By: Sabine Kuegler
As I pondered my surroundings, the Fayu village slowly awakened. They
noticed me with an interest that matched my own in them. Soon they came
closer, watching everything I did. For the first time, the women and
children came out and gathered in groups. The children were naked and
some had markedly distended bellies. I later came to understand that
this was due to parasitic worms in their intestinal tracts. Various ones
of them had reddish hair – a condition that is the result of a vitamin
deficiency. What interested me most, however, were the women. They were
smaller than the men, yet came across as quite masculine. They were also
mostly naked with the exception of a small covering made of woven bark
that stretched across their pubic areas. The coverings were very like
our modern string bikini. For me, the most striking aspect of the Fayu
women was their breasts. They hung far down, sometimes all the way to
their belly buttons. I had never seen such a sight. I sincerely hoped
that when I grew up I would not have breasts like that! When I later
mentioned this concern to my mother, she calmed me with the explanation
that they only looked like that because they didn’t wear bras. Although I
couldn’t understand what the Fayus were saying, one thing was certain: I
was topic number one. The language sounded very unusual to my ears. It
was in no way similar to Western languages but more like a mysterious
singsong. I was delighted with the sound, since I had never heard
anything like it. I stood and watched, smiling, but no one smiled back.
So after a while I went back into the house. My family was finally up,
having been woken by the noise the Fayus made in their excitement. Mama
was already engaged in making coffee, while Papa was mumbling in
frustration at the radio. His handyman talents were rather limited, and
today he tried his luck by randomly tapping the radio with a hammer.
Suddenly, and without warning, it was functioning again. Papa turned to
us and proudly said, ‘I have repaired the radio.’ Smiling, Mama gave him
a plate saying, ‘Well, after so much effort, surely you need something
to eat.’ And so began our first breakfast in our new home. I don’t quite
remember how the rest of the day went. I only recall fragments. But one
clear memory that remains is of us kids playing in the river. We
couldn’t understand why the Fayu children didn’t join us – instead
sitting against a tree or huddling close to their parents, and never
laughing. They seemed to be scared, but we didn’t know of whom or what.
Everything seemed so peaceful here. We used hand signals to try to
convince them to join us, but they ran away from us when we approached
them. Finally we gave up and just played amongst ourselves.
Those first few days went by in a blur. We got up with the sun and went to bed when darkness fell. In the mornings we would breakfast together – usually oats mixed with water and powdered milk, or pancakes. Occasionally we would find small insects in our breakfast that had somehow eaten through the packaging. After a while this stopped bothering us – after all, it wasn’t as though there were many other options for food. My mama called it ‘your extra helping of protein’, and we accepted that. One morning shortly after our arrival, the Fayus brought us several huge eggs. They were king dove eggs (we called the birds jungle chickens). Papa had entered into a trade agreement with the tribes people: if they brought us food or interesting items, we would trade them knives or fishing line and hooks. And so on this day, Papa had traded for six huge eggs. We were delighted at the change. Pancakes and oatmeal can get monotonous after
a while. We all sat around the table watching Mama heating up the oil. She picked up one of the eggs, needing both hands to hold it as it was so large, and broke it over the frying pan, but instead of the long-awaited trickle of white and yellow, a small, partially formed chicken poured out, fell into the oil, and started to fry. We immediately became nauseated at the sight. All hunger disappeared. My heart sank as I saw the little chicken. How lovely it would have been to watch him hatch and add him to my collection of pets. From this day onwards, my mother broke open every egg outside of the house. If an egg already had an embryo in it, she gave it to the Fayus, who ate it with great delight. They were highly amused at our squeamishness. After that initial experience, it took quite a while until we could eat eggs again with any great enthusiasm.
