Papua New Guinea @ MindSay

This is an article that was in the train newspaper today that got my attention:

Mums kill their boys
Women in Papua New Guinea's Highland region are killing their male babies to end a tribal fight that has raged for more than 20 years.

Two women from the Eastern Highlands told PNG's National newspaper of the slaughter during a three-day peace and reconciliation course in the region's capital, Goroka.

Rona Luke and Kipiyona Belas, both from warring tribes, said the male infanticide reduced the cyclical payback violence infamous in highlands tribal fights.

If women stopped producing males their tribe's stock would go down and this would force the men to end their fight, they said, choking back tears.

"All the women folk agreed to have all babies born killed because they have had enough of men engaging in tribal conflicts and bringing misery to them," Luke said.

The women could not give a figure on how many male babies had been killed.

Belas said getting food was hard as husbands kept fighting and mothers and children were left to fend for themselves.

The Salvation Army is working with various tribes to bring peace to the warring groups.

One fight is still going on after starting in 1986 over sorcery claims.

The Salvation Army said women are so fed up with the violence they are taking the drastic steps.

"This is what we were told during the peace conference," a spokesman said.

"This situation shows the extreme frustration the women have with the men in these areas."

     This is a photo of one of my former Bible college students, Rachel, in Papua New Guinea.  In the afternoons, the students did chores on the campus of the school.  Rachel's cleaning up some of the ever-growing greenery.  On her forehead is a tribal tattoo.  

     Last night, we spent about three hours in discussion with a couple that are making plans to become missionaries abroad.  They have five kids.  It will be difficult, and they know that; but they are very excited about going.  The last time we met, they emailed me the next day, writing that their hearts burned within them as we talked the night before.

     My heart was burning that night, too.   

When we lived in Papua New Guinea, a man named Francis told us this story.

 

Francis was sound asleep when, at 4:30 in the morning, he was awakened by someone hitting him in the side and telling him to get up.  He woke up, but whoever it was who had awakened him had turned on all the lights, so Francis couldn’t see a thing.  His first thought was that this must be a supernatural being, since the door had been bolted from the inside when he went to bed.  This supernatural being told him to go to the house of Peter Tunda and pray for Peter’s son, Andrew, who was dead.  Peter Tunda was a ward officer at a nearby prison.  By the time Francis’ eyes had grown accustomed to the light, the messenger was gone.

 

And the door was still locked.

 

Francis got up, washed up, jumped on his bicycle and headed for the prison.

 

He approached the gate of the prison and asked the guard if Peter Tunda lived there and if his son, Andrew, had died recently.  After he received an affirmative reply, Francis told the guard that the boss had told him to go see the dead boy.  He didn’t tell the guard who the “boss” was.  Assuming that by “the boss,” Francis meant the “station manager,” the guard let him in and indicated where the house was.

 

Leaving his bike with the guard, he walked up to the house and knocked on the door.  The family was awake, mourning Andrew’s death.  Francis told them that the boss had told him to come and see the dead boy.  Again, since the boss had said so, Francis was invited in.  The immediate members of the family were Christians, but the other relatives who had gathered in the house weren’t. 

 

The body had been in the morgue but the family had brought it back to the house, intending to bury the boy that day.  Francis went into the room where Andrew lay, accompanied by his mother, father and the oldest brother, Simon. 

 

             Francis said, “Andrew, you’ve been sleeping for three days.  All the family has been mourning for one whole night, and it’s just about daybreak.  It’s time to wake up.”  The boy’s body started shaking, and he sat up.  The parents were shocked, to say the least.  Then Francis explained to all of those gathered there who the “boss” was, shared the gospel, and the rest of the family received Jesus as their Savior. 

I received an email newsletter a couple of days ago from a friend and missionary, Bill Page, who is doing a wonderful work in Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea.  Here is one part of the letter:

 

“On Tuesday night I prayed for a man named George who had been stabbed through the leg by rascals 4 years ago and has been on crutches ever since. The knife severed the nerves around his knee, and he has had no feeling in the leg since then, and has not been able to walk without crutches. He came forward for Baptism in the Holy Spirit, and we prayed for him to be healed and the Lord did a miracle! He was completely healed: got all the feeling back in his leg and walked up and down the Church with great joy. The place went nuts! He threw away his crutch, and has been walking and rejoicing for the rest of the week!"

            A friend of mine, an Australian named Bill Page, sent this picture of a recent pastors’ training meeting in Goroka, Papua New Guinea.  When Laurie and I lived there, we attended meetings like these, full of dynamism, power and praise.  They make some of the meetings I’ve attended in the West seem pale—pardon the racial pun—in comparison.

 

            Note the colorful things on floor, in the lower left part of the image.  These are called bilums (pronounced beelums), and they are large, hand-woven purses.  Each village has its own colors and design.  And, yes, the men carry them.