A night not in Sugapa

Dori Schmidt towers over the Moni Tribe

The Moni tribe occupy the village of Sugapa. Most are barefoot. Their wide feet have spread out to half again that of our own. Some wear western clothes, gym shorts or T-shirts endorsing sports teams they cannot possibly understand. Others are nearly naked, a few men wear the traditional penis gourd.

The penis gourd combines the simplicity of the fig leaf with the pride of Trojan battle armor, resulting in a gift to fashion that somehow implies the present to be larger than the package it comes in.

Several men and women sit atop the hill just inside the crude wooden fence that defines the yard of the "hotel" we are shown to. They stare at us and comment to one another in a language we do not understand. I imagine they are discussing which among us would look best in a penis gourd. Sometimes they smile at us. We smile back. We have been encouraged to be extra friendly. Our team cook and coordinator of the Porters, Jeremy, is negotiating wages with those looking to join our expedition. Jeremy is from Jakarta. He speaks several dialects of the local tribes, as well as excellent English. The careful balance of power he seeks to establish does not allow him to smile when dealing with the locals. Otherwise Jeremy always wears a warm smile and encourages the rest of us to do the same. "Remember," he reminds us, "always smile." Finally a price is agreed to. Each Porter carrying a 37 pound load will receive $70 a day for his efforts whether the team is moving or not. This is a VERY good wage relative to anything else these people can do to earn a buck. A man can work two expeditions a year and nearly support his family on that alone. 

A new problem arises. The traveling ballot boxes for the upcoming election will be in Sugapa just two days, on July 17 and 18. If the expedition runs long the Porters will miss their chance to vote. Jeremy and our local lead guide, Steven (also from Jakarta) reassure the Porters of the fitness of our team and their confidence we will return no later than July 17. The Porters are dubious. A local Official is summoned. He assures the Porters they will get to vote one way or another. This video shows the scene. 

 The shack in this video is our hotel. The floor is wooden instead of the more typical dirt, making this a 4 star hotel by Papuan standards. We are fine with this. It beats pitching a tent for the night. We eat some Ramen Noodles and discuss how we will configure the sleeping bags. We are asked to not leave the yard area and go off exploring. But soon our guides become itchy and decide to move the team on to camp 1, the village of Sunama. They allude again to safety considerations. The motorcycle boys are called in to jumpstart this move. 


There are no roads into Sugapa. The only motorized transportation is motorscooters flown in by cargo plane. These are largely concentrated in the hands of young local men who go out of their way to throw a pose of dashing mystique while hiring out as taxis for people clutching live chickens. The Motorcycle Boys were hired to give each of us a ride to the end of the dirt road 15 kilomoters away. It was exciting. It might have worried me to be a passenger wearing a full pack on the back of a small scooter driven by a man I could throw 15 kilometers, but I had already seen families of four weaving through traffic on a single motorscooter in Timika. But things did not go well for all of us. Dale's driver, who probably did not realize he weighed more than an Indonesian family of four, came into a corner a little hot and lost control. The dusty crash which followed left Dale scratched up and bruised. But he was still keen to press on, so our marshalled band set out up the trail to Sunama. 

Soon it is nightfall and the rains begin. We don waterproof layers and headlamps, then continue up the trail into dense jungle. Our course traverses steep hillsides, descending occasionally to cross a river. Our pace is fast. The trail is narrow. We fumble to keep up with one another in our clunky rubber boots. A few team members fall off the trail and have to scramble on hands and feet back up to it. The air is so saturated with humidity that my breath clouds like a steam engine before me. It feels like we are being herded.Between the warmth of the air and the heat my body was generating I became far too hot inside my rain shell. Realizing I was as wet with sweat inside of it as I was wet from rain outside, I removed the coat and stuffed it into my pack. If I was going to be wet I might as well be cooler. 


After 3 hours we arrived at the village of Sunama, a tiny collection of huts on a hillside. Dreading the notion of then having to set up tents in the mud, I was pleased to see ready shelter for night. We were led into a 13 x 13 wooden shack, all fourteen of us and our soaked gear. Dale was last to arrive. He immediately stretched out his sizable personage on the floor and commenced groaning. Dale complained of various difficulties which seemed to stem from his earlier motor scooter crash. After considerable prodding on the part of Jason, Dale sat up and ate some Ramen Noodles. Our duffel bags began arriving and team members changed into dry layers. They set up their inflatable cushions and sleepingbags, hung wet clothing from ceiling beams. My duffel did not arrive. Jeremy made inquires with the other Porters and learned that the Porter carrying my duffel had called it a night at the village just before Sunama. I would have no mattress or sleeping bag that night. It helps that I had spent a good bit of time preparing myself for hardship before the expedition. As well, Jason and assistant guide Dan Zokaites seemed busy enough dealing with Dale. So I said "no problem. I'll just put on an extra layer from the gear in my pack. One of the Schmidt boys offered me his sleeping bag, feeling he would be warm enough packed tight among his brothers. But Jason insisted I take his bag and Dan gave me his mattress. The two shared a mattress and sleeping bag. I was grateful. 


The decision is made to take Dale back in morning. We lay in silence for a moment taking this in. The loss of a single team member affects the team in excess of their proportion. We have bonded, imagined succeeding together, helping each other, relying on the other member to be there for us when events turn difficult. When a team member is lost there is a complete recalculation that each of us must do to then assess the viability of the expedition. As well, it is sometimes necessary to equip that departing team member with stove, tent, fuel and food rations for his trip out. This leaves the remaining members without backup in the event their equipment fails. 


My attention drifts to the night sounds of the jungle around us. The rains have rested and in their place I hear birds of the darkness. We are packed together so tight that I feel it when someone two places over moves. Still, it is good. We are dry and warm and fed. Sleep comes.