John knew I was leaving within the next two or three days and also that I had never gotten to witness a "Sing-Sing."  "Sing-Sings" are colorful tribal ceremonies for matrimonies, harvest, or village events.  They were the main reason why tourists came to PNG. John mentioned during our soup that his village would like to put one on for me, but it would cost, as there were certain things "Sing-Sings" needed to be a good ceremony.  I wanted badly to see a "Sing-Sing" but not keen on paying to see one.  The cost was not money, however, but four live chickens and five beers.  The party was on.

John shook me early to get up.  It was a long walk to his village and we had to stop twice on the way to get the beer and the chickens.  At the beer house, I opted for six beers instead of five.  Just made more sense.  Then at the chicken house, I opted for five live birds instead of four. From there John, his friend, and I walked at a fast pace to reach his village by mid-morning.  Just before we reached the village John and his buddy insisted that I carry the beers and chickens into the village, so that I would be seen as a man of wealth.  I spent the next 10-15 minutes shaking hands.

Everybody other than the small children was busy with their ceremony clothes,  It took John and the rest of the men well over an hour just to prepare their headgear.  Then another hour on their face paint and then time to grease up their bodies with some sort of animal fat.  I just walked around and watched taking photo after photo.  All the men were semi-posing for the photos, whereas the women ignored me and continued with their preparation. 

Finally ready, the festival began with the song and dance.  Forming a semi-circle, they began by beating small drums.  Compared to my days of jitter-Buggin', it was quite tame.  The men tended to break out and showcase a few moves, then back into the circle.  Unfortunately, personal video cameras hadn't been invented yet. This continued for nearly two hours until the food was ready.  There wasn't a ton of food, but everyone got something to eat, which seems to be the norm in PNG.  Not much later, with his ceremonial dress removed, John mentioned we needed to get back to town well before dark.  I shook hands again with most of the men and John and I returned to Mt. Hagen.

Photographed in 1986.