My pregnant wife’s health seemed to be getting worse. Extreme birth pangs had started three days ago and were becoming more intense.

In Papua New Guinea, even basic health and education facilities are rarely found in remote rural areas.

I was born after the independence in 1975. We had been told about the well-developed hospital services and white man’s stuff in Port Moresby but we saw no benefits for us.

My dad would say that only those with big money in a bank account lived in Port Moresby.

I had to endure the same hardships as my ancestors before me.  Now it was time to walk the path again.

Two days ago at three in the morning, our party set out on the trek, leaving Manu, our first born, with my parents in the village.

Apart from Serah and me, our party included her younger brother, Peter, my mother in-law, the councillor’s wife, Dorothy, and her son, Tommy.

When we left our village I had hoped in faith that, despite my wife’s condition, we would make Menyamya in good time and in good shape.

Before we departed I collected bamboo sticks and, with a strong blanket, made a stretcher for Serah.

I also put together a pack with some clothes, matches, food and water.

My mother in law and the councillor’s wife being smokers, I added some cigars and gathered some dried karuka (pandanus) leaves.

I had the responsibility of lighting fires with the pandanus leaves to give us light and heat in the dark hours.

It was very cold in the mountains but we were not given a choice.

We were forced to start the trip at an odd time of the day. There were no complaints. Nature was telling us to get moving and, despite the discomfort, we were all keen to take on this hardship for a new family member.

The councillor’s wife had walked the track many times with her husband and Menyamya kiaps and knew it well. She the lead and I walked behind her carrying burning karuka leaves to provide light.

Serah and my mother-in-law were behind us and Peter and Timothy were at the back, also carrying burning karuka leaves.

And so, fighting exhaustion, we walked through the early hours into the dawn.

The morning sun rose in a radiant red, casting light shadows on the mountains where the mist melted, its colourless vapour rising in a vanishing stream.

As we set off for another long day on the track, the mountains regained their colour and the morning birds sang and other creatures made their joyful sounds as they greeted the sun’s first light. We continued walking.

I threw off the burning karuka leaves and reduced my pace and checked on Serah and my mother in-law behind.

“Serah, are you OK?” I asked, concerned.

“Oh darling, I am exhausted by these hours of walking,” she responded, her voice weak.

“Be strong Serah, I’m by your side all the time,” my mother-in law said.

“I’ll ask Dorothy if it’s time for a rest,” I said to Serah.

I strode to Dorothy, , the councillor’s wife, the cigar in her mouth puffing smoke as she walked.

I desired the courage and strength of this woman; this strong, energetic woman. I owed her much.

“Dorothy, Serah needs rest,” I called to Dorothy. “Shall we rest?”

“Serah must be carried on the bamboo sticks and the cloth. It’s too far and we want her to give birth at the station’s clinic,” Dorothy responded.

“If she needs rest then let’s rest a little here.”

So we rested a little and continued, skirting a nearby village.

I prayed that we would make it to the station before the baby arrived.

We walked for 13 hours that day, keeping up with Dorothy’s pace, taking occasional short breaks as we were keen to reach our destination quickly.

Sometimes we met friends in villages near the track but we soon moved on. Bym now the terrain was more challenging and the mud thick and slippery.

We had to walk in a meandering pattern around steep cliffs and rock outcrops. We crossed rivers on wire and bamboo bridges.

We made a new stretcher for Serah from two strong bamboo sticks, a cloth wrapped around each. Serah was finding it difficult to walk at all so we spent more time carrying her. Her face showed she was constantly in deep pain.

 “Serah, are you alright? How are you feeling?” I asked.

“Jim, I’m not feeling well, I hope we make it to the station soon.”

It was now around three o’clock in the afternoon of the second day of our journey. It would take another hour to reach the next village which we believed had road access to Menyamya station.

“Serah, shall we take rest or reach the village and rest?” I asked.

“I hope we reach the hospital fast,” she moaned.

“Serah, it’s close now,” said my mother-in-law. “We are going to make it, my daughter.”

Dorothy smiled and rubbed Serah’s hand, saying, “The next village has a Lutheran church. I’ll talk to the pastor. He’s my husband’s brother so he can help us with a lift to the station.”

“Thanks very much, I had much help from you people along the way the last three days. I hope we make it,” Serah replied softly.

An hour later we reached the Lutheran parish church. We knew our harsh trek was about to end and we hoped as much as we arrived.

“Hello!” Dorothy called out as she waked across the church yard.

“Oh, hello aunty,” replied a little girl running out to meet Dorothy.

