Christmas in Siomoromoro
by Nancy Sullivan

There is a beautiful little Anglican church in Siomoromoro, just outside Goroka. I attended a special Mass there this Christmas, given by Father Graham Bradshaw. A village of maybe one hundred people, there are something like forty kids in Siomoromoro, and for each one of them, Father Graham had brought a Christmas toy. Ukelele, soccer ball, plastic car, Barbie purse, teddy bear, puzzle, book, doll, coloured pens, paddleball. Each child received something, thanks to Father Graham and his former parishioners in England. Months ago, Father Graham had asked his previous parish to hold their normal Christmas toy drive early this year. This time the parish sent their toys to Father Graham at St. Francis' Anglican Church in Goroka, where they arrived in late November. Father Graham then sorted through the hundreds of toys, each one donated by some child in England for a kid in Goroka. He assembled a piles of toys for each of his Siane village churches, matching one toy to a name, according to age and sex, by the lists his parishioners had provided.

To the credit of David, the prominent Siomoromoro man who had provided the list for his village, no one was left out on Christmas morning. When the Father finished his service he turned to the kids crowding the front pews in this tiny church and informed them that he was about to share with them a Christmas custom from his place. Reading from David's list, he called out, "Simon?" A young lad of five or six stood up from the front row and, eyes bulging, shuffled forward. He must have thought he was being called to religious service. Until Father Graham pulled from a box a large green army tank tagged with Simon's name, and handed it to him. Dumbfounded, he immediately fled with his gift to the bright noonday sun. And so it went. Each child more and more eagerly wringing hands and squeezing each other's shoulders before bounding forward for his or her gift. If the older ones understood their good luck, the little ones remained slightly dazed throughout. Certainly none had ever had a toy before. Little boys embraced their football or fire engine tentatively, embarrassed by its size, before spinning on their heels and dashing out to examine it. Little girls stood calm and awestruck as Father Graham lay the strap of a bright vinyl bag across their shoulder, or handed them a furry monkey almost half their size. One six or seven year old boy beamed politely as he received his gift, saying, "Thank you Father, thank you, thank you," as if in behalf of them all. Helping hand out the toys, I'd laugh along with Father Graham and some of the parishioners as the kids one by one dashed up, heads bent, sometimes forgetting to smile in their haste to get out and see what they'd gotten. The whole church quickly grew giddy with the event.

These toys were all of different sizes, differing value and appeal--but not one child balked at his or her bounty, asking for another or for what their friend may have received. If they weren't all as gracious as the one boy, they were obviously, speechlessly, thrilled. Afterwards, delighted parents tested the wheels, pulled strings and rotated limbs before handing them back to the kids, although a few taking possession of the infant rattles and music boxes. But most kids were still clutching their gifts an hour after the service, as we walked through the village and looked over its drought-stricken gardens. One little boy had been given four matchbox cars in a manila envelope, which he might have had to have pried from his fist later on. Another stood in the doorway of his house admiring his foot-long silver police car with adjustable doors and mirrors. "Subim!" we called out. "Putim long graun na subim!" He shook his head, appalled at the suggestion. "Nogat! Bai dirti!"

Eventually we headed back up the dirt track and onto the Kama road back to town. This road passes through gently rolling hills and scattered villages, providing one of the most beautiful views of the mountains southwest of Goroka. Father Graham had had the forethought to bring an extra box of toys for the trip. Whenever he spotted two or three kids by the roadside, he'd stop the vehicle, call them over, and with a grin suppressing laughter, he'd drop a small plane, a few rubber balls or a doll into their hands. "Merry Christmas!" he'd bellow, and the kids would yell, "Thank you father!" in his wake. Not far from Goroka, we were down to two or three toys in the box. A young girl, maybe twelve years old, was walking along the road in the opposite direction. Father Graham stopped the vehicle as she approached, and reached into the box for a brightly coloured toy cell phone. He leaned out the window and pretended to be answering its ring as the girl walked by. "Scuse!" he called out. "Nem bilong yu wanem?" "Nem bilong mi Marta," she answered politely. Father Graham spoke into the phone, "Em nau, emi stap," he said, then turned to the lass, saying "Imas telepon call bilong yu Marta!" and he reached out and handed her the phone. "Helo?" she asked, playing along. "Merry Christmas Marta!" we both sang out, and she laughed back, saying "Tenkyu Father" as we waved and pulled away, both of us feeling like Father and Mrs. Claus in our battered four-wheel drive sled.