Preferred Citation: Healey, Christopher. Maring Hunters and Traders: Production and Exchange in the Papua New Guinea Highlands. Berkeley:  University of California Press,  c1990 1990. http://ark.cdlib.org/ark:/13030/ft2k4004h3/

Maring Hunters And Traders Production and Exchange in the Papua New Guinea Highlands Christopher Healey UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESS Berkeley · Los Angeles · Oxford © 1990 The Regents of the University of California

Preferred Citation: Healey, Christopher. Maring Hunters and Traders: Production and Exchange in the Papua New Guinea Highlands. Berkeley:  University of California Press,  c1990 1990. http://ark.cdlib.org/ark:/13030/ft2k4004h3/

In memory of Ralph Bulmer, scholar, teacher, and friend

Preface

The Maring are well known in anthropological literature, principally from Roy A. Rappaport's seminal Pigs for the Ancestors (1968). Until recently much of the considerable research among the Maring has taken an ecological approach, concentrating on subsistence agriculture and adaptation to the environment. Although I maintain this ecological orientation, I turn my attention to the exploitation of nonsubsistence, nondomesticated resources. In particular, I focus on the extraction of forest products, especially the hunting of birds killed for their decorative plumes, and on the organization of trade. Forest products have long been the only resource locally available to the Maring which are in high demand elsewhere in the highlands. It is through the production of plumes and other forest goods and their exchange that the Maring are able to provision themselves with other items that are important in prestations of social reproduction but are not locally available. Notable among these latter goods are marine shells and steel tools, which were still widely used in prestations into the late 1970s, along with cash and pigs. Although the latter are, of course, locally bred, significant numbers are also acquired in trade. Geographic patterns of trade and the nature of goods passed in transactions have, however, changed considerably over the last six decades. Many of these changes predated direct contact with the colonial authority. Others have come more recently as the state and the cash economy have increased their institutional pene-

tration of the Maring region. A major objective of this book is to document and analyze the changing nature of trade.

I argue that in the heyday of Maring trade from the period immediately preceding contact until the late 1970s, it was the passage of forest products that gave a dominating structure to the pattern of trading networks. This was a consequence of a combination of ecological and cultural factors. First, the significant deforestation of much of the central highlands means that many valuable plume-bearing birds—notably birds of paradise, parrots, and hawks—and other forest products, are to be found mainly in the more heavily forested regions of the highland fringes. Here, human settlement is generally sparser, affording hunters easier access to the bounty of the forests. In passing, it should be noted that this ecological situation is significantly influenced by past and continuing human action—the clearing of forest for gardens and, more recently, for timber and to make way for smallholder cash crops and larger-scale plantations and the like. As a consequence, game is increasingly confined to relict stands of mountain forest where it becomes ever more vulnerable to further disturbance of habitat and pressure from hunting.

Second, one finds a high cultural value assigned to bird plumes, marsupial pelts, cassowaries, and other forest products in a number of central-highlands cultures, notably the Simbu, Kuma, and Melpa. Here, such goods are important as items of decoration on ceremonial occasions and also for use in prestations. This high demand for forest products, coupled with a lack of their local availability—at least in sufficient quantities—sets up conditions for the emergence of networks of supply connecting more peripheral areas of the highlands to centers of consumption. The organization of Maring trade must be understood by looking at trade in its regional rather than more narrow or local context.

These broad ecological and cultural parameters are obvious dominating forces on the structure of trade networks. Nonetheless, a fuller understanding of trade also requires a detailed analysis of the ecological and sociocultural organization of trade at the local level. Typically, the Melanesian trader is only hazily aware of the shape, extent, and organization of the "systems" of networks within which he is located. His perspective is more parochial and ethnocentric, even egocentric. Yet ultimately, the regional systems we analyze are built up of the uncoordinated activities of individual producers, transactors, and consumers.

The objectives of this book are to provide an examination of the

local exploitation of forest products—as a particular form of production—and of patterns of exchange and consumption. I examine the articulation of such exploitation, distribution, and consumption with wider regional, economic, ecological, and historical processes. I do this by way of a quantitative and diachronic analysis of production and trade over a roughly sixty-year timeframe, tracing the relation of production and trade to other forms of exchange in Maring society.

Beyond all else the book is intended as an ethnography of a hitherto neglected aspect of production and exchange in Melanesia, taking as my focus the organization of hunting and trade among one community of the Maring speakers on the northern fringe of the Papua New Guinea highlands. This work, however, is also an attempt to combine some of the approaches of ecological and economic anthropology. In regard to the latter my sympathies lie with the substantivists in opposition to the formalists. Yet, as will become clear in the following pages, I consider that despite the substantivists' professed respect for the cultural order, wherein "economy" is treated as a category of culture rather than behavior or action, too often the substantivist economic anthropologist smuggles in materialist and utilitarian notions that fail to apprehend the fuller cultural significance of "economy." Substantivists and formalists alike tend to represent trade as a mundane, utilitarian, and practical activity. The general trend of my analysis is to outline the material conditions of production and exchange, moving on in later chapters to examine the embeddedness of trade in the wider social and cultural order to indicate—in an admittedly partial and preliminary way—something of the meaningful and experiential dimensions of trade to those involved.

This work is an outgrowth of a more limited study of the exploitation of birds of paradise which I took up soon after joining the Department of Anthropology and Sociology, University of Papua New Guinea (UPNG) in 1970. That project had been established in 1969 by Ralph Bulmer, then Professor of Anthropology at UPNG, and Max Downes, then Chief of the Wildlife Division of the PNG Department of Agriculture, Stock, and Fisheries. The aim was to help in framing a policy for the conservation of the birds that would be consistent with the objectives of wildlife management and the economic and cultural interests of rural people in continued hunting and trade of bird plumes.

My initiation into the mysteries of fieldwork came in 1971 with a very brief visit to the Kyaka Enga of the Baiyer Valley to collect material on trade in bird plumes, and two trips to the Jimi Valley in 1972

(totaling three months) in a survey of hunting of birds of paradise and trade in plumes, taking in settlements of Maring, Narak, and Kandawo speakers. This gentle introduction to fieldwork was of immense benefit; it helped in coping with the usual traumas of being thrown into a new and confusing social world, gave me experience of the practical problems entailed in establishing a fieldwork base, and allowed me to gain a preliminary familiarity with research techniques. Perhaps most importantly, my 1972 visits to the Jimi gave me the opportunity to survey the ethnography, geography, and ornithology of a large area of the valley and to choose a field site best suited for my more-embracing study of hunting and trade.

In November 1973 I returned to the Kundagai Maring settlement of Tsuwenkai for twelve months' fieldwork. The central focus of my research was again on the exploitation of birds of paradise, but the study was broadened to locate hunting of birds and trade in plumes in the wider contexts of the production and exchange of valuables. This study formed part of a three-pronged research program by the Papua New Guinea Wildlife Division for the conservation of birds of paradise. This program consisted of the collection of basic data on bird biology and ecology by officers of the Wildlife Division, an examination of legal aspects of regulating hunting and trade in plumes, and the collection of ethnographic data on the use and significance of birds of paradise to rural people. As a postgraduate student at UPNG, I undertook the last task on behalf of the Wildlife Division. I wish to acknowledge my gratitude for the official support of my project by the Department of Agriculture, Stock, and Fisheries. (Subsequently the Wildlife Division was moved to a series of departments.)

This book is based on my Ph.D. dissertation submitted in 1977 to UPNG. In the intervening years I have had the opportunity to reflect on the earlier work and to return to the field for short periods in late 1978 and again in 1985. I have substantially rewritten the text for this book, although my analysis remains essentially the same. The work of revision mainly took the form of condensing the material, excising several chapters (which have been published separately), refining certain arguments, and incorporating data on change from my later field trips. The "ethnographic present" relates to the early 1970s, on the eve of Independence from Australian administration.

The book is not simply an ethnography of a "traditional past" but includes certain recent transformations. Nonetheless, even into the 1980s change in Tsuwenkai has been slight. The greatest changes have

stemmed from the political encapsulation of the village into the nationstate, with some attendant modification of internal village politics (see Maclean 1984b for a detailed and perceptive account). These new alignments, however, have not engendered any major alterations in the organization of production and exchange which forms the major orientation of this book. This situation may not last long. The very heart of Tsuwenkai is under threat—its soil and rocks and forests—and with it the social and cultural fabric. Mineral exploration has revealed potentially very valuable deposits of gold and other minerals in Tsuwenkai and nearby areas.

Faced with the possibility of large-scale mining development, many Kundagai are filled with alarm for the future of their children in a radically altered social and physical environment. Whatever the outcome, I can only hope that those Kundagai who may read this account will find it an acceptable view of their world as perceived by a foreigner—one mindful of the great honor done him by the generosity of their hospitality and companionship.

I began my studies at UPNG under the late Ralph Bulmer, and to him I owe my greatest intellectual debt, for guiding my entree into the field and for helping define my research problem. He commented generously and profusely on drafts of my dissertation and otherwise gave me the benefit of his wide scholarship in all matters of Melanesian ethnography and ornithology. I am also indebted to Andrew Strathern, who acted as supervisor in my studies and offered much-needed encouragement and advice in the field, and who steered the preparation of the dissertation on which this book is based to a successful conclusion.

Many others have contributed to the writing of this book. In particular I wish to thank Roy Rappaport for his comments and suggestions, Bill Clarke for ethnographic discussions and botanical information in the field, and an anonymous reader for the Press who made numerous valuable suggestions that have improved the final text. To Fitz Poole, an editor of this series, I owe thanks for his patience and counsel while the manuscript was under consideration with the Press. I have gained many ethnographic and analytic insights from discussions with Neil Maclean who has worked among the Tugumenga Maring. More generally, I have benefited enormously from the stimulus of friends and former colleagues at the University of Adelaide, especially Tom Ernst, Bruce Kapferer, Deane Fergie, and Neil Maclean, and from Jane Goodale who spent a year and a half in Darwin.

Three months' fieldwork in 1972 was supported by the University

of Papua New Guinea. My 1973-1974 fieldwork was partly funded by grants from the New York Zoological Society,. the Myer Foundation, and the then PNG Department of Natural Resources. In late 1978 I returned to the field for one month, while a grant from the Wenner—Gren Foundation for Anthropological Research enabled me to conduct a further two months' fieldwork in May-July 1985. I thank all these institutions for their support, and the national government and the Western Highlands Provincial government for permission to undertake research. It is also a pleasure to acknowledge the help offered by my parents and parents-in-law.

For hospitality and logistical support in the field I am grateful to Rev. Peter and Mrs. June Etterley, Rev. Brian Bailey, and the staff of Saint John's Church, Koinambe, and the staff of Tabibuga and Simbai government stations. Mr..(now Rev.) Alban Berobero helped me settle in at Tsuwenkai. Thanks are also due to Sue Plavins for typing the manuscript and the support of the Northern Territory University in preparing the manuscript for publication.

It is a convention at this point to acknowledge one's debt to the companion who has shared the burdens and pleasures of fieldwork, and who has put up with one in the process of distilling order out of the chaos of fieldnotes; but I have been asked to forgo such gratuitous gestures. As for my two daughters, they unwittingly delayed the writing of this book by exercising their right to attention, but in the process they helped keep me human. The resulting manuscript is perhaps better than it might have been otherwise.

Finally, I must acknowledge my debt to the Kundagai. My wife and I first came to Tsuwenkai unbidden and unexpected for a brief visit in 1972. We were invited back, yet the continuing warmth and generosity of our hosts surpassed our expectations. The memory we shall cherish but can hardly repay. To everyone in Tsuwenkai I must offer thanks for their hospitality, companionship, and friendship, no less than for their willingness to impart information to an often obtuse student. In particular, I acknowledge my gratitude to the late Kar and Planc who helped me understand the past, to Councillor Menek for his wise advice and support, and to Philip Amang for his help around the homestead and in the collection of data. Matthew Deimang Kuk cheerfully left his home up-river in Kwiop to join me as an assistant and give me the benefit of his talents as an interpreter. Bernard Kwie was a fount of information, advice, and support during my most recent fieldwork. And

last, I must record my profound gratitude to Lucien Yekwai for the special gifts of his knowledge, wit, and friendship.

Ralph Bulmer's untimely death in 1988 was a great loss to his many friends in Papua New Guinea and elsewhere, and to Melanesian studies. This book owes immeasurably to his inspiration, example, and guidance, and is dedicated to his memory.

A Note on Conventions

There is no standard orthography to represent Mating speech, and each ethnographer has tended to develop his or her own system. This variability partly reflects dialect differences: Maring put some importance on sometimes minor variations in pronunciation and vocabulary in different dialects. The orthography I have chosen is only broadly phonetic; I have tried to render Maring words readable rather than indicate precisely how they sound. Letters used have the same values as in Tok Pisin (Neo-Melanesian Pidgin), with the exception that the letter c indicates the ch sound in English "church." The letters ng sound as in "sing" and ngg as in "finger." The greatest liberty I have taken is with the use of the schwa, the short, unrounded vowel as in the first vowel of the British pronunciation of "banana," for which no romanized symbol suffices. In some words I have simply omitted this vowel, as in ambra ("woman") where it occurs between b and r; in others I have rendered it with a vowel that most closely approximates its sound in context, as in both vowels of the personal name Menek , or the last vowel of yimunt ("tree fern").

Tok Pisin words and phrases are indicated by the letters TP in parentheses.

Bird and other animal names present some problem. There are few standardized English vernacular names, and many are cumbersome (e.g., Yellow-billed Mountain Lory). Scientific names may be more acceptable to specialists but are even less comprehensible to the general

reader (e.g., the parrot just mentioned is known to ornithologists as Neopsittacus muschenbroekii ). Although I feel that precise identifications are important, I mostly refer to birds (and some other animals) by English vernaculars, the more cumbersome ones sometimes shortened. Precise identifications are listed in appendix 2.

The Maring have known three currencies: Australian pounds (to 1965) and dollars, and national Kina (K) since Independence in 1975. All monetary values are expressed in Kina (though most valuations occurred before 1975), with no adjustment for revaluations, at the rate of 10 shillings to $A1 to K1. There are 100 Toea to the Kina. The Kina was at parity with the Australian dollar, though revaluations now place it at about $A1.50. To avoid confusion with the marine shell known in Tok Pisin by the same name (and after which the currency is named), the shell (also known as pearlshell) is referred to with a lower case "k," the currency with a capital "K."

Introduction

The island of New Guinea nudges the equator at its western extremity. Yet between the steamy coastal plains the land is compressed and heaped up into a series of high ranges and temperate valleys. On the northern and southern fringes of the highlands in particular, the topography is heavily dissected. Here it is possible for the traveler to move within a day's march through several resource zones spanning many hundreds, even thousands, of meters from major valley floors to the mountain peaks. Such close-packed environmental differences are paralleled by cultural diversity.

Despite their sometimes forbidding habitats, no New Guinea societies were ever truly isolated. Exchanges of goods and people across cultural boundaries assumed great importance in many areas. This natural and cultural diversity encouraged considerable traffic in material objects, and studies have clearly shown that trade is most highly developed between communities of differing ecological or cultural regions with specialized natural or manufactured resources. It is such locally specialized products that provide the bulk of goods traded across regional divisions (Gewertz 1983; Harding 1967; Hughes 1977; Keil 1974; Schwartz 1963; Tueting 1935). This book is concerned with the social, cultural, and ecological dimensions of the production of valuables and trade among the Maring people on the northern fringe of the central highlands of Papua New Guinea.

Trade is but one aspect of regional and intergroup relations and

must be understood in the context of other kinds of dealings, such as marriage, warfare, ceremonial exchange, and their political-economic dimensions. But trade is also bound up with humankind's interaction with the environment—the economics and ecology of production or exploitation, by which the supply of trade goods is affected, as well as the distribution and consumption of goods whereby continued demand is generated.

Although there are numerous studies of intergroup relations throughout the New Guinea region, systematic attention to trade has concentrated on the lowlands and islands. Numerous ethnographies of the highlands make passing reference to trade. The only substantial treatments are by Hughes (1973; 1977) for a large area of the highlands and foothills, and Keil (1974) for the Benabena region of the Eastern Highlands. Other briefer descriptions and analyses of note include those provided by Rappaport (1968) for the Maring, Strathern (1971) for the Melpa, Heider (1970) for the Dani, Kelly (1977) for the Etoro, Reay (1959) for the Kuma, and Godelier (1977; 1986) for the Baruya.

Highland trade can be characterized by a constellation of features: traditionally a virtual absence of any form of organization approaching markets (but cf. Keil 1977) and a general lack of communal or cooperative activities beyond expeditions of men traveling for companionship and protection; the short distances individual traders travel; the passage of goods in small consignments, generally in one-for-one exchanges; the overwhelming concentration of trade in the hands of men; and the general restriction of goods to valuables or luxuries other than food. Even within these limits on goods, the range of items is quite astonishing, though highly variable from one region to another. In aboriginal times trade goods included stone axes, a variety of marine shells, salts, live animals (notably pigs and cassowaries, but also dogs, fowls, and marsupials), plumes of numerous species of birds, furs and skins of several marsupials, animal-tooth and vegetable-bead necklaces, cosmetic tree oil and pandanus oil, tobacco, pigments, medicinal and magical earths, weapons, drums, string bags, kilts, bark capes, bone daggers, fiber belts and armbands, besides other handicrafts. Luxury foods were seldom distributed in trade, and staple foods never. With the exception of pigs, the great bulk of high-value goods were produced exclusively by men and were generally for the use of men in ceremonial gifts, decorations, or ritual observances.

The organization of trade and the range of items traded is, perhaps, more varied in lowland and island New Guinea. The most obvious contrast with the highlands are the great maritime trading systems of the north coast (Barlow 1985; Hogbin 1951; Lipset 1985; Tiesler 1969), Admiralties (Schwartz 1963), Vitiaz Strait (Harding 1967), Massim (Belshaw 1955; MacIntyre and Young 1982; Malinowski 1922; Seligman 1910), south coast of Papua (Dutton 1982; Malinowski 1915), and the Fly-Torres Strait region (Landtman 1927). Some of these systems, notably the Vitiaz Strait, involve specialist middlemen traders. Trade importantly depends on cooperation between groups of individuals, not least because of the technical requirements of sailing. Besides a great variety of valuables similar to those traded in the highlands, numerous luxury and everyday items of manufacture were traditionally traded in lowland and island New Guinea. Importantly, luxury and staple foods were, and still are, commonly traded.

Where trade systems were dominated by high volumes and frequent consignments of staple foods, rather than other goods, markets were significant institutions, and the bulk of transactions were conducted by women. The lower and middle Sepik and the Tolai area of New Britain are examples of such female-dominated, subsistence-food-oriented traditional markets (Barlow 1985; Epstein 1968; Gewertz 1983; Salisbury 1970).

Although trade has been a neglected field of study in the highlands, a great deal of attention has been focused on systems of the distribution of great volumes of valuables—primarily pigs and shells—in ceremonial exchange (e.g., Bulmer 1960; Feil 1984; 1987; Josephides 1985; Lederman 1986; Meggitt 1974; Sillitoe 1979; Strathern 1971). In some regions ceremonial exchange may indeed have developed at the expense of trade, or by the transformation of trading relations (cf. Healey 1978a ), but I suspect that highland trade has attracted so little attention not because it is of limited material significance, but because in comparison to ceremonial exchange it appears so utterly mundane. And whereas the analysis of the exchange of valuables continues to concentrate on its more dramatic and ceremonialized forms (e.g. Lederman 1986), the study of production has concentrated on subsistence foods rather than valuables. The pig, of course, is a paramount valuable that has figured prominently in analyses of production, if only because it is largely nurtured on garden produce. There are, nonetheless, massive amounts of other objects variously known as valuables,

wealth objects, and prestige goods which require considerable labor to produce, are consumed in very different ways from subsistence items, and which are redistributed in prestations and trade.

This work examines the interconnection between the ecology of the production of valuables through the exploitation of nonsubsistence goods and the social and cultural organization of production and exchange. An important focus is the dynamic operation of production and trade through time. Although synchronic studies illuminate the functions of trade (or other activities) in effecting the distribution of specialized goods between ecologically and culturally distinct provinces, they do not allow us to test for the temporal stability or otherwise of trade systems. Equilibrium in functional models, ecological and anthropological, does not imply constancy but a dynamic balance of forces (Kormondy 1969; Rappaport 1979). Simply because a system has been identified does not presuppose that it is in equilibrium. The capacity of a trade system to achieve a degree of permanence and stability through the balance of supply and consumption depends not only on the proportions of different goods in circulation but also on the ecology of initial production. Where trade goods are derived from plants or animals, the ability of those producing or extracting the goods to maintain supply becomes theoretically infinite; the raw materials are self-perpetuating. The demand of populations desiring these goods sets a base level or rate at or above which these goods must be supplied, whereas the capacity of the animals or plants to reproduce sets an upper limit on supply. If the producers or exploiters attempt to inject more of these goods into the trade system than natural regeneration can replace, then the system must at best be interrrupted and at worst be destroyed with the extinction of the resources if substitutes cannot be found.

Products of animal and vegetable origin, such as bird plumes, marsupial pelts, bows and arrows, tree oil, and net bags, are still highly desired and traded in many parts of the highlands. It is therefore still possible to study the ecological bases of production—to discover the mechanisms whereby demand can be met and balanced within the limitations of supply set by the capacities of the raw materials to reproduce themselves. It is also possible to explore the social and cultural forces that, in conjunction with ecological factors, give a trade system its distinctive geographic shape, modes of operation, and historical dynamics.

Trade as an Analytic Category

At this point some indication of what I mean by trade is essential. There are two prevailing uses of the term in anthropology: it is applied loosely and generally to refer to any passage of goods by a variety of means, and it is applied in a more limited sense as a category distinct from ceremonial or gift exchange or prestation. Indeed, some ethnographies and undergraduate texts even set trade apart from exchange—referring to "trade and exchange"—which is at once an unfortunate imprecision, for what is really meant is "ceremonial exchange," and an absurdity, for trade is obviously one form of exchange.

Theoretical and ethnographic understandings of ceremonial exchange, gift exchange, or prestation have achieved a degree of elaboration and sophistication. Trade, barter, or commodity exchange have fared less well. In some ethnographies trade is implicitly everything that gift exchange is not. Those works that deal with trade explicitly commonly characterize it as being "more economic," "commercial," or less sociable than gift exchange; an activity engaged in by calculating, self-interested individuals out of crudely utilitarian and materialistic motives of private gain (see e.g., Tueting 1935; Podolefsky 1984). Trade thus hovers on the boundary between hostility and friendship and can be made a positive force of social (as distinct from regional) integration by inflecting the practice of trading in the direction of gift exchange through such acts of sociability as entering into formal partnerships with others, honoring trade partners with gifts or favored terms of trade, and the like (e.g., Sahlins 1972). This view may adequately characterize the practice of trade in some areas, but it may obscure as much as it reveals. Certainly, as the present ethnography will show, the presumption that trade is essentially grounded in utilitarian and materialistic forces is unacceptable as a generalization.

Anthropologists have long distinguished between ceremonial exchange and trade, following native practice. The most notable example for Melanesia is the Trobriand distinction between kula and gimwali (Malinowski 1922), but there are many similar instances. Sahlins (1972: 185 ff.) has developed a general framework for the discussion of exchange of material goods in his scheme of reciprocities. He identifies certain factors—kinship distance, rank, relative wealth or need, the types of goods transferred—which among others influence the na-

ture of reciprocity. His discussion of the continuum of forms from generalized through balanced to negative reciprocity points to the difficulties of separating one form of exchange from another for definitional purposes. This conclusion is important in that it derives from a consideration of the interplay of social forces acting on the parties to an exchange, rather than from a comparison of the observable character of different forms of exchange.

Some ethnographers, however, have attempted to distinguish trade from other forms of exchange on the basis of the outward or observable form of exchange, rather than on the basis of the relationship of the actors. Such definitions may consist of a list of characteristics demarcating trade from prestation (e.g., van Baal 1975; Hughes 1977). Such definitions are inadequate because they refer to the actual conduct of the transaction by which goods are exchanged—the nature of the objects, the relationships of those involved, the relative amounts of ceremonialism, publicity, corporation, magic, or politics involved during the exchange. In societies where economic activities, ceremony, politics, and so forth are not sharply demarcated but are infused in many institutions and situations, this kind of definitional view of trade and prestation necessarily overlaps. Using this approach it is not always easy to classify a material transaction observed in the field. An unceremonial, private, delayed exchange of dissimilar goods of equal value between affines combines descriptive attributes of both trade and gift. Although what is normally understood as trade, barter, or commodity exchange falls within the categories of balanced or negative reciprocity in Sahlins's scheme, his approach to the question of definitions offers no clear way out of the problem. But it does provide a useful theoretical model for a consideration of the structural and economic implications of different substantive forms of exchange. Nonetheless, I argue that if we are to gain a proper understanding of production, distribution, and consumption of goods in sociological terms, a distinction between fundamental forms or modes of exchange must be made. In nonmarket exchange (cf. Polanyi 1968) there are two such modes, which I term trade and prestation. I use the latter term in a general sense, derived from Mauss (1954), to include a diversity of reciprocal gifts transacted by individuals or collectivities on specific formal occasions, such as moments in an individual's life cycle, as well as informal occasions when gifts are not normatively prescribed. For the moment, I take refuge in a particular ethnographic understanding—that of the Maring

who are the subject of this book. The Maring term munggoi rigima (literally "valuables exchange"), which I translate as trade, refers to transactions explicitly concerned with the acquisition and distribution of goods whereas munggoi awom (literally "valuables give"), or prestations, refers to transactions explicitly concerned with the establishment, continuation, or discharge of social relations, rights, and obligations. Trade is thus overtly concerned with relations between material objects mediated by social relations, and prestations, with relations between people mediated by material goods. (The Maring concepts are examined more fully in chap. 4.) This distinction is fundamental to what follows, though it would be naive to expect it to be recognized explicitly in all precapitalist societies. Boldly stated, it has clear applicability to different forms of exchange elsewhere but is hardly profound. The rest of this book, however, amounts, among other things, to an elaboration and explication of the nature and significance of this distinction. In the final chapter I arrive at some important modifications of this definition of trade which soften the rigidity of the present position.

