The Two Villages, Part 1 (10/15)

Paddlers getting ready to leave the village of Sel Pele at the entrance of the fjord-like Alyui Bay.      | Photo by Moira

Rudolph the red nose reindeer galloped into our ears from the massive sound systems at 6am. A few houses, with outward facing speakers, were blasting music till late last night, and it started early again this morning.  We had discussed social theories of massive speakers. One theory was that noise drove away spirits of the dark, another proposed loud music as the village alarm clock. It was a good thing we pre-ordered our Indo-mie breakfast at 7am. Our breakfast, however arrived late at 8.30am. Breakfast were served from the counter of Horas Jaya Wurung. The two shop keepers were both from Sulawesi, monopolizing everything from kreteks, petrol, snacks, and daily necessities. Some papuan youths were sitting outside at the store’s benches, not chatting, almost doing nothing. I sat among them while waiting for the team to get ready.

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Ling had one more 60L bag for her kayak. She turned around to retrieve it but the bag was embraced in the arms of two siblings, who had taught her Papuan songs yesterday. Their steps were heavy as they tried to walk. The bag completely covered their small bodies, revealing only their thin legs and angelic faces.

“Terima Kasih!”, it was to her not just an expression of gratitude for that thoughtful gesture, but for the beautiful memories.

In her heart, she wanted to remember her little friends forever. They reminded her that happiness could be simple. An open heart and mind was what it took. They had sculpted a special place in her heart and planted that seed of happiness within… as these thoughts flowed past, a stream trickled down the ridge of her cheek.

“稚嫩的童声, 清脆嘹亮, 唤醒了大地, 也敲醒沉睡的心灵

随着海风拂掠, 将快乐幸福的幼苗永植心田”~ Ling

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Leaving Selpele, we paddled to the Australian owned pearl farm to find something to eat. It would be something cooked, warm, with vegetables, and hopefully some fresh fruits. There were whispered rumors spreading among the team of a restaurant with real tables and chairs serving fresh oysters. Some wicked rumors also talked about a full serviced Australian seafood restaurant serving all types of seafood - outback style. When we finally reached the pearl farm, we were quietly confident of some Australian hospitality. We were hungry.

“We can offer some food. Can you wait till the boss is free. He is in a meeting and we need to ask him. About an hour.”, we were told.

Sure!

“Sorry sir, we can only offer plain white rice. But you must cook yourself.”

Sure!

“Sorry sir, we can’t offer any food but you can buy frozen oyster meat for US$40/kg. 

Sure!

~

The oyster meat we had bought was from Pinctada Maxima, pearl oysters as they were scientifically know. The pearl farm seeded these oysters in Bali, before transferring them to Alyui Bay for maturing. It took 2 years to cultivate the pearls, and the oyster meat was the by-product. The meat was large, a quarter size of a human palm, and white like chicken. We threw the whole kilogram of meat into our instant miso soup and waited. 

The smell and sight of heated food was driving me into a hallucinated feast. I could almost taste the succulent oysters with all the extra salt and whatever artificial flavors the Japanese could conjured into their soup.

“Who’s the first the try?”, Kat asked.

“Meeeeee!!!!!!!!!”

The pearl oyster meat can be described as something of a cross between rubberized abalone and tough scallop. Best to chew patiently for 10 minutes before swallowing.

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The oyster farm near Selpele required workers. Selpele had no gardens and no workshops. Travellers don’t pass through the village. The earlier generation had boats and live off the richness of sea, the more hardworking ones trapping lobsters or baiting live fishes for sale in the city of Sorong. The youths didn’t have boats. They offered themselves to the foreign-owned nickel mine at Pulau Kawe or the pearl farm at nearby Alyui Bay, where they could earn Rp 500K a month. It was a whole new way of living. Unlike their hunter-gatherer elders, the extra money they earned buy their want to need.

The brightest ones maybe left for more exciting places. And those who didn’t were lulled by a carefree life and reduced responsibilities. They stayed to live in a world that changes slowly, where warm memories and friendships were kept under trees and on the white sand. Outside their doors, as the sea breeze blew, this was where they could stand on the same feelings of affection for the soil underneath, and felt the world was here. But surely, a village life in Selpele was slowly disappearing.

I wondered where I would be if I had stayed where my life was the most carefree. Such a wonder existed now more as a memory rather than a place where I could go to. Paddling was a way of keeping such memories alive. Looking at the sky at edge of our region, and edging a hope that tomorrow I might paddle to a place where all these memories could be kept forever...