I’m not exactly sure what culture shock is. I don’t know if I’ve gone through it already or if it’s waiting somewhere ready to strike me when I least expect it. Perhaps I’ll never go through it at all considering our house and all the missionaries here make life seem very similar to life back in the States. BUT I do have a story in which I was quite “shocked” by this culture.
Let me start my story out with a few details. First of all, Liz Hollenberg told me similar story before I left for PNG but I guess I had to see it happen myself in order for it to have an impact. Secondly, there is a very common tool used here called a bush knife. Basically it’s a machete. It seems as though EVERY male and some females have one with them at all times. From what I’ve been told, they use them to cut their way through brush, clear land for gardens and such, build houses, and if needed…they will use them as a weapon in a fight. (Don’t worry mom and dad…they don’t fight around us!!)
The second Sunday we were here one of doctors at the hospital was invited to speak at a “bush church” (a church in a fairly remote area). Since we were some of the newbies at the time, we were invited to go with. We jumped at the chance to go out into the bush and “experience” the culture!! The church ended up being a small hut of a building with woven walls, a thatch roof, and dirt floors covered by a grass mat. There were no seats so we sat on the floor (which I have come to prefer over hard wooden benches with no backs). Typically, women and children sit on one side and men on the other…so I found myself sitting next to a little boy. On his other side sat a woman who I assumed was his mother. After all the singing was over and the pastor began his sermon, the little boy began to get a little whiney and fidgety. (It reminded me of the days when we would get a little cranky in church and mom would pull a Tupperware container of cheerios out of her bag…or maybe even a coloring book) Since this was what I was used to it didn’t surprise me when the lady started to rummage through her bag. In my head I was even thinking, “See, this lady isn’t even that much different from my own mother.” When she apparently found what she was looking for, she pulled out a pair of scissors. For a moment, I was a little disappointed. She wasn’t looking for something to keep her child quiet…she must have found an out of place thread. BUT to my shock she handed the scissors to the boy!! This is what she had decided would keep her child occupied. (Important point: these were NOT some plastic fisher price scissors. They were big and metal and sharp). Of course the little boy took them, happy to have something to play with and put them directly into his mouth while his mother turned her attention back to the sermon. I tried to do the same but the boy began to swing the scissors around and eventually I began to fear for the boy’s fingers, my skirt, my skin, his mother’s arm, etc! Finally the mother moved the boy to the other side of her so that my life was no longer in danger, but I did feel the need to look over at the boy every once in a while to make sure that none of his fingers or toes were missing. I’m happy to report that we all left the church with our appendages intact.
I’m not sure why this shocked me as much as it did…especially considering I now remember seeing very young boys a little older than this fellow carrying bush knifes. BUT, for some reason this is the moment I remember realizing…”This culture is very different from ours!”
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