A Model of Trade

A striking feature of central-highlands societies is the richness of their ceremonial decorations (see Strathern and Strathern 1971). The most impressive element is often a headdress of bird of paradise plumes, parrot skins, and eagle, hornbill, and other feathers. Plumes are not only highly prized as items of visual splendor but are wealth objects redistributed in bridewealth and other prestations. It is in a relatively limited area of the central highlands—the Simbu and eastern Wahgi Valleys—that plume use is most highly developed in terms of the quantities and varieties desired. Because of extensive deforestation, many densely settled communities lack access to what forest remains in narrow belts above the level of agriculture (about 2,200 meters). Since the majority of bird species most highly valued for their plumes live either in high-altitude forest or in lower altitudes on the northern and southern highland fringes, the central highlanders are unable to satisfy their own requirement for plumes from their own forests and must obtain the bulk of feathers from communities on the fringes with easy access to wild birds. In the latter areas population densities are generally lower and extensive forests support a rich and diverse fauna,

including birds of paradise, parrots and hawks, marsupials, and other forest products.^[1]

These conditions set the parameters for an analysis of trade that takes as its focus the provision of one class of goods: forest products, most especially bird plumes. Simply stated the model is a center-periphery one consisting of a trading network of plumes and their exchange goods made up of concentric rings arranged around a core of communities I call ultimate consumers of plumes. Feathers, mammal skins, live cassowaries, and other such products of the forest are traded toward this central area where they remain until worn out or destroyed. They may be redistributed in trade or prestation but not exported beyond the center. At the extremities of the model are located numerous primary suppliers of plumes and skins who obtain all of their stocks for local use and trade by hunting. Intervening areas are occupied by intermediate suppliers who receive plumes in trade from the periphery and augment the volume sent on to ultimate consumers by adding more feathers by local hunting. Such communities may also be intermediate consumers to a greater or lesser degree and are therefore critical for the volume of plumes delivered to the central consumption area.

This scheme clearly involves two "systems" of exchange that are only partially connected. One involves the socially and culturally mediated passage of dissimilar goods in opposing flows—the organization of trade. The relative kinds, quantities, and values of different categories of goods and the demand for them may vary through time and from one sector of the trade sphere to another, so engendering a degree of internal tension that may be necessary for the continued functioning and survival of trade as a means of supply. The second system involves the ecological relationship between human communities and the wild populations of birds and other resources on which they prey to sustain their position in the trade network.

The overall structure of trade is articulated in terms of patterns of distribution of plumes. Their supply is thus critical, and ultimately the number of plumes available for trade—and so the volume of exchange goods in passage—rests on the recruitment rate in wild-bird populations. To maintain trade humans must not reduce bird populations below certain critical levels by destruction of habitat or by predation rates that exceed recruitment rates. This scheme does not necessarily imply homeostasis in the system of exploitation and trade, but it does require that the birds are not eradicated without compensatory shifts

to new supply areas. This means that in particular locations birds may be subjected to extreme under- or overexploitation provided that the volume of plumes delivered to ultimate consumers remains much the same. The model does not therefore involve any necessary stable or dynamic equilibrium between human activity and bird populations, either overall or in particular locations. It is possible, then, for some suppliers to pass out of the trade network entirely by destroying their resource base, since there are no negative feedback loops connecting goods received in exchange for plumes (from consumers) with the subsystem of plume production that rests on the breeding biology of birds.

From this concentric structure of networks it follows that the products of a multiplicity of primary suppliers become fed into progressively fewer or more densely packed channels. Loss rates of plumes from damage and age may vary in different parts of the network, but all things being equal this funneling effect results in the delivery of massive quantities of plumes to the center, even though the contribution of individual supply communities might be quite small.

The dynamics of this scheme can be elaborated considerably.^[2] For the moment, the point to stress is that the model provides a focus for the detailed analysis of specific ethnographic data on trade. From an initial concentration on the production of one class of valuables for use in trade, one can expand the analysis to encompass the wider social, cultural, and ecological context within which that production occurs.

Elsewhere I have documented the trade in bird plumes in the New Guinea region and shown that the pattern of distribution in the interior—roughly encompassing the Papua New Guinea highlands—conforms broadly to the geographic structure of the model sketched above (Healey 1980). The purpose of the present work is to examine the organization of production and exchange at the level of the local community. In that respect it differs from most other studies of trade that take a regional perspective. I seek to show how local production and exchange are articulated in sociocultural and ecological dimensions with wider regional forces.

This book, then, explores, through the example of the Kundagai Maring, how goods enter, move in, and leave the larger sphere. In the absence of markets or centralized organization, trade networks of the kind dealt with here are always managed at the local level, and ultimately by individuals who may be quite unaware of their economic and ecological role in the region as a whole. What sustains production and trade at the local level cannot, therefore, be accounted for by reference

to the larger structure. That structure is the consequence of the interconnections of local producers and transactors, not the determinant of their activities.

A further caution must be added. The scheme just outlined treats plumes as the products of ecologically specialized peripheral regions. For consumers to signal effectively a demand for plumes they must offer in exchange goods that are desired by plume suppliers. In general, the exchange items are also specialized products unavailable locally to plume suppliers for ecological or cultural reasons. The goods in demand may vary from one area to another. Further, there is no necessity that ultimate plume consumers be primary suppliers of other goods. One may imagine several patterns of trade in a variety of goods superimposed on a landscape so that their boundaries overlap. Thus, the model is not one of a trade system as such, but of one category of goods passed in trade. Indeed, to speak of systems is to suggest that there are boundaries of a reasonably determinate nature. Empirically it may be possible to demarcate the patterns of distribution of material goods, but the degree of noncongruence in these geographic patterns, added to the variable sociological means of distribution, make it impossible to define trade systems. There are no isolated, impervious trade systems in operation in Melanesia, if anywhere. It is clear, nonetheless, that there are areas where there is a concentration of most exchanges within certain geographic and sociological limits, and I shall refer to them as trade regions.

This book deals with the operation of a segment of one such region, which is indeterminate in extent but centered on the major highland valleys. Hughes (1977) has ably described the ecological structure of the region on the eve of the colonial era. The segment in question consists of a number of communities on the rugged northern fringe of the highlands, whose place in the wider trade region is assured by virtue of their privileged place as one of the major supply areas of various forest products in trade directed toward ultimate plume consumers. The particular focus is on the Kundagai of Tsuwenkai, a group of some three hundred Maring speakers.

Much of what follows amounts to the construction of a more elaborate model of trade in terms of ethnographic and ethnohistorical evidence. The picture just outlined is one couched largely in ecological and functional terms. It is important, however, to avoid allowing such formulations to dominate the process of producing an ethnography—both

in the field situation and, more importantly, in the final presentation and analysis of data.^[3] It is well, then, to state the general perspectives adopted. The model is essentially one of equilibrium. This study, however, does not assume homeostasis as a necessary tendency of the complex of transactions examined. I am concerned to discover the capacity for trade to be sustained, but this does not involve any presumption of steady states. Besides, even to discover an equilibrium is not to show that it is systematically achieved.

Second, although production and exchange occur in particular ecological contexts, I accept that all activity is crucially shaped by cultural factors. Ecological conditions, therefore, cannot be determinants of individual or collective repetitive action, nor of features of culture. Finally—and flowing from this attention to the cultural order—the analysis rejects formalism in the explanation of exchange, most especially its common appearance in ideas of material utility.

The following two chapters set the context for an examination of hunting and trade. Chapter 1 outlines critical features of the Kundagai physical environment and aspects of social organization. Such data are obviously necessary for a fuller understanding of the social and cultural organization of production and exchange. Chapter 1 also outlines Maring concepts of spirits and their place in the natural world within which hunting occurs. Finally, I provide a discussion of the historical dimensions of settlement of the Kundagai village of Tsuwenkai and of transfers of rights to land, events that clearly have contributed to the contemporary social and geographic patterns of exploitation of the environment.

In chapter 2 I seek to show the cultural significance of bird plumes among the Maring as objects of decoration. The uses of plumes and other forest products are a significant but not sole impetus to local production. An important point that emerges from this chapter, moreover, is that many kinds of feathers retained for decorations are not available locally but must be obtained from elsewhere. Just how this is organized is the focus of later chapters.

Ecologically focused studies of production in agricultural societies have, understandably, concentrated on subsistence foodstuffs. Little systematic attention has been paid to either the production of nonsubsistence valuables, on the one hand, or to the exploitation of non-domesticated resources, on the other hand. Marks's (1976) study of big-game hunting among the central-African Bisa is a rare exception.

Chapter 3 takes up these issues and provides an examination of the ecology of hunting of birds for their valuable plumes and the social and cultural organization and regulation of hunting.

The remainder of the book is concerned with the ecology and sociocultural organization of aspects of the distribution and consumption of material objects. In particular, I seek to show how levels of production and exchange of one class of goods—forest products—relates to the total flow of goods by a variety of means. This involves specifying the kinds of goods, material and otherwise, that are transferred parallel to or in opposition to forest products, their patterns of ownership, and the kinds of transactions in which they are passed. Chapter 4 introduces this analysis, presenting data on valuables, their ownership, and their redistribution in prestations. An important aspect of this chapter is the analysis of gross levels and directions of passage of goods in prestations.

The following chapters are devoted to the analysis of trade. Chapter 5 provides an ecologically oriented description of trading patterns over time and an analysis of mechanisms for the maintenance of a more or less constant passage of goods in the absence of any regulatory institutions. Chapter 6 provides an overview of the historical dimensions of trade, pointing to the importance of European penetration of the central highlands for the consolidation of changing trade patterns in the northern fringe of the highlands and the significance of plume trade in the contemporary cash economy. In chapter 7, I develop an analysis of exchange value and suggest the mechanisms by which rates of exchange of some trade goods remain stable while others have changed.

The concluding chapter shifts the focus from the relationship between objects passed against one another, which characterizes the preceding chapters, and concentrates on the social relationships between the traders themselves. Through a discussion of the manner in which trade may be employed as a communicative means expressive and constitutive of social relationships, I argue that prevailing utilitarian understandings of trade require some reappraisal.

The general objectives of this study are twofold. Substantively, this work provides an added dimension to the ethnography of the Maring and of hunting and trade in the highlands in general. Theoretically, the book is an attempt to develop a more thorough understanding of the articulation of production and exchange, combining the insights of ecological and economic anthropology.

1
The Kundagai
Environment and Society

The Western Bismarck and Schrader Mountains form the last bastion of the central highlands before the land falls away to the humid lowlands of the Ramu floodplain. Several cultural groups inhabit these northern fringes: the Maring, Narak, and Kandawo whose affinities are close to Wahgi Valley central highlanders, and the Kopon, Kalam, and Gainj comprising a language family only distantly related to the main highlands stock (see map 1).

Like their fellow highlanders the Maring are swidden agriculturalists and pig-raisers. The staple diet is provided by sweet potato and taro, but a great variety of other crops is grown. Some have always been present, others have been introduced from their neighbors over the last hundred years or more. The list includes yams, cassava, bananas, sugar cane, pitpit, corn, and cucurbits, besides numerous leafy greens and tree crops, notably the fruit pandanus and breadfruit. In addition to pigs, which are seldom eaten outside of irregular ritual and ceremonial occasions, the Maring keep a few fowls, dogs, and cassowaries. Many local groups enjoy a higher intake of meat than one might otherwise suppose, however, for game is plentiful in some areas. Nonetheless, exploitation of wild resources is not solely geared toward satisfying gustatory desires, for the forests abound in a great variety of birds and mammals whose feathers and pelts are eagerly sought by those less favorably endowed.

The Kundagai are one such community who engage in considerable

Map 1.
Jimi Valley

hunting to supply trade goods. They are one of more than twenty Maring local populations and occupy a large territory stretching between the Jimi and Simbai Rivers. They live in three settlements: Bokapai and Tsuwenkai in the Jimi Valley, and Kinimbong in the Simbai. I am concerned mainly with the people of Tsuwenkai (map 2), and unless stated otherwise I mean the name Kundagai to refer to that section of the population living there.

This chapter describes the environmental and ethnographic context for the subsequent account of hunting and trade. I begin with attention to aspects of the natural environment, with some general notes on the impact of human occupation. There follows an account of critical aspects of Kundagai social organization. I conclude with a summary of settlement history with particular attention to land tenure.

The Physical Enviroment

The government rest house of Tsuwenkai lies at about 5º25' S, 144º38' E, at an altitude of 1,680 meters. The settlement is in the headwaters of the Pint River, a tributary of the Jimi. The Jimi Valley comprises the Tabibuga District of the Western Highlands Province and is administered from Tabibuga on the Tsau-Jimi Divide. Until the early 1970s, when a road suitable for four-wheel drive vehicles was completed from Tabibuga to Banz in the Wahgi Valley, the only means of contact within and beyond the Jimi was by walking tracks or light aircraft. By the mid-1980s the Kundagai and others had invested around twenty years' of manual labor into building a road connecting settlements on the north bank of the Jimi to Tabibuga. Although the Jimi River was bridged in 1978, the road was still not passable in 1985 to traffic beyond a few kilometers from the bridgehead. Long, well-graded, but unconnected sections of road were continually reclaimed by secondary growth or swept away in landslides. The labor involved in roadbuilding and maintenance was compounded by repeated rerouting of extensive sections of the road.

The north wall of the Jimi Valley is formed by a western extension of the Bismarck Range. The valley is separated from the densely populated Wahgi Valley to the south by the Sepik-Wahgi Divide that rises to over 3,700 meters in places. These two ranges converge in jagged, cloud-piled ridges on the central massif of Mount Wilhelm. On clear days this highest peak in Papua New Guinea is visible from Tsuwenkai some 60 kilometers to the southeast, rendered a mere hummock by the

Map 2.
Tsuwenkai Vegetation and Settlement

closer, more dramatic ranges. The Jimi is a turbulent, rock-strewn river that rises on the snow-fed slopes of Mount Wilhelm and plunges down its narrow, cliff-hung bed on its way to the Sepik River to the northwest. To the north of the Bismarck Range the Simbai River flows eastward and then north to join the Ramu River.

I made no detailed records of climate during fieldwork other than noting temperatures for 204 days over 12 months in 1973-1974. Clarke (1971: 39-50) and Rappaport (1968: 32-33) give details of rainfall at Gunts, Tsembaga, and Simbai Patrol Post in the Simbai, and at Tabibuga in the Jimi. On comparative grounds the annual rainfall at Tsuwenkai is probably between 3,000 and 4,000 millimeters.

During the wetter season, about November to April, rain falls almost every afternoon, and mountain peaks are often obscured by cloud for much of the day. In the late afternoon heavy banks of cloud well up in the Simbai to spill over into the Jimi, and the evening is often enlivened by the ominous roll of distant thunder and the flicker of lightning from the Ramu lowlands. The dank and miserable reputation those regions enjoyed among my Kundagai friends seemed well deserved.

In the drier season, May to October, the sky is often cloudless and no rain may fall for periods of up to a week. Occasionally the dry season does not become properly established, or is shorter than usual, and so hampers garden preparations as gardeners wait for fine weather. Under these circumstances a gardener may be unable to clear as much land as desired or to achieve an adequate burn of trash. Such times create anxiety over food shortages, although the Kundagai mainly suffer hunger for favored crops rather than any serious absolute shortage of food. Heavy afternoon rains sometimes cause minor flooding of streams, small landslides beside tracks, some sheet erosion in gardens with sparse vegetation cover, and damage to sugar crops flattened in the downpour. Although excessive rain periodically causes problems, the Jimi does not appear to be significantly affected by drought, although many smaller streams dry up toward the end of the drier season.

Daily maximum temperatures varied during fieldwork from 16.5º C in June to 29º C in October, averaging 22.8º C. Minima were usually reached around six A.M. and ranged from 11º C to 18º C (both records in November), averaging 14.9º C. I do not know if frosts ever occur; certainly the Jimi was not affected by the devastating frosts in higher

altitudes of the Western and Southern Highlands Provinces of 1972, which occurred while I was in the upper Jimi.

As elsewhere on the highland fringes the landscape is dramatic. The Jimi River flows along the northern part of the valley so that a cross-section of the valley is a lop-sided V shape, with a steep north wall and more gentle southern slopes. Especially on the north side the numerous watercourses are deeply incised, producing a rugged topography. Tsuwenkai itself is situated on the flanks of a range on the west of the Kant River, extending southward from the Bismarck crest. The Kant Valley is narrow, with short, steep lateral spurs and intervening streams. The Kant joins the Pint River south of Tsuwenkai. Aside from some tiny marshy patches by the river, there is no flat land in the Kant Valley and only a few gently sloping areas along the upper course of the Pint. Tsuwenkai territory ranges in altitude from about 1,200 meters to at least 2,800 meters in the short space of about six kilometers.

North of Tsuwenkai a low pass, Gendupa, allows fairly easy access across the Bismarcks to the Simbai Valley. A similar pass at Gachambo at the headwaters of the Kant connects with the Mieng drainage system. Another pass north of the Mieng gives access to Kumbruf in the Simbai.

The loose shales and clays of the Tsuwenkai region are prone to landslides, especially after the shallow soils are waterlogged with rain. Small slides are common on embankments beside tracks and gardens. Larger slides of one or more hectares in extent occur in both grasslands and primary forest.

Vegetation and Ecological Zones

The Tsuwenkai region totals about 25 square kilometers, excluding 1 to 1.5 square kilometers of high-altitude forest claimed by the Simbai Valley Tuguma (see below).

On the basis of vegetation and fauna, Tsuwenkai can be viewed as a montane region. The Kundagai of Tsuwenkai are probably the only Maring group to be confined exclusively to the montane zone, although they do have some access to lower areas at Kinimbong in the Simbai. The Tsuwenkai region can be divided into three ecological zones with characteristic vegetation types.

Montane Zone

This zone consists of primary montane forest^[1] and extends down from the mountain peaks of over 2,800 meters to the forest edge at

about 1,700-1,850 meters. The Maring call such forest kamungga, apng geni , or apng geni mai . The last two terms refer to virgin forest. Kamungga is often used as a synonym for montane forest but may also refer to secondary growth. The connotations are generally wider than a vegetation type, including high altitudes, a cold and wet climate, and a characteristic fauna. The term, then, refers not only to a vegetation type but to a particular ecological zone.

Clarke (1971:207 ff.) and Rappaport (1968: 271 ff.) give details of the floristic composition of montane forest. Characteristic of this zone are groves of tall Pandanus palms and huge cenda trees (unident.). Above about 2,400 meters are stands of kamai, Nothofagus Beech.^[2]

The Kundagai say that in the recent past montane forest extended over most of the Tsuwenkai area right down to the Kant River. Much of this in the lower altitudes was apparently oak forest of Castanopsis and Lithocarpus species. There are small stands of remnant oaks in the Kant Valley.

Montane forest has a more or less continuous canopy about 30 meters or more above the ground. Two, sometimes one, substages are generally present. The ground level is usually fairly clear, though where a dominant tree has fallen or trailing bamboo becomes established the undergrowth can be quite dense. Most trees are heavily laden with moss, especially above about 2,200 meters where trees become somewhat stunted.

The montane zone covers about sixteen square kilometers or 64 percent of the Tsuwenkai area.

Zone of Human Habitation

In Tsuwenkai most of the land below the montane zone falls into this category. This region presents a patchwork pattern of secondary forest in various stages of development, gardens, homesteads, and groves of planted trees. Tracts of anthropogenic grassland are interspersed within this area. The zone owes its origins almost entirely to the presence of humans, having developed where man has cut or burnt the original forest. Because of the diversity of vegetation it is convenient to distinguish several subzones.

Secondary Forest and Woodland . While recounting the oral history of Tsuwenkai, informants often made reference to former vegetation cover. From their remarks it appears that secondary forest transforms into forest classed by the Maring as apng geni mai after forty to seventy

years. [In the lower and wetter Ndwimba Basin of the Simbai regeneration is quicker (Clarke 1971: 61).]

The speed of development of secondary forest and woodland varies from one site to another but, on average, growth reaches a height of about nine meters in ten to fifteen years. The Kundagai attribute such variations to differences in soil fertility and the floristic composition of the fallow growth—no doubt interrelated factors. Moisture content of the soil probably also influences regeneration. Thus, relatively open-spaced communities dominated by the trees Trema orientalis, Dodonaea viscosa , and Alphitonia incana , shading a scrubby understory, tend to form woodlands on drier sites. In wetter areas secondary forest: is denser, supporting a greater variety of plants. Various Piper and Ficus species, and tree ferns, Cyathea , are common on such sites, as well as succulents such as wild ginger, Alpinia spp.

Bush Fallow . Lower growth is generally composed of dense stands of saplings pushing their way through a tangled layer of shrubs and bushes. On damp sites beds of pitpit (Miscanthus cane-grass) are common.

The distributions of secondary forest and woodlands and bush fallow are not differentiated on map 2 but comprise all areas not shown under primary forest, gardens, and grassland.

Homesteads and Plantations . These are areas dominated by vegetation actively induced by human activity. In contrast to gardens they tend to be semipermanent. There are around forty separate homestead or single-house sites scattered along the west flanks of the Kant Valley. Frequently a leveled space must be excavated into a hillside to provide room for a house. Settlement patterns are discussed below; here it need only be said that the Kundagai do not generally form any strong attachments to a particular homestead site, other than of convenience or sentiment. Once a house is beyond repair after two or more years' occupancy, the householder may rebuild nearby or more than a kilometer away. Moves are motivated by various factors: a desire to be close to new gardens, to friends or relatives, or to escape from unpleasant neighbors or sickness and witchcraft associated with a particular location.

Tobacco and bananas are often planted among the hearths and refuse of old house sites, and the yard may be planted extensively with casuarina trees. Once these reach a suitable height, coffee seedlings are

often planted in their shade. In this way old homesteads are transformed into relatively permanently altered areas. Sites that are totally abandoned generally revert to secondary forest, or occasionally to a disclimax of grass.

Groves of bananas, sugar, and green-leaved vegetables are usually planted within a homestead yard, along with shrubs and trees of an ornamental, utilitarian, or magical nature, such as casuarinas, tankets, crotons, bamboos, and various succulents and aromatic herbs.

Most coffee groves are established close to homesteads, in old kitchen gardens. Coffee requires a good shade cover, and casuarinas are favored for this purpose because they grow rapidly, yield superior timber for firewood, building, and fencing, and enrich the soil.

Groves of various other tree crops, especially the marita Pandanus, Pandanus conoideus , are scattered about in secondary growth or in homestead gardens. Few other propagated tree crops are grown in Tsuwenkai as they fare poorly at this altitude.

Included in this subzone are the raku^[3] or ceremonial pig-killing groves and ossuaries. There are at least fifteen of these scattered throughout the zone of human habitation. Raku are generally small, less than about 0.2 hectares, although some are on the edge of primary forest or within secondary forest. Many raku are composed of remnant patches of montane forest, others are of secondary growth that has sprung up in the shade of casuarinas, Araucaria pines, and other trees planted by early Kundagai immigrants to Tsuwenkai. Raku are associated with particular clans, and the bones of the dead clansmen were formerly secreted in the ground or in tree hollows and epiphytic plants. Under government and mission influence the dead are now buried in graves, usually outside raku . The spirits of the dead are believed to linger about raku and, although one may gather firewood and creepers or resin from Araucaria pines from a raku , one should not cause undue disturbance lest the spirits visit sickness on the living.

The distribution of homesteads and isolated houses is shown in map 2. I have no estimate of the total area involved, nor of the area of groves of coffee or casuarinas and raku . These latter areas have not been distinguished on the map but are included within the type of vegetation surrounding them.

Secondary forest, bush fallow, homesteads, planted groves, and raku together cover about 6.3 square kilometers or 25.2 percent of the Tsuwenkai area. Spontaneous fallow growth constitutes the larger part of this area.

Gardens . The Maring practice swidden or slash-and-burn agriculture (see Clarke 1971; Manner 1977; Rappaport 1968; 1971, for details of agricultural practices and energetics). Each householder clears two or more gardens a year. Yields can be sustained from a little over one year to two years after planting depending on the crops planted. Sugar, bananas, and pitpit, Saccharum edule , can be harvested for the greatest length of time. The Kundagai generally plant their gardens only once and, although they are weeded periodically, much secondary growth has already sprung up among the crops by the time they are abandoned.

