Humans have long been fascinated by birds. We have looked up with awe and envy at these "lords of the air." We listen to their songs and try to copy their flight, and appreciate their beauty.
But for members of the Huli clans in southwestern Papua New Guinea, birds were more than objects of fascination, they were role models.For some reason - perhaps because the forests around Tari are occupied by some of the most spectacular birds of all, the Birds of Paradise - the Huli developed elaborate dress and rituals that let them emulate the birds. "If we want to have a strong voice, agility and grace," the thinking went, "we must wear the feathers and dance the dances of the birds."
Out of that notion came the custom of wearing elaborate wigs decorated with plumes from the birds, of wearing grasses that bob and weave with movement as do a bird's tailfeathers, of painting faces in bright red and yellow colors for ceremonial sing-sings. And out of that notion comes just one more example of the endless roads that cultural development can travel.
The Hulis, with a population of about 40,000 one of the largest ethnic groups in Papua New Guinea's southern highlands, have been one of the world's most isolated societies. Left alone for centuries, they had no sense of an outside world until 1935 when the first Australian patrols came into the area.
Alone with the birds - and the pigs that they domesticated very early on - they developed customs and folkways that tied very strongly to the natural world that was their universe.
When outsiders came, the shock of discovery went both ways.
"I was a small boy, 5 or 6 years old, and lived in the house of my mother with my brother and sister," a tribesman told writer Dietmar Plath in the early '90s. "Suddenly we heard loud shouts from outside. We rushed out of the hut and saw three tall figures with white skin. There was much excitement. . . . We were all of us certain of one thing, they could only be ghosts! In the whole of the Huli country no one had seen a white person up to that time. And we were convinced at that time that there were no people beyond the mountains which enclose the Tagari valley. . . . At that time we had no knowledge of the outside world. To us they were evil spirits, come to kill and eat us."
And even after that, contact with the world outside the valley was sporadic; and many of the Huli's thousand-year-old traditions continued unchanged. Their ways are a tribute to perseverance, simplicity and belief. Even today, the Huli lifestyle is a matter as much of choice as of circumstance.
Huli clans still live in scattered homesteads rather than villages. Trenches and mud walls mark property lines, and brightly colored gates denote entrances. Men and women maintain separate households, and contact is not undertaken lightly. Most are subsistence farmers, rather than hunters and gatherers, growing sweet potatoes, taro and sugar cane. Women do most of the work - tending the garden and the pigs (a man's worth is measured by the pigs he owns), while men display their finery and maintain their interest in warfare.
Young boys are removed from their mothers' households at an early age and must undergo various ceremonies and rites of passage that culminate in their right to wear the wigs that give the culture such a distinctive flavor.
Young men go off to "wig school" for 18 months, where they learn lore, skills and wigmaking. The hair for a wig is usually the wigman's own, though it can be supplemented by that of wives and children. The hair is placed on wooden frames and held together by woven string. It is treated with water and "magic" to obtain a brownish color, and plumes must be gathered from the Birds of Paradise. Two kinds of wigs are prepared - the day wig and the more elaborate ceremonial wig.
Styles vary slightly from tribe to tribe, and those who know can read a man's history in his hair.
What more does a man need than wigs, land, women and pigs? Perhaps only a sense of fairness and a belief in order. And so, much of the social and political aspects of Huli life revolve around a system of "pay-back." If wrongs are done, they must be atoned. If brides are to leave their homes to go to another, there must be compensation with a bride-price. If clans have disagreements, fighting is not uncommon; but it lasts only until there is pay-back. Restitution can be made with blood - injury for injury, or with pigs or kina shells and kina currency.
Nowadays there is interaction with the outside; there is welcome and tolerance for visitors who want to learn about this unusual culture. But there is also contentment with a system that serves their needs - and little pressure from the government or others to change. The country's theme, proclaimed in modern, bustling Port Moresby not so far away, is "unity in diversity" - no idle promise in the southern highlands.
On the days when the planes come, the Tari airstrip serves as gathering place, market, observation deck and town square. Men don their day wigs and other finery. Women carry produce, goods and even children in the bilum bags that hang from their foreheads, slung down their backs.
It didn't take long for us to realize that no matter what else we had already seen in Papua New Guinea, here was yet another variation on the theme.
Diversity is, indeed, this country's defining motto.
From the airport, we headed on up the mountain, where the Ambua lodge is perched at a level of 7,000 feet. The lodge, the primary tourist accommodation in the area, features individual "cabins" nestled into the hillside in such a way that their glass-walls offer stunning 180-degree views of the valley below (but nothing of the neighbors). In the mornings, the valley is filled with puffy clouds; at night there is often a spectacular natural sound-and-light show of thunder and lightning (these are the tropics, after all).
Had we come just for the scenery, it would have been enough. But lodge owner Bob Bates, through consultation with tribal chiefs in the district, has organized a cultural exchange program that allows foreigners to visit with local groups. Care is taken to spread things out, to involve clans only when they want to be involved and to give them all a turn. Groups of visitors are kept small (we had 16 in our group) to minimize impact and allow for better interaction. Sometimes chiefs will come to the lodge with word of special occasions that would be suitable for visitors.
For our group, three such events were arranged. The first was a sing-sing, where we had a chance to see how the bright yellow and red face painting is done (as a concession to modern times, they do use commercial paints instead of the old-time clays), how the wigs are put on, how the ceremonial grass "tail feathers" complete the costume. The sing-sing itself featured ritual chanting, the beat of drums, lots of bobbing tail-feathers. Not-quite-music, not-quite-dance, but a treat all the same.
Next came a mumu, a meal of chicken, pumpkin, sweet potatoes and corn, cooked in a pit filled with hot stones. There we were also introduced to the sun ceremony, where tribal members present things from the garden to show the sun what they need. Central to the ceremony is an egg-shaped sun stone that had been passed through the tribe down for generations.
Third on our agenda was a visit to another clan for a demonstration of a wedding ceremony - an elaborate production involving pigs, fighting skills, negotiations, pay-back and resolution.
It was textbook anthropology in the land of the Huli wigmen. We were fascinated by the customs, by the reverence for nature and the bonding with birds. But we were equally charmed by people and their genuine friendliness and simplicity. They seemed eager to share these customs and traditions and did it with a pride and graciousness that can only be based on centuries of heritage.
The philosophy of Bob Bates and the lesson of Ambua is simple: "We can learn as much from them as they ever can from us."