NSI people. I then had an interview with Boski, the man who had a brideprice recently, and attempted to make sense in some gaping holes in my understanding. This included one of the most remarkable objects so far, and unwittingly my best present, an excel spreadsheet of brideprice contributions on flashdrive. I will interview him again to contextualise these names, numbers, and boxes of lamb flaps (60 kilos a go).
Enough of that, I have been less busy due mainly to helping the new guys, and partly because I enjoy their company. But I did some work at the pokies, Kanchul Kemp, and squeezed in a number of interviews (these are easier and more manageable). The most important thing, outside of my growing love of Friday night pokies and its world of high rollers and political machinations, was watching the State of Origin at Kanchul Kemp. The latter was an enormous breakthrough, in the last few weeks people have taken less notice of me and let me in on the ever present threat of witchcraft and poisoning, but it was this night that cemented me as a part of the life of this settlement. I arrived there some two months ago now, origin unknown, with a notepad and heart palpitations, telling my story to anyone, making crude maps, and catching glimpses of card games at every corner. Slowly people began to know me, and as my Tok Pisin improved I became a real person with a sense of humour, a goal, and a desire to know all about them. Flattering vanity in some senses, many of my first contacts were those whose sense of self-worth or importance demanded my attention. And as these people dwindled or completed their stories, a space opened up for others, those who thought I was busy, but I gave enough attention to not neglect their smoking habits, began to offer their thought provoking questions and reservations, which tested my Tok Pisin and mettle, and led to my acceptance. Nevertheless, it was on the day after my birthday, when I went down to see just what transformation occurred there during State of Origin, despite talk of gender violence, shirt colour affiliation based murder and spakmen roving the muddy dark streets like glass armed zombies. This, again, is not to showcase my research risk pedigree, or recklessness, but I have learnt to take these stories with a pinch of salt, but only when I am a familiar face (though I did admit a high degree of nerves). These stories are as much a part of my research as anything else, which is not to say they do not happen. In any case, I was welcomed by some drunken young men at 5.30pm, and went and sat with Peter and them to wait out the beginning of the match, find out the betting thus far, and generally gather the ambience. The boys, who I gave cigarettes to a number of times before, turned out to be raskols, whose recent escapades (here left out for propriety and ethnographic ethics) had left them wealthy to the tune of K600, laid out their life as a raskol, gave me beer, brus (newspaper rolled tobacco) and lamp plap kebabs, I reciprocated later with more beer. This was the first self identification of such activity involving actual examples, and they looked after me all evening, and I felt as if they gave me the keys to the settlement, all fear of attack subsiding with their approval. You may think I am in trouble if I ever piss them off, and I might, but there is no obligation to be like them, and they understood my purpose and my relative poverty compared to the other whitemen. Above all people appreciate your straightness with them, coinciding with anthropological ethics rather nicely.
So we watched the game outside a house which was charging 50 toea for a view of the small screen. They talked me through the rules of rugby, an inevitable aside to talking to drunken people as a foreigner. I got up and asked everyone in the 50 strong crowd to volunteer their betting at half time, which the raskols helped me with, and at the end of the night, despite smouldering animosity to some over exuberant supporters, and obvious over consumption on their part, elected to walk me back. It was the next day that I learnt how I had ‘brukim history’ that night, that the fact I went, sat with, drank with, and chatted to people at such an event was the talk of the settlement. Michael said now I can go all on my own, which I think is true. So all is going well here, I think the rapidity of my integration so far is a matter of overwork and the current rate of work is welcome respite, giving me the opportunity to reflect and assess my priorities research wise. I have lost the need to pretend that my fieldwork somehow needs to be total ‘immersion’, and the guilt of having a day off (though to be honest I get so behind in my note taking that this is more a day not ‘out there’ than it is a day off. The town is a valid space of fieldwork, and people go back home and cook their own food in the best place they can manage, so do I.
So, State of Origin, fascinating.
P.S.’s: Many of my course mates must be viva’ing and heading off to the field, good luck and enjoy. Fiona, is the little one here yet? When will you head over here?