Map 2 shows gardens ranging in age from those just cleared in the dry season of 1974 to gardens about two years old. The total area under cultivation (excluding smaller homestead gardens that are not shown on the map) is less than 0.5 square kilometers. This constitutes no more than 2 percent of the total Tsuwenkai area or 8.3 percent of the area currently under a fallow of secondary forest, woodland, and bush.^[4] There is a concentration of gardens on the southern slopes of Komongwai. This area is particularly favored because of the fertility of the soil, in consequence of which crops and fallow develop more rapidly than elsewhere, permitting more intensive cultivation under shorter fallow periods.

Gardens are cut at altitudes ranging from the Kant River (about 1,200 meters at lowest) to the edge of montane forest at about 1,850 meters. In the Simbai Valley, gardens are mainly cut between 900 meters and 1,520 meters, mostly below the lower limit of Tsuwenkai gardens. Rappaport (1968: 52) states that Tsembaga fallow periods are shorter in lower altitudes and, overall, average around fifteen to twenty-five years.

Tsuwenkai gardens do not appear to conform to this pattern, having shorter fallow periods despite higher altitude. Of a sample of twenty-nine gardens in preparation during 1973-1974, one was being cut in primary forest at about 1,720 meters. The remainder were in secondary forest. All these sites had been gardened at least once previously,^[5] while one was being planted for the fourth time. According to the Kundagai, fallow periods vary in relation to soil fertility and floristic composition of regrowth, not altitude, although these factors are partially dependent on altitude. The type of crops to be grown also occasions some variation: sweet potato is considered to grow adequately on poorer soils or on land left fallow for shorter periods. The average fallow period for the twenty-eight gardens is fifteen to sixteen years (range six to

twenty-two years, mode twelve years, eight cases). A sample of a further twenty-six newly prepared gardens in 1978 yielded the same average and modal figures (range ten to twenty-six years). In 1985 a sample of thirty-two new gardens indicated a slight lengthening of fallow cycles. Three gardens were being prepared in primary forest; the average fallow period for the remaining twenty-nine gardens was eighteen to nineteen years (range nine to thirty-five years with a bimodal distribution of ten to eleven years, six cases, and sixteen to seventeen years, five cases). This shorter fallow cycle than Simbai regimes may reflect a slightly higher recovery rate of soil fertility. The Kundagai themselves consider Tsuwenkai to be sufficiently fertile, though they compare it unfavorably with lower altitudes in Kinimbong, Koinambe, and Bokapai. Informants were adamant that fallow periods were not limited by a shortage of garden land,^[6] and the tendency toward longer fallow cycles and clearing of virgin land in 1985 is indicative of abundant land resources rather than falling productivity.

Grassland

The most extensive grasslands in the Tsuwenkai region are close to its southern boundary. Oral traditions indicate that the larger tracts of grassland from Korapa southward have remained relatively stable in area for about two hundred years, although there may have been some expansion of grassland on Komongwai. Aside from oral traditions the antiquity of these grasslands is further suggested by the component species. Themeda , which grows on older grasslands with poorer soils (Henty 1969: 1), is probably the dominant species in most grassland associations. Kunai grass, Imperata cylindrica , dominates in some widely scattered areas. Grassland covers about 2 to 2.5 square kilometers, or about 9 percent of the total Tsuwenkai area. The largest single area of grassland, on Komongwai, is just over one square kilometer in area.

There is one further vegetational and ecological zone in the middle and lower reaches of the Jimi. This is characterized by primary lower-montane rainforest, termed wora by the Maring to distinguish it as an ecological zone from the kamungga . There is no such forest in Tsuwenkai territory, although it is present in Kundagai lands in Bokapai and Kinimbong. The term wora , however, is sometimes applied to advanced secondary forest near the Kant River to distinguish it from primary high-altitude forest.

Effects of Human Activity on the Environment

As already noted, the zone of human habitation owes its characteristics largely to the activities of man, having developed on sites cleared for gardens. Humans continue, however, to have an influence on the vegetation long after regrowth has reclaimed their gardens. Primary and secondary forest is exploited for a wide range of vegetation used for technological, ritual, or magical purposes. During the productive life of gardens, the Maring practice selective weeding, generally removing weeds and shrubs but sparing tree seedlings (Rappaport 1968). The result of such selectivity almost certainly produces forest somewhat different in composition and conformation from what it might have been if allowed to develop without interference. Foraging domestic pigs also cause some damage to the forest ground cover, uprooting saplings and shrubs up to altitudes of about 2,000 meters on ridges closest to the settlement. Such interference need not be detrimental to the ecosystem. The succession of secondary growth to climax forest is apparently not prevented, though it may be retarded.

The area of secondary growth and gardens is largely the product of about the last seventy years of continuous occupation (see below). There is evidence, however, to suggest that most if not all the stable grasslands in the Pint Basin are disclimax communities growing on former forested land gardened by earlier inhabitants of the region.

Several Kundagai recognized that stable grassland can develop on sites of former human occupation and attributed the extensive grasslands of the Pint Basin to human activity. The role of fire is also recognized in maintaining grassland, and with this in mind the Jimi Local Government Council has drawn up a by-law forbidding the burning of grassland. The Kundagai actively attempt to reclaim grassland for agricultural use by planting casuarinas. The success of this program was evident in the marked reduction in areas of grassland within the settlement between 1978 and 1985.

Pigs are probably also instrumental in maintaining grassland communities. Except on rare occasions feral pigs are unknown in Tsuwenkai. The effects of pigs on the environment are therefore ultimately a consequence of human occupation. By uprooting tussocks in grassland, pigs may also destroy seedlings of other plants colonizing some areas. Pigs can churn up large areas without killing the grasses themselves.

Factors contributing to the maintenance and reclamation of grass-

land probably balance one another, for the total area of grassland in the Pint Basin as a whole does not appear to have changed much in the decade 1959-1969 (Healey 1973: 17).

It is not clear, however, whether the amount of Tsuwenkai forest has decreased over recent years. The population appears to be increasing (see below), and one might therefore expect that more gardens are now being cut. It seems likely, nonetheless, that the amount of Kundagai land under cultivation has actually decreased over the last two decades. In the 1940s the Maring as a whole were reduced by about 25 percent in a severe dysentery epidemic (Buchbinder 1973). Then in 1955 or 1956 the Kundagai suffered another epidemic, probably of influenza, which informants say took a heavy toll of life. Before this epidemic they were more numerous than at present. My genealogical data are insufficiently detailed to test this statement statistically, but they do suggest a higher death rate of young and middle-aged adults for the time of sickness than for other periods. It is quite likely, therefore, that informants' statements are accurate and that the Kundagai do not require as much garden land now as in the past.

Although there has been continuous settlement of Tsuwenkai for the last seventy years, the population fluctuated greatly until about 1955-1956. The largest population up to that date was probably in about 1930-1935 or 1940 when the figure may have approximated the present level. In the mid-1950s a major movement from Kinimbong to Tsuwenkai occurred. Since then the population has remained fairly constant or grown somewhat. In the years preceding the last Kundagai konj kaiko or pig-killing festival in 1960, however, many more gardens than usual were cleared to support the growing pig herd and to provision feasts associated with the ritual cycle. These years probably saw the most extensive clearing of primary and secondary forest for gardens, a conclusion supported by the large amounts of advanced secondary forest in the upper Kant Valley and on the east bank of the Kant, which are said to have been last gardened prior to the kaiko . It seems likely, therefore, that for the present, the area of climax forest is actually increasing slightly as older secondary growth completes its stages of succession.

This situation may not continue for long, as population growth appears to be accelerating, partly because of easier access to medical facilities in Tsuwenkai—an Aid Post was established in 1974—and at the Koinambe Hospital. Undoubtedly the area under cultivation will have to be expanded in the future. However, since there appears to be

more secondary growth than the present demands for garden sites require, it will be some time before the Kundagai find it necessary to clear more primary forest or shorten the fallow cycle in existing secondary growth to accommodate more gardens.

Increases in coffee plantings may accelerate population pressure on the land. Coffee is the only cash crop grown in Tsuwenkai and was introduced in the late 1960s. Extensive plantings did not occur until the 1970s, and now most men have at least one small plot of a few score trees.

I cannot estimate the total area of coffee plantations, although it is probably only a very small proportion of the zone of human habitation. Rising coffee prices, however, stimulated greater plantings in the late 1970s. Since coffee is a semipermanent crop, further planting means that increasing amounts of land are being lost to the subsistence economy. This expansion coupled with a growing population will necessitate the cutting of new gardens in the pool of secondary forest in excess of present requirements for fallow land.

Population Density

The overall population density is about 12 persons per square kilometer. The economic density—the ratio of people to areas of garden and fallow land—is 48.25 persons per square kilometer. This figure would be lower if areas of potentially arable primary montane forest were considered in addition to currently and formerly cultivated land.

The overall population density in Bokapai land is about twenty-one persons per square kilometer, and in Kinimbong about nineteen to thirty-one per square kilometer. The lower figure relates only to Kundagai inhabitants, the higher includes about sixty Aikupa clansmen living in association with the Kinimbong Kundagai. I do not have data on the area of arable land in these locales to estimate economic densities, though these are possibly higher than in Tsuwenkai. Overall density throughout Kundagai territory, comprising some fifty-nine square kilometers, is about seventeen persons per square kilometer.

Table 1 compares the population densities of several Maring communities.

The   of the Simbai Valley have the lowest known overall population density of any Maring group. The Tsuwenkai Kundagai have the next lowest figure, whereas their economic density is just above the mean for all fifteen populations listed. It is notable that the

Kauwatyi, who are said to be pressing on the resources of their land (Vayda 1971), have a relatively low economic density, whereas the Tsembaga, whose territory could support a 50-percent increase in population (Rappaport 1968: 94) exhibit one of the highest economic densities in Maring land.

All Maring densities are considerably lower than those recorded in more densely settled regions of the central highlands (Brown and Podolefsky 1976). This fact alone is not enough to support any claims that Maring densities are well within the carrying capacity of the land

and that demographic pressure on resources is unlikely to lead to environmental degradation. The presence of anthropogenic grassland is evidence of such degradation in limited areas. Nonetheless, given extensive reserves of primary and secondary forest, in the Tsuwenkai region at least, it is safe to argue that the territory could support a considerably larger population under present technological and social means of exploitation. Practical and theoretical difficulties associated with the concept of carrying capacity render any attempt to specify population limits superfluous.

Kundagai Social Organization

The Maring number about 8,000 persons, some 5,000 of whom live in the Jimi Valley, the remainder in the Simbai. Like so many labels for ethnic groups in New Guinea the name Maring has no currency among those it identifies. It derives from the term Malng by which the Kalam refer to their eastern neighbors. The Maring call their own language Menga or Mengace (Menga speech) but rarely use this label or attach any significance to the social category it denotes. A few young educated men are aware that they are branded "Maring" by anthropologists and administrators. There are, in fact, minor dialectal, cultural, and social-structural differences between groups of Menga-speaking local populations. These differences, in conjunction with similarities to other ethnic groups, make it difficult to conceptualize the Maring as forming a distinctive unit except in terms of sharing such features as a common language, styles of dress, architecture, agriculture, and so on. In certain contexts, nonetheless, people we call Maring do distinguish themselves, from all others, as Menga. The anthropologist finds such ethnic labels useful, but to avoid confusion I will use the established name, Maring, with the caution that no single group can be taken as representative of the whole.

The Maring feel no corporate identity beyond speaking the same language and sharing certain other cultural traits, while the lack of such mutuality is no bar to interaction with members of neighboring Narak, Kalam, Gainj, and other ethnic groups. Ethnic boundaries and defining characteristics have no absolute relevance but are only recognized in particular contexts, and prior to pacification Maring local populations fought one another as vigorously as they did their non-Maring neighbors.

The Maring language is classified as belonging to the Jimi subfamily

of the Central Family of the East New Guinea Highlands Stock (Wurm 1964). Linguistically and in other cultural features the Maring are most closely linked with the Narak to the east. Although these two groups also share some linguistic and cultural traits with others of the central highlands to the south, their location and cultural differences nonetheless mark them off as being a highland fringe population.

The Maring population is unevenly distributed, becoming less dense in the lower altitudes of the Simbai and Jimi Valleys. This trend is continued among the neighbors of the Maring in the Jimi, with the Narak and Kandawo populations to the east becoming larger and more densely distributed and the Kalam populations to the west smaller and sparser. The distribution of the Maring and their neighbors is shown in map 1.

The Maring are organized into more than twenty named territorial and political units. Some of these groups in the more thinly settled areas of the Simbai and Jimi are composed of a single clan. Most, however, consist of two or more clans. Ryan (1959) has termed such groups among the Mendi of the southern highlands as clan clusters , and various authors on the Maring have adopted this terminology. A clan cluster is a nonexogamous association of clans, ideally acting as a single unit in warfare and ceremonies, although alliances have existed between clan clusters for the purposes of warfare.

The present study was conducted among the Kundagai clan cluster, the westernmost and largest Maring clan cluster.^[7] The population is sometimes referred to as Kundagai-Aikupa. The Aikupa are a semiautonomous clan closely allied to the Kundagai. Some claim that the Aikupa once formed a clan within the Kundagai cluster but established a separate identity following a fight with other Kundagai. Shortly thereafter the Kundagai and Aikupa reestablished friendly relations, intermarriage resumed, and intermingling of garden land occurred. The two groups together fought as major enemies of the Tsembaga clan cluster immediately to the east in the Simbai, and they participated together in konj kaiko pig-killing festivals that mark the end of each round of warfare and associated taboos (see Rappaport 1968 for a detailed account of konj kaiko ). Some informants now consider that the Aikupa are fully reestablished as a clan within the Kundagai although the balance of opinion seems to be against this view.

The Kundagai are atypical of Maring clan clusters in living in more than one distinct settlement. Bokapai and Tsuwenkai are about one hour's walk distant, Tsuwenkai and Kinimbong about two to three

hours' walk apart on either side of the Bismarck crest. The only other similarly divided population is the Yomban, with two settlements in the Jimi, Togban, and Matsomp. Other large Maring populations such as the Kauwatyi and Tugumenga have large, sprawling settlement areas, but in neither case would it be meaningful to divide the settlements into distinct units, separated by distances of more than a few minutes' walk apart.

Maring social organization has been analyzed by others (e.g., LiPuma 1980; 1983; 1988; Lowman 1980; Lowman-Vayda 1971; Maclean 1984b ; 1985; Rappaport 1968; 1969; Vayda and Cook 1964). Here I discuss only those aspects of social organization most relevant to the present study.

In all the Kundagai number about 1,000; 605 in Bokapai (VPR 1973), 304 in Tsuwenkai (my own census), and about 90 in Kinimbong (my own estimate). Perhaps a further 60 inhabitants of Kinimbong comprise the Aikupa clan. The Kundagai clan cluster is composed of eleven clans (fig. 1). Clans range widely in size from a single adult member of the Yimya-Gomkai clan to over 50 adult males (besides women and children) in the dispersed Wendekai clan.

Members of two subclans of Kolomp (1) live in Tsuwenkai, though most are in Bokapai. One small subclan and part of another of the Wendekai clan live in Bokapai, and this is the only clan with members in all three settlements. All Aikupa clansmen live in Kinimbong. No clans are confined in residence to Tsuwenkai, although most members of Wendekai and Atikai live there.

The Kundagai clans do not all claim common descent but are linked on the basis of residence within a common territory. Informants claim that the original or core clans of the Kundagai lived at Kinimbong and dispersed from there to Bokapai and Tsuwenkai. The population was later swelled by immigrants, who by virtue of common residence became included in the Kundagai clan cluster. These immigrant clans moved to Bokapai after brief residence in Kinimbong. The original Kundagai clans are said to have been Kolomp, Wendekai, Amankai, and Atikai. Kolomp subsequently split into two clans (which I have distinguished by the figures "1" and "2" in parentheses). Similarly, Baikai (1) split off from Atikai and settled in Bokapai, while Baikai (2) split off from Wendekai, also to reside in Bokapai. Whereas the fission of the two Kolomp clans is complete and intermarriage is permitted, the fission of the two Baikai clans is incomplete, and neither may intermarry with its parent clan.

The only case of the incorporation of a non-Kundagai clan which is of relevance here concerns the formerly autonomous Kwibukai clan of Kinimbong. Following serious depopulation, Kwibukai clansmen joined the neighboring Kundagai and Tsembaga clan clusters. Their former territory near the Simbai River was incorporated into the Kundagai and Aikupa territories, while an isolated strip of land at Yongga in the Kant Valley was divided between the Kundagai and Tsembaga, the latter gaining the higher-altitude land. Two male descendants of a Kwibukai man who lived in Tsuwenkai have been incorporated into Atikai Kwibukaipe subclan.

The Kundagai recognize a division of their population into two major sections, which I call clan subclusters (cf. Vayda and Cook 1964: 800). A well-defined boundary between Bokapai and Tsuwenkai marks these subclusters as territorial units. Tsuwenkai and Kinimbong constitute one subcluster because the inhabitants of both settlements share the same clan affiliations and rights to land. Kinimbong is also the recent homeland of most residents in Tsuwenkai. Although some Bokapai residents also have equally strong kinship ties and rights to land in Tsuwenkai [notably Baikai (1) and (2) and Kolomp (1) clans], all Bokapai residents are not linked in the same manner. This division into two subclusters is not a function of distance, for Bokapai and Tsuwenkai are closer than Tsuwenkai and Kinimbong. The two subclusters possess separate dance grounds where they hold ceremonies from which members of the other subcluster may be excluded as fellow

protagonists. Each subcluster held separate konj kaiko ceremonies. In the last kaiko of 1960, each group held three separate ceremonies, by coalitions of clans, synchronized to culminate on the same day.

In the past the subclusters also had separate enemies. The major enemies of Tsuwenkai-Kinimbong were the Tsembaga, those of Bokapai being the Ambrakwi. Each subcluster rendered military aid to the other, but in the role of ally, nokomai , not as fellow major belligerent, cenang yu .

Maring clans are localized, exogamous, ideologically agnatic descent groups. As in many other highland societies, however, there is a fairly high degree of residential mobility among married males, and a rather weak emphasis on agnation. It is not uncommon for a man to live uxorilocally, and if his affines feel he is likely to remain with them they may consider his children to be members of their own clan rather than that of their father, who retains membership in his natal clan. Such persons deriving their affiliations through maternal links and residence share equal rights with fellow clansmen related agnatically (Healey 1979; cf. LiPuma 1988).

There is in Tsuwenkai and Kinimbong a cluster of clans assumed by their members to be cognatically related. It is unnamed and consists of Wendekai, Amankai, and Atikai clans. These are the only Kundagai clans that are said to share a common, but unnamed, ancestor. Informants assume—but hasten to point out that this is merely speculation—that this ancestor had three sons. The descendants of the first son forming Wendekai clan, of the middle son forming Amankai, and of the youngest son forming Atikai. The names of the clans are offered as circumstantial evidence for this supposed origin: Wendekai meaning "first clan," Amankai "middle clan," and Atikai "last clan." As such, the members of the clans assume common agnatic relationships. Although the three groups ideally form an exogamous unit, localized with respect to male and unmarried female members, each group owns its own separate burial and sacrificial groves (raku ) and is the largest unit within which agnatic ties are invoked when members aid each other in bride and death payments. When members of other units also give this aid, it is usually expressed in terms of cognatic rather than agnatic ties. As such, these groups conform analytically and, in the opinion of their members, also conform to the characteristics of other named clans. Although agnatic relationships are assumed to pertain between these clans, they can be termed a cognatic cluster insofar as agnation is not the only or even principal means of relationship.^[8] Although no agnatic

ties can be demonstrated between members of different clans, other cognatic and affinal ties can be demonstrated by some individuals who apply appropriate kinship terms in preference to presumed agnatic relationships.^[9]

These three clans also maintain corporate rights to land in the Simbai and Kant Valleys. Members of Atikai clan claim to hold sole rights to some of this land, though their claim is not recognized by all members of the cluster.

This cognatic cluster contains two further subclusters: Atikai-Baikai (1) and Wendekai-Baikai (2). As noted above, the two Baikai clans of Bokapai split off from their parent clans of Atikai and Wendekai. Although the fission is not complete, it seems reasonable to distinguish the Baikai groups as clans for the same reasons given above for distinguishing Wendekai, Amankai, and Atikai as clans. Members of the Baikai clans are residentially segregated from Atikai and Wendekai and own land neither currently nor formerly belonging to their parent clans. Informants state, however, that members of both Baikai clans have the right to garden on the land of the Wendekai-Amankai-Atikai cognatic cluster in Tsuwenkai and Kinimbong. No Baikai (2) clansmen have done so, although a few Baikai (1) men have made small gardens in Tsuwenkai over the last ten or fifteen years. Although Baikai (1) has retained close ties with Atikai, and bridewealth received by one clan is shared with members of the other, Baikai (2) and Wendekai seem to be much less closely linked. Fission is therefore possibly more advanced in the case of Wendekai and Baikai (2). Although some members of Baikai (1) and Atikai can demonstrate real agnatic links, I am unclear if the same holds for Baikai (2) and Wendekai. My ignorance itself is suggestive that such links are largely unknown.

Informants state that the rule of antigamy between the clans of the cognatic cluster is now becoming relaxed. This relaxation has been greatest between the Wendekai and Atikai and the Wendekai and Amankai clans, and least relaxed between Atikai and Amankai clans, which are sometimes spoken of as gwi gwi (brothers) in contrast to Atikai and Wendekai, which are birua (TP: affines; literally "enemies"). The cognatic cluster is thus recognized by its members as being in a state of fission into intermarrying clans, while a secondary cognatic cluster of Amankai-Atikai persists.

LiPuma (1988: 111) notes that Wendekai, Amankai, and Atikai are "the most characteristic subclan names." This observation, together with the ideal of antigamy within the Wendekai-Amankai-Atikai cog-

natic cluster and its subclusters, suggests a stage in a complex process of the transformation of subclans into clans, and of clan fission. Ethnohistorical testimony is insufficient to specify the processes involved, being more an expression of effect than of cause or underlying structural and ideological principles. LiPuma (1988:140 ff.) addresses the issue of the growth and decline of agnatic units in some detail, in terms of a model of the sharing and exchange of culturally defined substance (maternal blood and paternal "grease") within and across clan lines. Although his model is persuasive, its evidential basis is unclear. The model runs into operational difficulties when he attempts to link the process of fusion and fission to the capacity of agnatic groups autonomously to meet demands of exchange of wealth of goods for women. This is so because his exposition does not adequately link the discussion of exchange to the contingent and practical, as contrasted with ideological, structures of production for exchange. A central concern of my own analysis is to interweave the influence of both cultural, material, and contingent factors in the articulation of production with exchange.

Population and Settlement Patters

During fieldwork the population of Tsuwenkai fluctuated between 286 in early 1974 and 273 later in the year. Table 2 gives further details of the population as it was in the last few months of fieldwork.

The greatest source of population changes during 1973-1974 was births (thirteen males, two females) and the movements of young men on work contracts (seven returned, seventeen departed). Other sources of change included deaths (three women), the departure of widows and their children for their natal settlements, and the temporary move of one family to Kinimbong to escape the molestation of witches (in all, four adults and eleven children).

The sex ratio (including absentees) is 115 males per 100 females. Forty-one percent of the population is aged under fifteen years. These ratios are within the range of ratios reported from the Simbai Maring (Buchbinder 1973: 64). The Tsuwenkai population triangle is thus similar to those of the Simbai and suggests that the Kundagai population experiences a rather slow growth rate (despite the disproportionately high birth rate in 1973-1974).

Houses are dispersed for about 2.5 kilometers along the flanks of the

Kant-Mieng divide. They are mostly grouped into small homesteads comprising one to four houses within a fenced yard to prevent the entry of pigs. A small kitchen garden sometimes abuts onto the yard. Residential segregation of the sexes is general but by no means as prevalent as in some parts of the highlands. Male children over the age of about seven or eight years spend increasing amounts of time in their father's or other older male kinsmen's houses. Some men build separate shelters for their pigs at a distance from homesteads, but generally a man's pigs spend the night in a fenced-off partition in the house of one of his female dependents. Fenced lanes from the women's houses allow the

pigs access to foraging land beyond the homestead yard. Co-wives and their children of a polygynist invariably live in separate houses.

All but a few men's houses are of the traditional construction. Typically such houses are low, roughly rectangular or oval in plan, with a turtle-backed roof of pandanus fronds.

Homesteads are mostly situated on the crests or upper flanks of lateral ridges running toward the Kant River and are between about 1,500 and 1,820 meters altitude. Most homesteads are close to the forest edge. Areas between homesteads are under cultivation or fallow, with a few patches of grassland and disturbed primary forest (see map 2).

