There’s something deeply special about returning to the place where your roots are planted. My recent trip back to Inuma Village in Papua New Guinea was not just about traveling—it was about reconnecting with my family, my culture, and the simple, meaningful way of life that continues to thrive in the village.
Preparing for the Journey
In the days leading up to my trip, I found myself both excited and emotional. Packing for the village isn’t just about clothes—it’s about gathering things that will bring joy and comfort to family. Small items quickly filled my suitcase. I made sure to include some extras for my mum—little things I knew she would appreciate. Preparing these gifts made me feel connected to her even before I set foot on the plane.
📸 Packing suitcase with gifts and supplies, laid out neatly.
✨ “Every bag tells a story. Packing clothes and small gifts—a tradition of love and respect when returning home to Inuma Village. ❤️ #JourneyHome #VillageLife”
The Flight from Cairns to Port Moresby
The journey began with my flight from Cairns to Port Moresby, a short hop across the Coral Sea that always feels much longer in my heart. At the airport in Cairns, I checked in at the Air Niugini counter, where familiar accents and friendly faces already made me feel closer to home. Like many travelers flying to Papua New Guinea, I knew to expect the unpredictable—sometimes flights are delayed without notice, other times boarding happens quickly. That unpredictability is almost part of the experience itself, a reminder that patience is essential when traveling to and from PNG.
Once through customs and security, I found myself waiting at the departure gate, excitement and a touch of nervousness building inside me. Boarding the aircraft, I felt that familiar sense of transition—the moment when one foot is still in Australia, and the other is about to step back into Papua New Guinea.
The cabin was filled with a mix of passengers: families returning home, business travelers, and people like me carrying gifts and supplies for loved ones. The Air Niugini crew greeted us warmly, their uniforms and accents instantly reminding me of the hospitality of home.
As the plane took off, I gazed out the window, watching Cairns and the coastline disappear beneath us. During the flight, the cabin crew moved down the aisle, serving light refreshments – a drink and a small snack, the simple comforts that help pass the time in the air. The flight was surprisingly smooth, no turbulence, no sudden jolts – just steady sailing above the endless blue of the Coral Sea.
I couldn’t help but drift into memories—of past journeys, of homecomings, of the faces waiting for me in the village. The hum of the engines, the chatter of passengers, and the occasional announcement from the crew became background noise to my daydreams.
Within an hour and a half, the captain’s voice came through the speakers, announcing our descent into Port Moresby. My heart lifted as I leaned toward the window, looking down at the coastline below. The turquoise waters met the rugged hills, and the city of Port Moresby stretched out along the shore, glowing in the tropical sun. From the air, it looked like a paradise – calm, peaceful, inviting, and welcoming, a place that seemed worlds away from the bustling streets and challenges waiting below. In that moment, it was a reminder that I was about to step back onto familiar soil.
As we began our descent, the first glimpse of Papua New Guinea came into view. The Coral Sea shimmered beneath us, and soon the rugged coastline and green mountains of Port Moresby appeared. My heart swelled with anticipation. No matter how many times I make this journey, the moment before landing is always the same—an overwhelming mix of joy, excitement, and the deep comfort of knowing I am finally home.
📸 View from the plane window over the Coral Sea
🌊 “Crossing the Coral Sea, my heart races with anticipation. Each flight feels like the first—full of memories and longing. ✈️ #AirNiugini #ComingHome”
Arrival at Jacksons International Airport
Stepping off the plane at Jacksons International Airport was like breathing in familiarity. The cabin doors opened, and instead of walking through a covered airbridge as in most airports, we stepped directly onto the tarmac. The wave of humid Port Moresby air instantly wrapped around me—a mix of heat, the faint smell of jet fuel, and the tropical atmosphere that I had longed for.
As I walked down the stairs and onto the open runway, the sound of footsteps mingled with the chatter of fellow passengers. People were already switching to Tok Pisin, their voices carrying that warm, familiar rhythm I had missed. The sight of airport ground staff in their reflective vests, guiding us toward the terminal, was another small reminder that I was truly back in Papua New Guinea.
Looking around, I caught glimpses of the rugged hills surrounding Port Moresby in the distance, their green slopes standing tall against the sky. For me, that moment always feels grounding—like a gentle embrace from the land itself. No matter how long I’ve been away, stepping onto PNG soil fills me with a mix of excitement, belonging, and gratitude.
The walk to the arrivals hall felt long, and once inside, the pace slowed to a crawl. Customs at Jacksons is never quick and is always a test of patience — lines move slowly, documents are checked carefully, and everyone waits their turn in the thick, humid air. The anticipation of finally stepping out into the arrivals hall. But for a moment, gazing out of the that airplane window, all I could think was: I was home again.
