Ken takes us to a Sing Sing

Jap cemetery Rabaul

        Walking back to the car, we see a side track leading off to the left. I wonder where that goes, says Ken. We explore and come to what looks like a Japanese cemetery. It has three white concrete posts all marked with Japanese writing down the sides.

        The following week, Ken’s mate Emile invites us to a Sing-Sing up the mountain from his village. As we’re invited, the three of us drive back to Kurutegete  on Saturday night. The entire village is dressed for a night out and we walk on a track up the hill. First we come to an open field and there is a church. It’s made in a traditional Native style, with grass roof and walls open windows. Ken’s mate explains that’s where everyone comes tomorrow morning for the service. It’s a catholic church but we don’t see a priest.

        We continue up the hill on a track through dense jungle for some time when we get to a clearing in the jungle. There are lots of tables and benches and a lot of Natives from other villages already there. We are introduced and greeted by the other people. There is a beer tent next to the tables, with lots of bottles of beer.

          We sit down at a table and are each given a bottle of beer. More people arrive from other villages and before long singers and dancers assemble on the side and start their performances. It’s great to watch them. We are very privileged indeed to be here.

           The singers and performers wear traditional grass skirts and use original Native drums and sticks to assist their singing. The performers change frequently while others sit down for a beer themselves.

           We’re there a few hours and into our fourth or fifth bottle of beer when the rain starts. Not hard, just light drizzle, not enough to stop the performances, but we feel a strange atmosphere in the crowd. The natives look at the three of us in a strange way.

          Ken’s mate whispers to Ken, they think you white fellows brought the rain. It’s better if you disappear. Ken passes the message on. As the rain increases, we are now being openly abused by some of the other villagers. It’s time for a retreat. Ken’s mate points in the direction we came and the three of us make our way down the path we came on.

         It’s now raining quite heavily, it’s after midnight and pitch black. The path is hard to see. We hear the noise of the villagers in the background still singing and boozing.

          Even though, we almost run through the jungle, it takes over an hour for us to reach the village near the coast road where our vehicles are. We’re totally relieved when we get there, and soaking wet, but unharmed. I’ve been blamed for a lot of things in my life before, but never for making it rain. I guess there is a first for everything.