White Tribe

Well there was definitely a dead chicken on the flight into the highlands.  A woman mumbled something to the flight attendant who tried to shut the overhead compartment door on the chicken's leg.  To answer your question, a dead chicken is cheaper than a live chicken, and if I were a flight attendant I think I'd make a rule about livestock on board.  I'm just saying.

Before I get to the flight, my friend Neill took me through all the towns around Lake Sentani on the back of his brother's motorcycle.  Which was awesome.  He's about to graduate from a post high school program in Sentani that teaches everything from English and business to cooking.  He took me home to meet his family- delightful.  We had hung out at the 'mall' the night before with some of his friends, a mouthful of Indonesian culture.  We ate street food, and I'm still kicking.  These guys were so generous to spend time speaking English to some awkward orang barat (westerner).  

Allow me to step on your toes.  I was deciding between going to a western church and an Indonesian church- I chose the former because I had a ride.  It felt a little strange driving passed the barbed wire, but something was definitely wrong as the car was checked for bombs.  The church sat high on a hill next to the missionary school with all the accouterments, satellite dish, basketball courts, and an impeccably manicured landscape.  You might imagine the Indonesian church looks a little different.  Among the 'white tribe', as it's been called, I counted two native faces.  'Birmingham' echoed in my ears over the sermon.  I just thought these were missionaries come to serve the people, but there were no people.

This place is not safe.  Of course it's not safe, it's the frontier, economically, politically, spiritually.  I won't repeat the stories I've heard, even what's occurred since I've been here.  But this society subjugates the Papuans, the government sabotages them economically, Indonesians call them pigs, and the white tribe's response?  Missionaries hire Papuans as 'helpers' to work in the house and yard.  I met some lovely people at church that day.  I'm just not sure what they're doing there.  

Anyhow, I wanna get you over the mountains with me.  To make a very long story short, many things came together at the last minute to get me on that plane inland- my surat jalan (police approval to travel in the province), a plane ticket, and a bag with half my belongings (I'd like to say I can carry everything I own on my back, but...).  I couldn't have done all this without the generous help of a wonderful and well-experienced missionary couple, the Walkers.  Security was on holiday, so I climbed the stairs of the prop plane with three of my four bags, knives, fingernail clippers and all, piled them on my lap, and relaxed as the little plane winded through the mountain passes.  Forty-five minutes later I stumbled off the plane.  The first person I saw: a Dani tribesman with his gourd (and not much else, google it).  I have arrived.