A Baby, A Name, and Jiwaka

My PNG family and I once we arrived in Jiwaka

Fog rolled around us in the thin light of dawn. We waited, engine idling, on the side of the road just past the large billboard welcoming us to Jiwaka province. We had arrived. Across two provincial lines, lots of bumpy road and tanked up with roadside three-in-one coffee we had trekked to come and visit my Papua New Guinean brother Michael's family for a very special occasion. Michael's younger brother and his wife had a new baby and this weekend they were going to have a baby naming ceremony, a celebration that's observed in only a few provinces in Papua New Guinea (PNG). I had never been to a baby naming ceremony, so I was excited to see what this ceremony would be like and to see what this new province, and its unique culture, would be like.

The sun stretched and began to push away the rumpled coverlet of fog, revealing a beautiful landscape of steep mountains, fields packed with tight, neat tea bushes, and a wide lazy river called the Waghi River. Each new bend in the road showed me some new feature of this incredible province—so like many of the others, and yet, so different. Michael’s brother and I laughed as we jokingly compared the number of provinces we’d both been to as though it were a competition. We sang as we bumped along, passing through the town and weaving our way back into Michael’s family’s traditional home area.

Soon we were pulling over to greet family, pick up other family, or drop off small gifts and pass along the word for the naming ceremony later that day. Eventually, we wove our way to Michael’s village and home. We pulled over and the women came out with a loud cry of “ayia-ooo.” My “niece” waggled her eyebrows meaningfully as if to say, “I told you they’d do that,” since she had warned me ahead of time that this was the custom in this area. The ladies rush over and hugged me so hard my feet left the ground. I laughed and we chatted and finally started heading up the immense staircase they had cut into the hillside to make it easier for us (and by that I mean, me) to get up the steep hillside to the house we’d be staying in.

What a sight met us when we reach the top of the hill. The family was in the throes of preparation for the huge celebratory feast. Ladies were spreading an immense tarp and beginning to peel and prepare plantains, taro, yams, sweet potatoes and a host of greens and chickens. The men had made a massive pile of stones and firewood and a large pit to mumu* the long prepared pig that was to be the main course of the feast. My nieces and nephews were already disappearing into the incredible playground of the surrounding forest, streams. and little waterfalls. And beyond it all was a breathtaking view of mountains ringing us on all sides, marching up to the sky in proud robes of tropical rainforest studded with gardens.

The afternoon was filled with forays into the woods and gardens, preparation of various kinds of food, and the rich chatter of friends and family. The strains of the local language of Jiwaka wrapped around me, occasionally punctuated with questions in Tok Pisin for me. They peppered me with questions about my family, work, home culture, and with questions about my experiences in Papua New Guinea. Eventually the light began to fade and the preparation things were cleared away to make way for “plates” of banana leaf, heaped high with steaming food and arrayed down the huge tarp like a banquet table in a great hall.

Then, all of a sudden, it was time. Everyone gathered around and a speech was made to the parents, the mother, and the man after whom the baby was being named. My “sister” Rhona leaned over and told me that the baby was being named after this man because he’d been the one to take the mother to the hospital when she was in labour and that babies are named after people for various reasons. She also pointed out that the food that was allotted to each person was given for particular reasons, and that each family group that would receive a “plate” of food was being honored for their part in caring for one or both of the parents or for the baby since his birth. Soon the father of the baby began to read out the names of the people who were to come forward and receive food, and thanked each of them individually for their contribution to his marriage and to the new baby’s life. And just like that, the ceremony was over. Everyone gathered their food into various pots, pans, and bags and went off to their own homes to eat as a family.

After things had quieted down the family went into the house for the night, munching on yummy tidbits from the feast and talking of the festivities of the day. The kids, barely able to keep their eyes open, finally flopped down in exhaustion on the raised platform around the room and promptly fell asleep. The fire crackled in the center of the room as my sister Rhona cooked some pork with spices and portioned out steaming plates of yams to go with it. Soon we all were sleepy and laid down to rest until morning.

In the morning I woke to the soft murmur of Jiwakan going back and forth between Michael and his family. I prayed for a few minutes and then sat up, knowing that we’d be doing family devotions together. A few minutes later everyone else was awake and we began to sing worship songs and quote scripture until Michael asked me to share something with the family. I pulled up my Tok Pisin Bible and shared something God had been showing me and working on in my life from Philippians 2. We read the passage and I shared what I felt God was putting on my heart and we discussed what this should look like in our lives. Then, we prayed, and our morning devotions were over.

Everyone busied themselves with preparations for breakfast and for our departure later that morning. Food was cooked and packed, and bags were reassembled. My sister Rhona and I headed off to bathe before our long drive and the guys readied the van for the long journey back. It felt like the blink of an eye, but before I knew it, I was in the van waving goodbye to all of the new faces I had just met the day before. As we bumped along and swerved around potholes on the way back to Ukarumpa I reflected on how incredible of an experience I had just had. God has very richly set me in family here in PNG, and most often it is my PNG family that blesses me most. They are the ones who often facilitate opportunities for me to share more about Jesus with those that don’t know Him, to get out and see more of this incredible country, and to be allowed into the rich culture of Papua New Guinea, not as an outside observer, but as an internal participant. I am so grateful for them and the way God is using them in my life and the lives of so many others. I also mused about how funny it was that a baby, a name, and Jiwaka could have afforded such an amazing, whirlwind trip of adventure. Makes me wonder what God has in store next.

*mumu means to roast using heated stones and sometimes steam.