5. Headhunters

Oh wow… This doesn’t look good… We thought these villagers would be welcoming to us, but now I think otherwise… I’m looking at three angry-faced men standing on an embankment – and one of them is holding an axe. I’m confused… I think the group that I’m traveling with is too. No one says a word. Perhaps we’re all in shock from what we’re seeing. I look to my tour guide, Suzanne, for direction. She seems concerned as she looks at them, then to us, and then back toward them. The feeling of excitement that was in the air just a few short moments ago has quickly diminished. I’m assuming that the A-framed structure that the men are standing in front of, no – actually guarding, is the one we came to see. The spirit house. In it there are nine human skulls on display – a reminder of this tribe’s enemies who fell victim to their headhunting. This village is the main focus of today’s trip on the Karawari. This initial welcome doesn’t ease my ambivalence about seeing all of this… I listen as Suzanne and our boat captain speak in the local language, which I don’t understand. He’s shaking his head, “no”, and she’s saying, “Yes”. More words are spoken. I figure with her having over two decades of experience traveling in this region, she knows what’s best. Or at least I hope so… Watching this scene unfold I start to wonder how badly I really want to do this. I look back to the axe. One of the women says that she’s not getting out of the boat – no matter what. “We all might not be getting out of the boat,” someone says. We pensively wait to see what is going to happen next… The captain yells something to the men. Something is yelled back, and the boat engine is turned off. “Please remain here,” Suzanne says. “We are going to go and see what the problem is… We think they’ve had a quarrel with another village… We don’t know.” “Have you ever been greeted like this before, Suzanne?” I ask. “No. Never. Something is not right.” She and our captain get out of the boat. I watch as the two of them walk across a shoreline. “No photos,” she yells back. I pull my camera from my eye and place it in my lap, hoping I at least got one good image. We wait… Last night after dinner, Chris, our local guide sat with our group and shared stories about his life here. Some of those included how his grandfather was a headhunter and a cannibal. While we all sat and listened, I hung on every graphic detail with pen and journal in hand. He started by explaining how there is power in having the skull of an enemy, and how the flesh was prepared… “The head is a trophy of victory over an enemy,” he said. “Once they were killed, the headhunters would cut off the head of the victim and drain the blood onto a bloodstone. You will see this bloodstone tomorrow. There was much importance to this. By painting the blood on the stone, headhunters believed that the victim would be friendly, and that the warrior’s life expectancy would be lengthened… After this, everyone in the village came to see it. Everyone was happy about the victory. Their tribe won! The name of the victim was sent back to their tribe to let them know who was dead… There was much pride in this… There was a celebration with music and dancing in the victor’s village. It might have lasted a long time – up to three or four weeks, depending on who was killed. During this time the body, the meat, was shared with the village. It was roasted like a wild pig. But not the heart. It was special. It went to the elder. And the head – it was special too. It was steamed so that the meat would be loosened and then pulled out to roast.” He takes his finger and points to the side of his face. “This part, the cheek, it is the most tender, and a favorite of many.” I keep writing my notes, trying to comprehend what he’s telling me… It’s really gruesome… “After this, the skull was cleaned with mud and put in the spirit house. You will see…” The intensity of what Chris taught us swirled in my thoughts as I tried to get to sleep last night. Sometime in the middle of the night I made peace with the way things were here in this part of Papua New Guinea and decided that I wanted to see the spirit house – and the skulls. Now, looking at these men, I’m not sure that this is going to happen. Suzanne is still talking with them and it seems to be a tense exchange. I can’t help but think about how brave she is. We wait a few more minutes. Just about at the point when I think that it’s not going to happen, she walks back to the boat. “Okay. We’re good. Who’s coming ashore to visit the spirit house?”