The two young men, descendents of Highland headhunters, who escorted me to their village.
(Scans of 35mm slides)
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Good things happen when you meet strangers.

I was offered an organization development position with the government of Papua New Guinea (PNG). The country has gained independence from Australia only ten years earlier. And…after my experience of accepting a position without seeing the visible place or feeling the invisible vibe of it, I decided I needed to visit before accepting. I’m so glad I did. I have written a whole piece about how and why the ‘fit’ was not there. It’s called Us and Them. And, in any case, this piece is intended to be about what in that experience WAS a fit.

When I was clear that I would not accept the position, it meant I didn’t need to find a place to live so I had the luxury of time before my scheduled trip home. I could explore some of the country. It was very exciting for me because my minor in college had been WWII history and especially The Pacific Theater. That was where my father had served. So “Lae” and “Rabul” were names of places on my bucket list.

Someone helped arrange a visit to Lae where the government OD office had a branch. I booked a flight. The family I visited was wonderful. Just as an example, we spent a day at their plantation outside of the city. There I participated in harvesting bananas, coconuts, and papayas. I asked my host about the possibility of visiting the Highlands. Without hesitation, he said he’d be happy to arrange it. “In fact,” he said, “The two young men we’ve been working with all day are from the Highlands. I’ll see if they can take you for a visit to their tribe’s village.”

Fantastic! My host’s driver drove us for hours to reach the village. When we arrived it was clear that everyone already knew we were coming. But how? No computers or cell phones. It has remained a mystery.

These young men were the not-too-distant sons and grandsons of the infamous Highland Headhunters. Given how gentle they were in every way, it was hard for me to imagine their grandfathers – and perhaps even their fathers – hunting, killing, and possibly even eating the people of rival villages. But it was so.

One of the most special parts of my visit was a traditional ceremonial dance that had been arranged in my honor. Seriously? Wow! Just for me. That evening I ate a shared meal, sitting on a rattan mat and eating with my right hand. I don’t know what was in the dinner but I do know that it was delicious! And that night I slept on a mat in a thatched hut with several pubescent girls. The driver and I left late the next morning while the two young men stayed on for a few days.

The paradox of this experience was that the capital, Port Moresby, was a place I expected to feel safe. But I did not. And the Highland village with a history of ruthless headhunters was a place where I might have felt at risk. But I was not.

The highlands countryside on the way to the village

The ceremonial dancers