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Show STREA MOFC ONSC throughout this visit. Between jet lag, the fact that in Asmat the days are scheduled around the tides, and the impact of their interface with the land of standing rocks, a defined schedule is not the way to go. Finally they arrive, having stopped in, and been “blown away” by, Arches on the way. The Asmat are with us for almost two days. It is, without contest, one of the most profound experiences of my existence. Yuvensus, Donatus, Siprianus, Alfons, Robertus, Abraham. Patti, friend, interpreter, Caucasian—-from Chicago—accompanies them. I have never had seven people move into my home and be so instantly like family-much less people I have never met and who, on the surface, might seem so different. There are differences, but the only one that sticks in my mind is that they are not used to walking because, living in a swamp, they travel mainly by canoe. They are, I suspect, more at home there than on dry land. No, it's mostly similar when you get right down to it. There are things that are interestingly complementary. For example, the Asmat existence is one that must be in balance; perhaps that is partly why their visit seems so easy - it is like yin and yang. Our landscape, of rock and dirt and aridness, is the complement to their wet, vegetated, humid environ. They literally have no rocks—they must trade upriver for them, towards the Snow Mountains, a huge, snow-capped mountain range that runs the length of New Guinea. The similarity of our environments lies in the fragility of ESS... By Anne Wilson One World to Another (or "Here Come the Asmats!") "Vernon called," Peter says to me one evening in early spring. "How is he?" I question, my attention, I must confess, split between his conversation and the preparation of dinner. "He's fine. He asked if we would consider hosting some Indonesians in April." Absently, I return, "Sounds good." Vernon lives in Kikotsmovi and Scottsdale and is many things, former Hopi Tribal Chairman among them. You can pretty much bet that when Vernon calls something interesting is happening. I have no idea why my radar didn’t both ecosystems despite their durable appearance. Another example, while looking at petroglyph panels in Mill Creek with Yuven and Donatus, Peter and I learn that in the highlands of Asmat some tribes blow paint around their hand prints, a technique found in rock art of the Southwest. There is much to say of the Asmats‘ visit that is probably more intellectual and p.c., but here is what I remember best. I remember their soft melodic language rolling over me, sounding more complex and important than anythingI could possibly say in English. I remember that they were at first hesitant to get out of the car because of our dog; in their country dogs are feral and are not to be trifled with. I remember being shown my own world through their eyes--newly appreciating its beauty and its wealth; newly embarrassed at its waste and consumption. I remember their love of grapes--due to the fact that biting into one gives the same sensation as biting into a live sago worm (a larvae of the capricorn beetle that hatches in the sago palm, and a great delicacy). I I istically cool, rainy, and cloudy weather would be a respite from the blistering, smothering heat of Irian Jaya. I didn't realize they would be freezing the entire time and that mounds of down comforters, wool blankets and the heat at 70 degrees would barely keep them warm. They were astounded to think that the gh. 3. Bt TALULA tira as that Our register. A few weeks later Peter says, “Vernon called." "How is he?" I question, thinking that this conversation seems somehow familiar. "Good. It’s settled. The Indonesians are coming." “Mmmm, who?" "The Indonesians. On a cultural exchange. They’re from a head hunting tribe. They are probably as close to a stone-age people as you'll find anymore." Needless to say, Peter has my full attention now. Being properly brought up by my mother and (maybe more significantly), liking as much of.a "heads up" as possible, I am immediately concerned with logistics. "When are they coming? How many will there be? How long will they stay? What will they eat? What do they want to do while they are here?" Unfortunately for my psyche and my upbringing, my husband knows little at this time. The response goes something like this: "Sometime in April, 10 or 20, a couple of days, I have no idea, I don’t think we have to worry about that." Secondarily, my anthropology background stirs faintly in the recesses of my mind. Unfortunately my concentration was in Latin America and I can generate no specifics for any indigenous people east of Africa, except the Aborigines. I recall the basics, and barrage my spouse with questions about