Not Afraid

When I had first investigated into the culture and beliefs of the Hewa tribal people of PNG back in 2001, I discovered they never built their huts on river bottoms or even on flat ground that had a nearby creek or marsh. They believed the lowlands and river beds were where the deceptive and evil female spirits roamed. If someone left the safety of the ridge tops to hunt in the flat grounds, they never went alone feeling they were less vulnerable to the spirit realm when they were in groups. They were also sure to bring a dog because they felt the dogs could sense the presence of spirits and would bark to scare them away. There were many stories of unexpected deaths that confirmed their dread of the spirits of the lowlands. The ancestors told stories of how some men had stumble across what appeared to be normal women in those kinds of places, only to get eaten after they let their guard down. There were even stories of men who encountered huge pigs, and then become entranced by a spell when the pigs turned into what they thought were lovely women. If they stayed to talk, their doom was certain. One day in 2016 when I was talking with a village friend he mentioned a huge white rock in the Yif River bed that I had not yet seen. “Our ancestors never walked past that place,” he said. “When I was young the men told me that if I ever got close I would get eaten.” That caught my attention and I started looking for an opportunity to hike that direction. Later when friends came from town to visit my co-worker, John, and I, we decided to hike there together with a few village believers. When we arrived at the river’s edge and saw the huge bolder on the other side of the water, the young man named Fauwa was eager to tell us the story. His father, Watofo, had been a witch doctor of renown until his death in 2006. “We never came to this area,” Fauwa said. “My dad told everyone to avoid this place for fear of our lives. He said there were many evil female spirits that lived inside the rock, and they would come out through holes and eat us if they had the chance.” As he was talking, I noticed two holes on the side of the boulder. The animated way Fauwa told the story made it easy to envision a witch doctor talking to his son in a low voice, warning him to avoid a disastrous end. His words would have struck deep dread in all those who heard him. “If for some reason we had to come through this valley,” Fauwa continued, “my dad said to hold my bow with an arrow ready to shoot, like this.” He put an arrow to the bamboo string on his bow and drew it half way, and then speaking in a hushed tone he crouched low as if sneaking through the tall weeds of the river bed, his eyes sweeping this way and that to detect hidden catastrophe. “When my dad said things like that I got scared, and made up my mind never to come down here.” But then, Fauwa’s manner suddenly changed and he stood tall. “I’m not afraid anymore, and I’ll show you,” he said as he dropped his bow and arrows and spun to jump into the water. The current was strong but he made his way across and climbed up the bank on the far side. He quickly jumped up on big rock and waved his arms in excitement. “I’m not afraid anymore.” Thank you Lord for the way you are rescuing these precious people from their fear of the enemy and his lies. Thank you for drawing them to yourself and setting them securely on the solid foundation of Your truth.