Thursday, 25 June 2009
Wednesday, 10 June 2009
The Settlement
That is right ardent followers, I am titling all my posts ‘The (something)’, not for any dramatic or anthropological reason, but I am a creature of habit, as many will know. I have been very busy since my last post, in four sites: Kanchulkemp/Banana Block, Mambu Maket (the first two are settlements adjacent to each other and the third a centre servicing other settlements), pokie places (fruit machine halls/nightclubs in town, and the National Sports Institute, where I live. I will deal with the last two first, and get to the title later. Since I interviewed a big-man (accidentally mind you, he just happened to own a ‘pokie ples’) called Ben, he has decided that I will be his son. It turned out after I had asked my questions, pressing him in complete ignorance to his status, that he is one of the most feared and loved men in the town. He now takes me out to pokie places on Fridays and you should see him asking people for money, and telling people to do things for him, it is really amazing, his power is immense, you can really feel it. I had no transport to get home, he walked out to the road and the third car which went past picked his face out in the blackness, stopped and took me home at his request completely out of their way, and if you knew how dangerous this place is said to be by people on Fridays (and really can be) then this would seem as incredible to you as it was to me. Pokie places are very interesting, as men (mostly) stand back and watch others play hoping for a win in order to be bought beer, rumours of previous winners lead men like Ben to ‘request’ 50 Kina which the person gives up not so gladly but submissively, and where ‘little men think big’. The latest time I and one of his followers (Ben was injured) went to Lahanis, the biggest Pokie ples and nightclub in the Highlands, and I met some huge-shots, MBE’s, politicians, monopolising businessmen and chief-sergeants. One had lost K5,500 (£1,500) this week and spent K1,200 (£400) on beer for others. Pokies, except for the less wealthy, seems to have little to do with playing pokies, but it is truly fascinating, as my topic ranges out to how money circulates in town.
The NSI is more mundane, but Mama, the cleaner, and everyone else, muse with me over the reason they gamble, tell me of their compensation requests from adulterous husbands of relatives and otherwise slowly give me a picture of life in a national institution and the parts of their respective cultures they retain here. I also get a taste of mumu’s (traditional pit and hot stone based cooking, involving whole pigs), brideprice ceremonies, and the compensation payments ordered from adulterous or murderous men. The brideprice (a relatively small one) I saw was amazing, especially having read so much about them and now seeing one in the flesh. 2 Pigs, one live, one thoroughly dead, piles of banana, kaukau, live chickens tied at the legs, sugar cane, and prominent men calculating the dispensation of such wealth to guests according to their prominence, contribution and what they hope to gain in the future, and making more little piles. Incidentally some even played cards while they were waiting for the pigs to be distributed. Every other Thursday, when government people are paid (this is a major structuring factor in town, private workers being paid the other week, making ‘lus wik’ and ‘gavman wik’), I watch another institutions kitchen and security staff and a local moneylender who used to work there gamble their pay, the subject of my last post. I have discovered playing and writing notes is completely incompatible, and it is much easier to ask questions when I am one among the many spectators at any given card game, or ‘kandis’. Back at NSI, Michael, the security man from my last post is now my most valuable friend and informant, a middle aged unmarried man from Simbu (most people I meet seem to be from Simbu, another Highlands province), who has taken me into his family and opened every door for me he can in his settlement (Kanchulkemp), taken me round in daytime and night, and introduced me to people who look after me at both Banana Block and Mambu Maket.
Once a week I seem to go down to Mambu Maket, with a local leader called Ronnie, who is a ‘professional’ punter at horse races, where I have been concentrating on Bingo at a tradestore called 16 Corner. I feel comparatively safe here; everyone is much friendlier and accepting of my student status than elsewhere. The maket itself and the settlement behind are built on customary land rented from the tribal owners (the Fanifa), which makes it untouchable by the police and therefore it has a less seedy and criminal feel (though whether this is true or not I don’t know yet), it is also away from the centre so people are more self contained there and the buildings are not so packed together. The other day I met the ‘haus lain blo asples’ (Fanifa tribal leaders) and found out they are in the middle of a land dispute with a tribe from Bena (from outside town) for Mambu, which I will be following now. At 16 Corner boys of 12, 16 and 17, run the game for their ‘big brother’ who owns and runs the tradestore, and where some systematic cheating occurs (which I can’t go into details of now just in case anyone connected with the place reads this). Needless to say, those who conspire to partake in it are related. The numbers at the bingo have names such as ‘cemetery’ for 73, or ‘spakman’ for 24 or 48 (‘spakman’ being drunkard, the number relating to the number of beers in a crate). 52 is ‘kas par’ (cards paria), which brings me roundly back to Kanchulkemp/Banana Block.
