The following is an excerpt from Searching for Paradise by Charles Nombo Lapa & Janet Dickson. It’s a featured Speakeasy selection, and there are still limited review copies available for qualified reviewers.
Chapter 1
The voice on the mountain
The story begins at Mount Ialibu—the sacred mountain, the mountain of life.
Many tribes lived in the fertile valley below. Each tribe had its own villages, gardens and hunting grounds. Every tribe also had a share in the hunting grounds on the lower slopes of Mount Ialibu. This mountain that was the source of their life was like a mother surrounded by her children, each one holding on to a part of the mother’s skirt.
The upper part of the mountain was different. The misty peak of Mount Ialibu did not belong to any one tribe, because it was a place for revelations. Only the boldest chiefs climbed through the clouds to the higher parts of the mountain, where they sought dreams and visions from the spirit world. The mountain was their gateway into the invisible realms.
Chief Imbinali never approached the mountain lightly. When he climbed its slopes, he settled down to fast and pray for up to forty days and forty nights, waiting to hear from the spirit world. There were times when Imbinali was hidden in the mists for days, experiencing nothing but swirling whiteness and drizzling cold. On other occasions the clouds would clear and he could see the sunlight spreading over the plains and valleys below.
On the mountain Imbinali saw dreams and visions for his tribe, of things past and things to come. Then he would make the slow descent to the village where his people were waiting. Usually he said little of what he had seen, but his people knew that these spirit encounters gave him knowledge and wisdom for leading the tribe.
The people of the valley had their spirit houses and their witchdoctors, but Imbinali often told his people, “There is another God, a bigger God who is above all these things.” They did not know this God so they called him Akolali, “The God beyond the clouds”.
One day Chief Imbinali and his friend Koke Itua went to Mount Ialibu to hunt and to check on their pandanus and karuka nut gardens. They also wanted to wait for dreams for their clans and families. When they reached their mountain hut, Imbinali made a fire where they warmed themselves and cooked some food.
For two days the hunting was poor. On the third night while they were sleeping, they heard a call. Imbinali got up and Koke Itua followed him outside. A voice called, “Tiki!”
It was not quite like a man’s voice, but not a woman’s voice either. The voice called again, “Tiki!”
It was the name of Imbinali’s son, who was about three years old. Imbinali stretched out his hands in the darkness. “A-ye? You speak?”
This was the right response to a revelation from the spirit world. Koke Itua also spoke in his Kewapi language. “R-la? You speak?”
Men from both language groups had heard the voice, so it was expected that both should respond.
The voice called a third time, “Tiki-yaaaaaaeeeeeeh!”
Again Imbinali replied, “A-ye?” and Koke Itua called, “R-laaaaaaa . . . ?”
Koke Itua’s call was long, trailing away like an echo to show that he was ready and waiting to hear more. Both men were accustomed to dreams and visions, but a voice was something new. They realised it must be important.
They waited, their faces raised to the sky, but the voice did not speak again.
The men talked for a long time about what it could mean. Imbinali wondered if something had happened to his family, so at daybreak they gathered their belongings and returned to his village. He found his wife, Lendepame, working in their gardens.
“Did you call?”
Lendepame didn’t know what he was talking about.
“Where is our son? Has anything happened?”
His wife leaned on her digging stick and stared at him. “He is here. All the children are here.”
“They are all safe? There is nothing wrong?”
She pointed to the children, playing among the mounds of taro and sweet potatoes. “Everything is well.”
Imbinali and Koke Itua told her what had happened. They went to Koke Itua’s village and again asked, “Did anyone call?” But no one had called or heard a voice. The two men had no doubt they had heard the voice of Akolali.
They told the clan leaders about the voice. Imbinali explained, “I think this was the voice of the God beyond the clouds. He is beginning to reveal himself to us, and he wants me to set my son apart for him.”
Imbinali decided to wait until Tiki was older before telling him about the call. In the meantime, he and the village leaders waited and watched to see what Akolali would do.
What became of Tiki? This book is the true story of what has unfolded in his life. It is a story of chiefs, gangs, prime ministers and the God beyond the clouds.
When Tiki was born he was given two names. In the Wiru language of his father, he was called Nombo, meaning “taro leaf”. When rain falls on taro leaves it runs off, so this name meant that accusations against Nombo would not stick to him. The name Tiki is from the Kewapi language of his mother. Tiki also means taro leaf, but in a different sense: tik is taro leaves packed together and cooked like a cake with many layers. Tiki was his special name, but usually his family called him Nombo, so that is the name we will use for the rest of his story.
Chapter 2
The village
The valley where Nombo (Tiki) grew up was a place of quiet beauty, with forests, hills and rolling plains of kunai grasslands. Streams and great rivers watered the valley: some roared as they rushed over rocks and waterfalls, others flowed calmly between grassy banks. There were lakes and marshes, filled with reeds and fish. The forests were quiet places, with tall trees and bright yellow flowers that grew as high as a man’s shoulder. Tiny orchids clung to the trees, some in muted creams and browns, others glowing like bright purple jewels.
