32 Hours: Orlando to Port Moresby

One of the tropical flowers outside our room.

I sat in my plane seat wondering what it’d be like to return to the village again. It had been thirteen years. God had miraculously provided for this trip in so many unexpected ways, and it was clear that it was time to return. 31 years before, Dale and I sat in a similar spot as we headed out on our missionary adventure to Papua New Guinea. Excitement gripped both of us with anticipation. As my legs cramped and my body ached from the long flight, I wondered many things.

Would I remember the language?

Will I recognize old friends?

Could I readjust to the physical living challenges after living the “life of comfort” in America?

How is the new generation of children?                        

Most of all, I wondered how is the church doing? How are the pastors and their families? How are the Christians?

I wasn’t the young skinny girl anymore that went there in my early 20s; I was now in my fifties. A lot had changed. Yet excitement and anticipation remained steady as we headed to our destination at 37,000 feet. After over 32 hours of traveling and lay-over's, we arrived in the capital city: Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea.

Arriving in Port Moresby. Yes, a lot of luggage, but in our defense we had tools, some food and household items. In the bush there is no Walmart.

As we disembarked and left the airport terminal, we were distracted by a crowd of people. In the center were eight nationals dancing in traditional dress to greet a large arrival of visitors. The sights and sounds were all so familiar, and the landscape just as we’d left it. Not much had changed. As we piled our luggage in a local taxi, we headed to our destination—Mapang Missionary Home.

The small courtyard outside.

 We were ushered to the very flat where we had awaited the birth of our daughter 30 years before. Nostalgia and memories began to flood my mind as we walked through the little apartment.

The little flat where we awaited the birth of our daughter. It is much the same as it was 30 years ago with a few new updates.

The hot tropical weather was as I remembered—hot and sticky with that ever invading feeling of “I feel like I should take a shower.” Yet, we were fortunate to come in the “winter” months where the temperature didn’t soar in the high 90s—instead only reaching the high 80s - mid 90s. It was still hot, but bearable. It wasn’t long before my hair succumbed to the high humidity and went limp. Now I remembered why I didn’t bother with a hairstyle before; the tropics weren’t the place for prissiness – even though my Southern roots run deep that a lady should look her best.

Our son, Matthew, and friends Lee and Louise Fairbotham had joined us on our adventure. Our son would experience part of our family history and see the Gobasi tribe, and Lee and Louise came to help with many of the practical projects. We all traveled together.

 A picture in Orlando as we were leaving for the airport.

The next morning, the five of us decided to walk into Boroko. Dale and I took things in stride as we walked through crowded streets splattered everywhere with red betel nut juice. Trash lined sections of the street in piles until the city came to collect it. So the scene was far different than the sidewalks in an American city.  For someone new to the country, it can be a little overwhelming.

 We went to the market in Boroko. Color was everywhere as hundreds of meri blouses hung from poles and swayed in the breeze. Hand-made traditional string bags lined the market with bright designs and patterns. Years before I had come to appreciate the work and creativity of these beautiful bags and had to tell myself I didn’t need another one (More on string bags in another post). Stopping to look at a few items made sellers hopeful for a buyer, yet we were only showing our friends around and introducing them to the city.

We walked into the local Johnson’s Pharmacy to pick up some Quinine. If we need treatment for malaria during our stay in the village, we should have some on hand.  Our next stop was to buy some meat pies to eat, one of our old traditions. It had been a long time since we had enjoyed one of those. We headed to the Brian Bell plaza and went upstairs to the corner café to get lunch.

Was it great to be back? Yes it was!