A Sepik Tale of Unlikely Seafarers

The old washed-up dugout canoe at Papitalai's North Point

Some thousand days past in the yesteryears, a group of unlikely seafarers from Oksapmin, Yangoru, Wasara and Nuku traversed the Los Negros seas from Mokoreng point to Lombrum, braving the North winds and the restless waters that spread between the points. Who would have imagined that these "stones" could float but they did and so the story of seafarers was born.

Armed with an old battered dugout canoe that got washed up outside the beachfront that faced the male quarters at Papitalai, these Sepik men taught themselves to become seafarers. The old canoe served the purpose of ferrying these bushmen across the bay or just taking them for an aimless floating trip into the open end of the sea to catch the last rays of the sun reaching out from Kali Bay in the west. When the Sepiks first encountered her, the canoe bore the scars of a tumultuous history, battered and blistered from the relentless sea. The wild Manus weather had treated her harshly, pushing her to an unrecoverable state. To make matters worse, her previous owner had seemingly given up on her, evident in the unrepairable crack that rendered her wrecked, destroyed, and seemingly beyond all hope of restoration. Yet, as the Sepiks set their eyes on this old lady of the sea, a new chapter in her life was about to unfold.

In an unexpected twist, this fearless band of men from the Sepik's remote hinterlands breathed vitality into a weathered relic, defying convention by not having any ties to the seafaring Titan tribe or coastal heritage. Disregarding their lack of ancestral connections to the sea, they fearlessly embarked on a mission to rejuvenate the vessel and proudly adopted the mantle of seafarers. Undaunted by skepticism, the resilient inhabitants of Sepik Central dove headlong into the challenge, determined to breathe new life into the aging craft and teach themselves the ways of the sea. Amidst the daunting task, a pivotal figure emerged—a Tolai man, the spouse of a member of the teaching staff. His expertise became the cornerstone in organizing the intricate repair work, playing a pivotal role in the remarkable revival of the weather-beaten vessel.

In a tale of perseverance and ingenuity, the boys dedicated countless hours to meticulously repairing the cracks in the canoe. Armed with melted plastic and sometimes with wood glues blended with sawdust, they engaged in a trial-and-error process to effectively seal the cracks. Throughout this journey of restoration, the boys took turns paddling the canoe around the waterfront, near the male single quarters at Papitalai Secondary School.

As the canoe finally underwent its transformation, the Sepik men skillfully maneuvered it through the waters of Papitalai Bay. In the enchanting evenings, the once-fragile vessel embarked on seamless journeys, exploring the captivating waters between Mokoreng Point and the Lombrum naval base, leaving a trail of awe and admiration in its wake.

In the realm of adventurous spirits, none rivaled the enthusiasm of Youth, our faithful canine companion. Whether the canoe found itself at full capacity or we charted unknown waters, Youth was ever the daredevil, taking to the waves with a spirited swim or asserting his presence in the canoe, serenading our journey with spirited howls.

What made the whole scenario even more amusing was the blind trust these creatures bestowed upon us, despite our lack of seafaring lineage coursing through our veins. Yet, it was the canoe that became the vessel of discovery, ushering us lads on thrilling expeditions across the bay and deeper into the mysterious caves of Papitalai Bay. Not to mention its role in ensuring a bountiful catch of fish to grace our tables.

Embarking on our adventurous journeys, it was Youth, our trusty canine companion, who always added a dash of excitement. Whether gracefully swimming alongside the canoe when space ran out or boldly standing within it, howling as we paddled home, Youth brought a unique charm to our explorations. Despite lacking the seafarers' blood in our veins, these creatures placed unwavering trust in us.

The canoe became the vessel for thrilling escapades, carrying us across the bay and into the mysterious caves of Papitalai Bay. It also proved indispensable for our fishing endeavours. On my final day in Papitalai, memories flooded back as my Nuku and Wasara brothers paddled me to the airport. Playfully remarking on their seemingly ancestral paddling skills, I quipped about the possibility of them finding someone special. Little did I know, my words would ring true as the Nuku brother later tied the knot with a Manus woman, adding a sweet twist to our unforgettable adventures.

A tranquil moment by the waterfront, near the single teachers' quarters, Papsec, Manus Island

Serenity at Papitalai bayWhere tranquillity meets the sea's embrace

Pontoon, one of many WWII relics that litter the Papitalai bay

Troublesome Journey to Bipi Begins

Departing Lorengau for Bipi on a windy afternoon with the onslaught of rough sea 

Today was supposed to be the grand adventure of my lifetime, but even my gut feeling seemed to be on strike against the very idea of stepping outside my solo abode. Picture this: dark clouds looming like ominous curtains blocking out the sunlight, waves crashing against the shoreline with a menacing vibe, and a wind so fierce that it howled like a disgruntled ghost through the gaps in my kitchen window. If Mother Nature was trying to send me a strongly worded invitation to rethink my day trip, she sure nailed it.