At the moment Kanchulkemp, Banana Block and Yamba Corner, where they meet, takes up most of my time. Kanchulkemp (Council Camp) is a planned settlement, one of Gorokas two oldest, but this is not reflected in any discernable difference from illegal settlements apart from that the Police cannot arbitrarily throw people out and that it is more densely packed with housing. I have recently had an unfortunate incident where the criminal leader of Banana Block was very spak, and was demanding all my attention, and setting me up to be alone with him so he could do something ‘criminal’ (opinions vary on what) to me. Yesterday I found out he is a cereal (sp?) rapist, so who knows. Michael and Peter, my best contact there not related to Michael, were intent on using their bushknives on him, but as luck would have it a car of the ‘brother’ of Peter made its way down the mud road (it was raining) and was convinced to take me back, a few obstacles (a pickup stuck in the mud on the road and a spak Banana Block criminal unwilling to leave me) later I got back home, and consequently Michael has banned me from working there anymore. I am now only looking at Kanchulkemp and Yamba Corner, though in fact these three form one continuous road, they seem conceptually quite different. A week or so later the same man broke into the SP Brewery to steal beer and was chased through Banana Block by armed Security men. Anyway, fieldwork barely daring-do stories aside, this is an exhausting place to study, as I am endlessly explaining myself, though the worst of this is now over. All this talking in Tok Pisin wares me out, and when it comes to the games I find it difficult to get much more than the rules of the games out of people at the moment as they assume complete ignorance on my part, which is mostly true. However I have been mapping all the market stalls and where there owners live, and where they are from, which I think will make things more lucid in the long term. My aim here though is to know the kinship and history of the people at any given card game, so as to know why they are being sponsored by this person, buying buai and smuk for another, playing T50 Bom rather than K2 Queen that day, who they owe money to, and what if anything are they saving up for. This is going to take some time, and sometimes at night it is too dangerous, raskols can be cajoled into the status of brother, but spakmen might beat up their brother for being there. Nevertheless, all these places are getting less dangerous for me, and I promise my posts wont be full of these kinds of self-styled anthropologist on the edge tales, but this time is my most tricky, so I stick with my good contacts in the risky places and the more I do, the more diminished the threat becomes. It is essential I work in these places, settlements house 70% of all the people in Goroka, and gambling drives these economies. I am confident of my future integration. My birthday is coming up, and I am having a small mumu at Michael’s house, maybe that will help, it will be the third mumu there, my fifth overall.
Another fascinating thing which has been going on here is the furore over the State of Origin (an Australian Rugby League contest between two states which is a 3 match series played once a year). I have been around for the first game, and it is madness, businessmen bet large portions of their businesses, men with no money bet huge amounts for them (men bet mostly, though some women), and everyone but everyone has a team, blues or maroons is the first question I get asked at the moment, I diplomatically say the ref, as I could not care less about Rugby League to be honest, and violence over the games is a popular topic of conversation (particularly amusing for men is the beating of wives), but the joke is wearing thin with as well as me. Anyway the Maroons won, and the next day was quite amusing, as everyone who was really spak was either tottering around the settlements or sleeping randomly often under the burning sun, with smudged face paint sufficing for explanation.
Overall I am really enjoying this, but as things heat up it has become exhausting. Some people on fieldwork in certain locations find it hard to get people to talk to them and let them get involved, I don’t have enough time to do everything and write up my notes. I don’t think this is because of me, (but it helps), it is these people, who are amazing (even if they werent lovely almost to a man, just the amount of kinship they can keep in their heads beggars belief). The one thing I don’t like is getting used to disappointing people as I cant fulfil their expectations in terms of attention. So, the settlement, it is what it is, a slum of sorts, the meat and veg of urban life in PNG, home to some surprisingly prominent personages, and my place of work for some time. Just one example to illustrate this, Michaels cousin Kelly has 36 paintings in Buckingham Palace and has been knighted. Its not bullshit, he has painted for me, its incredible.
