My eyes jerked open when the truck slammed into another pothole. At some point in the trip the hot sun, bumpy road, and silent passengers had worked their magic and I was close to sleep. Ray and Willa were strapped in their seats, quiet with the same drowsiness that almost took me. We were heading out to the village to see our family for Christmas. Three of them had come into town to shop, and were now making their way back to their village with us. So much time passed since our last visit. Our dream of going to Yall and being with our family for weekends here and there was cast aside when life slammed us in the face a year and a half ago. Now when we have a weekend free, we cave in on ourselves blocking out the world. Certainly sleeping in a bush house, fighting giant spiders, and washing in a creek don’t make the to-do list. But we’re going on furlough soon, and we wanted to take our Christmas presents out. So out we went.

As soon as Mama Maria showed up at the office, Ray was put off. Mama was demanding and loud. Ray rejected those things. Mama tried harder. Ray rejected more fervently. Great. This was going to be great. Fortunately Willa bounced from one lap to another, happy to have these people appreciate her everything. We poked around town first, waiting for this person or that person, eventually heading out with no new person. Just the original three. Mama sat in the back with her daughter while Papa Steven settled in next to Ray. When we hit that pothole Ray woke up too. She strained her neck to see over to her right side, and there was Willa sleeping. Check. She slowly rotated to see on her left side, and there was Papa. Check. He’s everything Mama isn’t. Quiet, gentle, laid back. I could see her relax in the mirror. She started talking to him and didn’t stop until we pulled into the village 30 minutes later. He would respond in Pidgin with random, unconnected statements that had nothing to do with her topic. She would listen intently, then come right back to her original point… or something remotely related to her original point. Neither understood the other, but I resisted my mom impulse to translate her 3 year old speech patterns for Papa. They were getting nowhere, but nowhere was fine by them.

The afternoon was hot, but it could have been hotter. We watched Willa man-handle a chicken. We saw Ray run here and there with a pack of kids in tow. We balanced allowing them freedom to be friends and make friends with following them and peeking around coconut palms to make sure all was well. After quietly passing out gifts, we ate some buttered corn and boiled sweet potato. I realized how out of practice I’ve become with village life. I choked down the food, swallowed some symbolic gulps out of a young coconut, and tried to look pleased. Life in town is a challenge. I’m not “good” at it yet. I may never be “good” at it. I make mistakes relating to our teammates, I make mistakes in how I support Brian, and I certainly flail some days trying to be Ray and Willa’s mom. But in town I can make macaroni and cheese. I can drink clean water. I can sit in my living room and not need to dust off my whole body before relocating to bed. I’ve officially lost my village edge.

I silently watched Ray fly around the open area driving three panicked pigs ahead. All of them outweighed her, but she was ferocious. She learned a few months ago when she went with Daddy on their “adventure” to Tiap that pigs eat things she likes (baby chicks, kittens, anything smaller than them). They are evil and should be banished from her presence and the presence of this weak puppy here at my feet. “GO AWAY!!!!” she yelled as she ran, delighting the entire group of villagers that came out to see her. This show was worth the day of work being missed out in the garden. I saw Brian scramble off toward the truck, but didn’t pay much attention. When he came back the pigs had run into the jungle, safe from Ray’s vengeance. He sighed as he sat, probably judging whether he should tell me what had been done.

The lights on the truck were on, and had been since morning. He went on an early run to the airport, and forgot to turn them off. We silently prayed the battery would be fine, and tried to put it out of our minds. All I could think was, “Why did I leave my thyroid medication at home?!?” The flitting thought that we could get stuck in the village had crossed my mind because, well, we live in PNG. But I chose to ignore the thought and trust we would be back home in the evening. Why did I do that?!?!

When we did finally climb back in the truck with the obligatory group of assorted friends and strangers hopping in the back for a free ride to town, Brian turned the engine over and prayed under his breath. Nothing. I felt panic rising, but anything can happen here. Dead batteries in the middle of nowhere? They can fix that.

Our family’s hamlet is off the logging road. We go down a track onto a “driveway” that’s just a wide space cut out of the jungle. Everyone pushed the car down to a straightaway and with zero concern said they could push start it. We tried. Nothing. They rolled it back. Tried again. Nothing. They rolled it back. Tried again. Nothing. They rolled it back. Sweat was pouring now, and I was praying hard while trying to smile and laugh for Ray. A man we’ve never seen before poked his head in and asked Brian if he could drive. I have no idea what he did, but it wasn’t the same thing Brian was doing. It started up immediately, and off we went praising God. In the end Ray and Willa had no idea what was going on, but enjoyed watching all those people push the car around!

Not even five minutes down the logging road we ran into one of the PMV trucks coming back from town. It was filled to overflowing with sweaty, tired people. The road is barely big enough for one car, let alone a truck and a bigger truck. We pulled as far to the left as we could avoiding a drop on the side while the PMV did the same thing, colliding its passengers with the jungle foliage. We know the driver of that PMV, so he stopped next to us to yell. This man never ever talks. He only yells. When you’re sitting right next to him in the cab? Yelling. Brian was shaking hands and getting bombarded with this man’s pleasantries when we heard drunken yelling. It sounded close and my gut clenched immediately. There was barely space between our truck and the PMV for the man to squeeze through, but that’s just what he did. We first saw him when he came around the back side of the PMV staring us down and yelling nonsensically. His eyes were rolling and unfocused, so we couldn’t actually tell if he was angry at us or at one of our passengers in the back. We didn’t feel unsafe with so many people around, but before he was too close to the car we had all four windows rolled back up. As he stumbled by, yelling all the time, he punched the truck with a stone. Passengers from the PMV jumped out to restrain him, so he lunged and threw the rock with all his might, hitting and scratching Willa’s window (she thought it was hilarious). I told Brian, calmly I do believe, to drive away quickly. We did, but the road doesn’t exactly allow for great speeds. The man ran after us, easily staying close when the men from the PMV caught up and restrained him until we were gone.

All the way home we wrestled with the idea of demanding compensation for our window, which would have been culturally appropriate though a little sketchy given the lack of serious injury to person or property. He was clearly not in his right mind and all we had was a tiny scuff mark. Our family and friends would be put in a tough position if we escalated the conflict. That evening we talked to Mama on the phone telling her we didn’t want to respond because he didn’t actually do any damage. We’re praying for that community and our family as they try to fight the rise in drunkenness and tomfoolery. Right now we feel powerless to help, but we pray.

Walking into our comfortable town home was a relief, but it was also a relief to go out there and be in PNG again. It may sound strange, but through keeping my child safe from the evil pigs she was determined to make her enemy, dead car batteries, and drunken idiocy, this village visit hardened the soft in all the right ways.