Nette and Her Backpack: To the Market I Go

The Ela Murray International School (TEMIS), the school I work for, hosts a Craft Market the last Saturday of every month. Local artisans, artists, florists, basket weavers, bilum makers, etc. can pay for a spot at the market. It is organized and coordinated by the PNG staff at the school. A traditional cultural dance is organized and performed by a group of people who come from that region of the country. It is truly amazing how many extremely different cultures there are in this not so large nation. Andrew and I went Saturday morning...

Bright and early I got a text from Andrew to head down his way so I could experience my first craft market in Moresby. We took the old back road into Towne, down by Ela Beach. We passed a few other markets on our way. They were set up roadside with lots of red Digicel umbrellas shading them from the hot rays of sun beating down even as early as 8:30 in the morning. I am not to go to any of these markets. They are not safe. They are very crowded and many back right up to settlements. We did pass one that Andrew said is definitely worth going to. It's safe due to it's proximity to a police station. It's not an ex-pat draw, like the Ela Beach Craft Market we were headed to, so prices were lower and products were authentic - not gussied up for the ex-pat crowd.

We continued on past the general hospital. This is where families from areas surrounding Port Moresby go when they are seriously ill. Supplies are limited. Medicines are regularly out of stock. The ratio of nurse to patient is something along the lines of one to every twenty or thirty patients. When you bring a family member to the hospital there is no daily care for them. No one changes the sheets or provides meals. Cleaning basic wounds or sores, bathing, and general care is provided by the family member(s) that stay with the ill. They are not permitted to stay in the hospital. Andrew directed my attention to the tarps strung between trees and barbed wire fences on the opposite side of the road. This is where those family members take up residence while waiting for and caring for the ill. People in PNG give up a lot to bring their family to the hospital. There is no such thing as sick leave here. They don't work; they don't get paid. They aren't home to tend their gardens; there is no food. Most live day to day. Savings are not something people generally have. It was very sad to see and quickly reminded me of how truly lucky I am to have been born into Western culture.

We pass the port and the stacks of shipping containers waiting to be dropped on a freighter sailed across the pristine blue sea that surrounds Port Moresby. It's nothing luck the mucky, murky waters of the ports in Norfolk or Jacksonville. Just outside of the industrial area is Ela Beach. Our destination. People are crowded along the benches and kids are running through the parks shaded by giant trees. The contrast of the turquoise water speckled with lush, green islands and the dingy, unkept parks and picnic areas is a sight to see.

We pull into the ELC (Early Learning Center) where the Ela Beach Craft Market is held. This is TEMIS's pre-school site. Men line the road and gate selling fresh produce in bags. There are bananas galore. They have probably been picked from the banana trees you can see randomly around town. The guards all have beautiful dark brown skin and heavy eyes - rather fierce looking. Their faces light up with smiles as they wave us in. It's such a stark difference from first appearances and is a true testament to the saying, "Never judge a book by it's cover."

Once in the gates and parked, we walk in to see hoards of people kneeling by blankets and mat displaying their craft. Baskets of all shapes and sizes were available - all are created with similar tan and brown reeds. Masks, drums, jewelry, bilums (bags), and plants were splayed across every open space of ground. Walking down the steps into an open courtyard was a patchwork carpet of canvases painted in bright primary and secondary colors. Traditional artwork, contemporary artwork, and some things I can't even label with a style. I wondered up and down the narrow aisles left between artists displays in amazement. This country is full of talent. It seems everyone I've met from PNG is athletic, musically inclined, and talented in some form of the arts. Me, I can barely put one foot in front of the other, am unable to carry a tune in the bucket (think making my mother cry while singing Christmas carols with my sister, apparently we were ruining the holiday), and the arts are something I am only able to appreciate, not participate in.

I picked up a large potted plant for my house for 40K ($16 US), tropical (local) flowers for 20K ($8 US), a handmade basket to hold my keys and sunglasses for 30K (you do the math), and a couple of handmade change purses for a few Kina each. (I may have purchased a few things for some of the little people in my life as well. Yes Mom, you will get something too.)

Andrew found this amazing side table carved out of mangrove wood. The top pops off and the legs swivel and fold together for easy movement (and shipping in his case). It was 400K (about $165 US) which is a HUGE amount of money here. Andrew wanted it desperately; he's apparently been eyeing them for quite awhile and they finally had one in a shade of wood that matched his furniture at home. He did not have 400K with him. The gentleman asked his name and where he worked. He then told Andrew to take the table and that he would stop by TEMIS on Monday to collect the money. He wouldn't even take a good-faith payment. Go ahead, gasp, I did. People here are very trusting of the ex-pats. Which is a good thing and a bad thing. Not all ex-pats are so trustworthy.

In two weeks time there is another market which is extremely safe and well attended by ex-pats as well. I look forward to finding a few more baskets and some gifts to send back home with my sister when she comes to this side of the world next month. I am more excited about finding someone to go with to the local market by the Police Station though.