Quick note, very annoyingly the internet wont support my putting pictures up, so I am gutted but I guess you will just have to imagine, unless I can find a place with better access and better computers, probably on my 3 month report writing trip to Madang.
Ketch,
Anton.
Some other P.S.’s: Alana, here you are, mentioned personally, now please bring me Belgian Beer! When you do eventually make it here, you may have to be ‘meri blo mi’, disgusting I know, but sometimes parsimony is favourable to endless questions and for you invitations, unless you want them? (Oh and dont get your hopes up, it doesnt mean you can kiss me).
Charlie (Finster), how is all? Got a job yet? Any news from our mutual starlet Francesca?
The NSI is more mundane, but Mama, the cleaner, and everyone else, muse with me over the reason they gamble, tell me of their compensation requests from adulterous husbands of relatives and otherwise slowly give me a picture of life in a national institution and the parts of their respective cultures they retain here. I also get a taste of mumu’s (traditional pit and hot stone based cooking, involving whole pigs), brideprice ceremonies, and the compensation payments ordered from adulterous or murderous men. The brideprice (a relatively small one) I saw was amazing, especially having read so much about them and now seeing one in the flesh. 2 Pigs, one live, one thoroughly dead, piles of banana, kaukau, live chickens tied at the legs, sugar cane, and prominent men calculating the dispensation of such wealth to guests according to their prominence, contribution and what they hope to gain in the future, and making more little piles. Incidentally some even played cards while they were waiting for the pigs to be distributed. Every other Thursday, when government people are paid (this is a major structuring factor in town, private workers being paid the other week, making ‘lus wik’ and ‘gavman wik’), I watch another institutions kitchen and security staff and a local moneylender who used to work there gamble their pay, the subject of my last post. I have discovered playing and writing notes is completely incompatible, and it is much easier to ask questions when I am one among the many spectators at any given card game, or ‘kandis’. Back at NSI, Michael, the security man from my last post is now my most valuable friend and informant, a middle aged unmarried man from Simbu (most people I meet seem to be from Simbu, another Highlands province), who has taken me into his family and opened every door for me he can in his settlement (Kanchulkemp), taken me round in daytime and night, and introduced me to people who look after me at both Banana Block and Mambu Maket.
Once a week I seem to go down to Mambu Maket, with a local leader called Ronnie, who is a ‘professional’ punter at horse races, where I have been concentrating on Bingo at a tradestore called 16 Corner. I feel comparatively safe here; everyone is much friendlier and accepting of my student status than elsewhere. The maket itself and the settlement behind are built on customary land rented from the tribal owners (the Fanifa), which makes it untouchable by the police and therefore it has a less seedy and criminal feel (though whether this is true or not I don’t know yet), it is also away from the centre so people are more self contained there and the buildings are not so packed together. The other day I met the ‘haus lain blo asples’ (Fanifa tribal leaders) and found out they are in the middle of a land dispute with a tribe from Bena (from outside town) for Mambu, which I will be following now. At 16 Corner boys of 12, 16 and 17, run the game for their ‘big brother’ who owns and runs the tradestore, and where some systematic cheating occurs (which I can’t go into details of now just in case anyone connected with the place reads this). Needless to say, those who conspire to partake in it are related. The numbers at the bingo have names such as ‘cemetery’ for 73, or ‘spakman’ for 24 or 48 (‘spakman’ being drunkard, the number relating to the number of beers in a crate). 52 is ‘kas par’ (cards paria), which brings me roundly back to Kanchulkemp/Banana Block.