“Is that you Betty? Oh, you’ve grown big now!” Dorothy smiled as Betty hugged her.

“Aunty, see me, I am big now,” Betty smiled.

Now I remembered Manu back at home. He would be probably be sitting by the fire near my mother waiting for the food to cook. The family would be listening to my mother’s stories of how they smoked dead bodies in sacred caves up the mountain.

Manu always wanted those stories and my mother was now telling them those stories with a traditional lullaby as fog encircled sharp hills and forest in the twilight. Ha! My home for almost my entire life. I could still see my Manu’s similarities in little Betty.

“Oh, I’m happy for you and where are your daddy and mommy?” asked Dorothy.

“Mummy is inside the kitchen and daddy has gone to the station,” Betty replied, dragging on her aunt’s skirt.

As she was talking her mother came out smiling.

“I heard your conversation with Betty. Your brother has gone to Lae for the Lutheran 500-year anniversary and will be back next week,” she said.

She said she felt sorry for us and gave us food and water and encouraged us to stay a night in the church yard.

All my hopes started to leak away. I looked at Serah. Her body was pale from the long trip and deep down inside of me I felt so sorry for her. I hoped we might still be able to make it to the station in a vehicle tomorrow.

“Serah, darling, how are you feeling?”

“Not so well, Jim, the birth pain is increasing and I think I might gave birth anytime soon.” she whispered.

“Oh Serah, I hope you give birth at the hospital or a clinic,” I said slowly. “Oh God, if you are here, help us.”

As we were talking I heard the sound of a vehicle running along the main road. I saw its bright lights penetrate the darkness

It is the light of hope, I thought, as the vehicle came towards the church.

It was an open back cruiser that parked in the church yard. It carried two coffee bags on the tray and I thought the men were probably coffee buyers.

Two men were sitting inside the old mud-splattered cruiser.

Then I noticed Dorothy and my mother walking to the vehicle.

“Hello, good night,” Dorothy greeted the driver.

“Hello, goodnight,” the driver replied. “We’re coffee buyers. When we were buying coffee today we were told there’s a pregnant woman who needs help.”

“Oh, thank God, we’re here to see the pastor but he had gone to Lae and we are stranded,” said Dorothy.

“We have walked two nights and this is the third,” I added.

“Yeah, we heard the news just this afternoon from some young women along the way, and we thought we would help,” the young man with the driver smiled.

“Oh, my name is Michael, and my crew is Gabriel,” the driver said.

As we spoke, we heard Serah shouting and crying on her chair next to the pastor’s wife.

“Oh, oh, awaaah!” cried Serah. “I think it’s coming!”

The pastor’s wife held her tight and Dorothy and my mother in law rushed to her. They grabbed each of her arms as the pastor’s wife comforted her as she gave birth.

It took thirty minutes and finally Serah delivered the child.

It was a boy and I was so happy and delighted.

With the help of the pastor’s wife, we took Serah and the newborn boy to the station in the vehicle. It was a two hours’ drive.

But as we reached the station, my hopes were dashed.  

Serah breathed heavily, hugged me and the child, and died.

Her eyes turned pale and she was no more.  I was drowned in despair. I was not sure whom to blame in this fierce storm called life. I shed all my tears in pain.

I looked at the mist nestling against the cold mountains surrounding the station.

I grabbed Serah’s body in my arms and cried in deep agony s. My tears fell on her head and ran down her pale skin to the ground.

“Oh Serah, my darling, I had faith in you, you broke my heart!” I wailed.

But she could not hear my voice. My words were all in vain. Then I had no words. My vocabulary vanished and I ha was left with nothing to express my agony and pain.

My mother in law and Dorothy also cried and tried to comfort me but I could not be consoled. The councillor’s son and Serah’s brother joined in the mourning.

I cried more. I could not be stopped. Serah, you cut my heart deep.

I am nothing but a pale creature like my wife. All my strength drained so fast and my eyes were swollen as tears kept coming. My emotions were overwhelmed as I stared at my dead Serah in dark cold hours at Menyamya station.

I later found out that Serah’s death was due to cardio vascular arrest, blood loss and the agony spent on the road that we travelled.

But the child, who had been born, was alive and the pastor’s wife named him Benjamin.

The child was comforting but the wound left by Serah was so tangible that I could not forget in my walk of life on the earth.

Life is given by God and it is taken by God. All I had to do was nurse my wound until it become a scar that was tattooed into my heart.

I will never forget Serah and our tale of the long road in remote Menyamya of Papua New Guinea.