At last, after what felt like an eternity, I cleared immigration and stepped out into the arrivals area. And there they were — my family, waiting with wide smiles and open arms. The fatigue of travel disappeared away instantly the moment I saw them.
📸 Arrival at Jacksons International Airport.
Shopping Before heading to the Village
Before heading out to the village, I stopped in Port Moresby to shop for supplies. It’s something I’ve always considered a tradition—an unspoken duty that carries both practical and cultural meaning. No one goes home to the village empty-handed.
I wandered through the busy shops and trade stores, picking up the essentials: bags of rice, cartons of tinned fish, packets of sugar, flour, tea, and instant noodles. I added cooking oil, salt, and biscuits for the children, along with soap and laundry powder—items that are always in demand. The aisles were crowded with other travelers doing the same, their baskets filled with goods destined for families waiting in villages scattered across the country.
As I loaded each item into my trolley, I thought about my mum. I imagined her smile when she saw the rice stacked in the corner of the house or when we’d share a meal made from the tins of fish I carried. These were not luxuries but daily necessities that would ease her work and bring comfort. Carrying them felt like carrying love itself—a tangible way of saying thank you, of showing appreciation to the people who had been waiting patiently for my return.
The shopping trip also stirred a sense of responsibility. I wasn’t just buying for myself; I was buying for my family and, in some ways, for the wider community. In villages, sharing is part of the culture, and what you bring home is never kept to yourself. Knowing this made every bag of rice and packet of tea more meaningful, because I understood it would eventually be part of a meal or a gathering that brought people together.
When my shopping was done, I looked at the bulging bags and boxes waiting to be packed for the road trip. To anyone else, they might just look like groceries, but to me, they were symbols of care, gratitude, and reconnection.
📸 Shopping bags and groceries.
🛒 “It’s tradition—no one returns to the village empty-handed. Rice, fish, sugar, and tea: supplies that mean love, care, and connection. 🌾🐟 #PNGTradition #FamilyFirst”
The Road to Inuma Village
The road to Inuma Village in the Central Province is long, winding, and not always easy, but to me, every bump and turn felt like part of the adventure. What some might see as rough and uncomfortable, I saw as familiar and welcoming. The vehicle swayed from side to side as it dodged and dipped into potholes that seemed to appear every few metres, each jolt reminding me that I was drawing closer to home.
The journey carried me past rolling green hills, flowing rivers glistening under the sun, and stretches of untouched forest. The air felt fresher, the scenery raw and alive, reminding me of how beautiful Papua New Guinea is when you leave the city behind.
Along the way, dust rose in the air, clinging to our clothes and skin. Despite the discomfort, there’s something undeniably special about this drive. Every now and then, we passed through small villages each had their own rhythm of life. People waved as our vehicle rumbled past—children with wide smiles, women returning from their gardens with fresh produce tucked neatly in their bilums slung across their foreheads, and men carrying firewood or bush knives, heading back from their daily work. Some villagers simply stood by the roadside, resting from their walk, while others called out greetings as we went by.
Life along the roadside moved at its own pace, untouched by the rush of the city. Each scene was a reminder of home, of the land I come from.
At times, I found myself smiling for no reason other than the familiarity of it all—the smell of smoke from cooking fires drifting through the air, the sight of chickens darting across the road, the laughter of children playing barefoot. These everyday moments painted a vivid picture of village life, one I had missed deeply.
Though the road was rough and tiring, each kilometre was layered with memories and anticipation. With every sway of the vehicle, I felt the pull of home grow stronger, knowing that at the end of this road was Inuma, my family, and the life I had been longing to return to.
📸 View of the bumpy road.
🚙 “The road to Inuma is long and rough, but every bump is part of the adventure. Waving children, women with bilums, men returning from gardens—this is the heartbeat of PNG. #VillageJourney #CentralProvince”
Arrival at Inuma Village
After nearly three hours of bumping, swaying, tired and almost covered in dust, we finally arrived at Inuma Village. The air felt different — cleaner, quieter, filled with the scent of earth and firewood smoke. This is the moment I had been waiting for finally arrived. The vehicle turned off the main track and onto the familiar path that led into Inuma Village. My heart raced as the landscape shifted—the gardens I remembered, the clusters of houses, and the familiar sight of coconut and banana trees swaying gently in the breeze.
Children were the first to spot us. They came running barefoot along the roadside, waving and calling out excitedly, their laughter echoing through the air. Word spread quickly, and soon more villagers began to gather, smiling, waving, and calling out greetings as the vehicle rolled closer to my family home.
