Swing Low, Sweet Charlie Alpha

Not in uniform today; I'm staying for a week in the mountains

A particularly steep airstrip looms in the windscreen of the Porter. It’s definitely not a beginner runway, so instead of trying my hand at the landing I’m just enjoying the ride as Gary makes the approach and touches down on the hillside clearing. We roll to a stop at the top, shut down, and perform the familiar routine of sliding open the cabin doors and offloading passengers and goods.

A few moments later it’s time for me to say goodbye—but this time it’s not to the people who have just gotten off, but to the pilot and plane that brought me here.

“See you next month,” Gary jokes as he shakes my hand and gets back in the plane. The engine spools up and before I know it, PK-TCA is rolling down the steep slope and gliding into the air. I have a strangely detached feeling as I watch the plane become smaller and smaller before disappearing over the far ridge. I’m with friends, otherwise I think the feeling would be a bit stifling. And I know that I'm just here for one week. At least that's the plan—with weather, scheduling, and unexpected circumstances, a plan in Papua is always subject to change.

It's strange to see your plane take off without you.

Despite the little bit of apprehension I have of being dropped in the mountains for a week, I know this is going to be a good adventure. I’m going to be staying in a jungle mountain village along with some Indonesian friends who will be opening an elementary school. Up until now the village has had no school and the parents have been asking for teachers for the last two years since the runway opened. I get to be present for this special time in the village’s history. I’ll also be getting plenty of time to practice and improve my Indonesian language skills.

If this isn't a fun way to eat your veggies, I don't know what is!

The week proves to be a fascinating cultural immersion experience, from joining the villagers for worship services in their church, to participating in a bakar batu, to spending a night with the village men in the honai laki-laki, or men’s hut.

The bakar batu is my favorite. Literally, "burn stones," the bakar batu is a true classic Papuan cooking event. The process, often ritualized by the village, begins with heating rocks over a fire in preparation for creating a big steam pile. After a shallow pit is dug, banana leaves are placed in the bottom, followed by a foundation layer of piping hot rocks. More banana leaves go on top and then it's time to pile in the food: sweet potatoes, taro root, many kinds of vegetable leaves, and finally some type of meat, usually a pig. Then everything is covered thoroughly with more banana leaves and hot rocks before being left to steam. After an hour or two, the food is finished cooking and then the feasting can begin! The steaming food is scooped out of the pit and served on a picnic blanket of banana leaves placed on the ground. Cross-legged diners dig in with their hands and everyone has a blast. Not exactly a gourmet appearance once it comes out of the pit, but it is actually pretty tasty!

Dig in! That's all food on top of the leaves, hehe

We're lucky enough to be there for two bakar batu events. And when the villagers find out we don't eat pig, they very considerately make a second smaller pit especially for us and put a chicken in there instead. My Indonesian friends enjoy the chicken, and I happily eat around it.

Village life is on a much slower pace than the outside world. There's always time to stop and chat, and many daily activities are done as a group. Regular afternoon rains hamper most outdoor activities and so a lot of time is spent sitting around the fire and talking. And as new arrivals, we have just become a great source of entertainment for the villagers during their long afternoons and evenings. From the day we arrive, at any given time there are at least a dozen or so adults and parents keeping us company in the building where we're staying. 

Of course, the children are very intrigued by the colorful posters now hanging on the walls. They don't have to wait long to find out what they're all about, as early in the new week the teachers hold the first day of school for seventy-some bright-eyed kids. The teachers dive right in and get the children organized and singing songs, playing games, and learning ABCs. I get tasked with guest teaching an English class for three of the older kids who have already gone to elementary school in another village. At this point, they don’t remember much of what I teach them, but at least we have fun while we’re at it, and after all, what can you expect in three days of class?

Honai laki-laki - aka, Man Cave

As we settle into a routine—white rice and stir fry for breakfast, school, white rice and stir fry to lunch, playing soccer in the afternoon or taking a rest, white rice and stir fry for supper, and visiting with folks before going to bed—the days steadily slip past and Friday pick-up day looms closer. At this point, it’s still anyone’s guess as to whether the plane will actually make it here on Friday. So far I’ve had a false report from the radio guy saying that Gary was coming to pick me up on Monday after only 3 days, and since then Gary’s been on the radio only once.

