SOVEREIGN GRACE BAPTIST MISSION
International – Papua New Guinea / Malawi Africa
P.O. Box 60150 Ndirande Bt. 6 Blantyre Malawi /
P.O. Box 233 – Mt Hagen (WHP) Papua New Guinea
Tanggi Mission Station – North Koroba, Hela Province, PNG
Missionary / Evangelist: Peter A. Halliman
Email: panagioite04@gmail.com / Website: sgbm-malawi-africa.com
Date: 4 June 2020
Dear Pastor, Church, Supporters;
Continued from Part Three…
Part Four (4th in series)
Acts 8:26 — And the angel of the Lord spake unto Philip, saying, Arise, and go toward the south unto the way that goeth down from Jerusalem unto Gaza, which is desert.
23 April 2020 (Thursday) — Day Four
0400 hrs came early — still dark, but the day had begun. Coffee was on and sweet-potatoes were cooking in the ashes for the journey ahead. With all gear packed, checked, and re-checked, I usually carry my own personal pack: personal items, some biblical food — dates, fig-cakes, mixed nuts for protein, honey for energy — and no pack of mine is complete without vegemite. I consume it raw along the hikes. It is the purest form of Vitamin Bs and I need all the energy I can get when hiking these mountains.
By daybreak we set off. As usual I always put a point man, and I mostly bring up the rear with some of the older men. We were now 78 in our party — quite a number of people, ages mixed, from young children to men as matured as seventy.
Our first mountain was all downhill — from where we had just broken camp, we were on top of a mountain and the road we were taking was almost straight down. When you can stand one body length above the person in front of you, and they are only three feet in front, the grade is quite steep.
The pathway had just been cleared a few days ago so it was fresh, muddy, and very treacherous. Most of these people walk barefooted and can maintain better stability than most outsiders with professional hiking boots.
Eventually we managed to reach the bottom, where a large river snaked along and between the mountains now towering above us. For the next three hours we followed the river, and finally we came to a point where there was a half wire, half cane bridge constructed across the river. The base was no more than about three inches wide, V-spanned and held apart with bamboo so as to keep the bridge from closing in upon those walking across.
If one were to fall into these rivers, it is not likely — apart from a miracle — that one would ever live to tell the story.
Once on the other side we followed the river for about another hour, then the hike took a turn up the next mountain. We hiked for another three and a half hours up this mountain, and then as it topped off we arrived at our next stop.
There were a group of people in the middle of the jungles, miles from nowhere and no sign of development anywhere. This area already had another protestant church and a local pastor. They welcomed us and said we were free to conduct church services and seemed eager to hear what message this white missionary had brought.
I took the opportunity to preach on the history of John the Baptist.
It was late in the day and not much time for us to prepare for the evening. The rains come early and I had not even washed off the mud yet from our hike. It doesn’t take long when hiking in these jungles and living this life to figure out the challenge of why these Natives have the strong body odour which they do. Just hike for a day and think about what you would smell like, and if you didn’t bathe, and into the next day and the next, how would you smell?
For me, if I have the water — cold or hot — I am bathing. The meals were prepared and my meal of rice and tin fish never tasted so good. It had been a hard day and a challenging hike. I have now charted into new territory, entering this area for the first time.
There was a group of about seventy people — many who seldom come out of the bush, who are born, live, and die in their village deep in the jungles, unknown to the outside world and even to their own government, but not unknown to GOD.
Though it was early evening, it was late for me. After my meal and bath I settled in for the evening, as it would be another hard day tomorrow. I don’t remember falling asleep, turning, or waking up — but I do remember the morning coming far too quickly.
All packs were ready to go and assigned. The group had now grown to seventy-eight people. We start our hike with prayer and end the hike with prayer. If you ever come to PNG and hike these mountains, you will understand what I mean about specific prayer. There is nothing general about life here. The definitiveness of hazards and issues that change by the moment are all too real, so I have learned in my life to pray according to my environment.
Our lead man took point and set off at a brisk walk. I have worked out a system: we average about three miles an hour until we start ascending the mountains, and then the ground speed drops to about one and a half miles per hour.
After descending the first mountain we came to another river, crossed again on a cane bridge, and hiked along the river. This day our journey took us North West, and soon we left the river and started our ascent up our first mountain.
PNG has a three-tier rain forest. Even during the heat of the day, when the sun is in its strength, it is still shady and much cooler under the canopy. However, the humidity and tropical heat will still cause one to become dehydrated quickly.
As we completed the crossing of the first mountain and then down the backside, we came to our second mountain. We had already clocked in five and a half hours of hiking; we had one more mountain to go. We all took a small break and had some lunch — no fast food, just what you carry: sweet-potato is on the menu; I had my fig-cakes and dates, salt and mountain water. Not much can beat this in the bush, at least as far as I am concerned.
The last mountain seemed as though it reached to the top of the sky. It did top out at just over 8,300 ft elevation. The downside was again almost straight down.
We arrived that afternoon by two pm — just at eight hours’ hike.
To be continued…
In His Name,
Missionary Peter A. Halliman