"When you look at our country's flag, it may seem like no big deal. But, if you ever leave this country for any period of time, and then you have the opportunity to see that bird of paradise again, you will cry." ~guest speaker (translated), PNG Independence Day celebration, 16 September 2013
The tropical sun is still rising in the clear Eastern sky, warming the earth from its overnight slumber. As I approach the gate, I hear cadence being called.
Left, right, left …
The whoops of the
crowd are evidence of the joy and celebration of the day. A marching sea of red, yellow, and black ends
its parade near a small raised platform. The
crowd rises for the singing of the national anthem.
O, arise all ye sons
of this land. Let us sing of our joy to be free, …
A sea of faces, young and old, black sprinkled with white. Hundreds of eyes lifted toward the rising
flag.
… praising God and
rejoicing to be Papua New Guinea!
One by one, individuals stand to read verses of scripture in
their tok ples, or mother tongue. Though I do not understand the words, the
sound is beautiful ...
... for it is the voice of God speaking to his people in their own languages.
The laughter of children rings out behind me, and a rusty
trio of handmade swings screech back and forth while a visiting pastor steps
behind the flag-draped music-stand-podium.
Usually political
freedom comes at a cost, requires bloodshed, he says in Tok Pisin. But, 38 years ago PNG was
offered freedom as a gift. Then he
suggests that God’s continued blessing on PNG depends not on its natural
resources, not on its buildings or development, not on any riches it may
claim.
Just like God chose David, out of all the sons of Jesse, for kingship based on the condition of his heart, he says, God’s continued blessing on PNG depends
on the hearts of its people.
The child next to me crunches on a cracker as crumbs fall on
the woven mat on which he sits. The
breeze picks up, and the leaves overhead rustle with its breath. A smattering of umbrellas shield people from the increasing heat of the sun.
Traditionally-clad dancers (some clad more than others) take
their places. Several hands alternately
tap and pound lizard-skin-covered kundu drums.
Shell necklaces and anklets rattle with every thumping step. Traditional grass skirts (and some made of yarn) sway clockwise, then counterclockwise in time with the music.
Feathered headdresses bob up and down as singers
chant in haunting, traditional melodies.
Wena, wena moyo …
Ay oh wye-ee ayah …
Ay oh wye-ee ayah …