Now it’s Thursday and I’m sitting in the radio shack restlessly waiting for the sound of Charlie Alpha replying to the repeated calls from various villages. With the crackly HF radio as the only means of communicating with the outside world, it’s a step back in time to the days before cell phones and instant messaging. There is nothing instant about waiting for a busy pilot to turn up the volume on his radio in between takeoffs and landings—provided he’s out there in the first place.

Hanging out with the guys in the honai before hitting the sack

It turns out today the news is that Gary is sick. I wonder if that means pick-up day will get bumped or if he’ll feel well enough to fly in the morning. I’ve already mentally prepared myself to get delayed, having seen enough of the way the weather works to know that we could get socked in for days, barring any other random snags that might disrupt the schedule. Being mentally prepared to stay longer doesn’t take away from the work of having to get ready for a potential pick-up, however. With the runway 20-30 minutes of hiking away, I need to be all packed and ready to go in the event Gary calls up that he’s inbound to land. This is certainly turning out to be another educational experience, being on this side of the radio.

As Friday dawns, I impatiently wait for the radio operator to open the room and power up the unit. We join the half dozen or so villages trying to call Charlie Alpha, but there’s no answer. After half an hour of that I step out to go and join my friends for breakfast. But as I’m walking away I suddenly hear the crackling business-like voice of Gary coming from inside the shack. I turn right around and scramble to get on the mic.

“I have to check the flight schedule for today when I get to Dekai, but most likely will be coming to pick you up after the last flight. Check back in at 8:30,” he tells me after I manage to interrupt another village’s enthusiastic call to the plane. “Ok, 8:30,” I reply and then head off for what may be my second-to-last white rice and stir-fry meal for a while (I did enjoy the food, though!).

Waiting for the pilot to come on the radio. At least there is a radio

Come 8:30, I’m back in the radio shack, but for the next 2 hours there is absolutely no peep from Charlie Alpha. The radio guy is tired of calling, I’m tired of listening and sitting there. We go out to find something else to do. I figure that the plane will most likely come between 2:00 and 4:00. My guess is right; a couple hours later, we’re able to get a short message from Gary that he’ll plan on landing around 2:00.

And so after a last meal together with the teachers, it’s time to head down the hill and wait for the plane to arrive. With a cluster of kids running and chattering alongside me, I slip my way down the muddy trail, grateful for my rubber boots and rain pants. With rain every afternoon and evening, bringing the boots and rain suit has been the best thing I did in preparation.

The steep grass runway finally comes into view. There’s no plane yet, so the only thing to do is sit on the hillside above the strip, straining to catch a snatch of an engine’s whine. An hour goes by. Some more people from the village arrive at the bottom of the trail saying that Charlie Alpha is stopping at one more village and then will be over here shortly.

Charlie Alpha - "Comin' for to carry me home..."

Sure enough, a sound finally starts to fill the valley and up above a rainbow-colored Porter appears in a gap between the clouds. The plane circles lower and lower and then finally joins a final approach to land. The waiting is over; it looks like I really am going back to Doyo Baru today.

Once again I’m on the inside, this time waving to those who stay behind. Despite the cold and rain, I’ve enjoyed my time and I’m glad I have had the opportunity to live live alongside my teacher and village friends. But I have to admit I’m eagerly looking forward to a hot shower, sleeping in my own bed, and eating the way my Western upbringing has conditioned me.

I guess the saddest thing about flying airplanes is the goobyes

And yet as the strip falls away from beneath the tires and we climb into the cottony sky, I feel a twinge of guilt as I think of the teachers who aren't going home, but rather have left home to live in this remote, off-the-grid corner of the mountains. There’s no email or phone to communicate with loved ones, no electricity and no washing machine. Cooking is done over an open fire and there’s no supermarket to buy oil or rice when they run out. I get to have the adventure of flying around and then going back to a nice house with a fridge and running water, but these teachers are sacrificing all of that so that some kids in a faraway village can have a chance to have an education. If that isn't what you call real everyday heroes...

I’ll always remember the words of one of the village fathers as he thanked us for coming. “This is still a place of darkness; our children don’t yet know the ABCs. But praise God, He has brought you.”

“Happy is the man who finds wisdom, 

And the man who gains understanding; 

For her proceeds are better than the profits of silver, 

And her gain than fine gold. 

She is more precious than rubies, 

And all the things you may desire cannot compare with her.” 

Proverbs 3:13-15