Except for Kolomp (1) householders there is little pattern in house sites on the basis of clan affiliations. The few Kolomp clansmen have built south of Renmapai Creek. With them live one Wendekai householder and an aged Kalam man living sororilocally. There is a tendency for Atikai homesteads to be sited further upstream along the Kant Valley than Wendekai homesteads, but it is not possible to draw a clear dividing line between the residences of these clans. Amankai homesteads are scattered from Tsuwenkai ridge to Randenak, the northern extremity of Tsuwenkai settlement.

This mixed pattern is in accord with the ideal of agnation and corporate territory of the Wendekai-Amankai-Atikai cognatic cluster. This pattern contrasts with that described for other Maring settlements (Clarke 1971; Healey 1973; Maclean 1984b ) where householders of each clan tend to build close to one another.

Marriage Patterns

There is an explicit as well as statistical preference for marriage within the clan cluster (cf. Rappaport 1969: 121; LiPuma 1988). Over time there has been some change in marriage patterns (app. 1). Since around the time of contact with the government in 1956 there has been a trend toward greater intermarriage within the Kundagai-Aikupa population. Marriage with the Simbai Kalam and Maring, and with Maring settlements upstream in the Jimi, has always been prevalent. Since the mid-1950s, however, intermarriages with lower-Simbai (Maring) populations have decreased at the expense of relations with upper-Simbai (Kalam) groups. Marriage ties to Up-Jimi settlements, notably neighboring Kompiai, have increased considerably since that date.

Ideally, the Maring do not marry major enemies, cenang yu (liter-

ally "axe men"). Besides their major enemies, the Tsembaga and Am-brakwi, the Kundagai also fought other clan clusters as allies of kinsmen of yet other populations. Men of one local group might therefore find themselves on opposing sides, but only in the role of allies of the respective major enemies, never as major belligerents themselves.

Over the last fifty or so years of hostilities several intermarriages between the Tsuwenkai Kundagai and the Ambrakwi, and the Bokapai Kundagai and the Tsembaga, have occurred. These marriages do not transgress the rule of avoiding intermarriage between major enemies since the Tsuwenkai Kundagai fought the Ambrakwi only as allies of Bokapai kin, who in turn fought the Tsembaga as allies of Tsuwenkai men.

Major enemies observe taboos on eating the produce of each other's territories and on sharing the same fires. Failure to observe these taboos invites sickness or even death sent by angry ancestral spirits, and women married to cenang yu are considered vulnerable to such attacks, as are men who merely visit enemy communities. Maring ideas of the supernatural and taboos thus serve to isolate enemy populations, inhibiting intermarriage and a variety of other contacts resulting from the marriage bond. Nonetheless, the exchange of women is a recognized principle in the formal establishment of friendly relations between formerly hostile groups. To establish peace, each enemy group sends to the other as many women as men were killed by them in warfare.

Rappaport (1969: 128) notes that in 1963 the Tsembaga were already considering the exchange of women with the Kundagai to establish peace. Despite a marriage between a Kundagai girl and a Tsembaga in 1974—a union opposed by the bride's kin—the exchange of women to formally establish peaceful relations between the two populations remained unresolved in 1985.

Maring marriage patterns differ markedly from those of some other highland groups, such as the Mae Enga, who told Meggitt (1964: 218), "We marry the people we fight." The avoidance of such marriages may correlate with a less marked antagonism between the sexes and a milder concern with the polluting capacities of women, as Meggitt (1964) has suggested.

By contrast, men state that the ideal marriage is either contracted within the clan cluster or with allies. The latter are called nokomai , literally "road" or "track," but this was also explained to mean "the way or road of the ancestors, along which flow women, pigs, and other valuables." The principal nokomai groups of the Tsuwenkai and Kinim-

bong Kundagai are the Kundagai of Bokapai, the Kauwatyi and, to a lesser extent, the Cenda, Manamban, Tuguma, and Kanump-Kauwil. These, and to a lesser extent some other Maring and Kalam groups, were those from whom military aid was sought. Such assistance was reciprocal. Aid in war was negotiated individually between kinsmen. The :number of allies who might be recruited depended mainly upon the extent of intermarriage and the distance between groups. Thus the Tsuwenkai and Kinimbong Kundagai received most aid in war from the Bokapai Kundagai and the Kauwatyi, among whom they had the greatest number of affines and cognates, and whose settlements are among the closest to Tsuwenkai and Kinimbong. Some 94.2 percent of existing marriages contracted outside the Kundagai subcluster settled in Tsuwenkai and Kinimbong are with allies, 2.3 percent are with enemies (including the Ambrakwi in this category), and 3.4 percent—all contracted since the suppression of warfare—are with populations beyond the limits of Kundagai alliance in warfare.

Rappaport (1969) and LiPuma (1988) have discussed Maring marriage arrangements in detail. Here it need only be noted that the ideal form of marriage is one arranged by the agnates of a girl or young man. In this way they are able to establish affinal links in the most economically and politically advantageous location. In practice, many young people form romantic attachments leading to marriages that may not meet with their agnates' approval. Marriages are often unstable until the birth of children.

I determined the reasons for marriage in a nonrandom sample of thirty-six cases (table 3) (see also Lowman-Vayda 1971 for a list of reasons men give for offering women to specific clans).

There are other means of acquiring a wife not revealed in the table. Kundagai claim that the sororate, wherein a man is permitted to marry a clan sister of his deceased wife, is occasionally practiced.^[10] Marriage by capture has occurred at odd times in the past, when women of enemy populations found trespassing were given in marriage to allies. Rappaport (1969) has identified the sole prescriptive marriage rule among the Maring, whereby the daughter of a woman's son is given in marriage to her paternal grandmother's natal subclan. Several marriages recorded in Kundagai genealogies conform to this pattern but were not included in the sample on which the table is based. Kundagai genealogical material indicates, however, that the rule is not often adhered to, as Rappaport (1969) also notes for the Tsembaga, and it seems inappropriate to refer to the pattern as a "prescriptive rule."

To conclude this section I would note that discussion of formal patterns and rules of marriage reveals little about the choices underlying particular marriages, or the structured embeddedness of marriage within a system of social reproduction (see also LiPuma 1988). Within the constraints on marriage imposed by cultural understandings of incest, clan exogamy, and nonmarriageable kin, there remains a wide field of choice of particular marriage partners. Whether a particular marriage can be classified as sister exchange, widow inheritance, blood debt, and so on is, in at least some cases, a post hoc rationalization for

a marriage that may have begun as an instance of "stealing the bride." More generally, reasons given by Maring or anthropologists for marriage, as a set of typologies, may be somewhat epiphenomenal to the exercise of strategic choices by those involved in contracting marriages. Factors influencing men's decisions on their own or their clansmen's choice of spouse include the control potential affines exercise over valued economic and political resources.

Social Status

Contrary to the usual stereotype of highlands societies the Maring do not place an emphasis on the manipulation of wealth and prestations in public ceremonies as an attribute of a big-man, yu-yondoi (literally "man large"). The Maring big-man achieves his status by virtue of his maturity, vigor, temperament, relationship to powerful clansmen, and ability to communicate with his fellows or the spirits (see also Lowman-Vayda 1971; and Rappaport 1968:28 ff.).

The Kundagai recognize three categories of big-man.^[11] These are:

1. Bamp kunda yu , Fight Magic Man

2. Tep yu , Big-man

3. Mengr yu , Leading Warrior.

Other positions of some influence are rawa yu (Ancestor Spirit Man or Medium) and kunkace yu (Spirit Woman Man or Shaman). Such men, who form important channels of communication between the living and certain spirits, are not big-men unless they also fall into one of the above three categories. Some Maring also recognize the aram ku yu or Fight Medicine Man, but the functions of this specialist among the Kundagai seem to be performed by the bamp kunda yu without the two roles being distinguished (cf. Lowman-Vayda 1971: 341).

The bamp kunda yu is responsible for the protection of warriors and the enhancing of their strength. It is also he who sorcerizes the enemy and performs magic in connection with konj kaiko ceremonies. There are five bamp kunda yu in Tsuwenkai. An aging specialist chooses a successor and coaches him in the esoteric knowledge that is the sole preserve of the bamp kunda yu . Nowadays younger men often refuse to accept such an invitation because of the limited relevance of status received and the numerous and onerous dietary taboos. In the very rev-

elation of secrets to his successor, the specialist dissipates his vitality and hastens his own rapid decline and death.

Tep yus , literally "Talk Men," are persuasive talkers. They achieve their big-man status by their oratorical skill and their ability to influence public opinion and mobilize group activities through example and exhortation. They should also be men of vigor and commanding appearance and strong fighters. Tep yu are instrumental in initiating warfare and preparations for konj kaiko . There are two surviving tep yu in Tsuwenkai.

Because bamp kunda yu and tep yu are instrumental in protecting warriors, sorcerizing the enemy, and persuading their fellows to engage in hostilities, they are also invariably mengr yu . The term literally means "Shell Man" and is derived from the custom of the enemy of offering a reward of shells for their assassination. Bamp kunda yu and tep yu are singled out for killing because it is thought that with their removal the yu aure ("man nothing" or ordinary men), lacking magical and moral support, will be killed easily. Other men, however, may also achieve mengr yu status by demonstrating their strength, courage, and endurance on the fight ground. Such men, valued as warriors, may become mengr yu even if the enemy is not known to have offered a bribe for their assassination. Informants named five mengr yu who were not also bamp kunda yu or tep yu .

The duties of Kundagai bamp kunda yu are now confined to the performance of magic to enhance the strength and beauty of dancers at ceremonies. With the cessation of warfare bamp kunda yu and mengr yu have no influence over others, other than the persuasive talents they may possess. By contrast, tep yu are still important in the molding of public opinion, arbitrating disputes, and initiating communal activities.

The Maring do not have a well-developed hierarchy of status, nor do they compete with one another for status, unlike the pattern that has become familiar in the central-highlands literature (e.g., Strathern 1971). The big-man is therefore not constrained continually to negotiate and legitimize his status through performance or demonstration of his ability. Thus it was that the aged Planc, in his eighties when I last saw him in 1978, and largely confined to his house yard, was still spoken of respectfully as a current tep yu .

A lazy man, with few or poor gardens and no pigs, may be called rukunemp yu , "rubbish man," but no one would identify any in Tsuwenkai. Such men are also liable to be considered witches, and re-

luctance to name any rukunemp yu may have stemmed from a desire to avoid giving offence to any witches.

Following government contact new positions of political office were created. Bosbois were appointed by early patrols in 1956, but the higher posts of tultul and luluai were not assigned until 1960. Those appointed bosboi were generally younger men who were not big-men. Tultuls and luluais were generally big-men, mainly of the tep yu category. Government appointees had little influence unless they were already tep yu . The former luluai for Tsuwenkai was a rising tep yu (and is now the leading tep yu ). On the establishment of the Jimi Local Government Council in 1966 he was elected councillor (kaunsil ) but passed this office to his brother's son in 1967, who has retained the office ever since.

Traditional big-men have no power to demand obedience. Kaunsils often claim such power, arguing that they are the local elected representatives of the government administrative officer (kiap ), who demonstrably has power to command obedience. Although the present Tsuwenkai kaunsil does not enjoy total obedience to his directives, he possesses a greater measure of coercive power than the traditional big-man. This does not appear to be because people fear the anger of the kiap should the kaunsil be disobeyed^[12] so much as because of the man's personal qualities, well suited to his position as a political entrepreneur in a new field of extra-village relations. The kaunsil has appointed as his deputies three Committee members (komitis ). Neither the kaunsil nor komitis are regarded as big-men. Informants state that such offices in themselves do not confer big-man status. Although Council office-bearers are seen as acting on the community's behalf, they have not usurped the position of the tep yu in intracommunity affairs. In such matters, any man, regardless of status, may express his opinion, and decision making is reached by consensus, not by the fiat of big-man, kaunsil, or komiti. Only in matters concerning the government and other outside organizations or individuals does the kaunsil wield any coercive power. Thus, for instance, although the kaunsil may order people to work on the government road, he cannot order them to work in his coffee gardens,^[13] however much he may welcome such aid.

There are two categories of people considered to be deviant in some respects. These are "madmen" and witches. Clarke (1973) has discussed the occurrence of temporary madness among the Maring. Several Tsuwenkai men and one woman were said to suffer bouts of temporary madness. The "madman," yu plim , is not regarded as re-

sponsible for his actions. His condition is caused by a menjawai forest demon plugging a man's ears with its fingers, making him deaf (plim ). Deafness is synonymous with madness. Once the condition has passed, within a few days at the most, the "madman" is accepted back into normal social interaction and is in no way discriminated against.

One man is considered to be permanently plim because of his odd behavior. He became thus while serving a jail sentence shortly after contact. His "madness" manifests itself in an almost constant good humor. He is reputedly incapable of conducting a serious conversation—a reputation I found to be exaggerated—and is regarded as a man of infinite wit. Because he is believed to be simple-minded, he is not entrusted with valuable possessions. Periodically he indulges in the typically wild behavior of the yu plim .

One other adult male and at least five youths and boys are sometimes referred to as plim , not because they act in an unrestrained or crazy way but because of apparent partial or complete deafness. Some of the boys show mild to severe ataxia and slight squint. It is probable that the younger males are suffering from varying degrees of cretinism, known to be endemic to the Jimi, and possibly due to the replacement of native salts by uniodized trade salt (Buchbinder 1973; Paine 1971; Pharoah 1971). The younger males are occasionally teased or admonished when orders or questions put to them go unheeded. The adult male is treated with some caution, but this is because he is believed to be a witch.

The Kundagai are preoccupied with witches, kwimp , which they consider to be more numerous than in the past. They attribute this increase to the modern practice of burying the dead instead of exposing them on platforms until the flesh has rotted away. A dead person's kin would guard the platform at night if the death was attributed to witchcraft and shoot animal or human intruders, considered to be witches come to feed on the corpse. Traps set around the platform accounted for other witch-visitors. Fear of imprisonment now also inhibits the slaying of a witch in its human form, although animals believed to be disguised witches are still killed. Obviously, the believed increase in the incidence of witches is to be explained in other terms, but this is best attempted elsewhere.

Witches are said to be motivated to attack their victims from anger over some real or imagined slight, such as failure to share food or bridewealth.

Witchcraft is a delicate subject among the Kundagai. Only one male

(the partially deaf man mentioned above) and an aged widow appear to be identified as witches by most Kundagai. Both suspects have publicly admitted to practicing witchcraft, as have several others. Only my closest friends and associates were prepared to name other suspects—a further ten. Doubtless many Kundagai would not agree to all these identifications but might add other names. Most suspects are older women and are considered to be responsible for generally nonlethal attacks. The man and the widow mentioned above are the most feared of all Tsuwenkai witches and are avoided by most Kundagai if this can be done without giving offence, which might invite a witchcraft attack.

The Spirit World^[14]

Maring spirits, rawa , fall into two main categories—shades of the dead and autochthonous spirits. Crosscutting these categories is a further distinction between spirits of the lower altitudes and those of higher altitudes.

The only class of spirits believed to inhabit the full range of Kundagai territory is the rawa menjawai or mandawai . This is a wild and dangerous forest demon living mainly in the primary forest. It is hostile to man, sending him mad or shooting invisible objects into his body which cause sickness, if disturbed by the intrusion of men into its haunts.

Inhabiting the high-altitude primary forest, kamungga are a host of spirits known as rawa meki , "spirits red." The Tsembaga, Funggai, and Kauwatyi Maring consider them to be the spirits of those killed in war (Rappaport 1968; Lowman-Vayda 1971). Most Kundagai denied that the rawa meki are of human origin, claiming they have always existed. An elderly shaman stated, however, that the spirits of those killed in warfare went to join the rawa meki , though there has always been a nucleus of these spirits of nonhuman origin.

Two further spirits, each consisting of a single member, live in the kamungga . These are the Kunkace Ambra (Smoke Woman) or Piakai Ambra (Above Woman), and Ambenggi.

Lowman-Vayda (1971) states that the Kunkace Ambra first entered the Maring pantheon of spirits in about the early 1940s, when she possessed several men in the Simbai and Jimi. The arrival of the Kunkace Ambra among the Kundagai may have been somewhat earlier, as I was told of one man who was possessed by the spirit early this century.

The Kundagai generally refer to this spirit by the alternative name,

Piakai Ambra, a reference to her abode in high places (piak meaning "above"). She periodically possesses men, making them temporarily mad. After their period of initiation is over such men become kunkace yu , shamans, who under the influence of bespelled cigarettes are able to communicate with the Piakai Ambra. She acts as an intermediary between the living and spirits of the dead, revealing to the shaman, for instance, those spirits responsible for sickness and to whom sacrifices must be made.^[15]

Contrary to the Tsembaga view (Rappaport 1968), the Piakai Ambra of the Kundagai is associated with various animals, including marsupials and eels. The association of spirits with animals will be further discussed in chapter 3.

Ambenggi is a spirit of the kamungga , specific only to the Kundagai. He is described as a huge wild boar, although he is occasionally seen in the guise of a skinny old man. He roams the forest from Kinimbong to Bokapai, sleeping sometimes in a lair under a rock by the Minjeki Creek near Tsuwenkai. In deference to him the Kundagai observe a taboo on the eating of feral pigs. This causes the Tsuwenkai Kundagai little inconvenience, as feral pigs rarely enter their domain, but they are found near the Simbai River at Kinimbong, and near the Jimi River below Bokapai. It seems that the Kundagai have never been very scrupulous in their observance of this taboo, and nowadays many people, especially the young and Christians, ignore it. However, Mount Konjmoi (meaning "pig taboo"), near Ambenggi's lair in the Minjeki Valley, is still strongly associated with the spirit, and even domestic pigs should not be killed or cooked too close to the forest edge there.

Ambenggi is regarded as being an essentially benevolent spirit who aids the Kundagai in warfare. Occasionally, however, when hungry for meat, he sends sickness on the living, who must sacrifice wild mammals to induce him to withdraw the sickness.

Spirits of the lower altitudes, wora , are collectively termed rawa mai. Mai is used to indicate animals of female gender, but in other contexts the term implies maturity or productivity. This terminology is consistent with the Maring conception of rawa mai as being concerned with fertility.

Two types of rawa mai , called koipa and manggiang , live in association, close to settlements in large trees and rock holes. Koipa were never human, but informants are divided on the origins of manggiang , some saying that they have always existed, others that they are the spirits of the dead. These spirits may be referred to collectively as

koipa-manggiang . The Tsembaga view this category as comprising a single spirit of nonhuman origin (Rappaport 1968: 38). Like the Piakai Ambra, the koipa-mangiang ensure the health and fertility of people, pigs, and crops.

Also living in the lower altitudes are the rawa tukump ("spirit mold or rot"). These are spirits of the dead and are viewed by the Kundagai as malevolent beings; they enter the bodies of the living to cause sickness that may lead to death unless they are magically expelled. A second type of rawa tukump , called rawa tukump rakai or rawa awua ("spirit other"), also inhabit the lower altitudes. These are spirits of the dead of enemy clan clusters, even more dangerous than rawa tukump .

Although some class spirits of the dead as either rawa meki or rawa tukump , most informants assert that these spirits are known simply as rawa . Male spirits of the same or first ascending generations reside in the high-altitude forest, while spirits of all-female kin and male kin of the second and beyond ascending generations live in valley bottom forests. Thus, say the Kundagai, there is a continual movement of ancestral male spirits from the high to low altitudes as the spirits of the dead of subsequent generations join the rawa meki in the high forest. Spirits of the dead live at greater distance from the living than do other types of spirit. The Piakai Ambra, rawa meki , and rawa koipa-manggiang act as intermediaries between the spirits of the dead and the living. If an ancestral spirit hungers after pork or wishes to punish the living who neglect to honor it with sacrifices or otherwise offend, it requests the rawa meki or koipa-manggiang to send sickness. Koipa-manggiang also act as intermediaries between the rawa tukump and the living and, although the rawa tukump are directly able to affect the living, the koipa-manggiang may request them to desist in their attacks. [The Tsembaga believe that the reverse situation pertains (Rappaport 1968).]

One of the reasons that spirits, particularly the rawa meki , may visit sickness or even death upon the living is that men disturb them by clearing their virgin forest retreat or by making too much noise. This belief acts as a constraint on the clearing of primary forest by the Kundagai, although people add that the low productivity of gardens cleared from primary forest does not justify the additional time and effort involved in felling large trees. Spirits can be requested to vacate tracts of forest if these need to be cleared. As already noted, however, the Kundagai have ample fallow land for their present requirements and are therefore under little pressure to clear primary forest.

The belief that spirits are associated with various categories of wild animals may influence hunting intensity to some extent, as will be discussed in chapter 3. Arboreal marsupials and rodents and birds, notably plume-bearing species and large ground birds, are described as the "pigs" of the rawa meki , Ambenggi, and the Piakai Ambra. Larger game mammals and birds, and plume-bearing birds of lower altitudes, are the "pigs" of the rawa mai , whereas eels are the "pigs" of the Piakai Ambra and the koipa-manggiang spirits. All wild creatures, but especially feral pigs and cassowaries, are the "pigs" of the menjawai demon. All classes of spirits are angered if a hunter kills many larger animals and may punish him or his family with sickness.

To summarize, I have discussed at some length various aspects of Kundagai social organization and other ethnographic data of relevance to subsequent chapters. I have noted that some finer details of the ethnography of the Kundagai differ somewhat from data of other anthropologists working elsewhere among the Maring. Variations in some details of Maring ethnography might be explained by reference to the apparently varied origins of different groups, the influence of an ecologically diverse habitat, and by the inevitable differences in behavior and beliefs that might be expected in a large population of people who do not seek any corporate identity in terms of language, beliefs, or practices.

A History of Settlement

Tsuwenkai has been occupied permanently for a relatively short time, yet oral traditions indicate sporadic settlement of some antiquity. Insofar as this history has a bearing on territorial divisions and rights to resources, a brief summary of the history of settlement will be given here. An expanded account is given elsewhere (Healey 1985c ).

The earliest known inhabitants of the Tsuwenkai area were of the Kolomp clan and are thought to have come originally from Kinimbong. On genealogical and biogeographic evidence this settlement probably occurred as much as two hundred years ago. Kolomp residence was apparently brief and came to a sudden end when a devastating mystical sickness sent by the Pig Spirit, Ambenggi, descended on the Kolomp. Survivors of the sickness fled to the Simbai and several Maring and Narak settlements in the Jimi. Some clansmen settled between Bokapai and Kandambiamp and subsequently constituted the separate Kolomp (2) clan. Those who took refuge in Bokapai formed the nucleus of the

Kolomp (1) clan, while another contingent became incorporated into, the Cenda clan cluster of Koinambe as the still-surviving Kolomp clan. Some of the former Tsuwenkai Kolomp land became part of the Cenda territory.

Since the first Kolomp settlement, emigrants from Simbai Maring, and Kalam clans established several short-lived settlements in the Kant Valley before moving on to Bokapai, Koinambe, and Wum. Since the late 1890s or early 1900s a small contingent of Kolomp (1) clansmen have maintained a permanent settlement in the lower Kant Valley.

Around 1870 an Atikai man left Kinimbong after a bitter argument there and settled briefly on Tsuwenkai ridge, to which he was granted primary use rights by the Kolomp (1) occupants. The Atikai man later moved to Bokapai where his descendants form the Baikai (1) clan.

During the first Kundagai-Tsembaga war in about 1915-1920, several Kinimbong Kundagai moved to Tsuwenkai to escape Tsembaga raiding parties. Shortly after this war the Kinimbong Kundagai had a brief but bloody fight with their Aikupa allies, when a group of Aikupa clansmen, bribed by the Tsembaga, attempted to assassinate a leading Kundagai big-man. Immediately after this fight the Bokapai Kundagai advised their Kinimbong compatriots to relocate in Tsuwenkai to escape possible further attacks from the Aikupa, Tsembaga, and their allies. This movement of the early 1920s constituted the first major settlement of Tsuwenkai. The new settlers found that much of the area had reverted to climax forest after the emigration of most of the Kolomp and other, short-term residents.

In the 1940s war again broke out between the Kundagai and Tsembaga. By this time the rift between the Kundagai and Aikupa had been repaired, and exchanges of women and the intermingling of garden land consolidated the alliance.

Following the konj kaiko in about 1950-1952 after this latest war with the Tsembaga, many Kundagai returned to Kinimbong, where they were subjected to renewed attacks by Tsembaga raiding parties seeking to balance the score of deaths suffered in the 1940s war. In the mid-1950s hostilities escalated to major warfare, which culminated ill the rout of the Tsembaga.

At about this time the Kundagai experienced their first contact with Europeans. In 1954 or 1955 Bokapai was visited by a government patrol, and in late 1955 or early 1956 the Kinimbong Kundagai saw Mr. Jim McKinnon, who prospected for gold in the Kumbruf area of the Simbai.

In 1956, while the Tsembaga were still in exile, an epidemic, possibly of influenza, broke out in Kinimbong. The sickness was attributed to the sorcery of the Tsembaga and their allies, sent in retribution for the fatalities they had suffered in the war. To escape its effects many Kundagai left Kinimbong and joined those who had remained in Tsuwenkai. Most members of the Aikupa and Amankai clans remained in Kinimbong, as did a few Wendekai and Atikai. The majority of those who came to Tsuwenkai at this time have remained until the present, although a few maintain houses in Kinimbong, which they visit occasionally to tend gardens and tree crops. Shortly after the outbreak of the sickness, Kinimbong and Tsuwenkai were visited for the first time by a government patrol.

