#42 - Phase 3 - Yam Island - The Hat Trick

The Hat trick.

Devoid of hats, or even tricky-ness for that matter , today marks day one of phase three for my Torres sojourn sans family.  I have done the packing and the good byes with my kin, and as this is the first post from this third adventure, I thought Id avoid the details of how that last few days, save to say that it has been some how easier to go this time.  The last two trips were for my own selfish reasons.  For me, my Saibai and Darnley trips were to touch real patients again.  But this trip has a whole new context.  Having made the family decision to leave Toowoomba till 2012, and experience the Torres as a family, this third trip is one that will cement what cultural, and clinical orientation I need, to enable me to be a leader for my family.

For Jo and the kids, the Torres will be an amazingly wonderful, but at the same time, scary and foreign experience.  They will look for me for some stability, and direction, and this last lone trip to Yam Island, should allow me more time, immersed in the culture of the region, to be that support to my bride and offspring.

Iama or Yam Island is located in the centre of the “Islands”. It is a coral cay half way between the tip of Cape York, and the southern shores of PNG’s Western province.  Whilst the common language is Torres Creole, and English, there exists a third ancient language called KLY (Kalaw Lagaw Ya).  I look forward to learning more about this.  I look forward to getting into the community as I have on Saibai in May, and Erub in June.  Something that I missed on my two previous trips is the legendary Island feasts.  I will be on Yam Island for the celebrations of 1^st August (next week) and so I look forward to blogging this.  I sit here in the airport again, TV in the corner, coffee on my table, and an add has just come on TV about the census on 9^th August.  It dawns on me that I will not be home in Meringandan West when the country takes that snap shot of the population.  I will be a Torres Strait resident and recorded as such for the rest of history.  It is kind of cool.

For now.  The boarding call has just been made.  I gaze over at the cattle lined up at Brisbane Airport Qantas gate 18, and ponder the next 2 hours sitting next to a person unknown, and wondering if I will be able to read my book or whether conversation will flow.  Will channel 6 (the comedy channel) be functioning, and will I hear the same old jokes, or will I watch mindless reruns of some inane sit-com, and chuckle along with the canned laughter.

Must away….a hat trick awaits.

OK…Here in Cairns, I am over, crying babies .   The flight, though devoid of any meaningful conversation, book reading or comedy channel listening, was pleasant enough, save for that screaming baby.  I was polite, I introduced myself, I nursed the baby when the mum wanted to get something out of her MummyBag.  I even suggested that she feed the baby during the descent to help the little darling with his ears. The final act of chivalry came when I wrote a word on the back of a serviette.  That word…”Demazin”

So here I am in Cairns.  My northward legs are tomorrow, so for now, Ill have a bite to eat, check out the night markets, and catch an early night.