One with the Sepik

When Roland came talk to me I sensed a good idea had crossed his mind. “Buy an old canoe and paddle down.” As I explained him once more my congenital lack of balance had prevented me to do that so far he insisted, “Yes, I know, but two boys from the village also need transport, they’ll go with you”. A big smile grew on our faces. My host had helped me find the solution, I was finally going to complete my journey down Papua’s mighty Sepik River.
Early the next morning Jespha and Jude, my new travel companions, arrived with two canoes. The biggest available wasn’t big enough, so we would have to build a rafter. Under the dim light of the rising day, and despite my futile attempts to help, I saw the boys create poles and rope out of the riverside bush and bind the two canoes together, using the ancient knowledge of the Sepik to transform it all into our rafter. Before long we were ready. I again thanked Roland’s hospitality, and with one last look at the thatched roof houses of Tambanum we left the muddy banks of the Sepik.
The river pushed us down gently at the pace of its current, unveiling more of its beauty with each bend of its course. I looked in awe at the endless expanse of water that took us down, at the infinite green growing for miles on each side, at the blue sky laying just inches above our heads, populated with small clouds multiplied to infinity. I heard but the sound of the jungle, the gentle lapping of the water against the canoes, the rhythmic clapping of our paddling. We were one with the Sepik, we were free.
As I closed my eyes to sink it all in, I relived my journey once more. The first view of the Sepik as the sun put an end to a long day on the road. My unannounced arrival to the village of Korogo, welcomed by smiles and curiosity. The days learning from John the ways of the worry-free village life of the Sepik. The sun setting each day as I bathed on the river. The countless canoe rides as I made my way down. The smell of fire inside the sacred houses as I gazed at artifacts and learned about the culture of the crocodile men. The indescribable raw rhythm of the dances in Palembei, where painted warrior faces brought me back to a past memory of cannibalism. The many who said it was impossible. All those who welcomed me and helped find the ways to do it.
My eyes opened up again with a smile, and we continued paddling down, without haste, while I thought about the privilege of, for a few days, having been one with the mighty Sepik river.