On moving to Tsuwenkai the Kundagai began preparations for a konj kaiko following the Tsembaga war. The Kundagai kaiko culminated on Christmas Day in 1960, suggesting the ready acceptance of mission influence in the Jimi. An Anglican mission station had been established at Koinambe only that year, although Solomon Island Brothers had set up a temporary base in Bokapai two years before.

Territoriality and Redistribution of Land Rights

The present boundaries of Tsuwenkai territory (map 3) encompass an area appreciably larger than the earliest known territory held by the Wendekai-Amankai-Afikai cognatic cluster and the original Kolomp settlers. Wendekai, Amankai, and Atikai clans jointly owned the land stretching from the Simbai River at Kinimbong over the Bismarck crest to the Kant River. In the Kant Valley this territory was bounded in the west by the Gacambo saddle and in the east by Tembi Creek. All land southward from here west of the Kant belonged to the Kolomp, whose territory also included Yongga. On the departure of the Kolomp the autonomous Kwibukai clan from near Kinimbong gained ownership of Yongga, though by what means is forgotten. When the Kwibukai clan ceased to exist as an independent population, the upper part of Yongga was incorporated into Tsembaga territory when some Kwibukai joined that clan cluster. The rest became Kundagai land, and the two adult male descendants of Kwibukai clan now resident in Tsuwenkai are today "fathers of the land" of the lower part of Yongga.

The Mating term translated as "fathers of the land" is ren kump ni yoko (literally, "land belly father its"). "Title holder" is an inappropri-

Map.3.
Tsuwenkai Geographic Features and Territories

ate translation, as this implies a sense of absolute ownership. "Fathers of the land" are ultimate custodians of rights to the land. Often, however, they do not retain exclusive, or even primary, usufruct rights, for they may make grants of land to others. The underlying principle of land grants is that it is primary use rights to land which are generally transferred, not absolute custodianship. "Fathers of the land" may thus cede primary usufruct rights, retaining only residual rights. Recipients of primary rights may themselves extend use rights to other individuals or groups, or even make subsidiary grants to third parties. Individual and corporate rights to land thus operate at several levels, being residual or active, older and more general and diffuse, recent or in relation to more clearly defined sites or particular kinds of resources. In certain circumstances, "fathers of the land" may relinquish even residual rights to land which thereby are transferred to new custodians.

The Kundagai recognize several principles by which land rights may be transferred to other groups or individuals. Rights may be given in perpetuity or temporarily for purposes of occupancy or gardening. Rappaport (1968) and LiPuma (1988) have discussed both types of grants. I am concerned here with grants in perpetuity, especially of more extensive tracts of land. These grants are usually made in connection with marriages, but groups can also obtain de jure rights in exchange for a prestation of valuables, or de facto rights that in time come to be regarded as de jure by the occupation of ren wabera , "deserted land."

Affinal transfers of land take two forms. The simplest is where rights of land are granted by wife receivers to wife givers, that is, where there is a counterflow of land against women. In the second type wife givers are also land-right givers. The rationale behind this is that the land is given by a woman's agnates to ensure that she has sufficient gardening land in her new home.

I learned of three such cases involving large tracts of land (see Healey 1985c for a detailed treatment). In two of these, wife and land receivers gave valuables in return for the land to their affines in addition to bridewealth. The third case is more complex, as the same tract of land, or parts of it, were subject to a number of grants but involved differing donors and recipients. The land between Renmapai Creek in the south and the Kant River to the east and north was formerly Kolomp territory. In the mid-1800s all this area was given to Wendekai Kolompepe and Atikai Kolompepe subclans to support their Kolomp wives. The recipient groups extended use rights to all members of the

Wendekai-Amankai-Atikai cognatic cluster. After the fission of the Kolomp, some Kundagai say that the Kolomp (2) clan granted rights over the same area to Cembokai and Aiwaka clans of Bokapai, though the circumstances are unknown to my informants. Kolomp (1) made a further grant of part of the land—Tsuwenkai ridge—to Atikai Kolompepe subclan as part of ongoing affinal transactions, by now consolidated by sister exchanges. After the 1920s fight with the Aikupa, Bokapai clansmen invited the Kinimbong Kundagai to settle in the Kant Valley, and Kolomp (1), Cembokai, and Aiwaka clans jointly granted rights to the whole tract. In return Wendekai and Atikai clans gave women in marriage to the three donor groups. These marriages are viewed as being payment for the land, in consequence of which Tsuwenkai men say the donors cannot dispossess them: they have acquired primary use rights. Nonetheless, if one asks who are the "fathers of the land," informants generally reply Kolomp (2) or Cembokai and Aiwaka for the land north of Kandemunggu Creek, and Kolomp (1) for Tsuwenkai ridge. The Bokapai-based clans retain residual rights to the land although they ceded usufruct rights to Wendekai, Amankai, and Atikai; the Bokapai clans own the land but have no superior right to use it.

The granting of land does not necessarily deprive grantors of active usufruct rights, provided these are periodically activated by productive activity and the sacrifice of pigs in raku . The Kundagai regard the sacrifice of pigs as an essential expression of occupancy and usufruct rights. Success in gardening and hunting is bound up with the maintenance of proper relations with the ancestral spirits that inhabit the land, and clan spirits abandon any land once sacrifices cease there. Kolomp (1) is the only Bokapai-based clan that maintains active raku in Tsuwenkai and which therefore retains usufruct rights in the area.

This principle of pig sacrifice is also given importance by the Kundagai when discussing two other major grants of land that subsequently became subject to dispute. In the early 1900s the Tsembaga granted in perpetuity the lower part of Yopku to support Tsembaga women married to the Kundagai. (The two groups were still on friendly terms.) The recipients (two men of Atikai clan) were assisted by fellow clansmen and cognates of Wendekai and Amankai in making a prestation of valuables in return for the land. The Tsembaga ceased sacrifices at Yopku and, in view of this and the exchange of valuables, the Kundagai argue that all rights in the land have passed to the Atikai descendants of the original recipients, who are now the "fathers of the

land" of Yopku. Other Tsuwenkai residents wishing to garden the area should first seek permission of these men.

In similar vein, an adjoining tract of land was given by the Tuguma to two Tsuwenkai men: a matrilateral parallel cousin of Atikai clan and an affine of Amankai. Both men joined a party of Tuguma resident at Tambekema in the Kant Valley. The Atikai man gave valuables in return for the grant, and when the Tuguma returned to the Simbai they ceased use of the land and sacrifices of pigs there. The senior descendants of the original recipients are again the "fathers of the land" and have extended usufruct rights to all coresidents.

More recently, the Tsembaga and Tuguma have pressed claims to be recognized as "fathers of the land" previously granted to the Kundagai and to regain exclusive primary usufruct rights. The Kundagai justified their own superior claims to all rights to the land by recounting the history of the grants and stressing that they periodically sacrificed pigs at Yopku and Tambekema, whereas the Tsembaga and Tuguma had long since ceased to do so.

Aside from grants, Kundagai territory has also increased through the purchase of land from other groups in recent times. These transfers are complicated by the de facto rights the Kundagai held in these areas by virtue of their occupation of what they considered was deserted land.

Before their defeat and rout at the hands of the Kauwatyi in 1955 the Cenda territory included large tracts of land in the Pint and Kant Valleys. The Kundagai helped both the Cenda and Kauwatyi and supported many Cenda in refuge after their defeat. In appreciation the Cenda transferred to the Kundagai the tract of land shown on map 3, most of which became part of Tsuwenkai territory. Much of this area was formerly part of the territory of the original Kolomp settlers of Tsuwenkai but was incorporated into the Cenda territory when some Kolomp joined that clan cluster. Most of this land had long been neglected by the Cenda, and the Kundagai, considering it ren wabera , deserted land, had gardened on it. Some Kauwatyi had also gardened on Komongwai and, at the time of the grant, were extending their cultivations there. The Kundagai saw this as an attempt by the Kauwatyi to establish de facto rights to this land. The grant from the Cenda was timely, as it gave the Kundagai primary rights to the land and legitimacy to demand the removal of the Kauwatyi. The Kundagai were not entirely successful in pressing their demands, although the Kauwatyi withdrew their gardens on Komongwai to the lower slopes above the Pint River, where they continue to garden. The Kauwatyi, however,

also quickly occupied most of the wedge of land stretching from the Kant River to Mount Yirua. The Kundagai did not press their rights here, and they now consider that the Kauwatyi have become "fathers of the land" south of Jikemp ridge by virtue of long and continued occupation and sacrifice of pigs. Significantly, LiPuma's ethnography of the Kauwatyi indicates a heightened concern for access to land compared with other Maring local groups. This may be attributable to a comparatively high population density and local perception of pressure on land (see also Lowman 1980).

In about 1959 or 1960 the Cenda demanded payment for the land. The Tsuwenkai Kundagai made a payment only for the land on the west of the Kant. Several women were given in marriage, as well as shell valuables, steel tools, and bird plumes. Bridewealth was received for the women. The Bokapai Kundagai made a similar payment. The Kundagai now claim to be "fathers of the land" and therefore to be free to make use of it for cash-earning ventures, such as coffee plantings. Since the Kundagai do not consider themselves "fathers" of the Jikemp grant, they say it would be unwise to use the land for bisnis (TP: "cash-earning activities").

The Kundagai of Kinimbong and Tsuwenkai seem never to have appropriated land vacated by defeated enemies. The Bokapai Kundagai have expanded their territory in this way on at least one occasion. About the turn of the last century the Went-Kai clan lived in the Mieng Valley near Bokapai. Their land extended into the high-altitude forest at Aiyonju. Following a dispute the Went-Kai were routed by the Kundagai and fled to Rinyimp where they still live with the Kolomp-Kambek. Somewhat later two Wendekai men of Tsuwenkai gave a pig to their Went-Kai mother's brother for sacrifice in his sickness. In appreciation they were granted permanent usufruct rights to Aiyonju. The Kundagai had already gained de facto rights there, by gardening in the lower slopes and harvesting forest products in the high forest. The Went-Kai still consider themselves, nonetheless, to be "fathers" of Aiyonju land and have forbidden the Kundagai to make bisnis from the land by hunting valuable birds for trade—an injunction that has so far been ignored.

The grants of usufruct rights discussed here differ from those treated by Rappaport (1968) and LiPuma (1988) in that they involve large tracts of land of marginal use to their original owners because of the distance from settlements. Generalizing from these few cases, I suggest it is easier to obtain both exclusive usufruct rights to and custodianship

of land obtained from other clan clusters. This is perhaps partly a function of distance—other populations are less able systematically to exploit the land because of its distance from their homes, and they are therefore less likely to press their claims as "fathers of the land," either implicitly by the sacrifice of pigs there or explicitly through statements of ownership. The Tsuwenkai Kundagai have acquired land in exchange for valuables or women or both from the Tsembaga, Tuguma, Cenda, and Bokapai Kundagai. Only the Bokapai Kundagai are still acknowledged as "fathers of the land," although all Tsuwenkai informants agree that no Bokapai clans, with the exception of Baikai (l), have any right to garden or harvest valuable forest products on this land. The transfer of ultimate custodianship thus may also be a function of ideas of in-group and out-group. It is not possible, however, to draw any firm conclusions concerning such transfers, in view of the vagueness of Kundagai notions regarding them. The situation is further complicated by recent claims by the Tuguma, Tsembaga, and Went-Kai to continuing rights and custodianship.

The Kundagai assert that all residents of Tsuwenkai are free to clear gardens in any part of the whole territory. Although the area south of Renmapai Creek is Kolomp (1) land and the area to the north is held jointly by the Wendekai-Amankai-Atikai cognatic cluster, individual sites are held by particular males. Initial ownership of garden plots is achieved by clearing the primary forest. Such sites generally are inherited patrilineally, but grants in perpetuity to other cognates or affines are commonly made. By these means individuals gain primary gardening rights to specific sites located in landholdings of other clans. To plot the garden sites of individuals does not reveal any clear pattern of clan territorial holdings. Garden sites of Wendekai, Amankai, and Atikai men are more or less evenly distributed throughout the whole area of agricultural land from Anggunai to Danmarak. Most Kolomp (l) gardens, however, have been cut south of Renmapai Creek within Kolomp (l) territory and the land purchased from the Cenda. Although specific garden sites are spoken of as being owned by individuals, these men in fact own usufruct rights, while the "father of the land" is the corporate group within whose territory the site is located.

During his first patrols to Tsuwenkai, kiap Griffin, who established the government station at Tabibuga, recorded boundaries for Tsuwenkai territory, an exercise no doubt prompted by armed clashes between several Jimi groups over territorial disputes. Griffin evidently relied largely on Tsuwenkai informants to determine the boundary, for the

line he declared as the official boundary corresponds to Kundagai notions (see map 3) with exceptions at only two points. Griffin declared that the northern boundary of Tsuwenkai should follow the Bismarck crest. The Kundagai, however, assert that there is no territorial division between Mounts Aiyunk and Kombaku but that Tsuwenkai and Kinimbong lands constitute a single territory within which members of either settlement are free to garden or harvest forest products, because members of both settlements comprise a single clan subcluster. Members of the Wendekai-Amankai-Atikai cognatic cluster have equal usufruct rights to the whole estate of lands occupied by them in Tsuwenkai and Kinimbong. Other Kundagai clans that do not share rights of usufruct to this land are not entitled to garden on it or extract valuable forest products without permission. Few Kinimbong Kundagai avail themselves of their right to garden or harvest in Tsuwenkai because Kinimbong is more fertile. Many Tsuwenkai members of Wendekai, Amankai, and Atikai clans occasionally garden in the lower altitudes in Kinimbong, and most maintain groves of breadfruit and Gnetum trees (TP: tulip ) and marita pandanus there, as these fare badly in Tsuwenkai's colder climate. Baikai (1) technically shares this right, though it is unclear if Baikai (2) does also. The issue has not arisen and informants are reluctant to express an opinion. No other clans based in Bokapai or Tsuwenkai have this right except on invitation. There is ample lower-altitude land in Bokapai where special crops may be grown or game hunted.

The second section of the boundary established by Griffin which is not recognized by the Kundagai lies on the east side of the Kant Valley. Griffin ruled that the boundary should follow the Bismarck crest from above Jikemp to Mount Kombaku. Some Kundagai also state this to be the present boundary. Most declare that the site of the new road has been the eastern boundary of Kundagai land since the Tuguma and Tsembaga land grants. The Tuguma and Tsembaga's claim to repossess the land below this level, mentioned earlier, occurred sometime before I entered the field, and there had been some discussion of the issue in informal kot (TP: "courts," but here referring to discussion of disputes) at Tsembaga. The Kundagai say these claims were inspired by the expectation that the road being cut in the Kant Valley might open up the forests to commercial exploitation. No further kot were held during my major period of fieldwork. By 1978, the matter had been referred to a committee of the Jimi Local Government Council, but no decision was reached, and by 1985 the claims seem to have been in abeyance.

With the grant of Komongwai and Anggunai from the Cenda and its subsequent purchase, the southern boundary of Tsuwenkai was extended so that Bokapai and Tsuwenkai land met in the zone of human habitation. Formerly the two territories met only in montane forest. Residents of either territory, as members of different clan subclusters, do not have the right to extend their gardens across the Anggunai border. Baikai (1) may garden north of Anggunai because of their association with Atikai. Informants suppose that Baikai (2), associated with Wendekai, might also do this, but none could recall any case where they had gardened in this region.

Tsuwenkai Kundagai claim that they do not garden in Bokapai territory but complain about encroachments on their land at Anggunai by Bokapai men. The incursions of the Kauwatyi on the lower slopes of Komongwai do not prompt serious complaints, probably because their activities are at a distance from Tsuwenkai settlement and gardens, whereas sites cleared by Bokapai Kundagai abut onto Tsuwenkai gardens, thus reducing the amount of land in easily accessible regions available for new Tsuwenkai cultivations. Tsuwenkai complaints about encroachments by Bokapai men have gone no further than occasional grumblings and fistfights.

The Kundagai tolerated the Kauwatyi annexation of much of the Cenda grant on the east of the Kant Valley because this area was far from the settlement and therefore unsuited to more intensive cultivation. It is probable that they also did not wish to antagonize a powerful ally who had already revealed expansionist designs by occupying Cenda land adjoining Kauwatyi borders elsewhere. Since this annexation, however, the Kauwatyi have attempted to include more of this former Cenda land within their territory, a move that the Kundagai have successfully resisted with the aid of government personnel.

Although most Kundagai are fairly clear about the location of territorial boundaries, it would be incorrect to suggest that they are concerned about the occasional transgression of gardening rights that these boundaries demarcate. They believe that they have ample land, and although they evidently do not wish to relinquish ownership of large tracts of land, such as are claimed by the Tsembaga and Tuguma, they are tolerant of their Kauwatyi and Bokapai neighbors making gardens inside their territory.

This chapter has reviewed the ecological, social, cultural, and historical context within which the exploitation of forest products and the

exchange of goods is located. In the last few pages I have shown that the population of the Tsuwenkai region has fluctuated considerably and that continuous Kundagai occupancy is relatively recent. There is, however, circumstantial evidence of human occupation of the Tsuwenkai area extending back at least two hundred years (Healey 1985c ). Oral historical material indicates that there was a succession of small, sporadic settlements until around the turn of the century. Tsuwenkai has been occupied continuously since then, although the population remained small but fluctuating for two or three decades. The area thus remained an essentially pioneer zone until recently. In this period much of the land was owned by clans in Bokapai or Kinimbong and exploited primarily as a hunting preserve and only to a very limited extent as garden land by a few resident households. As the region was periodically subjected to more intensive exploitation by larger concentrations of people seeking refuge from hostilities elsewhere, so grants of extensive tracts of land were made to occupants. Although the parameters of past population numbers and the kind and intensity of exploitation cannot be drawn with any accuracy, this historical material points to an important conclusion. There are no grounds for assuming that the ecological relations of humans to the environment in the Tsuwenkai region have achieved a dynamic equilibrium. Most particularly for the present study, one cannot posit any long-term homeostatic relationship between human exploitation of the environment and its direct and indirect effects on bird populations. As it happens, however, the period of continuous occupation, with a population approximating and sometimes exceeding present levels, roughly coincides with the period for which I was able to gather case material from individuals on their hunting and trading histories. The period from the mid-1920s saw a consolidation of a regime of extensive shifting horticulture in Tsuwenkai and an expansion of the zone of human habitation. The effects of human presence on habitat and bird numbers by clearing, hunting and, less directly, by the ravages of pigs, are mainly the consequence of the last few decades. This is a relatively short time in the ecology of both humans and birds. Although the forests had long been exploited for game, in all probability the impact of hunting on bird populations was considerably less than it has been in the last fifty or sixty years. The analysis of the impact of habitat restriction and of hunting by the Kundagai, as revealed by present horticultural practices and case histories of hunting, thus covers the greater part of the period of most intensive,

continuous human occupation of the area. Before presenting an analysis of the ecology of hunting focused on the exploitation of birds of paradise for their plumes, it is necessary to outline the significance of plumes within Maring culture, a matter to which I turn in the next chapter.

2
The Uses and Significance of Plumes

Forest products are the only resource locally available to the Kundagai which are in high demand elsewhere in the central-highlands trading region. The most important of these items are bird plumes, but marsupial skins and live cassowaries are also traded. Kundagai trade is therefore closely connected to the production of plumes through hunting. However, only a limited range of different kinds of birds can be harvested in the Tsuwenkai forests; many are acquired from elsewhere. The Kundagai are therefore both suppliers and consumers of plumes. Production of decorative feathers through hunting is geared to meet local demand as well as to provide objects to trade. To set the context for subsequent examinations of the organization of production and trade, in this chapter I outline the patterns of plume ownership, the uses to which they are put, and the varied significance of such uses.

Birds Used in Decorations

The Kundagai preserve the feathers of at least fifty-three species of birds for use in decorations. Only a few of this number are regarded as of any great decorative value, whereas the feathers of almost any bird may be tucked into the hair at a jaunty angle to signal, for instance, a casual hunting success.

During the early months of my major period of fieldwork I made a census of valuables collections kept by Tsuwenkai men and youths. I

saw collections belonging to fifty-five residents, who claimed that they showed me all their stored goods. Two youths and three old men said they had no valuables at the time, while another man declined to show me his collection but described its contents. A few stores I examined included goods belonging to absent relatives. Some men store their valuables in several bundles lodged in separate houses for safekeeping. I cannot therefore be certain that I saw the full contents of all collections.

In appendix 2 I list the bird species represented in the census of valuables and which parts of the plumage or skins are used in decorations. I also give information on the habitat, local status, and Maring and English vernacular names of each species. It is from this stock of plumes that most decorations are drawn for festive occasions. Many feathers destined for trade are also lodged temporarily in these collections.

The remains of at least 491 birds of 53 species were revealed in the census of valuables. Although I did not make a follow-up census, data on trade and hunting during fieldwork indicate that plume holdings changed considerably over time as men acquired feathers to use in a series of ceremonies and disposed of others in trade, gifts, or loans, both within and beyond Tsuwenkai.

The most numerous plumes in collections were of the long-tailed blue and white Common Paradise Kingfisher (Tanysiptera galatea ) or joli in Maring: remains of at least sixty-eight birds were held by a total of sixteen men. The most widely represented species, appearing in thirty-three collections, was the White Cockatoo (Cacatua galerita ), Maring akaka . The next most commonly held species (in twenty-five collections) was the Yellow or Lesser Bird of Paradise (Paradisaea minor ), Maring yambai . This is one of the more familiar forms of paradise birds to westerners, with long filamentous golden flank plumes, although most Kundagai specimens were old and faded.

To rank the importance or desirability of species by the number of birds represented or the number of men retaining them does not reflect the value the Maring place on different species as items of decorations. Nor is the decorative value necessarily reflected in the value of plumes expressed in terms of money or other exchange items. For instance, the striking red and black feathers of the Vulturine Parrot (Psittrichas fulgidus ), Maring kopel , have among the highest exchange values of plumes but are considered only minor decorations by the Maring. Although there is no firmly expressed hierarchy of the relative importance

Long-tailed Buzzard, Henicopernis longicauda, Maring rukump

of different birds as decorations, I have attempted in table 4 to construct such a scheme. I base this partly on informants' identifications of the most important species and those considered most appropriate for full dancing regalia and partly on the observed use of plumes. The importance of plumes in decorations bears no particular correspondence to the difficulty of their acquisition. Most of the species listed in categories A and B occur either in Tsuwenkai or in nearby regions in the Jimi and Simbai.

Of the fifty-three species of birds exploited for plumes, the majority (thirty-four) are found locally in Tsuwenkai territory. The remaining nineteen are not locally available, although most are found in the Jimi and Simbai Valleys within one or two days' walk from Tsuwenkai. Only six nonlocal species are confined to more distant parts of the highlands or coastal regions, although a number of species found in or near Tsuwenkai are also obtained in these distant areas. (See app. 2 for distributions.) Table 5 shows the means of acquisition of plumes in Kundagai collections at the time of the census of valuables in 1974, in terms of the local/nonlocal distinctions just made. Locally available species that are also acquired from beyond Tsuwenkai are included only in the column for local species.

Most feathers and skins retained for decorations are obtained by gift or minor prestation, with hunting and trade of next importance. I am using gift and minor prestation as synonymous here, contrasting such exchanges with trade, as indicated in the Introduction. Further details of the way decorative plumes are obtained are given in chapter 4. As might be expected, the means of acquisition show some relationship to whether a species can be hunted locally or is available only from beyond Tsuwenkai territory.

The predominance of hunting for locally available species, and of trade and gift for nonlocal species, is to be expected. But what is noteworthy is the importance of trade in acquiring local species and of hunting in obtaining nonlocal birds. Most trade of local species involved more valuable plumes, and remains of only nine of the thirty-four locally available species represented in collections had come by trade. Most of the hunting of nonlocal birds for plumes occurred in coastal areas rather than elsewhere in the Jimi or Simbai. Young men serving two-year work contracts as plantation laborers on coastal plantations commonly kill local birds—notably the Paradise Kingfisher—or purchase them from local traders. Many Cockatoo, Hornbill, and Raggiana Bird of Paradise plumes are acquired on the coast, though they

are readily obtained closer to home also. ThePapuan Lory (goli ) is a mountain species, but most specimens in the Bismarck Range are melanistic forms. The most highly esteemed skins of red-phase birds are often bought from Koiari, Goilala, and other traders in Port Moresby's Koki Market.^[1] The Koiari of the Sogeri Plateau also visit plantations to sell skins of the Lory and other birds to laborers.

Workers in coastal areas collect exotic plumes primarily for their decorative value and as gifts for kinsmen. Some of these plumes are also traded on return to the Jimi, but there is little deliberate attempt to amass stocks for this purpose. Gifts of plumes most frequently involve nonlocal species. More feathers of local than nonlocal species are found. Most such finds are picked up from dancegrounds where they have fallen from headdresses. In addition, feathers of locally occurring species are sometimes discovered in the bush, accounting for the slightly greater incidence of this form of acquisition for local species.

