Title: Gadanze (also known as Afimri)

A Reluctant War Bride?

When the Lutheran missionaries first arrived in Lae in the late 1800s, I was just a small girl. For safety, my mother Wadis, my older brother, and I lived near the mission station, seeking protection from a fearsome inland tribe known as the Leiwompa—reputed for their cannibalism.

One morning, with our food supplies running low, my mother decided we should return to our abandoned home and garden at Asiawe to harvest taro. My older brother accompanied us for protection. We crossed the Bumbu River and began digging in the garden when suddenly we were surrounded by warriors—men of the dreaded Leiwompa tribe.

A warrior dressed as a Chief gave a silent signal with his lips, urging us not to scream. Another warrior motioned for us to follow him. We obeyed, our hearts pounding with fear.

We walked the entire day, climbing the hills behind Lae, following a creek I knew eventually flowed back to the Bumbu River. After scaling a ridge, I saw the Markham Valley for the first time—vast and unfamiliar. We descended toward another, smaller creek beside which sat a village. Word of our arrival had already reached the women there, and they had prepared a singsing to welcome the Chief.

Three elderly women led the singsing, beating kundu drums and dancing. To my shock, they lifted the front of their grass skirts and exposed themselves to the Chief. I would later learn this was their traditional way of welcoming warriors back from tribal battles.

That night, the Chief’s wives fed us, and we were given a place to rest. I came to know that the Chief’s name was Nowang Gamun.

At dawn the next day, Chief Nowang signaled in broken Ariwstsa that we should follow the same warrior who had led us from Lae. His name was Oso, and he was from the inland village of Gabsongkeg.

Oso, an unmarried warrior, was instructed by the Chief to take my mother Wadis as his wife and to raise my brother and me in Gabsongkeg.

Years passed, and I grew into a young woman. Then one day, Chief Nowang Gamun returned to Gabsongkeg and took me with him to his village of Munum. I became his fourth wife.

In time, I bore him a son, whom he named Lisaia—after a trusted warrior from Gabensis village.

Life with Nowang was filled with tension and transition. He and his warriors once clashed with a government patrol traveling up the Markham River, accompanied by Labu warriors in canoes. Not long after, word came that missionaries had left gifts on a dry tree stump—signs of peace.

Then came the day we heard of a new arrival: a missionary in white robes and a man in a curious hat. I would later learn that they were Reverend Ortel and Professor Neuhaus, accompanied by my half-brother Wagang and black missionaries from the Bukaua congregation.

They came speaking of peace and something they called miti—the word in my language for Good News. A peace agreement was reached, and missionary work officially began in the Markham Valley.

But with baptism came changes. In 1915, in order to become a Christian, Nowang had to divorce me. I moved to Zansam and remained there until all his other wives passed away. Eventually, my son Lisaia and I returned to care for the Chief, who had become gravely ill. We took him to the Lutheran hospital at Salamaua in 1924, where he died and was buried in the mission cemetery. Lisaia and I returned to Munum.

Back in Munum, I was comforted to find that my adopted daughter Lilits had married Naog, Nowang Gamun’s most trusted lieutenant.

Lisaia grew into a fine man and married Bathsheba. In 1930, Lilits gave birth to a son named Babul, while Bathsheba had a son named Jonathan. We lived in Aomampo, near a Works Camp at Munum, and I spent my days joyfully caring for my grandchildren.

Then tragedy struck. In 1932, Naog passed away from a breathing ailment. Lilits, heavily pregnant with their second child, died during childbirth—perhaps from medical complications, but also from a broken heart.

We managed to save the baby boy and named him Yangkig, after one of Chief Nowang’s warrior friends from Gabsongkeg. Around the same time, Bathsheba gave birth to another son, whom we named Nowang in memory of his grandfather.

Bathsheba raised both Yangkig and Nowang as twin sons. Later, they became known by their other names: Saul and Gabmana.

And that is my story—how I, Gadanze, once known as Afimri, came to live the rest of my days in Munum village.

Gadanze lived and died in Munum.

Story narrated in the voice of Gadanze, written by Neko Babul.