Then came the moment that mattered most. The moment I stepped out of the vehicle, all the discomfort of the journey faded. It was emotional. Waiting for me at the entrance of the house were the two people I longed to see most – my fragile, aging mother and my older sister, who has Down Syndrome. My mother’s fragile figure, though weakened with age, stood tall with dignity, and her arms reaching to embrace me as tears welled in her eyes. She embraced me tightly. It was a hug filled with love, relief, and joy. No matter how far I had traveled or how many years had passed, that single moment of reunion always felt like time had stood still.
My sister’s innocent smile lit up her face and broke into pure joy as she wrapped her arms tightly around me. In that instant, the long flight, the heat, the bumpy road, the fatigue — all of it disappeared. I was home, embraced by love, grounded once again in the cultural way of life that will always be part of me.
Around us, relatives and neighbors gathered to shake hands, exchange words of welcome, and help carry the bags and supplies I had brought. Laughter, chatter, and the sounds of the village filled the air, making me feel instantly at home. The long journey, the potholes, and the swaying ride were all forgotten the moment I stepped onto the soil of Inuma.
Standing there, surrounded by family and familiar faces, I knew I had truly arrived—not just in the physical sense, but emotionally and spiritually. This was home, and I was ready to embrace the village life once more.
📸 Spending time with mum, having vegetable soup and great& grand children
❤️ “No words needed. The embrace of my mum makes the whole journey worthwhile. #FamilyLove #BackToInuma”
Enjoying the Village Lifestyle
My days in the village were simple, yet deeply rewarding. The pace of life slowed, and I found myself savoring every small moment. Each morning, I woke to the sound of roosters crowing and the smell of smoke drifting from nearby kitchens where families were already preparing food. The first thing I always looked forward to was sitting with my mum—listening to her stories, sharing updates about life away, and just enjoying the comfort of being in her presence. Helping her with daily tasks, whether it was tending the garden or preparing meals, felt less like work and more like a gift of time together.
At times, I joined the children for a walk down to the river. Their laughter filled the air as we splashed about, diving under to catch shrimps hiding among the rocks. Other afternoons were spent with my cousins, sitting in the shade of fruit trees, swapping stories and jokes that made the hours slip by. Trips to the garden were part of the routine too—collecting kaukau, taro, or bananas, and returning home with bilums heavy with fresh produce.
There were also moments of pure stillness. Sometimes I simply lazed around the house, lying on a mat, listening to the rustle of leaves in the breeze or the distant chatter of villagers going about their day. It was peaceful, grounding, and worlds apart from the rush of city life.
But evenings—those were my favorite. As the sun dipped behind the hills, families gathered around the fire. Flames crackled, food simmered in clay pots, and conversations flowed easily. We shared laughter, memories, and plans for tomorrow, all under a blanket of stars so bright it felt like the sky had opened just for us. The quiet of the night, broken only by the chorus of insects, made those moments feel sacred.
It was in these simple acts—swimming in the river, working the garden, telling stories, and sitting by the fire—that I was reminded why the village will always be home. The togetherness, the belonging, and the deep cultural rhythm that underpins daily life gave me a sense of peace I carry long after leaving.
📸 Children swimming in the river.
💦 “River swims, shrimps, laughter, and stories with cousins. The simple joys of village life are the memories I treasure most. #VillageLife #InumaAdventures”
📸 By the river gathering
🔥 “Cooking prawns by the fire on the river bank. Laughter, stories, and togetherness—this is home. #CulturalWayOfLife #Belonging”
Reflection on My Journey
As my time in Inuma drew to an end, I found myself quietly reflecting on all that I had experienced. The long road from Cairns to Port Moresby, the bumpy ride into the village, the warm welcome of my mum, and the simple yet meaningful days spent in the heart of family and community—all of it reminded me of who I am and where I come from.
Life in the village is not without its challenges, but it is rich in ways that cannot be measured—through love, connection, and the cultural values that shape us. What once felt like everyday routine when I lived there now feels precious. Every story told by my mum, every shared meal, every laugh around the fire became a memory I will carry with me.
Leaving Inuma is never easy, but I returned with a renewed sense of gratitude and belonging. No matter how far I travel or how different life may be abroad, the village will always be my anchor. It is home in the truest sense—a place where time slows, where family is everything, and where I am reminded of what truly matters.
The heartfelt journey home to Inuma was more than a trip. It was a reconnection, a reminder, and a return to the cultural way of life that will forever live in me.
📸 Sunset over Inuma
🌅 “The village will always be my anchor. A place of love, connection, and culture. No matter how far I travel, Inuma will always be home. #HeartfeltJourney #PNGHome”
Coming up in the Next Blog to Post: ” My Time in Port Moresby City, One of the 10th most dangerous and unsafe cities in the world“