Storage and Life of Plumes

The care with which feathers are stored depends largely on their value as decorations or trade items and on their age and condition, though these last two factors are themselves partly a function of care in their storage. Most feathers I saw were in rather poor condition. Few had been reserved specifically for trade at the time of the census, although many plumes were acquired subsequently which were to be traded after use in dances. Most men now own suitcases or steel or wooden strongboxes in which they keep their feathers, furs, shells, other valuables, cosmetics, and trinkets. Wings and skins of parrots and smaller birds tend to be jumbled together in trunks and quickly become bedraggled. Large flight quills of the Long-tailed Buzzard, Cockatoo, and Hornbill and of some other birds are sometimes more carefully protected between sheets of paper or the pages of old school-books. Skins of the Papuan Lory and the Paradise Kingfisher may also be protected in this way. Valuables cases are usually kept locked and stored on the sleeping platform at the rear of a man's or his wife's house. Men without cases wrap their plumes in bundles of the bark of the kemer palm (unident.) or occasionally in bundles of pandanus

Papuan Lory (black phase), Charmosyna papou, Maring goli

leaves. The immense skins of the Black Sicklebill are kept in flat packages of bark and leaves of up to one-and-a-half meters long.

Occipitals of King of Saxony Bird of Paradise and tail feathers of the Papuan Lory and Paradise Kingfisher are sometimes stored in thin bamboo tubes. Skins of Princess Stephanie's Astrapia and the Lesser Birds of Paradise are generally stored in larger bamboo tubes, plugged with leaves and sometimes wrapped in kemer bark or cloth to further prevent the entry of smoke and insects. Bundles and tubes are lodged in the rafters or walls of houses where the almost continuously smoky atmosphere drives away insects and keeps plumes and their wrappings dry. Older Astrapia and Lesser Bird of Paradise plumes are simply thrown into cases with other feathers.

Although the Kundagai carefully store their more valuable decorations, these can become damaged easily during dances. The Maring generally begin dancing at ceremonies during the afternoon and continue all night. Dancing space is sometimes limited, especially at night when dancers may continue their performance in the shelter of specially constructed dance houses, kaiko ying . Plumes fixed to large, awkward wigs are sometimes damaged in the jostling crowds of such structures. Dancing often continues during rain, and feathers are occasionally packed away when still damp and so quickly become moldy. House rats and insects chew feathers, and children may damage them in play if they are not locked away or stored out of reach.

All these factors reduce the life of plumes, and I suspect that Narak and Kandawo plumes, for instance, which I examined in the upper Jimi, last longer than Kundagai plumes, because of more care in storage and use.

It is not easy to estimate the age of plumes in decorations. Most Lesser Bird of Paradise plumes I saw were old and faded, though many had been acquired when new. These are used for about two or three years before they become too faded and tattered to use as major decorations or as trade items. They are then worn on minor ceremonial occasions, such as bridewealth presentations. A temporary gloss can be added to old Lesser Bird of Paradise plumes by rubbing them with dry soap, and the color of faded plumes enhanced by applying yellow dye extracted from a grassland shrub. For the dances that occurred after I conducted the plume census, most men obtained new Lesser Bird of Paradise and other plumes from kinsmen and friends in the Simbai and lower Jimi, even though some already owned small or faded plumes. These were considered unsuitable for major decorations.

Feathers of other species probably last in good condition longer than Lesser Bird of Paradise, but plumes of more valuable locally obtainable species are usually traded out of Tsuwenkai soon after they are acquired. Most other plumes remain in suitable condition as decorations or trade items for a minimum of five years if stored with care.

Principal decorations for major ceremonies are acquired mainly by loan, trade, or gift from associates in other settlements or by hunting shortly before they are needed, whereas less important additions to the headdress are drawn from personal stocks of feathers. Many of these plumes acquired for a specific occasion are traded immediately after they have been used and were therefore not encountered in the census. Thus, although most Kundagai plume collections are rather unimpressive, men are able to decorate themselves with plumes of high quality.

Decorations

I do not intend to give a detailed description or analysis of dress and body decorations here. My main purpose is to indicate the occasions on which plumes are used and the kinds of arrangements that are employed.

Everyday styles of dress vary in minor detail according to the social status and personal tastes of the individual. Older men mainly wear the traditional netting apron and buttock covering of tanket leaves. Young men usually wear shorts and shirt and express embarrassment at being reduced to wearing everyday traditional clothing. European frocks and modern Papua New Guinea styles are increasingly worn by younger women, but the majority still wear the traditional string pubic apron, bark-cloth rear covering, and a cotton cape or large net bag suspended from the forehead and covering the back. European clothing marks the wearer (or in the case of women, their menfolk) as a participant in the wider contemporary world; traditional styles are worn by those who have little direct involvement or confidence in that world and who are mainly concerned with time-honored pursuits.

It is in the numerous minor decorations that more subtle statements are made about the wearer. Most adults and adolescents wear a bead necklace, but the addition of other items signals certain personal characteristics. Extra necklaces, bead armbands, and bracelets from the seals of petrol drums received as gifts testify to the popularity of young people with the opposite sex or the ardor of their lovers. A widower may add a purse containing a locket of his wife's hair or a string from

Vulturine Parrot, Psittrichas fulgidus , Maring kopel

her apron to his necklace. A widow sometimes suspends a bound and mummified finger of her husband from her neck. One waggish man in a bizarre parody of this custom had a large pink plastic hand from a doll dangling from his necklace. Prominent supporters of the church often sport a religious medallion or crucifix. An older man in high spirits intent upon visiting may ornament his nose with spikes of bamboo bristling from little holes in the alae, and a sliver of pearlshell through the septum, or in sickness remove all his decorations. Young men and girls occasionally wear a parrot wing or skin, or colorful leaves in their hair, especially when visiting friends in other settlements.

On minor ceremonial occasions, such as feasts and bridewealth presentations, younger men and girls decorate themselves more heavily. Older participants sometimes wear feather, fur, or shell decorations also. Girls put on bright dresses or their best string aprons, wind a length of red cloth or white marsupial fur about their heads, and stick feathers.—borrowed from fathers or brothers—in their hair. Young men put on neat clothes or their best colored aprons and arrange many bright bird skins and wings in their hair. Old plumes from the Lesser Bird of Paradise may project sideways from the headdress. Plumes of the Raggiana Bird of Paradise are also worn, although these are generally scorned by younger men. As a general rule, feather and other decorations are not combined with modern clothing.

Styles of major decorations have changed somewhat over the last ten to twenty years. Formerly, most adolescent males assumed a wig at the time of the konj kaiko ceremony culminating the ritual cycle following war. This was molded into their hair from the sap of the gunc tree. The wig, mamp ku gunc ("head stone gunc tree" ), formed a base for feather decorations. This wig, worn high on the forehead, was stained red and was sometimes decorated with a band of the shards of the green mimola scarab beetle. The mamp ku gunc is no longer made, but in its place as a dancing wig the Kundagai have adopted the wig of their Kalam neighbors. This they variously call mamp ku, mimola glong , or glong . The glong is a large, bulbous, ovoid wig made of hair clippings or tree burs, formerly covered with bark cloth but nowadays with cotton cloth. It used to be worn high on the forehead, like the mamp ku gunc , and decorated with a few rows of mimola beetle heads, interspersed with vertical rows of white marsupial fur (see plates in Rappaport 1968). Nowadays the glong is made larger and is worn tilted forward to the eyebrows. Diagonal rows of thousands of mimola heads mounted on sticks zigzag around the glong between vertical bands of

white fur or cloth. A bonnet, kabang kai ("bird base"), of tightly massed dark feathers of domestic fowl, Hawk, or other species, or of the white feathers of the Cockatoo, is fixed to the crown of the glong . Alternatively, a kabang kangapa may be worn here. This is a raffia circle supporting a ring of cane spikes pointing up and outward. Individual feathers of Buzzard, Eagle, Cockatoo, or Hornbill are attached to the spikes, and Lorikeet or Kingfisher skins may be added in the center. A Lesser Bird of Paradise skin is mounted on the end of a long flexible stick thrust into the crown of the glong . The plume waves almost a meter above the dancer's head. Some dancers, usually older men, do not wear glong but instead a larger kabang kangapa directly on the head, worn high on the forehead. The basketry framework also supports a stick for a Lesser Bird of Paradise plume. These two basic styles of headdress may be varied with skins of the Long-tailed Sicklebill or Astrapia,^[2] in place of Lesser Bird of Paradise, and embellished with additional Parrot skins and wings thrust in among the bonnet or basketry framework. The occipitals of the King of Saxony Bird of Paradise or the long tail feathers of Papuan Lory and Paradise Kingfisher are worn through the nose.^[3]

The glong style of headdress is now worn by the western Maring. The Kundagai say that some Kauwatyi are beginning to fashion inferior glong , although most continue to wear the more traditional kabang kangapa style of headdress, as do the Cenda. Eastern Maring headdresses apparently conform more to Narak than to Kalam styles. Narak headdresses are similar to Wahgi Valley styles, though less sumptuous.

Maring headdresses are in general much less elaborate than the full dancing regalia of many western highlanders, such as the Kuma or Melpa. In place of a mass of Astrapia skins or other plumes set amidst a cluster of Parrot skins and Raggiana or Lesser Bird of Paradise plumes, the Maring generally wear one or only a few plumes of these species set among a more sparse arrangement of Eagle, Cockatoo, or Hornbill feathers.

The Social Significance of Plume use

The Kundagai say they use plumes only as items of decoration and trade. Except for rare occasions, feathers are not included in ceremonial payments. The amount, relative value, and quality of plumes a man holds therefore bears little relation to the degree to which he partici-

Common Paradise Kingfisher, Tanysiptera galatea , Maring joli

pates in ceremonial exchange. Further, as already noted, a man does not need to rely on his own stocks of plumes for his major decorations in dances. A man's collection of plumes cannot therefore be taken as an index of his political influence or wealth. In this connection, I have noted that political influence is not closely linked with ability to manipulate wealth items in prestations. There is no tendency for big-men to hold larger stocks of plumes than other men.

The size of plume collections varies primarily with age. Younger men generally own larger and more varied stocks of plumes simply because it is they who most keenly participate in dances.

During fieldwork in 1973-1974 the Kundagai participated in six dances. Although all these attracted considerable numbers of spectators, the contingents of participants from Tsuwenkai were small— around ten to fifteen. Total numbers of dancers at most celebrations were nonetheless quite large, with dancing teams from several communities. A much larger contingent of Kundagai planned to dance at a ceremony in Kwima in mid-1974. This dance, associated with Tugumenga preparations for a konj kaiko , was canceled at the last moment when a prominent man of the host community died.

Dances in which Kundagai participated included two Kalam semi initiation ceremonies and Christmas celebrations and the opening of a new hospital at the Koinambe mission station. Two dances were hosted in Tsuwenkai: one to celebrate the consecration of a new church, the other in connection with a pati. A pati (TP and Maring for "party") is a public entertainment hosted by a group of men who kill pigs and sell small cuts to visitors. Nearby communities are invited to send dance teams, and the hosts provide accommodation and vegetable foods. The 1974 Tsuwenkai pati was the first to be held by the Kundagai.

Dances, consisting of stylized movements and accompanied by songs, sometimes specially composed for the occasion and set to two basic melodies, are highly ceremonialized forms of group display and contest (see Strathern and Strathern 1971 for the Melpa). Formal warfare on a fight ground was also somewhat ceremonialized and circumscribed by conventional tactics, which led to relatively few deaths (see Lowman 1973; Rappaport 1968; Vayda 1971). Besides carrying incised and painted shields for purposes of display and defence (Lowman 1973), Maring warriors also blackened their bodies and wore headdresses of black cassowary plumes, sometimes embellished with black-and-white tails of striped possums (Dactylopsila ), faded Lesser Bird of Paradise plumes, and white leaves. The overall effect was black-

ness, accentuated by the contrast of white plumes, furs, and leaves. The purpose of warfare decorations was not only to hide the identity of individuals but also to make the ranks of warriors appear forbidding and intimidating. Warfare decorations, then, were employed in one form of stylized intergroup competition.

Participants in more peaceful competitions are drawn from the same groups as warfare parties. In dances, members of each clan cluster form up in separate competing groups. Dancers may invite allies from other groups to swell their numbers. Each team performs separately on the danceground, kaiko ren , trying to outdo its rivals in the splendor of its decorations, the volume of singing, stamping, and drum beating, in their endurance, and the number of admiring unmarried female spectators they can attract to their ranks. These competitions can sometimes lead to violence, especially if one group attempts to charge through the ranks of another to show its strength. The dances I attended were all good humored.

As occasions for group display, dances can indicate the strength and vigor of a group, and by the number of allies present as helpers could, in the past, serve as an indication of military strength. The richness of the dancers' decorations also signals the relative wealth and economic connections of a group (see also Rappaport 1968). The Kundagai say that the dance group wearing the finest decorations, making the most noise, and which keeps dancing longest is accorded victory in the contest by public opinion, although there is no formal declaration of a winner.

The Kundagai deny that there is any competition between individuals in dancing. Nonetheless, vigorous and well-decorated individuals may gain the reputation of being fine dancers, although they are regarded as contributing to group prestige. Such men are likely to attract the attention of unmarried women, who may join the dancers and hold the wrist of the man they admire.

The Fight Magic big-man (bamp kunda yu ) possesses spells to aid dancers and weaken competitors. Before a dance he recites spells over the dancers to give them strength and endurance and to impart brightness to their decorations, so that women will flock to them. Other spells recited over magic traps hidden on pathways leading to the danceground are designed to counteract the strength and beauty magic of rival groups. To my knowledge dancing magic was not performed on dancers attending any of the celebrations that occurred during fieldwork.

Black Sicklebill, Epimachus fastosus , Maring kalanc gi yondoi

Aside from individuals' reputations as strong dancers, decorations have further social significance for individuals as opposed to the groups in which they perform. Although a group of dancers as a whole competes to attract women from the spectators, it is to individuals that the women are drawn. At the end of dancing, girls sometimes follow home men to whom they are attracted. The qualities that influence this choice are endurance, personal attractiveness, and the wealth items the man displays. These romantic attachments may result in marriage if the man and the agnates of the girl and man are all agreeable. Sometimes the man may agree to marry the girl against the wishes of her agnates, in which case she is spoken of as being "stolen," ku . Such romantic marriages and short-lived attachments are generally initiated by the girl, the man taking a more passive role. The man "steals" the woman insofar as he acquiesces to the arrangement, thereby denying the rights of her ` to dispose of her at their choice.

Several women married to Tsuwenkai men were "stolen" by their husbands after they were attracted to them at dances. Dances therefore provide occasions on which women are presented with a collection of men from which they might choose a husband, as Rappaport (1968: 193 ff.) has argued.

These remarks could apply to almost any form of display. They take for granted the particular decorative items, their combinations,' and their choreographed presentation. Many questions remain: why have styles changed; why wear the glong ; what is it that makes the Lesser Bird of Paradise the most appropriate plume to wear as a centerpiece; and so on?

The meaning of plumes as objects in themselves and as elements in an expressive performance by decorated dancers and singers is a complex subject that has received limited attention (Feld 1982; O'Hanlon 1983; Sillitoe 1988; Strathern and Strathern 1971; M. Strathern 1979). My data on the symbolism and aesthetics of decorations are scanty, partly because my attempts to engage the Kundagai in discussions on these matters were usually met with highly general and superficial statements. Men tend to respond to such enquiries simply by remarking that plumes are beautiful and it is custom to dance in this way. The issues involved in the interpretation of decorations are incidental to the main focus of this book, and I confine myself to only brief remarks.

As those ethnographers cited in the last paragraph have also observed, decorations both suppress individuality amidst the ranks of similarly bedecked performers and reveal essential qualities of the self'.

Princess Stephanie's Astrapia, Astrapia stephaniae , Mating kombam

Decorations and dance also mark gender. Only men don full dancing regalia and perform to the accompaniment of drums and songs as a group in the center of a danceground. Sometimes unmarried girls join the ranks of the dancing men, grasping the wrists of young men who attract their admiration. Women occasionally may dance in their own right, wearing decorations. Such women are generally married, and their decorations are provided by their husbands. The style of decoration is essentially the same as for men, except that a woman's tasseled apron, rather than a man's woven apron, is worn as a pubic covering. Women's dance style, however, is quite different in time, space, and movement. They appear prior to the emergence of massed male dancers, alone or in small groups, and as silent figures promenading on the periphery of the danceground. They are present only with the assistance of male guardians and as individuals.

By contrast, men dance as both individuals, signaled by idiosyncra-cies of decoration—though their identities may be difficult to determine—and as a coordinated, undifferentiated group of dancers performing more complex sequences of movements to the accompaniment of loud singing and drumming (cf. Strathern 1985 on aspects of gender and maturity in Hagen dance styles).

The principle elements of dancing decorations are objects of nature—birds, marsupials, plants—employed in relatively unprocessed or "raw" states. Decorations express a link between men and nature, transforming the wearer into something akin to a natural, as opposed to a cultural, being. But as a manifestly cultural action, the wearing of objects accentuating certain parts of the body—the head, chest, buttocks—masks the dancer's natural form and movement. For example, the flexible stick projecting above a dancer's head, to which is attached the waving plumes of birds of paradise, extends through the base of the headdress down the nape of the neck. The neck is held flexed against this stick, so that the head and torso move as a rigid unit. To achieve the admired undulating, beckoning movement of the plume, the dancer is obliged to master a difficult undulation of the whole body through movement of hips and knees. The effect is almost as if the plume is waving the man. By appropriating objects of nature the dancer transcends his natural properties and limitations, and becomes, as it were, an extension of his decorations.

Although I was unable to elicit any clearly articulated symbolic associations of particular species of birds that might make them appropriate as decorations, there is a clear association between birds and

Superb Bird of Paradise, Lophorina superba , Maring yenandiok

men, more particularly between plume-bearing birds 'and virility, itself signaled in the act of display by both birds and men (cf. Feld 1982; Sillitoe 1988). For example, one song composed for a dance during fieldwork likened the energetic young men to colorful forest parrots. For a man to dream of plume-bearing birds is a sign of future good health. Most significantly, the souls, miny-nomani (literally "soul consciousness") of living men may manifest themselves as colorful Fairy Lories or Papuan Lories, or as the glossy long-tailed Black Sicklebill or Astrapia Birds of Paradise, or as other large, bright, plume-bearing birds. Thus, when men bedeck themselves with plumes they are displaying their souls or essential selves. As one man remarked, this makes them look "smart." That is, it is not plumes themselves that make a man smart but the revelation of the soul through the wearing of plumes.

At a rather general level, then, plume-bearing birds are associated with vigorous masculinity. Just as it is that young, virile men display themselves bedecked in bird of paradise and other plumes, hoping to attract the attention of girls, so the Maring speak of birds of paradise that engage in elaborate displays in the forest as "young males." Decorations, moreover, refer to conceptions of the relationship of males in particular, and humankind in general, to culture and nature.

The Maring value few of the many kinds of feathers they use. Decoration styles do not require the use of many plumes, and the Kundagai themselves owned few considered to be of sufficient quality for use as major decorations.

It is reasonable to assume that suppliers of plumes will tend to have low stocks of locally available species and will retain in greater numbers only plumes of nonlocal birds. Data in appendix 2 lend support to this hypothesis, especially if only the more important species identified in table 4 are considered. Thus, for instance, we find relatively large stocks of the nonlocal Lesser Bird of Paradise and low stocks of the locally common Astrapia, Superb, and Saxony Birds of Paradise. All these species are highly regarded in many other highland societies. They have not been retained in Kundagai collections because there is a ready market for the plumes and fresh supplies are easily procured locally. As a further test of the above proposition I compare holdings of several species among the Kundagai and three settlements further up the Jimi (table 6).

The most notable point of comparison is the difference in holdings of Astrapia plumes from an average of 0.07 plumes per man in

Lesser Bird of Paradise, Paradisaea minor , Maring yambai

Tsuwenkai, where the species is common, to 3.5 plumes per man in Kwiop where the Manga claim the species is absent. Koriom and Bubgile people say the Astrapia is uncommon in their lands. The contrast between holdings in Tsuwenkai and other settlements is probably accentuated by the greater use of this species in decorations by the Narak (of Kwiop and Koriom) and Kandawo (of Bubgile). A similar trend is found with the Vulturine Parrot, the average number of feather collections per man increasing in settlements that cannot hunt the species in their own land. Tsuwenkai stocks do not conform to the generalization, but this situation can be explained largely by a very low local demand for this species as an item of decoration, although the Kundagai trade considerable quantities of this species. The Superb and King of Saxony Birds of Paradise are probably more common in Tsuwenkai than the other areas. This is reflected in the number of Superb skins held, with lowest stocks in Tsuwenkai. Similarly, stocks of Cockatoo feathers are roughly proportional to the ease with which the species can be hunted within a population's territory, being largest in Tsuwenkai where the species is absent (except on rare occasions) and lowest in Kwiop and Bubgile where it is most common. Figures for plumes of the Lesser Bird of Paradise do not conform to the general trend. One might expect the number of Lesser plumes held to be highest in Tsuwenkai where the species is absent and lowest in Kwiop and Bubgile where it is most common, but the reverse is the case. Two factors explain this situation. First, the typical Kundagai full dancing regalia requires only a single Lesser skin, whereas those of the Narak and Kandawo require two and can accommodate several more. The Narak and Kandawo therefore have need of larger stocks of this bird. The second factor is purely fortuitous. At the time of the plume census in Bubgile, a party of men had only recently returned from a hunting expedition to the Ramu lowlands where they had collected many of the skins I saw.

The four settlements listed in table 6 lie on one of the major routes along which plumes travel to the Wahgi (Healey 1973.. 153 ff.). A consequence of the concentric structure of plume trade is that with decreasing distance from the central consumption area stocks will become larger, for plumes from ever more suppliers become channeled through fewer and fewer communities in the network.

Plume collections examined in Kwiop, Koriom, and Bubgile were only a small proportion of the totals in these places. Conclusions drawn from the comparisons in table 6 can therefore only be tentative. The

King of Saxony Bird of Paradise, Pteridophora alberti , Maring balpan

data, nonetheless, do lend support to the propositions that plume suppliers tend to retain fewer locally obtainable species than exotic ones and that the size of individuals' collections tends to increase with decreasing distance from the central point of the plume-trading network—the Simbu and Wahgi Valleys. Similar data provided by the ornithologist Navu Kwapena (1985) for plume holdings in the Mendi region lend comparative weight to this conclusion.

By way of conclusion I wish to make two simple points. First, in comparing Kundagai plume collections and decoration styles with those elsewhere in the highlands (e.g., Strathern and Strathern 1971) one may gain the erroneous impression that the Kundagai are little interested in feathers. The variety alone of species used, even if only casually, belies this conclusion. Second, a consideration of the kinds of plumes retained, on the one hand, with cultural variations in decoration styles of neighboring groups and, on the other hand, with the distributions and abundance of wild birds, indicates that there is little impetus toward the accumulation of feathers among the Kundagai. Desire to retain exotic plumes is limited, and locally available kinds can be readily replaced by hunting or local redistribution by gifts or trade. The size and composition of Kundagai plume stocks says rather little about the importance or volume of hunting or trade in plumes. For the sociocultural and ecological factors influencing these activities one must look beyond the patterns of holdings at any one time and their means of acquisition.

3
Hunting and Its Regulation

Most ecological studies of production focus on subsistence activities, whereas those of trade generally take a broad-scale, regional view without adequate attention to the dynamics of production and distribution at the local level. The material in this chapter goes some way in repairing these deficiencies in a fuller understanding of Melanesian economy. Specifically, I examine activities by which objects of decoration and trade are produced. Among the Kundagai these objects are mainly wild forest resources—especially birds—so that production takes the form of exploitation or appropriation from nature. Obviously, such activity has ecological consequences for those species so exploited and, ultimately, has a constraining role on the capacity of the Kundagai to maintain their position in the wider network of trade as an important producer of desirable goods. This exploitation of natural resources is mediated by the cultural and social organization of hunting. It is therefore necessary to describe Kundagai understandings of hunting, its technical aspects, productivity, and social mode of restriction or limitation, before discussing the ecological aspects of the effects of hunting on target populations.

Hunting Methods and Productivity

One of the preeminent male activities of the Maring is hunting, turn koi-ma nimbe apng duk bon ("we go to the forest to get game," liter-

ally "lizards mammals we-eat tree garden we-go"). The term for game is turn koi-ma or tum kabang (literally "lizards larger-mammals" and "lizards birds"). This is imprecise in its application, as the principal prey sought are in fact of the subcategories apng koi-ma ("arboreal larger-mammals") and kabang yondoi ("valuable plume or flesh-bearing birds," literally "birds large"). The Kundagai name at least nineteen distinct kinds of larger mammals, koi-ma , found in Tsuwenkai. About thirteen are classed as apng koi-ma , "tree or arboreal mammals," the rest as kai koi-ma , "base or ground mammals." The more knowledgeable naturalists split some of these lower-order taxa into pairs of terminal taxa. Ten of the arboreal mammals are marsupials—mostly cuscuses and ringtail possums, as well as the tree kangaroo, though the latter is rare in Tsuwenkai. Three species of arboreal giant rats are also common in Tsuwenkai forests. Although all larger mammals are eagerly sought for their flesh, it is only certain marsupials that are also taken for their pelts or loose fur.