our visitors...to which he can offer vary little in the way of answers. As a result, I begin to feel faint. I already feel like an complete idiot due to the fact that I can’t exactly remember what islands comprise the country of Indonesia. Peter is not unsettled by much and he implores me to “relax”. Easier said than done, but I take a deep breath and try. It’s not that I don’t want visitors, it’s just that I need details. In time I get my desired details. Our visitors are Asmat, from Asmat. Asmat is also the native language of the Asmat and includes a number of dialects. Asmat, the region, is located in Irian Jaya which is part of Indonesia. It is also the eastern half of the island of New Guinea. The Asmat live in a vast, remote, and densely vegetated alluvial swamp on the southwest coast of the island. After our visitors arrive I learn that it took them three days across open water to arrive in a town where they could obtain their passports. Need say more? The Asmat are traditionally a hunter/gatherer people whose ancestors indeed practiced head hunting and cannibalism. There are still a few elders living who remember witnessing these events. (As unbelievable as it may seem, one person who hears this tells me that I should be careful. I laugh at first; when I realize she is serious I am rendered Alfons carves figures on the floor of Anne and Peter's home in Professor Valley. moisture we were experiencing could be called rain, although I remain convinced that they speechless.) Ritual wood carvings of a variety of objects including soulships, shields, drums, figures, and spears are an integral part of their culture and it is for this type of art that the Asmat are well-known (in addition to the previously mentioned ancestral brought it with them. Why else would it drizzle for two and one-half days straight in the practices). Our visitors, in particular, are woodcarvers, storytellers, drummers, leaders in their surprisingly pleasantly, my house. I remember thinking that at the rate they were smoking desert? I remember the aromatic smell of clove cigarettes filling the air on the porch and then, villages. They are newly into their five week journey to parts of the U.S., a trip which will there was no way their stash would last five weeks. Despite this, they wanted to leave a pack with us because I enjoyed the sweet taste of the cigarette tip, and Peter thought it was culminate in the opening of a private collection of Asmat art in Chicago, and where they a pleasant smoke. will demonstrate their skills and perform a ceremony. Several of the eight men have been to the States before; while only a couple of them speak English well, they all definitely have the essentials down. One of the main objectives of their trip is to meet with Native Americans to discuss to fill and roll a tortilla. I remember our laughter at and with each other when, as usual, a tortilla “failed”. 1 remember that they do not talk while they are eating because it is ’ issues of autonomy, of cultural and natural resource protection; to make a connection with those who have lived maybe as long on this land as they have on theirs. Moab is on their way to Hopi and they desire to see three things here: an arch, a canyon, and rock art. We think we can oblige. Just before they arrive I think of nothing else. My house is clean, my beds are made, the menu is planned; I am completely curious to meet these people who live nearly as far one way around the world as the other from Moab, Utah. "The Asmat are coming, the Asmat are coming," I tell people when they ask what I am "up to”. I skip out early from work on the day they are due to arrive. We wait, past the expected hour of arrival, worrying that something has happened. We learn that timing will be loose . I remember their quizzical looks and good sportsmanship when I showed them how proper to give food the attention and appreciation it deserves. I remember the fact that they ate everything we prepared for them--chicken and spinach curry with jasmine rice, bananas, nuts, grapes, pork green chili, tortillas, cheese, anasazi beans, more jasmine rice, grilled venison, fresh asparagus, fried eggs and corned beef hash, coffee, coffee, coffee. While they weren't too enthusiastic about the oatmeal-apple muffins, the apple crisp with fresh whipped cream that a friend made disappeared in short order. I remember that we used more sugar in two days than we had in three months and that I felt good they could enjoy something that costs the earth in Asmat and yet is so inexpensive for us. I remember being thankful that I could even buy jasmine rice in Moab (it being the most similar variety to what they eat in Indonesia), not to mention that I could return to the Co-op for another five pounds when we ran out. |