3. Bye

Sensory overload… I’m standing in the middle of a group of Huli tribesmen, and if I had a thought bubble over my head it would read, “Is this really happening?” As a photographer that has dreamt of traveling to Papua New Guinea and taking images of these men masked in yellow and red paint, it feels surreal. I take a deep breath as my eyes scan the group. Yes, this is really happening… I’m really here… I suddenly become aware of my heart beat as one man looks at me. I awkwardly smile in return and hold up my camera. “May I take your photo while you get ready for the dance performance?” He barely nods… I guess that means “yes”. I bring my camera to my eye and watch as he holds up a small mirror. He begins to paint flecks of orange paint on the bridge of his nose. His patience with the small dots surprises me. The surprise quickly turns to shock as I watch him take a thin stick and pierce it through the end of his nose. I didn’t see that one coming… I try to shake it off and remain focused. I know that I have only a couple of hours here with them, and it looks like it might rain. I take a few deep breaths and continue taking his image as he gets ready. He seems to be ignoring me. No, wait. He’s not… He suddenly turns, takes a big step forward and looks directly at me. He’s laughing. Click… I take his image. Wow… We’re standing really close together now… I take a step backward. That’s better… He goes back to getting ready while my fluttering heartbeat slows down. I take a few more image of him and think that it’s time to shift to another spot in the group. “Thank you,” I say, trying to be polite as I move. A Huli with a cigarette perched between his lips catches my eye. I stand in front of him, watching as he diligently tucks green leaves into his arm bands. The cigarette bobbles on the brink of falling to the ground, but it doesn’t. His red lips squeeze around it while he continues dressing. I’m curious about his life when he isn’t outfitted like he is. I want to ask him how many wives and children he has, but that wouldn’t be appropriate. This visit isn’t like that. I’m only here to photograph this well-known tribe. My eyes go back to the cigarette and the red ring his lips have made around it. I wonder whether his teeth are stained red to match it – but it wouldn’t be from the paint… Years of addictively chewing betel nut has left it’s mark on men of all ages here. I was stunned to learn that children as young as four chew it. It’s grown along the coast and shipped here to the Highlands. And it’s use is rampant – betel nut is the fourth most widely used drug in the world. It’s a cheap high, and red-stained teeth are a consequence of the addiction. The locals don’t seem to care about that, though. I’ve noticed and photographed it in more than one tribe. The Huli with the smoke stares me down. I feel my stomach clinch. I’m grateful that I traveled to Ethiopia last year and took images of tribes under more than one challenging situation. In my mind that was prep work for some of the intense looks and experiences that I’m going through here as I photograph the men. Working to not break the strong sense of presence that he has, I take his image. He seems to enjoy the attention, so I keep doing what I’m doing and move a little closer to him. As I gently move around him, his eyes follow my lens while my shutter repeatedly releases. For a minute or so we are locked like that and then suddenly he says, “Show me.” Hearing him speak English startles me. I stop what I’m doing and stand next to him. I turn my camera around and begin to show him his images on the LCD. I watch for his reaction, curious what he thinks. I see a smirk. I think that’s a good sign… “Thank you,” I say. Before there can be any further exchange he walks away from me and goes over to another one of the tribesmen. He passes him his cigarette. Then it gets passed to another man. Red lip stains continue to build on the white paper. Hmm… I make a mental note to ask my guide about the various ways that men might enjoy the high of betel nut here… I leave the group of men and go to sit on a bench positioned on the side of a small clearing. Within moments the Huli tribe is rhythmically moving in front of me. Each member carries a small hand drum that they beat while chanting and moving in unison to the pulse that they are creating. The palm plumes that are tied to their bodies make a slight swishing noise as they move up and down. The vibrant array of soft bird feathers worn on their heads gently sways adding to the dramatic appeal of their showmanship. The sharp and rugged hornbill beaks draped on their backs contrasts that softness. Before I know it the drum beats stop and the performance is over. A few, light sprinkles are starting to fall and it’s time to go. As usual, I wait until the rest of my fellow travelers are a few steps ahead of me so that I’m last to leave. I’ve learned that when traveling with a group something interesting often happens at the end. And it does. As I begin to walk away one Huli starts to follow me, beating his drum. It’s fun and makes me laugh. It’s the perfect way to end my time here in the Highlands of Papua New Guinea. “Bye,” I say. “Bye,” I hear in return.