Some 150 species of birds are found in Tsuwenkai, besides many more in lower altitudes. There is a general, though not complete, correspondence between species recognized by scientific zoology and the named, terminal taxa recognized by Kundagai experts in bird lore (cf. Majnep and Bulmer 1977 for the Kalam). Relatively few of the locally available species are regarded as plume-bearing birds. Included in the category are the Long-tailed Buzzard and Harpy Eagle, the Fairy and Papuan Lories, all found primarily but not exclusively in the highaltitude forest. But the most notable plume-bearing birds are the birds of paradise. There are 15, perhaps 16, species of birds of paradise among the 200 or so different birds inhabiting Maring lands. Thirteen of these live in Tsuwenkai, but some are rather nondescript, and only 5 are classed as kabang yondoi and hunted at all systematically. These are the Long Saber-tailed Black and Brown Sicklebills (Epimachus fastosus and E. meyeri ), both rare birds of the mountain forest, the Longtailed Princess Stephanie's Astrapia (Astrapia stephaniae ), the Superb Bird of Paradise (Lophorina superba ), and the King of Saxony Bird of Paradise (Pteridophora alberti ). The last three are quite common in primary montane forest, with the Superb also numerous in forest-edge and advanced secondary-forest habitats. The golden-plumed Lesser Bird of Paradise (Paradisaea minor ) is common in lower-altitude forests and fallow growth beyond Tsuwenkai.

In pursuit of arboreal mammals and plume-bearing birds, a man must make special excursions into the kamungga , high-altitude forest.

He is prepared to take other prey, such as bats, reptiles, small birds, and terrestrial mammals in the course of his search for other game.

Women and children also kill animals. The principal game sought by women, however, is quite different: frogs, kamp , rats, koi , and edible insects, bang . Small boys patrol homesteads, gardens, and fallow with their bows and arrows and will shoot almost anything that moves. Children also occupy themselves in play, seeking edible tidbits, animal and vegetable. One commonly encounters secretive knots of little children probing in rivulets for crabs, frogs, and insect larvae to eat. Such activities are perhaps more reasonably regarded as gathering, along with the similar collecting of wild plants and invertebrates by women and, to a much lesser extent, by men. As a consequence, children probably have a comparatively high and frequent intake of animal protein, compared with adults, and especially men, whose individual meat meals may be a good deal larger but much more intermittent, especially if they are not skillful hunters.

Hunting involves knowing an animal's habits and locating and immobilizing the prey. It often also involves the use of specialized aids, magical or material. Such aids are designed with hunting as a principal application. A further generalization I would make is that hunting is usually directed toward securing mobile and active prey.

Except for occasional nocturnal parties organized to capture frogs by torchlight, women seldom deliberately attempt to hunt or collect animals. Most of their actions arise from chance encounters. For instance, while weeding or harvesting women will stun rats they find nesting in their gardens. A further limitation of women's hunting and collecting is that nearly all game they secure is within the zone of human habitation. Women do not venture into the high forest for the sole or major purpose of seeking game as men do, though they may be alert for rats nesting under tree roots or in low bushes or young pandanus palms while collecting plants for specific purposes. Women and girls occasionally accompany their husbands or fathers to the forest in the fruiting season of the pandanus palms to collect nuts. They search for rats or bird nests on these occasions or help their male companions kill marsupials thrown down to them from tree holes. Most animals killed by women, whether on their own or when helping men, are on or within reach of the ground, for it is considered improper for females to climb trees.

Since the principal game sought by men is arboreal, much of their hunting involves climbing trees to inspect holes for mammals, or to

wait in blinds for birds.^[1] It is men, too, who alone use specialized hunting aids.

I do not know whether hunting and collecting by males or females is the more productive in terms of the return of prey for the time and energy expended in securing it. Although much hunting by males occurs on excursions to the forest specifically to secure game, men also often attempt to kill birds or mammals they encounter in the zone of human habitation or in grassland while they are pursuing other tasks. There is no doubt that most men spend a larger proportion of their time in hunting than do women and that the number of animals and total weight of meat they catch over time is larger than that caught by women. It is quite possible, however, that they expend a much greater amount of effort in hunting by trekking to the forest and climbing trees. In terms of energy expenditure, then, women's hunting may be more efficient or productive, even though they contribute .very little animal protein to the diet. The results of women's hunting are consumed almost entirely by women and children within the household. Game killed by men may be shared more widely, though not invariably, in accordance with principles of reciprocity, and so may be more socially significant.

The principal hunting aids are bows and arrows, axes, bushknives, spears, dubs, and traps. Most males over about ten years old own at least one bow (rim ) and several arrows. Bows are made from the black palm (bina ) and vary in length from about 1.5 to 1.9 meters, averaging around 1.6 meters. Small bows for boys are made of bamboo. Bowstrings are of bamboo, cut from a locally abundant wild variety with long internodes. Bina palms apparently do not occur naturally in Tsuwenkai, and only a few have been planted in the lower reaches of the Kant Valley. Tsuwenkai men obtain ready-made bows or unshaped lengths from friends and relatives in other settlements where the palm grows at lower altitudes.

Arrows come in varied forms but are of three main types: multipronged for birds and other small game, pointed or barbed, and broadbladed. The last two kinds are used for larger game and, formerly, in war. Many men and boys carry bow and arrows on visits to gardens or when they expect to pass through patches of forest.

Spears are seldom used in hunting, except in pursuit of cassowaries, fetal pigs, or domestic pigs that have run wild or become garden raiders. There is at least one shotgun in most Jimi and Simbai settlements, but no one owns a gun in Tsuwenkai. One man has unsuccessfully

applied to the Jimi Local Government Council for a gun license. The number of licenses issued is pegged at a ceiling set by the Council, ostensibly in the interests of game conservation.

A lack of weapons does not deter the would-be hunter. Sticks are used as probes to flush game or as bludgeons. An unarmed hunter may hurl stones to good effect.

There are five main types of trap, or keren : springes (keren ) for giant rats, phalangers, and cassowaries; pitfalls (kau ) for pigs; deadfalls (kepo ) for ground birds, smaller marsupials, and rats; bird traps (kapongga ) used especially for birds of paradise; and eel traps (klem keren ).

Besides these direct tools for killing game, the Maring use a variety of blinds and lures. Depending on the desired prey, blinds are built on the ground, by pools, or in trees. Some blinds are little more than leafy screens, others are sturdy structures that may be refurbished with camouflage and used for years. From tree blinds located in fruiting or flowering trees the hunter shoots parrots, doves, and birds of paradise. The latter are also shot from blinds built in or near their display trees.

Lures of the jen vine (Trichosanthes ) and of the giant wild banana, jiki , are hung at traps or in front of blinds. They are particularly used to attract certain birds of paradise.

The Kundagai appear to rely mainly on their considerable pragmatic knowledge and skill in hunting. Few admitted to the use or even knowledge of hunting magic, although this may have been an expedient to preserve secret knowledge. There are, however, a number of charms a man may carry to attract game or make his aim true. Some men who own display trees where the Astrapia and Lesser Bird of Paradise gather communally over generations, bespell the trees to make adult birds congregate in large numbers. Another magical device, kabang ranggo ("bird ginger"), involves rubbing a leaf of a kind of ginger (ranggo ) onto the trunk of the display tree, then inserting it in a cut in the bark. As the wound heals and traps the leaf, so the tree becomes hot or spicy (rik ), drawing birds irresistibly to the tree.

The spirits are associated with certain categories of game, which are spoken of as the spirits' "pigs." Men say that if game is plentiful and the spirits are pleased with the living, they will permit hunters to meet with success.

The Piakai Ambra (Above Woman spirit) may actively hinder hunters if she wants to protect her pigs, by showering dry moss into the upturned faces of those searching the treetops for signs of prey. One man

related how he and his father heard female laughter from the treetops as they unsuccessfully sought game. They reasoned that this was the Piakai Ambra mocking their lack of success and, afraid, they hurried home.

To remain in the favor of spirits a hunter should sacrifice a pig periodically to the spirits in return for the game he has already killed and might kill in the future. In practice, it seems that the Kundagai seldom sacrifice specifically for this purpose, but pigs killed for other reasons, such as in times of sickness, may also be specified as a return for game. If such sacrifices are neglected, men say the spirits may kill a hunter's pigs or cause him or his family sickness in retribution.

When going hunting a man should be unobtrusive, lest many people see him, for these people will then think of him, and the spirits of the forest, divining these thoughts, will hide game. The Kundagai, however, consider that they are able to exert some measure of control over the spirits by deceit or magic. Occasionally a hunter makes up a bundle of banana or cordyline leaves to resemble a package containing pork. He carries this to the forest edge where he addresses the spirits, telling them that he has killed a pig and brought them its head—a choice cut, cooked in a ritual oven dedicated to the spirits, and normally eaten in a small communion feast by the close male agnates of the pig-killer. He invites the spirits to gather, telling them that he will return to share the feast with them later. The man then enters the forest to hunt, confident that the distracted spirits will not discover his true intentions and so will neglect to hide their "pigs." When I asked how the spirits reacted, people presumed they either do not discover the deception or are not angered if they do. Were this the case, they say, the hunter or his family or pigs would be stricken with sickness. The Kundagai are vaguely amused by the simple-mindedness of the spirits in being so easily deceived.

Magic is used only to control the menjawai demon, regarded as the most dangerous of the spirits of the high forest. Before going hunting a man may light a small fire and bespell the smoke. The menjawai , smelling the smoke, is frightened and flees so that the hunter may search the forest without fear of attack. This practice seems to be a magical reenactment of an incident told in a myth concerning the origin of crops. In the myth a group of women, who live by hunting, destroy a demon in a forest fire they had lit to flush game. No one admitted to knowing the appropriate spell.

The strategies employed in hunting depend largely on the kind of

weapons at hand and the expected prey. Most men set out on a hunting expedition with the aim of securing particular kinds of prey: marsupials for their fur and for the pot, a particular bird of paradise that has; established a territory in the forest, and so on. The bow and arrows and a bushknife or axe are the standard equipment for a planned hunt. They can be used in most strategies for approaching and capturing game.

Bulmer (1968) has reviewed hunting methods used in New Guinea at some length and I follow his terminology here. One of the most commonly employed and simplest strategies is stalking: the covert approach of mobile prey. This method is frequently adopted opportunistically when a man encounters birds. Most small birds, and the occasional cassowary and bird of paradise, fall to the hunter using this method. Men also successfully stalk mammals on moonlit nights, when they can be located by the sound of their feeding, squabbling, or progress through the treetops.

Ambushing, involving a stationary hunter waiting for game to approach, is a more productive strategy. The hunter waits, usually concealed in a blind, at feeding places of mammals or birds, at forest pools, or at display sites of birds of paradise. He may entice his prey into the ambush by the use of lures. Several species of birds of paradise are attracted to fruit lures, and some marsupials can be drawn along horizontal branches laid out as lanes by the hunter to baits of edible bark. Birds can also be attracted by noise. Loud squeaks, similar to the calls of nestlings, sometimes attract the inquisitive Parotia and Superb Birds of Paradise, and the latter species will also flock within bowshot range in response to the alarm calls of a chick taken from the nest. The Astrapia is sometimes attracted to its display site or a fruit bait by imitating its call.

Trapping is essentially a form of ambush in the absence of a hunter. Traps for mammals or cassowaries are set up on their customary runs. Birds are usually trapped at pools, where the devices provide convenient perches, or at fruit baits, often set near display sites of birds of paradise where they are more likely to be noticed by the birds.

Nocturnal animals are usually obtained in daylight by besetting, involving a stealthy approach upon the known or presumed resting place of the quarry. An excursion into the forest is usually punctuated by many halts when a tree hollow or large clump of moss is discovered. The hunter may inspect the nearby ground and tree trunks for droppings, fur, fallen nesting material, and scratches. A skilled hunter can

distinguish fresh from old marks, the probable species, and its age. Even in the absence of any clear signs, a man will attempt the sometimes perilous climb to investigate a tree hollow. Once there, he must act with speed and boldness. Clinging to the slippery mossy trunk with one hand, he must plunge the other into the hole, find his quarry's tail, heave the animal out, and fling it to a companion waiting below, or dash it against the treetrunk before the beast has a chance to savage his hand. Giant rats and larger marsupials have formidable incisors that can shear right through a man's hand. Some birds, especially the Harpy Eagle and Long-tailed Buzzard, are taken at the nest in similar style. Having discovered a nest a man prefers to wait until the chicks are ready to fly before killing them, thereby maximizing the yield of flesh and valuable feathers. Raids on a nest are usually made at night in order also to kill the sitting bird. Some birds are taken by hand or shot on their roosts at night.

Many attempts to kill animals by the strategies outlined above degenerate into a chase when the prey attempts to elude the hunter. All but larger birds and mammals quickly disappear in the forest, however, and the chase is seldom protracted or successful. Dogs, cena , are sometimes used in pursuing and bringing to bay wallabies, the terrestrial cuscus, pigs, and cassowaries. There were only four dogs in Tsuwenkai during fieldwork and, to the best of my knowledge, none was used in the hunt in this time, although one old man took from his bitch the carcasses of marsupials that it brought back for its puppies. The Tsuwenkai dogs appeared true to the endemic wild dog Canis familiaris hallstromi , being terrierlike animals with short legs and bushy tails. Wild dogs (and recently introduced cats turned feral) are apparently quite common in the forest, and domestic bitches are sometimes impregnated by wild dogs. Migrant workers occasionally bring back dogs of European stock, but these animals invariably succumb to disease and are poor hunters besides, an essential skill, as dogs are not systematically fed by their owners.

The ideal time for hunting, according to the Kundagai, is during the wula or dry season. At this time conditions in the forest are most congenial for hunting, and the more frequent cloudless nights encourage hunting by moonlight. During the wetter season, kembonda , the heavy banks of moss on forest trees become waterlogged, and there is a very real danger of limbs or whole trees being brought down by the weight, even in windless conditions. Men also find it difficult and dangerous to climb wet and slippery trees in search of game. The cold temperatures

coupled with the absence of dry firewood for warmth and cooking make conditions too unpleasant for most men to bear. Some enthusiastic hunters, nonetheless, occasionally venture into the forest by day, but seldom spend the night there.

All birds of paradise are said to breed in about November to January, during the wetter season. By the early part of the dry season their ornamental plumes are old and damaged by wear and insect parasites. They are molted during the dry season, and the new feathers are in their best condition by about July or August, toward the end of the dry season. This is therefore considered the best time to hunt for valuable birds. Kundagai opinion conveniently complements the agricultural cycle, as the earlier part of the dry season is a time of intense activity with new gardens to clear, burn, and plant.

The main species sought during the wetter season is the cassowary. When cucumbers and corn are ripe in new gardens, mainly in about December to February, it is said the cassowary chicks will have hatched. It is then, when the chicks are still small and unable to keep up with fleeing adults, that men seek out cassowaries in the forest.

Seasonality of hunting is revealed in variations in the intensity of hunting from one period to another. At no time is there a total absence of hunting in relation to the seasons. There is, however, a variation in the main strategies employed in wetter and drier seasons. Trapping is of greater importance during the wetter months, for the hunter can set his traps on a clear day and return to examine them later, thereby minimizing the time he must spend in the forest. Other forms of hunting are more widely employed during the dry season, although trapping remains an important method.

There is much variation in the hunting abilities of individuals. This hinges on the skill of the hunter in applying hunting methods, the extent of his knowledge of the habits of his prey, and on his personal inclinations. Several men told me that they rarely went hunting. Others frequently journey to the forest, sometimes spending several days and nights there, either alone or in the company of male friends or relatives, or with their wives and children. Such differences in the amount of hunting a man may do are, I believe, simply a matter of taste. Some men gain evident enjoyment and fulfillment in spending long periods in the forest, whereas others find the experience arduous, uncomfortable, and fruitless.

A highly successful or prominent hunter is called yu tum kabang gwio aumba yundo , "the strong-armed shooter of game" (literally

"man lizard bird bone strong he-shoots"). Such a hunter is said to have energy, knowledge about the natural environment, and success in killing many valuable plume-bearing birds. On these grounds informants named eight such hunters, although three are now old and seldom if ever hunt. Several more men who are renowned for their hunting of mammals and birds in general were suggested as possible prominent hunters. The reputation carries no particular implications of status, although such men may receive some notoriety and respect for their skills and become repositories of specialist knowledge.

Contrary to what one might expect in a society where meat is eagerly sought but irregularly eaten, the major Kundagai criterion of the successful hunter does not center on the contribution a man makes to the diet of his family or the community at large. Indeed, game is usually shared by the hunter only with members of his own household, except on certain ritual occasions, or when his bag is large or bigger game (pigs and cassowaries) is killed, though periodically a successful hunter makes small gifts of game to his affines. Rather, a reputation as a prominent hunter lies in a man's publicly displayed ability to secure prey of value in the nonsubsistence sector of the economy. As such, any material benefits of success are largely personal, as the hunter can exchange the plumes acquired for valuables to increase his own stocks of wealth.

Animal protein from game typically makes only a limited contribution to the diet in the New Guinea highlands (Heider 1970: 55; Pospisil 1963: 231; Rappaport 1968: 71 ff.; Salisbury 1962: 44). Hunting is nonetheless an activity of greater cultural and dietary significance among the sparse populations of the highland fringe, such as the Wopkaimin (Hyndman 1979), Mianmin (Morren 1986), Gadio Enga (Dornstreich 1973), and Etolo (Dwyer 1983). There have been few quantitative studies of the productivity of hunting or trapping. Dwyer, Hyndman, Morren, and Dornstreich give considerable data on the frequency of hunting, the gross weight and edible portions of meat obtained, and its nutritional value, arguing that hunting in the highland fringe is highly efficient in energetic terms. Of course, hunters themselves do not see their activities in quite this light, but rather in relation to perhaps vaguely articulated notions of reasonable returns of kind and quantity of game for time and effort expended, and the favorable disposition of spirits. Such evaluations are culturally and contextually specific, so that it becomes meaningless to assign any absolute values to what one might call a "coefficient of disinclination," whereby hunting is liable to decline once perceived yields fall below certain critical

levels. A comparison between the productivity of hunting among the Kundagai and other populations, nonetheless, gives some indication of the relative capacity of the Kundagai to secure game for the pot or for decoration and trade.

In table 7, I list those men whose hunting times I was able to estimate with reasonable confidence and whose total bag size I knew. All but Aikupa did their hunting while accompanying me as assistants on trips to the high forest. Their hunting time was thus somewhat limited during the day (even though we made many stops to investigate tree holes for phalangers and giant rats), but my companions were free to hunt at night. These constraints make my data roughly comparable to Dwyer's (1974) more extended sample of hunting by his Rofaifo (Siane) assistants. Similar data on the Wopkaimin were collected by Hyndman (1979: 214-227), accompanying hunting expeditions as a spectator rather than as an organizer. Hyndman's data therefore more accurately reflect the potential of hunting than do my own or Dwyer's material on the Rofaifo. Recently, Dwyer (1983) has provided the most exhaustive study yet available on New Guinea hunting performance and energetics in his analysis of the Etolo (or Etoro) of the Great Papuan Plateau. Unfortunately, he discusses only hunting for mammals, which make these data not strictly comparable to other studies cited in terms of the total number and weight of prey secured in the hunt. He does note, however, that frogs, reptiles, birds, and small rodents were taken incidentally in hunts focused on medium-sized mammals. Although such captures account for less than 1 percent by weight of all prey (Dwyer 1983: 153), there is no indication of how many incidental prey species are involved.

Among Kundagai hunters Aikupa is considered a prominent hunter, although Yekwai and Gum showed themselves to be much more productive. Wepo, Amang, and Deimang (who is not a Kundagai and unfamiliar with local conditions) are not, by their own testimony, particularly successful or skillful hunters.

Dwyer's Rofaifo assistants only killed at night, but Dwyer includes in the total number of hunting hours of each man the time spent during the day in selecting or preparing ambush sites for night hunting. His assistants had at least two days' free time on each forest trip in which to hunt. My own companions' time was more limited. Table 7 indicates that the Kundagai showed a preference for diurnal hunting. The Wopkaimin in Hyndman's sample also favored hunting during the day,

mainly because of bad weather at night. The Etolo by preference hunt almost exclusively during daylight (Dwyer 1983).

Table 8 compares the productivity of Kundagai, Rofaifo, Etolo, and Wopkaimin hunting. Among the Wopkaimin and Etolo, hunting and collecting are of considerable subsistence significance, but negligibly so among the Kundagai and Rofaifo. It is therefore not unexpected to find that Wopkaimin and Etolo hunting is the more productive in terms of the weight yield for time spent. Somewhat unexpectedly, however, Kundagai hunting is more productive in terms of the number of prey killed for time expended. This is because the Kundagai are prepared to bag small mammals and birds, whereas the Rofaifo, Etolo, and Wopkaimin hunters clearly discriminate in favor of larger, meatier prey at the expense of frequency of kills (cf. Dwyer 1974: 279). The Wopkaimin illustrate the strategy well: on one expedition of 70 man hours of hunting, four men killed one feral pig, two cassowaries, and a large phalanger at the rate of 17.5 hours for each kill. However, this represents a weight yield of one kilogram per 0.6 hours of hunting (Hyndman 1979: 222-224). Wopkaimin also tend to select larger game that is not subject to dietary taboos. The Etolo's active hunting is focused on larger marsupials. Fetal pigs are seldom encountered on expeditions, and although cassowaries are present they are usually caught in traps, and so are not considered in Dwyer's presentation. It is not: clear from Dwyer's account whether the Etolo combine techniques of trapping with more active assaults on prey, and whether, therefore, yields from trapping should properly be included in his analysis. Dwyer (1974: 288) notes that in respect of smaller mammals the Rofaifo seem to have lost some hunting skills through concentration on larger prey. His data also suggest that younger men have declining skill in securing large game, as hunters under thirty years old spent, on average, almost four times as long to kill each mammal as older men. A similar trend in hunting success by age is evident among the Etolo. Dwyer (1983), however, attributes increased productivity among older Etolo hunters to accumulated skill, experience, and greater endurance, rather than to a loss of skill and knowledge by young men. That is, whereas one might expect young Rofaifo to continue as poor hunters as they age, young Etolo hunters are likely to become more successful, until old age saps their endurance, reflecting the continuing subsistence and ideological significance of hunting among the Etolo, against its decline among the Rofaifo. In this regard, the Kundagai are more likely to hold to the

Etolo pattern. Certainly I discerned no loss of skills among younger Kundagai hunters.

Dwyer (1983) offers another explanation for variations in hunting productivity in different societies and regions. In a comparison of the Etolo, Gadio Enga, and Rofaifo, he attributes declining yields to the effects of a depauperate mammalian community with increasing altitude, compounded by the effects of increasing population density. Although this argument may account for the lower productivity of Rofaifo hunting, the Kundagai do not fit the pattern. Certainly there is a decline both in the availability of the variety of mammal species and in the range of size of prey. Significantly, feral pigs are absent at the higher altitudes in which the Kundagai hunt. There is, however, no simple relation between increasing population density with altitude for the highlands as a whole or for the Maring in particular. And, although Dwyer notes that Etolo and other hunters do seek a wide range of prey species, as already indicated, there is nonetheless a clear preference for selecting a limited range of heavier prey.

Comparison of hunting productivity is hampered by the small sample size of the Kundagai material. The relatively high productivity of Kundagai hunting, however, measured as a ratio of time to weight yield, and especially as time to number of prey caught, seems to be a function of a willingness to take most game that is encountered rather than selecting heavy prey. High levels of skill, at least among more enthusiastic hunters, may also be a factor. This willingness stems in part from the objectives of hunters. Among the Rofaifo, Etolo, and Wopkaimin, the primary concern of hunters is to obtain meat. Although this

is a prime aim of the Kundagai as well, it is not the sole objective; they also seek decorative plumes and furs for personal use or as items of trade.^[2] But above all else, for the more enthusiastic Kundagai hunter at least, hunting is a sport and a pleasurable pastime.

Hunting Restrictions

In the past any Kundagai could ideally shoot or trap game, including valuable plume-bearing birds, anywhere within the clan cluster territory from the Jimi to the Simbai River. Within this area individuals laid claim to particular localized resources, such as nests or bird of paradise display trees. Although Tsuwenkai remained uninhabited, Bokapai and Kinimbong Kundagai hunted there, though Bokapai residents infrequently because of the distance from their settlement and easy access to forests nearer the Jimi. Similarly, Kinimbong and Tsuwenkai residents seldom hunted in Bokapai land.