The forests were rich in provision, with wild animals for meat and bamboo and timber for houses. There were strong saplings for bows and spears, and supple bark which could be made into bowstrings, belts and clothing. In the clearings, rocky outcrops provided flint stones for spearheads and axes, and larger stones were carved into bowls for cooking and ceremonies. Everything the people needed was there in the valley.
Then there were the birds—huge cassowaries that could outrun a child, water birds on the lakes and rivers, and an array of small forest birds whose calls woke the villages every morning. The loveliest of all were the birds of paradise, with their glorious colors and liquid songs. Every afternoon they would come down into the villages and sing and dance in the trees, like evening guests.
Villages were scattered across the valley. Some had thirty or more dwellings which rested lightly on the landscape, standing on stilts, each house beautifully crafted from carved rosewood and intricately woven bamboo. Every village was slightly different, but each had two long rows of houses surrounded by bare golden earth. The main villages had up to three hundred people, but families also had their own “family villages” elsewhere, like small farms with just one or two houses and shelters for their animals.
Between the rows of houses was an open space like a street, where people would gather, and in times of celebration everyone would dance there. Usually the people were almost naked, with bark belts holding woven loincloths at the front and long tanget leaves at the back as their only covering. For celebrations, it was different. Then everyone adorned themselves with extravagant costumes of grasses, feathers, furs and shells. Money was not needed in the valley, as the currency of trade was salt, kina shells as big as small shields, and pero, a kerosene-like oil that seeped from the rocks on the other side of the mountain .
People did not go hungry here. Everyone lived on the bounty of the forests, with possums, wild pigs, and cassowaries for meat, and fish from the rivers. There were annual harvest times when the karuka nuts ripened and the red pandanus produced enormous scarlet fruits as long as a man’s arm. These were wonderful times, when different clans met together to trade, and to share the produce from their own particular lands.
Each village was surrounded by gardens, cleared by the men, and tended with great skill by the women. They grew sweet potatoes, taro, yams, cucumber, greens and sugarcane as well as corn and bananas. Women spent most of their time in the gardens every day, digging, hoeing, planting and harvesting, ensuring an abundant supply of food for every person in the village. No vegetables needed to be stored because some crop was always ready for harvest.
Above all there were pigs. In the Highlands pigs were prized above any other possession, and often women would suckle a baby on one breast and a piglet on the other. Pigs were brought up with the family and the young pigs would trot beside the children when they set off to work in the gardens. While the mother and children worked, the pigs foraged in the grasslands and forest. When a piglet was small, it walked with the family like a puppy on a woven bark lead and was kept tethered while they worked. But when it was older and well trained, it roamed free. In the afternoon, the pigs returned home with the family and trotted straight back to their pig houses. There was no need to drive them because the animals knew where to go.
Pigs were a source of meat and also the most significant part of the family’s wealth. A man’s status and power could be measured by the number of pigs he owned. They were always the main bargaining point in bride-price ceremonies. When a marriage was being arranged, the woman’s family would meet with the family of the groom to discuss the worth of the bride, which was measured in pigs, kina shells, food and other gifts.
Whenever there were celebrations and ceremonies, there was pig-killing. The pigs were lined up in the center of the village and men dug large fire pits for the mumu (feast). The men were skilled butchers. They slaughtered the pigs and cut them meticulously into pieces—each piece had a name and particular significance. Fires were lit and large stones were placed in the pits to heat up like an oven. The women wrapped large pieces of meat in leaves, together with yams, sweet potatoes and taro roots, and placed the parcels in the fire pits on top of the hot stones. They heaped the earth over again and the food was left to cook slowly for many hours. When it was time for the feast, the men opened the pits, as excited children gathered to watch. By that time the numbers in the village would have grown because people from miles around would see the smoke from the fires. It was a time for many clan groups to gather, to share news, to form alliances and to enjoy a feast.
Fresh banana leaves were placed in the middle of the men’s house (hausman or Poku Wiru) and the chiefs, clan leaders and headmen gathered there. Young men brought the first parcels of food and placed them on the leaves. The children crowded around the door, peering in to see the food. As the chiefs and leaders began to eat, the rest of the food was distributed to the other men, women and children outside. There was always enough for everyone.
This was Nombo’s world. For a small child, it was paradise.
Praise for Searching for Paradise
“The Halfway House is one of the best solutions to some of our problems. I’m proud to say that pastor Charles Lapa is the strong man behind this.”
—Sir Paulias Matane, former Governor-General of Papua New Guinea
“Charles Lapa’s dedication to this most worthy of causes—his success in the rehabilitation of men and women is very inspiring.”
—J. Larry Berthold, former managing director, Chevron Niugini
“Searching for Paradise is an inspiring story that will capture the imagination and hearts of its readers.”
—Hon. Peter O’Neill, CMG, MP, Prime Minister of Papua New Guinea
About the Author
Charles Nombo Lapa pastors churches in Papua New Guinea, the Philippines, and Australia. He is chief of a large tribe in the Highlands and lives in Port Moresby. Lapa and his wife, Lucille, serve their communities both locally and nationally.
Janet Dickson is a former teacher of English to refugees and new arrivals, in Melbourne, Australia. She is passionate about faith and social justice and is now involved in global development work.
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