At the moment Kanchulkemp, Banana Block and Yamba Corner, where they meet, takes up most of my time. Kanchulkemp (Council Camp) is a planned settlement, one of Gorokas two oldest, but this is not reflected in any discernable difference from illegal settlements apart from that the Police cannot arbitrarily throw people out and that it is more densely packed with housing. I have recently had an unfortunate incident where the criminal leader of Banana Block was very spak, and was demanding all my attention, and setting me up to be alone with him so he could do something ‘criminal’ (opinions vary on what) to me. Yesterday I found out he is a cereal (sp?) rapist, so who knows. Michael and Peter, my best contact there not related to Michael, were intent on using their bushknives on him, but as luck would have it a car of the ‘brother’ of Peter made its way down the mud road (it was raining) and was convinced to take me back, a few obstacles (a pickup stuck in the mud on the road and a spak Banana Block criminal unwilling to leave me) later I got back home, and consequently Michael has banned me from working there anymore. I am now only looking at Kanchulkemp and Yamba Corner, though in fact these three form one continuous road, they seem conceptually quite different. A week or so later the same man broke into the SP Brewery to steal beer and was chased through Banana Block by armed Security men. Anyway, fieldwork barely daring-do stories aside, this is an exhausting place to study, as I am endlessly explaining myself, though the worst of this is now over. All this talking in Tok Pisin wares me out, and when it comes to the games I find it difficult to get much more than the rules of the games out of people at the moment as they assume complete ignorance on my part, which is mostly true. However I have been mapping all the market stalls and where there owners live, and where they are from, which I think will make things more lucid in the long term. My aim here though is to know the kinship and history of the people at any given card game, so as to know why they are being sponsored by this person, buying buai and smuk for another, playing T50 Bom rather than K2 Queen that day, who they owe money to, and what if anything are they saving up for. This is going to take some time, and sometimes at night it is too dangerous, raskols can be cajoled into the status of brother, but spakmen might beat up their brother for being there. Nevertheless, all these places are getting less dangerous for me, and I promise my posts wont be full of these kinds of self-styled anthropologist on the edge tales, but this time is my most tricky, so I stick with my good contacts in the risky places and the more I do, the more diminished the threat becomes. It is essential I work in these places, settlements house 70% of all the people in Goroka, and gambling drives these economies. I am confident of my future integration. My birthday is coming up, and I am having a small mumu at Michael’s house, maybe that will help, it will be the third mumu there, my fifth overall.
Another fascinating thing which has been going on here is the furore over the State of Origin (an Australian Rugby League contest between two states which is a 3 match series played once a year). I have been around for the first game, and it is madness, businessmen bet large portions of their businesses, men with no money bet huge amounts for them (men bet mostly, though some women), and everyone but everyone has a team, blues or maroons is the first question I get asked at the moment, I diplomatically say the ref, as I could not care less about Rugby League to be honest, and violence over the games is a popular topic of conversation (particularly amusing for men is the beating of wives), but the joke is wearing thin with as well as me. Anyway the Maroons won, and the next day was quite amusing, as everyone who was really spak was either tottering around the settlements or sleeping randomly often under the burning sun, with smudged face paint sufficing for explanation.
Overall I am really enjoying this, but as things heat up it has become exhausting. Some people on fieldwork in certain locations find it hard to get people to talk to them and let them get involved, I don’t have enough time to do everything and write up my notes. I don’t think this is because of me, (but it helps), it is these people, who are amazing (even if they werent lovely almost to a man, just the amount of kinship they can keep in their heads beggars belief). The one thing I don’t like is getting used to disappointing people as I cant fulfil their expectations in terms of attention. So, the settlement, it is what it is, a slum of sorts, the meat and veg of urban life in PNG, home to some surprisingly prominent personages, and my place of work for some time. Just one example to illustrate this, Michaels cousin Kelly has 36 paintings in Buckingham Palace and has been knighted. Its not bullshit, he has painted for me, its incredible.
Quick note, very annoyingly the internet wont support my putting pictures up, so I am gutted but I guess you will just have to imagine, unless I can find a place with better access and better computers, probably on my 3 month report writing trip to Madang.
Ketch,
Anton.
Some other P.S.’s: Alana, here you are, mentioned personally, now please bring me Belgian Beer! When you do eventually make it here, you may have to be ‘meri blo mi’, disgusting I know, but sometimes parsimony is favourable to endless questions and for you invitations, unless you want them? (Oh and dont get your hopes up, it doesnt mean you can kiss me).
Charlie (Finster), how is all? Got a job yet? Any news from our mutual starlet Francesca?
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