To add a theatrical touch to the drama, I gazed out of my window, only to witness Papitalai Bay transformed into a foamy, white water battleground, all courtesy of the southeast wind having a wild party. It was like the ocean was doing the cha-cha, and I was expected to be its reluctant dance partner.

As I sat there contemplating, the weather outside was staging its own rebellion, turning the peaceful shoreline into a tempestuous spectacle. I had to decide: brave the impending storm or snuggle back into the cozy cocoon of my home, where the weather couldn't judge my life choices? And just when I was deep in this existential weather crisis, my phone chimed like a distant drumroll, signaling a new message.

Cue the dramatic reveal—it was none other than Henry Sihamou, my student from the remote Bipi island. We had plotted this grand escape during the school break, and today was the appointed day. Henry's message confirmed the boat was ready, loaded with fuel and enthusiasm, waiting for me. The plot thickened.

Now, I'm usually the kind of guy who loves to embrace the unknown, a self-proclaimed adventurer with a penchant for exploring uncharted territories. But the gloomy sight outside and the wind orchestrating a spooky symphony made my inner "mountain man" question his life choices. I'd never walked on the sea before, and suddenly, the prospect seemed as appealing as wearing a tutu in a lion's den.

However, duty called, and I couldn't bail on my friend who had already spilled the beans to his family about our holiday plans. Plus, there was an uncle's boat involved, and you can't just cancel on family, right? The die was cast.

So, with the weight of an impending storm and my friend's expectations on my shoulders, I decided to take the plunge—literally. But not before the obligatory glance through my window, where the wind howled its approval as if saying, "Welcome to the chaos, buddy!"

Now, the rush to get ready was like a scene from a slapstick comedy. Boxes toppled, clothes flew, and I was a whirlwind of chaos in my own house. As a true single-life believer, my motto was "pack light and travel far," but today, the real concern was battling the elements, not my closet.

Faded army pants, camouflage shirt, sleeveless shirt, and, for the optimistic soul in me, sportswear for potential swims—I chuckled at the absurdity. Me, swimming in the restless sea? Sure, if the sea suddenly turned into a giant, lazy bathtub. I'm no Michael Phelps, and the sea is not my comfort zone.

Finally, packed and ready, I stepped out of my warm haven into the cold morning, muscles already protesting the unexpected exercise. The thought that kept me going? Time and, of course, the impending weather apocalypse.

When I reached the rendezvous point, Henry and his uncle had already turned the boat into a floating pantry, loaded with food and fuel for our epic voyage. A quick detour to the supermarket for my supplies, and I was officially the last one to arrive, earning a not-so-subtle glare from the travel party. The weather wasn't cutting me any slack, either; thunder rolled overhead as if even the skies were questioning my decision.

As I reluctantly hopped onto the boat, sandwiched between two larger-than-life ladies who seemed to have a laugh track of their own, I couldn't help but wonder if I had signed up for a slapstick comedy instead of an adventure. The skipper, unfazed by my silent protests, revved up the engine, and we set sail into the impending storm.

The wind played its symphony, the waves became our dance floor, and with every crest and trough, my mind screamed louder than the thunder above. The two iron ladies flanking me found my distress a source of amusement, laughing like the Greek chorus of my own maritime tragedy.

Making a pitstop at Sori village only added more uncertainty to the mix. Sago exchange, a prolonged departure, and a growing storm—my first-time nerves were reaching their peak. I kept glancing at Henry, my personal reassurance beacon, who assured me that we'd be fine. Meanwhile, I was contemplating how to survive my debut on the open sea amidst a storm.

When the departure call finally echoed over the crashing waves, the wind kicked up a notch, and the waves seemed to grow larger than life. I jumped back onto the boat, flanked by my iron guardian angels, their laughter echoing my inner turmoil. Manus people, experts in sarcastic banter, were clearly enjoying the show. As we made a beeline for Bipi island, Sori vanished behind towering waves, leaving me to question my sanity with every splash.

The journey felt like an eternity, with every wave threatening to be the one that would tip us over. Blind without my glasses, rain and wind pelting my face, my mind fixated on choosing the right container to grab in case of a shipwreck. One of them even had a rope—I wasn't taking any chances.

Finally, after what felt like a never-ending stormy tango, we found refuge in a passage engulfed by reefs, guiding us safely to our destination. I disembarked, exhausted and vowing to Henry that I didn't care if I was late for work; I wasn't leaving Bipi unless the weather played nice. After all, nothing says adventure like a stormy sea and a blindfolded dance with Poseidon.

Beach front near Loli village, one of Bipi islands three main villages