I told him I didn’t need it, and I refused their offers for rest until we got to the top (When I suggested it.) Around noon, we went to the river and bathed a bit. We stopped near the bottom to wait to hear Kelly say she didn’t want to go on, and we (the boys I was accompanied by) stopped briefly when a rain shower came up because the young fellow cut off a huge (3′ x 2′) tropical leaf as an umbrella for the Kwaio bag. Without a pack, it was incredibly-much easier. A drastic change took us from the bush to the village, the village still somehow realistically primitive, perhaps the fringe bordered on the savage.Įager to walk in the bush, I was led up the mountain, I suppose about twice as high as Ngarinaasuru. Reluctantly (first reaction), I accepted for refreshment, but we spent the night, I holding her so as to not make too much noise in this SSEC village. We took a leisurely, decent, Kadmill Martin greeted us at the bottom. Also, the $60 I was to pay to go the bush was old Ubuni’s price for breaking the law that he had created about not allowing expatriates into the bush.) (Of note, the father Ubuni had allowed his picture taken for three “Erik the Red” cigarettes.

Katie was misled into thinking I was about to break the tambu of going into her latrine and yelled out, “That’s tambu.” Kelly, without hesitation, retorted: “So why’d ya have to open your big mouth?” An argument ensued. We are welcome to spend the day there, but if I won’t pay $60 to go to the bush by myself, and/or $100 or the hut I slept in last night for free, we will be asked to leave. “I am trying to capture my impressions as a white man to the nakedness of women, and how essential this is to basic happiness. I “snuck” out and took pictures of the paradisial, moonlit, primitive South Pacific night. The fat lady, weaved next to us and slept with us in a non-tambu house in her cluster in the night. If this man is to become an ancestor, he will be evil in his all-powerful state. Old Ubuni, carrier of the bags in the Primitive Expedition in 1927, head of area council, and landowner, “greediest” man David ever saw, refused us entry to the bush, refused having his picture taken, and smiled his smile of a few awful teeth only when presented a gift, or when we bought his “custom” pieces. Write off David and Katie as friends, the Peace Corp couple with glazed eyes and a not so convincing line of implications that they didn’t believe in the Ancestors themselves (the “Philosophy of No Thank You” Being seemingly overemphasized and the “Philosophy of Bobness” being seemingly absent.) Vague, though present, were visions in dreams of unknown things that my extra-sensory perceptions were straining to capture.

This is the mess that civilization has made of my mind! Why can’t I zoom all the time? Can life be a continuous high? Can I be different but be accepted? Can I be outlandish and be admired? Can I sustain that energy? “My life, is too complicated Record keeping, errand running, it’s really mostly a waste of time. We made love in the dwelling with a pad or two to raise us off the dirt floor. We had not yet learned of the rotted skulls that adorned the tambu houses spread about in the bush. We waited for permissions, and spent the night with Ubuni as guard, after a day of seeing the Bush People of the East Kwaio, trading, eating the offered sweet potatoes (white), learning of tabus, the ‘Flower House,’ the sacred pigs, the sacrificing of same. We had left the world of the True God and stepped on the fringe of the land of Evil Ancestors. Kelly and I, she being my steadfast companion, made love in the raised house on the water, and we were led to Ngarinaasuru, by Sali of the SSEC village next to the DA village from where we had come, ‘Umbuni greeted us in short order, on the vista-ed peak halfway up the mountain. “The panoply of village sounds carpeted the audile like” an orchestra of maestros, roosters, unintelligible language, the familiar happy play of children and a bird population spurting out a low volume concert. Slept in: Ngarinaasuru, Malaita Solomon Islands

Any relation to reality of the writing herein

Are glucose molecules loms or soms