Senses heightened at PNG sing-sing

Today we don’t hear much about cannibalism or headhunting in Papua New Guinea (PNG), but a few years back it was a reality. After WWII this land became a protectorate of the Australians, who, in an attempt to lessen feuds, placed field officers among the tribes and brought the various groups together to sing and dance in their indigenous dress. These meetings became competitive and thus replaced much of the warring.

Now these “wars” are called sing-sings, and to see one is to be present for one of the greatest events you could witness in a lifetime.

My wife, Rita, and I were part of a group traveling with Greg Stathakis, owner of Trans Niugini Tours (Santa Barbara, CA; 800/676-1241, www.pngtravel.com). Our trip, May 10-26, 2008, cost $7,400 each, including round-trip airfare from Australia to PNG. We tipped Greg $200, which he then gave to a scholarship foundation.

An Australian visa, or “eta” (electronic travel authority), must be obtained before your trip; you can get one by e-mail at www/eta.immi.gov.au. Papua New Guinea visas can be done ahead of time through the embassy in Washington, DC (202/745-3680, www.pngembassy.org), or after arrival in-country in Port Moresby.

Greg, our fearless escort and mentor, has accompanied these small-group (maximum 16) expeditions to PNG for 30 years. Greg obviously fell in love with this world and shows his affection for it in every aspect of his thoughts and actions.

The sing-sing in Tumbuna, in PNG’s highlands, is a real-life operation and not just a tourist show. Fewer than 400 outsiders a year witness this spectacle. A dozen or so clans — more than 500 tribesmen — participate in the 3-hour contest.

In a few heart-thumping, goosebump-raising, ground-quaking moments, the dancers leapt before us, their vibrantly painted bodies blazing with color. Deafening yelling? No, singing and jumping. Or, rather, chanting and dancing, with great pulsating rhythm! Our jaws dropped. We were not scared but somewhat stunned. The dancers were respectfully in our faces. Eyeball cardiac arrest!

At one time, clever tribesmen devised a way to reclaim land that they had been forced from by a larger, stronger tribe. Smearing themselves with clay and wearing a Martian-style head mask that would scare the heck out of anyone, they crept back in the darkness of night and waited until the occupying women emerged for their morning chores.

You guessed it! The appearance of the horrid mud creatures with their long, sharpened, clicking bamboo fingers had its desired effect: the women ran off and refused to return, and the “mudmen” were home again. We all were delighted to watch the reenactment.

“Skeleton men” appeared with bones painted on their bodies that creaked when they danced. Not to be excluded, young boys in head-to-toe black added to the fun in a syncopated congaesque line.

Pictures can tell only one facet of this wilderness spectacle. The moist forest floor had a woodsy smell. The sounds of song, drums and flutes still echo in my mind.

Getting there was an adventure in itself, with miles and miles of unpaved bumpy roads to ride upon, followed by a muddy, slippery trek to and from the host village, Paiya, where an ancestral field was entered through a bower and enclosed with towering trees. The sun had a tough time reaching the field most hours of the day. About 11 a.m. its rays found their way to the dancers.

By 2 p.m. it was all over for us guests, as the troupes were being called for the celebratory mumu (earth-oven cooked meal). Enthusiasm carried the day, and the performers continued to sing with their own tribal members and other locals who had come to see the spectacle.

With light hearts filled with grand memories, we trudged back through the mud, straining to hear the intoxicating sounds from Tumbuna until we reached the rugged, all-terrain, 4x4 vehicles that had brought us to unequivocally one of the greatest shows on Earth.

LARRY KRITCHER

Coconut Grove, FL