Apr-Jul: I'll be in the South Pacific.
Who’s afraid of a telephone?
I guess before you go away to something new, you worry about the big things. That’s valid enough, I suppose. But in between the crises, it’s the little things that really stress you out.
Tonight, for example, the word came down from above: Call Peter and find out about the trip to the Ninigos.
Without going into too much detail tonight, the Ninigos are a group of tiny islands far to the north of New Guinea. We tried hard to get me there, on the plane with Peter and Nita, but doors closed one by one till we were left with only enormously expensive and utterly impractical alternatives.
Why was I trying to go? Well, you’re changing the subject on me, but the question’s fair enough. Beate, from Poland, and Theresa, from the UK, work in the Ninigos among the Seimat people. We plan to tell their story in an upcoming publication, and I wanted some pictures and on-the-ground experience to help me write it up.
Because that did not work out, we asked Peter and Nita to be sure and take some pictures. Trouble was, the couple arrived back from the islands today, and they’re leaving for the UK at 6:30 in the morning.
Someone has their pictures for us, but then came the directive: Talk to Peter tonight.
I like to talk to people. I’m usually fine with interviews. But this one almost gave me hives. The demon of rebellion began to stir. What would happen if I just didn’t call?
I tried to rationalize: The poor couple must be exhausted. They have to get up early. They’re trying to enjoy a final evening with Theresa and Beate. They don’t need interruptions, especially from people picking their brains for information.
Those were my more altruistic thoughts. Others included: I have no idea what to say. How am I supposed to ask an intelligent question when I don’t have any idea what’s going on? I am not going to call a stranger on the phone at 8 o’clock at night. No way. Cannot do it.
My attitude softened over half an hour, and I started trying to think what I might ask if I did decide to call. I jotted down the things I did know. Experience with Wycliffe. Theresa’s pastor.
Maybe I could do this. I found the number and dialed, hoping that no one was home.
“Hello.”
Gulp.
She put Peter on, and I started talking nervously, asking for a few moments of his time. I fumbled the few questions I had managed to think of, and I felt like a babbling — and completely unprofessional — idiot.
Thankfully, Peter kept talking in spite of me, and I gained courage as he went. I was very pleased, when near the end of our short conversation, he paused to think and said, “Good question.”
Maybe I’d redeemed myself.
But that’s exactly the problem. Self-consciousness. I don’t think anybody else in the world gave the incident a second thought. Why should it be a problem? It wasn’t. It was fine. I was doing my job, and Peter was happy to talk about his wonderful experience. It’s only in my own scrambled brain that everything’s a mess.
I’d like to think that I’m learning as I go. I’d like to think I learned something from tonight.
Maybe next time will be better. And maybe it won’t be over the phone.
categories papua new guinea
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