A few days later, as I was playing with Christian, I noticed a young boy. He had been watching us from a safe distance for several days, intently interested in everything we did. He seemed
to be less fearful than the other children. I figured that he was about my age. What caught my attention most this day was what he held in his hand – a child-sized bow and several arrows. I slowly approached him, and wonder upon wonder, he didn’t run away or start to cry as most of the kids did. When I reached him, I slowly stretched out my hand towards his bow. To my great delight, he immediately handed it over. Christian noticed this and joined us. Together we examined this masterful piece of craftsmanship. After a while I tried to return the bow to the boy, but he shook his head and pressed it back into my hands. Christian was the first to understand that he was giving it to me. I was overjoyed! Using hand signals, I told the boy he should wait there and ran back into the house, dumping the contents of my backpack on to the bed. I had to find something just as wonderful to give in return. Among my treasures was a small red mirror that I had got on the coast in Jayapura. Satisfied with my choice, I raced back outside and handed it to the boy. His reaction came as a total surprise. When he saw himself in the mirror, he screamed and dropped it. We laughed, and Christian picked it up off the ground and showed his own reflection to the boy. Then he offered the mirror back to him. In the meantime, several Fayu had gathered to see what was happening. The boy took the mirror back and cautiously began looking into it, his eyes growing bigger and bigger. He moved his head back and forth, made faces, and touched his reflection with his fingers. Soon great excitement broke out among the assembled onlookers. Everyone wanted to see his or her reflection. Christian and I were highly amused by this spectacle. We couldn’t imagine what it must be like to see your own face for the first time. But since seeing our reflection was old hat for us, our attention soon turned to more interesting pursuits – namely, playing with my new bow and arrow. After a while, the Fayu boy approached us again, proudly holding his new mirror like a trophy. He pointed at himself and said, ‘Tuare.’ I pointed at myself and said, ‘Sabine.’ He repeated my name without effort. Christian introduced himself in the same way, but Tuare wasn’t able to pronounce his name. We later learned that the reason for this is that Fayu words always end in a vowel, an aspect of their tonal language. My brother pointed at himself again and said, ‘Babu.’ This was a name he had been given while living in Nepal, where both he and I were born. Tuare easily repeated this name, and from that day forth my brother was called Babu. Tuare became my closest companion, my best friend and childhood confidant. To this day, he calls me his sister. Tuare’s relationship with us encouraged the other children to lose their fear as well. Slowly they joined us: Bebe, Abusai, Ohri, Ailakokeri, Dihida, Isori and many more. We quickly noticed that the Fayu children did not know any games. We didn’t concern ourselves too much with the reason behind this, but simply taught them our games. Every day we went swimming with them and played hunt-the-crocodile. We also taught them hide-and-seek, soccer, and any other game we could think of. In return, they taught us how to construct and use bows and arrows. They showed us which animals could and could not be eaten, which plants were poisonous and which were edible. Our education also included how to make a fire without matches and how to make a knife out of bamboo – skills that filled us with great pride. Tuare and the others also taught us how to build a small lean-to to protect ourselves from the frequent rain. Our favorite things, however, were the bows and arrows. We pretended we were lost in the jungle and had to survive by ourselves, which actually wasn’t that far-fetched. In our game of survival we had to hunt animals and then start a fire with which to cook them. If Mama, a trained nurse, had known the things we ate during this time, she would have had a heart attack. We ate everything from spiders to bugs to worms to tiny fish. I learned how to survive in the jungle, coming to know both its dangers and treasures. I learned to respect the jungle and to master it as much as this is possible for a human. A love for the beauty and power of the nature around me began to grow. In the weeks and months after our arrival, I became like Tuare – a child of the jungle.
Those first few days went by in a blur. We got up with the sun and went to bed when darkness fell. In the mornings we would breakfast together – usually oats mixed with water and powdered milk, or pancakes. Occasionally we would find small insects in our breakfast that had somehow eaten through the packaging. After a while this stopped bothering us – after all, it wasn’t as though there were many other options for food. My mama called it ‘your extra helping of protein’, and we accepted that. One morning shortly after our arrival, the Fayus brought us several huge eggs. They were king dove eggs (we called the birds jungle chickens). Papa had entered into a trade agreement with the tribes people: if they brought us food or interesting items, we would trade them knives or fishing line and hooks. And so on this day, Papa had traded for six huge eggs. We were delighted at the change. Pancakes and oatmeal can get monotonous after
a while. We all sat around the table watching Mama heating up the oil. She picked up one of the eggs, needing both hands to hold it as it was so large, and broke it over the frying pan, but instead of the long-awaited trickle of white and yellow, a small, partially formed chicken poured out, fell into the oil, and started to fry. We immediately became nauseated at the sight. All hunger disappeared. My heart sank as I saw the little chicken. How lovely it would have been to watch him hatch and add him to my collection of pets. From this day onwards, my mother broke open every egg outside of the house. If an egg already had an embryo in it, she gave it to the Fayus, who ate it with great delight. They were highly amused at our squeamishness. After that initial experience, it took quite a while until we could eat eggs again with any great enthusiasm.
