“Oh crap.”

Not very eloquent, but it’s the first thing that popped into my head when I saw the twenty or thirty men standing by the road a hundred yards ahead of my vehicle. The sun was dipping close to the jagged mountains on my right and bouncing off the sea to my left. It was the last day of Brian’s survey trip and I was encouraged by how life had gone for the two of us left in town. We were both still alive, still happy, there was still a standing house, and we had even been moderately productive (Ray became a walker!). This was our first attempt at Brian going out to the bush for days at a time without us, and the success of it gave me a sense of calm ease. Of course it couldn’t end without something jarring my newfound confidence.

Before Brian left I was a ball of nerves about living life in town by myself. I didn’t want to drive, didn’t want to shop, didn’t want to be solely responsible for Ray every minute of every day. What if she choked on something? What if she needed to go to the hospital? What if someone tried to break in? What if things start breaking at the house? What if things broke at the dorm? What if I got a stomach bug? What if, what if, what if…??? I fill my life with unnecessary anxieties that are inflated when I feel vulnerable; Brian being out of touch in a PNG village certainly qualifies. We didn’t take the decision for him to leave lightly and I tried to delineate between the healthy fears and crazy fears before he left. I decided that driving was a crazy fear for me. Long ago I made the decision to never drive in this country because the culture of driving is so different from what I know, but that decision was logistically crippling us. I chose to face the anxiety head on to make our lives better and found out that the unspoken rules of the road here are exactly suited to the style of driving my mother prepared me for: offensive with lots of communication by horn. Being free of that constraining fear gave me the leverage to do much more, and the other fears were minimized in the knowledge that I could always get the two of us to help.

Brian wasn’t set to arrive back in town until late afternoon the day he returned. That being the case, I decided to go with Ray to a beachside resort about twenty minutes from the house on the North Coast Highway to meet with some dear friends. In the short span of time that Brian was absent, I drove this road many times to see these and other friends. It quickly became familiar to me with all its various curves and potholes, and I forgot that in PNG potholes, though huge, are not the only danger you face. After I arrived at the resort, happily chatting with my friends while we watched our kids play together, I got a text from Brian saying he heard there was an issue at one of the bridges between me and town. Some men were maybe throwing bushknives (machetes) at cars, or maybe not. The reports weren’t clear. Eventually he got new information that it was just a group of drunk men that were run off by locals, but as his car was driving right through that same area he would let me know if everything was clear. When his car went over the bridge, all was fine. He texted and said to come on, so off Ray and I went.

A portion of the North Coast Highway

I followed two other vehicles closely thinking that if something was still amiss I would be safer in a line of cars. I could see the bridge from far off and immediately noticed a police truck on the far side. The near side was blocked by a line of vehicles waiting to get across with a large cargo truck obstructing my view of the policemen. It wasn’t until we got a bit closer that I noticed the group of men milling around the jungle on the righthand side of the road. They all had bushknives, some wore shirts around their heads as makeshift masks, and none of them were happy. As we slowed to a stop my body betrayed me. I felt like my head was staying cool and calm, but my legs and hands were shaking uncontrollably. I tried not to think of all the stories I’ve heard over the years about raskols (young and listless men committing all manner of crimes) making trouble on the roads, but it was hard in the face of the angry and armed men. Their attention was not focused on any of the vehicles, but ahead at the bridge where the police were standing. I tried to think through where I would go if I got stuck on this side of the bridge and whether or not to bring attention to myself by turning around and driving away, but I just couldn’t make a decision. I was frozen.

That’s when I heard the sharp raps of gunfire at the bridge creating a ripple of emotion in the men. They went from calm and angry to agitated and angry. They moved into the road spilling between and around all the vehicles, but they still weren’t looking at any of us. Their eyes seemed glued to what I couldn’t see. As soon as I saw space, I turned the truck around and drove slowly away. If at all possible, I wanted to get across that bridge. As I crept along I kept my eyes in the rearview mirror to see if the stopped cars would make it. They were moving, so I made yet another U-turn and sped back hoping to slide in behind the last vehicle. Before I could get back, all the cars were across and the men were in the road, in my way. I prayed, increased my speed, and hoped they had similar prejudices to men in the States in regards to female drivers; a prejudice that would encourage them to get out of my way. They did.

I still don’t know what happened out there to cause the conflict. There have been deaths in that area and the best theory I have is that two groups were “sorting out” a death. Since I wasn’t part of either group, I was white noise to them and so never in any real danger. The gunfire was most likely from the police firing their guns into the air as a warning. It was my first experience with this type of incident on PNG roads and, though frightening, only bolstered my contentedness at being here. God protected us and will continue to do so in His way. That doesn’t mean we won’t get hurt or sick or scared. It means He will strengthen us when we face the frightening and allow us to keep living the life He ordered for us. No matter what.