CHAPTER 11 - TRIBAL WARFARE!

Dani war cries resound from a hill west of our bark house one morning as Ro and I are doing our homework. Looking out the upstairs window I see a band of men shouting to villagers below, defying them. The local Danis respond with loud cries which are picked up by other villages up and down valley—warnings of danger, calls to war. Each message ends with whoops that are like exclamation points. Men begin running in small bands north toward the airstrip, carrying bows and arrows, long spears, some wearing woven war jackets over their chests. The air is electric with tribal fervor!

Dad goes out to investigate and returns with Jimbitu, a friendly Dani chief who is bilingual. He wears the usual woven string headnet, with a pig tusk and feathers adorning it. Though his face is painted black, and a pig tusk through his nose looks fierce, his expression is benevolent. “The enemy has not come against you,” he assures us in Moni. “They are fighting the ones who took their land in Taganit’s war, with Damal and Dugwa tribes helping them.”

“I’m told,” Dad tells us later, “there have been three other skirmishes in the past two years, with over a hundred killed. They say there’s now about 120 of the enemy up toward the airstrip—the people here are uniting to fight them.”

“Will we be safe?” Mom asks anxiously.

“I think so,” Dad answers. He starts to load the shotgun he keeps on hand upstairs. “Just in case we need it,” he explains. But let’s all pray together!” Jimbitu leaves and a few of the Moni and Ekari assistants (from other valleys) gather round.

We bow our heads and one Moni begins to intercede fervently. “Oh God, we are your children. Help us, protect us! May the intruders be driven back, the fighting stop!”

“Yes, Lord, send angels to protect us,” someone adds. I agree quietly with the others. So much danger…but I love the excitement! Ro is quiet, observant.

We all go outside the bark house and watch more Dani warriors run toward the airstrip, shouting.

A couple of hours later a young fighter trudges into our yard, clearly in distress. His shoulder muscle is pierced through with a barbed arrow. “They are fighting in the forest,” he pants, “can you help me?”

Dad finds pliers and carefully pulls the jagged piece out while the man clenches his teeth, but makes no sound. “Dani warriors are so brave,” I think to myself. Mom applies antiseptic and bandages his shoulder carefully.

“Kayonak, kayonak,” the young Dani keeps repeating. “Thank you, thank you.” And he runs back to fight.

Later in the afternoon after rain, Dad decides to hike up toward the airstrip and see if he can help any wounded men. All the enemy have been pushed back, we hear—the danger is passed.

“Can I go too, Dad,” I ask hopefully.

He hesitates a moment, then says, “Sure!”

My tennis shoes squish on the muddy trail uphill as I scamper after Dad and another Dani. Scattered trees give way to low bushes on the higher plateau, all wet from the recent shower. White rhododendrons bob in the breeze. The sky is washed clean, the sun trying to break through low clouds. I turn around—the broad valley looks so peaceful with villages scattered across it, smoky mist rising from dark thatched roofs.

As we trudge through the bushes some Danis call to us from a nearby village. “An enemy is lying here. Come and see!” Crossing over to them we find a man lying face down outside the village fence. Danis stand near him, and some lean over the rough fence to watch his shallow breathing. I see that a spear has pierced his back, and he has many arrow wounds. He seems unconscious.

Dad leans over him and tries to comfort. “Nore,” he calls him, “Friend.” The Danis snicker. This man is not their friend. Dad puts his hand on the stricken man’s shoulder and prays sincerely for him in Dani. There is no response. I feel such sadness, sorrow.

We finally leave the dying man and trek north toward the airstrip where we meet a few warriors heading home—others are still fighting the scattered enemy in the high forest. These men are naked, Dad later tells me, because Danis take off their gourds when they go to war. I hadn’t noticed.

They discuss some bodies lying on the airstrip, and I wait alone while Dad goes to check on them. “Yes, they’re dead, all four,” he affirms when he returns. “No way to help them.”

“It’s so sad, Dad.”

“Yes, it really is, Marlene. We need to pray for their families, and for peace.”

“None of them knew the Lord,” I think. "So many tribal peoples live their lives sacrificing pigs to evil spirits for protection. And these men died that way—without knowing Jesus.”

We find out later that thirty-three of the enemy died in that skirmish, and two of our Ilaga Dani. The land they live in is defended. But thirty-five families suffer anguish because their loved one is gone, and they have no hope of ever seeing him again.

This is why we are in the Ilaga, I know. We are here so Danis can hear of Jesus and find eternal life. I love the Dani tribe…someday, I reflect, I will grow up to reach another tribe like them.