A few days later, as I was playing with Christian, I noticed a young boy. He had been watching us from a safe distance for several days, intently interested in everything we did. He seemed
to be less fearful than the other children. I figured that he was about my age. What caught my attention most this day was what he held in his hand – a child-sized bow and several arrows. I slowly approached him, and wonder upon wonder, he didn’t run away or start to cry as most of the kids did. When I reached him, I slowly stretched out my hand towards his bow. To my great delight, he immediately handed it over. Christian noticed this and joined us. Together we examined this masterful piece of craftsmanship. After a while I tried to return the bow to the boy, but he shook his head and pressed it back into my hands. Christian was the first to understand that he was giving it to me. I was overjoyed! Using hand signals, I told the boy he should wait there and ran back into the house, dumping the contents of my backpack on to the bed. I had to find something just as wonderful to give in return. Among my treasures was a small red mirror that I had got on the coast in Jayapura. Satisfied with my choice, I raced back outside and handed it to the boy. His reaction came as a total surprise. When he saw himself in the mirror, he screamed and dropped it. We laughed, and Christian picked it up off the ground and showed his own reflection to the boy. Then he offered the mirror back to him. In the meantime, several Fayu had gathered to see what was happening. The boy took the mirror back and cautiously began looking into it, his eyes growing bigger and bigger. He moved his head back and forth, made faces, and touched his reflection with his fingers. Soon great excitement broke out among the assembled onlookers. Everyone wanted to see his or her reflection. Christian and I were highly amused by this spectacle. We couldn’t imagine what it must be like to see your own face for the first time. But since seeing our reflection was old hat for us, our attention soon turned to more interesting pursuits – namely, playing with my new bow and arrow. After a while, the Fayu boy approached us again, proudly holding his new mirror like a trophy. He pointed at himself and said, ‘Tuare.’ I pointed at myself and said, ‘Sabine.’ He repeated my name without effort. Christian introduced himself in the same way, but Tuare wasn’t able to pronounce his name. We later learned that the reason for this is that Fayu words always end in a vowel, an aspect of their tonal language. My brother pointed at himself again and said, ‘Babu.’ This was a name he had been given while living in Nepal, where both he and I were born. Tuare easily repeated this name, and from that day forth my brother was called Babu. Tuare became my closest companion, my best friend and childhood confidant. To this day, he calls me his sister. Tuare’s relationship with us encouraged the other children to lose their fear as well. Slowly they joined us: Bebe, Abusai, Ohri, Ailakokeri, Dihida, Isori and many more. We quickly noticed that the Fayu children did not know any games. We didn’t concern ourselves too much with the reason behind this, but simply taught them our games. Every day we went swimming with them and played hunt-the-crocodile. We also taught them hide-and-seek, soccer, and any other game we could think of. In return, they taught us how to construct and use bows and arrows. They showed us which animals could and could not be eaten, which plants were poisonous and which were edible. Our education also included how to make a fire without matches and how to make a knife out of bamboo – skills that filled us with great pride. Tuare and the others also taught us how to build a small lean-to to protect ourselves from the frequent rain. Our favorite things, however, were the bows and arrows. We pretended we were lost in the jungle and had to survive by ourselves, which actually wasn’t that far-fetched. In our game of survival we had to hunt animals and then start a fire with which to cook them. If Mama, a trained nurse, had known the things we ate during this time, she would have had a heart attack. We ate everything from spiders to bugs to worms to tiny fish. I learned how to survive in the jungle, coming to know both its dangers and treasures. I learned to respect the jungle and to master it as much as this is possible for a human. A love for the beauty and power of the nature around me began to grow. In the weeks and months after our arrival, I became like Tuare – a child of the jungle.
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