Initial government patrols sought to formalize settlement boundaries. As noted in chapter 1, the Kundagai recognize the official boundary between Bokapai and Tsuwenkai but not between Tsuwenkai and Kinimbong. Although early kiaps told the Kundagai to confine their activities within their three official territories, following traditional precedent any Kundagai is still accorded the right to harvest natural resources in any part of the clan cluster territory, without permission, provided the resource is not considered to be of value in the nonsubsistence sector of the economy (see table 9 for a list of restricted items). In line with the kiap's ruling on boundaries, and the subsequent affirmation of this by the Local Government Council, the Kundagai say that residents of Bokapai and Tsuwenkai should not hunt for valuable birds on one another's territory. Despite the kiap's ruling on the Kinimbong-Tsuwenkai boundary, members of these two settlements, as members of a single clan subcluster, say they are free to hunt valuable birds in both areas without territorial restriction. Kundagai territory is thus divided into two major subterritories in respect of hunting valuable birds. These territories conform to the two Kundagai clan subcluster territories.

Clan clusters are the largest units owning rights to the resources of a territory. Rights within this area may be further restricted at more exclusive structural levels. Members of other local groups have no rights to these resources. There are, however, several situations in which people are permitted to hunt on land of other clan clusters. Travelers

may shoot game of no special value that is encountered in foreign territories, but such hunting should occur only as opportunity permits, and a hunter should not stray far from paths. Anyone from another clan cluster found wandering away from paths is assumed to be poaching valuable game or on hostile business. Some Kundagai nonetheless say that a man is free to hunt within the clan cluster territory of his matrikin, bapa-wambe , and affines, latse-imatse . According to some, it is even permissible to shoot valuable birds in the territory of these kin, although it is polite to seek permission first. The extension of hunting rights so close matrikin and affines might be regarded as a form of the ideal of generalized exchange that the Mating consider should be maintained with these kin. Such hunting of valuable game is seldom done, unless in the company of matrikin or affines, and would not be condoned by unrelated members of foreign clan clusters.

Within the constraints noted above on hunting in territory to which one has no primary-use rights, only a few species of valuable game are forbidden quarry. With the exception of fetal pigs and cassowaries the

restricted species are the more valuable plume-bearing birds. There is no complete agreement on restricted game, but table 9 indicates those species generally listed by informants.

On land seldom used either for gardening or hunting and gathering, hunters from other groups may be tolerated, even if they have no close kinship ties with the landowners. Even valuable birds might be taken on such land, which is usually at such a distance from the settlements of the owners that they may be unaware of the extent of hunting by outsiders. For instance, the Kundagai hunted on former Cenda land in the upper Pint Valley (see map 3) long before they gained ownership of it.

A clan cluster would only tolerate hunting on its land by members of other friendly clan clusters or nokomai , "allies." Members of major enemy groups, cenang yu , were in the past in danger of being attacked if found hunting beyond their territory. A further factor inhibiting infringements of enemies' hunting rights was (and remains) the fear that the spirits of these groups resident in the forest would attack intruders, causing serious sickness or even death.

Boundaries of clan cluster territories in the primary forest are not always dear. For instance Mount Yirua on the Bismarck crest to the east of Kundagai territory is not clearly within the territory of any one clan cluster. Formerly the Kundagai, Manamban, Kanump-Kauwil, and Tuguma all hunted on the slopes of Yirua, and no one group claimed exclusive ownership to the area.

Within the Tsuwenkai-Kinimbong subcluster territory there is a further subdivision of land in respect to the hunting of valuable birds. A small area is the exclusive hunting territory of the Kolomp (1) clan, whereas all the remaining forested land may be hunted in by members of the Wendekai-Amankai-Atikai cognatic cluster (map 3). This Kolomp (1) hunting territory was established only a few years ago. Prior to contact any Kundagai was permitted to hunt valuable birds here as elsewhere. These became restricted game after the kiap ordered the Kundagai to confine their activities to their ancestral lands, and it seems that little hunting of valuable birds occurred here by non-Kolomp clansmen after the kiap's order. Several years ago, however, two Wendekai clansmen shot Valuable birds on this land. The ensuing dispute was brought before a moot or kot (TP: "court") adjudicated by the Local Government councillor. The case is summarized here.^[3]

Case 1: Rim versus Aikupa and Cengitai

Aikupa and Cengitai of Wendekai clan went hunting together on Kolomp (1) land at Wumenakema, where Aikupa shot an Astrapia and Cengitai a Saxony Bird of Paradise. Rim objected to this infringement of his clan's hunting rights and, as the instigator of the dispute on behalf of his clan, demanded compensation for the birds killed. The consensus of opinion at the kot was that compensation should be given. Aikupa exchanged the Astrapia for a male piglet, which he gave to Yunai of Kolomp (1), a classificatory father of Rim. Cengitai gave K2 compensation for the Saxony Bird of Paradise to another classificatory father of Rim resident in Bokapai. Although Rim did not receive compensation himself he says he was satisfied that suitable recompense had been made.

During the dispute Kolomp (1) clansmen announced that a portion of clan land was to be marked out as an exclusive hunting preserve, within which only Kolomp (1) clansmen would have rights to hunt valuable birds, though any Kundagai would still be free to hunt for other birds or mammals. As a reminder of exclusive Kolomp (1) rights to the valuable resources of the land a Kolomp man planted two sets of cordyline shrubs and stakes about one kilometer apart on Kondokoi ridge in the forest.^[4] All restricted game (table 9) found in the area running down to the valley floor from between the marks erected on the ridge may be hunted only by Kolomp (1) clansmen.

The Kolomp (1) of Tsuwenkai extend hunting rights to fellow clansmen living in Bokapai. These Bokapai Kolomp (1) and the Baikai (1) allied to Atikai are the only Bokapai clans with full hunting rights in Tsuwenkai. The issue of Baikai (2) clansmen (allied to Wendekai) hunting in Tsuwenkai has not arisen as far as I am aware.

In chapter 1, I noted that certain individuals are "fathers" of land in Tsuwenkai gained by grant from the Tsembaga and Tuguma. These individuals have extended full hunting rights to fellow members of the Wendekai-Amankai-Atikai cognatic cluster. These hunting rights relate only to the Kundagai and are not identical with rights in other settlements. Not all Maring and related populations claim the same type of hunting rights, although there are similarities in the basic principles involved.

By right of discovery members of territory-holding groups may claim individual ownership of resources on their land. By claiming particular trees attracting or sheltering animals, building traps or blinds, or hanging fruit lures, a hunter also establishes exclusive rights to harvest any game found in association with these objects. The basis for sole rights

is that the claimant has expended time and effort in locating prime. hunting sites or preparing structures and that he should therefore have primary access to the proceeds of his labor. Any man who capitalizes on the labor of others is liable to meet with a demand for compensation, from the owner of the hunting rights. Most men say, however, that they would tolerate such infringements by close agnates, matrikin, and affines, and few men refuse requests to hunt at individually claimed sites.

Although any Kundagai may claim temporary rights of harvest at fruiting or flowering trees, or build hunting aids anywhere in Kundagai territory, he may only harvest restricted game in areas held by the smallest corporate landholding group of which he is a member. To hunt the more valuable birds (category A in table 9), men claim rights of harvest to flowering trees where Papuan Lories feed, to the nests of cassowaries, and to the display sites of birds of paradise. All these claims are temporary, lasting only until trees cease flowering, the cassowaries disperse, or the single birds of paradise occupying display trees are shot by the claimant. A hunter may not always be able to locate a display tree, even though a bird of paradise haunts a limited area. In this case he makes it known that he regards the bird as his by right of being the first person to locate its customary range. Such claims are not as outlandish as they might seem. Male birds are sedentary in habits and not infrequently have minor differences in plumage making them distinguishable to the practiced eye. Ideally a man should announce the location of any display tree or other sites he claims, so that others will not inadvertently shoot his birds and be asked to surrender the skin or pay compensation. In practice this is not always done, for two reasons. First, some men fear that poachers might deliberately shoot the birds. Second, it is tacitly agreed that valuable birds occurring in particular regions are owned by certain men who therefore have no need to make their specific claims known. For instance, Superb Birds of Paradise frequenting the forest edge near homesteads are assumed to be claimed by the owner of the nearest house. Again, as will be discussed shortly, some men confine their hunting to definite tracts of forest, and others assume that a hunter familiar with the area has already found and claimed all valuable birds there. Thus, in many parts of the forest most valuable birds are regarded as the property of individuals, and their rights of ownership are generally respected, even if they have not been announced publicly.^[5]

The basis of concepts of individual property or ownership warrants

further attention here. It is noteworthy that claims of individual rights to harvest birds at particular natural or man-made sites, or of ownership of birds in particular areas, apply in land held under collective tenure. Sites or particular birds come to be accepted as individual, as opposed to collective, property by the investment of personal labor. Kundagai point to the importance of what they refer to as hat wok (TP: "hard work"; Maring: konggiang ), applied to building blinds, setting lures, and searching the forest. But this concept of labor is only incidentally concerned with its objective manifestations in the form of built structures, such as blinds and traps. More fundamentally, it is through "hard work" that one achieves specialist knowledge. A hunter builds his blinds or searches for birds, display trees, and fruiting trees on the basis of the personal knowledge he has accumulated over a long period of intense association with a particular tract of land. It is this familiarity, privileged knowledge and, indeed, emotional attachment, distilled over frequent visits, that prompts a man to speak of a particular tract of forest as "my land," ren nan . By this means he has acquired a richly textured understanding of the local environment—the conformation of the land and the particularities of the plant and animal communities it supports.

The unique knowledge a man may build up over time of a particular locality is the product of his own physical and intellectual efforts, even if it is grounded on a more general, less-detailed collective knowledge of the environment. Such specialist knowledge gives a man the potentiality to harvest the resources of his favored locality by conscious design, whereas those less familiar with the region depend more on chance. It gives a man privileged access to wild resources: valuable game is in a very real sense the product of unique knowledge, and hence it is the rightful property of the individuals who have worked at acquiring knowledge.

Specialist knowledge that yields material or other benefits of one kind or another is clearly a valuable resource. Detailed knowledge of natural history tends to be highly particular, rather than general: certain individuals are deeply knowledgeable about particular localities; some are acknowledged experts on high-forest birds, others on cassowaries, and yet others on phalangers and giant rats, and so on. There is, in short, a tendency toward specialist areas of expertise, although the range and depth of general knowledge of natural history among enthusiasts is impressive. This kind of specialist knowledge is akin to

magical knowledge, in the sense that both are private, personal, and particular possessions. Certain individuals (men or women) are credited with knowing particularly efficacious magic for specific purposes, like promoting the growth of pigs or curing particular ailments. Individuals are reluctant to divulge details of their knowledge indiscriminately, though they readily apply their knowledge to assist others. Thus, a man may take a friend hunting in his favorite haunts or make a gift of a bird skin or meat to kin of affines—the product of his specialist knowledge—just as he will willingly perform secret magic he possesses on behalf of someone else.

The males of two species of birds of paradise gather to display communally at traditional sites in the Jimi. The most widespread and common is the Lesser Bird of Paradise of lower-montane forest, which is present in perhaps all middle-Jimi territories except Tsuwenkai (Healey 1978b ). The other species, Princess Stephanie's Astrapia, is common in the Tsuwenkai high forest. There are four known display sites of this bird in Tsuwenkai. Some of the display trees have been in use up to sixty years by generations of birds. Three of these sites were found by Yekwai and his father Kemba, but they lost ownership of two to other men (see case 5 below). Yekwai and another tree owner are well known as eager hunters. In view of their frequent visits to their Astrapia trees, other men assume that these two hunters have discovered and claimed all other valuable birds in the vicinity and so generally refrain from seeking such birds in these regions.

Since sites where birds display communally may remain in use for so long, they are the most valuable of hunting claims an individual can make. In 1973-1974 none of the original discoverers of Astrapia display trees in Tsuwenkai had died, although Yekwai had effectively inherited his father's site as the old man was no longer an active hunter. Lesser Bird of Paradise display trees are usually inherited patrilineally, like other individual property. Occasionally, rights to harvest at trees are transferred in exchange for small payments of a pig, shells or, nowadays, money. Kinsmen may help a purchaser with small contributions hoping to be invited to hunt at the tree or rewarded with skins of birds shot there by the new owner. A Tsuwenkai man helped a Bokapai relative in such a purchase but never received any reward.

In principle, the Kundagai say that a man who claims ownership of display trees and the birds associated with them may demand that any plumes obtained at or near these sites by a non-right-holder be surrendered to him. The owner has the right to take possession of these skins

even if the hunter was unaware that the bird shot was already claimed by another. In practice, few men who through either ignorance or intent shoot another man's birds do relinquish the plumes. In this case the rightful owner of the birds can expect to receive compensation amounting to the generally accepted value of the plumes in cash or other goods. Some men say that if the plumes are handed over by the poacher it is proper and wise for the owner of hunting rights to make at least a small return payment of cash or trade goods. It is considered proper because the poacher has worked hard to shoot the bird, just as the owner worked hard to establish his prior claims to ownership; it is wise because he may be a witch and, angered by compensation demands, may seek revenge through witchcraft if no payment is made to mollify him. The following cases illustrate some of these points.

Case 2: Kom Versus Yekwai

Without seeking permission Kom shot an Astrapia at the Bombong display tree formerly owned by Yekwai. Although Kom is his classificatory father, Yekwai demanded compensation. Kom, however, argued that although he had shot the bird it had escaped and died in the forest, where its decomposed remains were later found. Since he had worked hard to kill the bird but had not profited, Kom reasoned that he was not liable to pay compensation. Yekwai agreed with the argument and dropped his claims.

Case 3: Cengitai Versus Menek

After the last case, Menek gained ownership of the Bombong site (see case 4). Here his clan brother Cengitai shot one adult male Astrapia and trapped an immature male close to the display site in mid-1972. Menek claimed that the birds visited his site and that by right they were his own, and demanded that Cengitai hand over the skin of the adult bird. Cengitai refused, saying he wished to exchange the skin for a pig. He agreed, however, to give Menek one of the progeny of the pig he obtained. In September 1974 Cengitai gave Menek a piglet in settlement.

During the kot on the issue some men told Cengitai and his brother that since their father was an Ambrakwi (who sought refuge with his Kundagai matrikin and affines after a violent dispute with other Ambrakwi), they had no right to hunt on Kundagai land. They were told to confine all their hunting to Mena, a tract of land bought by the Bokapai Kundagai from the Ambrakwi in the late 1960s. The two men have not complied with this directive, which has not been pressed further.

I have noted above that some men customarily hunt in certain tracts of forest. Other men seldom seek valuable birds there, on the assump-

tion that they have already been claimed. In short, informal personal hunting territories can be identified, within which other members of the group holding corporate hunting rights to valuable game in that region seldom hunt, in recognition of the intensive hunting activities of one man. Such men thereby gain de facto exclusive rights to hunt valuable birds occurring on the land, even if they have not been claimed previously or discovered by the hunter. Some men who are regarded as holding these informal territories speak of the land as their own, ren nan ("land mine"). Kinsmen sometimes share personal hunting domains. There are no formal principles of ownership of domains. Rather, they are recognized on the basis of the current most-intensive users of the land for the purpose of hunting valuable birds. In addition, as the following case shows, vague notions of inheritance may also be entailed in defining personal territories.

Case 4: Yekwai Versus Aikupa and Menek

Yekwai and his father Kemba found two Astrapia display sites: at Gandakai and Bombong. They shot several birds at each place. Kemba subsequently ceased hunting actively and Yekwai retained ownership of the sites. Aikupa disputed Yekwai's right to the Gandakai site and declared ownership himself. He justified his claim by noting that his father's father had for a time lived at Bokapai, from where he and his coresidents had hunted at Gandakai.

Menek took possession of the Bombong site, arguing that his father's mother was of Aiwaka clan of Bokapai and that the Aiwaka had formerly hunted at Bombong. Both men, in short, claimed to inherit informal hunting territories held by groups of men two generations ago.

Yekwai agrees that he has relinquished rights to these sites but still regards his claims of ownership to be stronger than. those of their present owners. He supports these claims by stating that as the original finders of the sites he and his father have superior rights of ownership. He further argues that Gandakai and Bombong were included in the grant of land from Kolomp (2) to his own clan (Atikai; see chap. 1) and that Wendekai and Amankai are entitled to garden the land and harvest its resources only on sufferance. (Aikupa and Menek are of Wendekai clan.) He ceased to press his claim because he says Aikupa and Menek are more persuasive and aggressive talkers than himself. Both are politically influential—Aikupa a tep yu big-man and former luluai and kaunsil, Menek the present kaunsil.

The following table (table 10) lists the six personal hunting territories identified by informants. The areas are not clearly demarcated, but each is composed of a core ridge or ridges where the principal hunter or hunters concentrate their activities.

I am not sure how widely these territories are recognized, but certainly the individuals named are the most active hunters in the regions listed, according to records in hunting histories. Rim, as senior Kolomp (1) clansman, is regarded as the local "father" of the area in his domain, while Dukumpwai and Gela are the sole acknowledged "fathers" to the former Kwibukai land at Yongga (see chap. 1). As such, these three men would have primary use rights to these areas even if they were not active hunters. The other personal domains are on land of the Wendekai-Amankai-Atikai cognatic cluster.

Menek seldom hunts at Anggelep, but informants (including Menek) list him as retaining a personal territory because he owns an Astrapia display tree there. Kima frequently hunts there and at Anyen and was, therefore, included as a domain holder even though he neither owns Astrapia trees nor is a "father" of land. These two men, therefore, share parts of their domains. They are classificatory brothers, firm friends, and political allies.

The largest single domain is that of Kemba and Yekwai. With Kemba's advancing age Yekwai is now the most active hunter in this area. Their hunting territory was larger in the past when they owned Astrapia display sites at Gandakai and Anggelep (case 4).

Of the eight men listed in the table, Aikupa, Dukumpwai, and Kima are regarded by informants as yu tum kabang gwio aumba yundo (prominent hunters). Kemba had been such a hunter in the past. Although Yekwai owns an Astrapia display site, he does not consider himself to be a successful hunter, though some others class him as one.^[6]

There are a number of taboos on the eating of game which pertain to various categories of persons or particular stages in the ritual cycle. Hunters do not deliberately seek out tabooed game, but they may kill such an animal when encountered and give it to someone else to eat. Many younger Kundagai profess an ignorance of dietary taboos or simply do not observe them. Various ritual states that formerly involved restrictions on the diet no longer occur. Nonetheless, such taboos undoubtedly influenced hunting intensity and selectivity of prey in the recent past. The most significant and widely observed taboos on the eating or killing of game occurred in the context of war and its aftermath.

During periods of hostilities warriors assumed taboos on the consumption of a variety of animals and crops, including several marsupials, eels, cassowaries, and certain other birds associated with water or the night. Fight Magic men, bamp kunda yu , assumed a wider range of taboos, many of which they maintain for life. For other fighters some dietary taboos were abrogated on the cessation of fighting and others at the uprooting of the yu miny rumbim , "men's souls' cordylines," which were planted immediately after establishing a truce in order to give protection to warriors. The uprooting of the rumbim occurs several years after the termination of a war and is one ceremony of the ritual cycle culminating in the konj kaiko . During this period there is also a ban on trapping mammals in the forest, and Rappaport (1968: 151) suggests that this allows mammal numbers to increase. It is not clear, however, if these taboos act as a general disincentive to hunting, or if men turn their attention to other prey, including plume-bearing birds.

The Kundagai consider that the spirits can restrict hunting success by hiding their "pigs"—game mammals and birds—from the hunter. However, men themselves should exercise restraint in the number of animals they kill in a single day to avoid the anger of the spirits. This notion may be invoked to explain subsequent misfortunes, but I doubt that a man cuts short a hunting trip if it proves unusually successful, as good fortune itself can be interpreted as a sign of benevolence on the part of spirits who remove protection from their "pigs." They are especially likely to do this if the game is intended for ritual feasts in their honor or plumes are to be used in dances associated with the konj kaiko .

As well as the various jural and supernatural restrictions that limit hunting, some Kundagai also accept a number of voluntary restraints. I have already noted that few men shoot birds in the informal, personal

domains of other men. This is a jural restriction if the birds have been claimed publicly, but a voluntary restraint if the territory owner is assumed to be unaware of the presence of some birds in his area. Movements and reproduction of the birds will ensure that from time to time the numbers of birds in a personal territory will change, and the non-territory-holder is free to harvest these if he finds them first. In practice, few men are prepared to exercise this right, lest the customary hunter of that area claim that the birds killed are his own.

Some Kundagai consider that, aside from avoiding the anger of spirits, it is advisable to exercise restraint in the number or frequency of valuable birds killed. They argue that hunting rates should be moderated to give bird populations a respite for regeneration. Some men say that as a rough guide one should kill no more than half the males of valuable species occurring in a given area, or half the number of Astrapia displaying at a single site.

In the past, female-plumaged birds of paradise^[7] were commonly shot and trapped for food, but many hunters now state that this practice is unwise. Since contact, they say, the volume of plumes traded has increased, and they claim that this has been sustained by increased hunting rates, to the extent that if female-plumaged birds are killed the reproductive potential of valuable birds will be reduced. By sparing female-plumaged birds the Kundagai argue that the resulting increased reproductive pool can accommodate the higher predation by man on adult male birds. Several men told me that they do not shoot female-plumaged birds, and if they find them alive and unharmed in their traps they may even release them. Most Kundagai, however, say that no such restraint need be exercised on the Superb Bird of Paradise as this species is abundant. In fact, some men seldom killed female-plumaged birds even before the presumed increase in predation and trade in plumes following contact. These last two restraints on hunting are deliberately applied as conservatory measures, so that the continued survival of valuable birds to be exploited for decorations and trade is enhanced.

Hunting is somewhat seasonal, being more intensive during the drier season. The Superb and Saxony Birds of Paradise are generally silent in wet weather and, since they are often located by their calls, hunting them in the rain is not only uncomfortable but difficult. Astrapia are said to visit display sites even in the rain and can therefore be hunted profitably at any time, Even in the drier season most hunting occurs only during fine weather, for rain makes hunting uncomfortable and less productive.

Shortly preceding and during the annual molt (about June to August), plumes are in poor condition or only partially developed. By reducing hunting activities at this time the Kundagai minimize loss of plumes from their stocks by shooting birds with inferior plumes that would not be acceptable as valuable trade or decoration items.

Older men told me that toward the end of the ritual cycle they went hunting especially to obtain plumes to wear on the last day of the konj kaiko . Nowadays it seems that hunting is seldom increased before particular dances in connection with the kaiko or other occasions. Certainly I discerned no such intensification prior to the several dances that occurred while I was in the field, nor did informants suggest that this occurred nowadays.

Although one might conclude that intensification of hunting to secure plumes for specific occasions in the past was probably of only minor significance in altering predation rates,^[8] there is little doubt that during periods of hostilities hunting was considerably reduced. The assumption of taboos on the eating of a large variety of marsupials and certain other animals, many of them esteemed for their flesh, meant that there was little incentive for hunting in this period. A further disincentive was the fact that the solitary hunter or small party was vulnerable to attack by enemy raiders who usually traveled through the forest for concealment. For this reason, any hunting done during periods of hostilities mostly occurred away from areas where the enemy or bribed assassination parties from other settlements were likely to appear.

Big-men of all categories, but especially tep yu ("Talk Men") and bamp kunda yu ("Fight Magic Men") were particularly sought by raiding parties, and these men were cautioned by their comrades never to venture beyond the areas of homesteads and gardens without companions. Several big-men told me that their hunting activities had been constrained by fear of attack. Nowadays the Kundagai evince no fear of attack while hunting, except from witches.

The Jimi Local Government Council was established in 1966. At various times since then the councillors in session have affirmed the clan cluster boundaries established by early kiaps and echoed kiaps' injunctions to confine all gardening and hunting of valuable birds to the land of the smallest territory-holding group of which one is a member. Although the Kundagai formerly held joint and exclusive rights to the exploitation of resources throughout their estate, the Council rules on territories have shifted ownership of hunting rights to more exclusive

structural levels. This conforms to traditional restrictions in many of the constituent wards of the Council, although there is some variation between individuals' conceptions of hunting rights within and between settlements.

The Council has also affirmed the right of individuals to claim ownership of particular display sites that a man might find on territory in which he has full hunting rights.

Case 5: Aikupa Versus Yari

Aikupa often went hunting at Aiyonju in Bokapai territory. Here he found an Astrapia display site where over a number of years he shot several birds. Yari of Baikai (1) clan at Bokapai disputed Aikupa's claim of ownership. Both men agreed that the land had formerly belonged to the Went-Kai, now of Rinyimp. Yari claimed that he had the right to own the tree in preference to Aikupa because his sister was married to a Went-Kai man and that he was free to hunt on his affines' land. Aikupa justified his claim by pointing out that use rights to Aiyonju had been given to his father and father's brother as part of affinal exchanges (see chap. 1). The land therefore belonged to his own clan, Wendekai. Aikupa and Yari both continued to claim superior rights of ownership, until in about 1967 Yari felled the tree in anger.

Up to this point it appears that each man recognized the other's right to hunt at Aiyonju. The dispute was rather over who had the strongest claim to the tree. At this stage, however, other Bokapai residents entered the dispute and introduced a new issue. They pointed out that Aiyonju is within Bokapai territory as determined by annexation after a war with the Went-Kai and as affirmed by the kiap and the Council. As a resident of Tsuwenkai Aikupa therefore had no right to hunt valuable birds there. This argument was accepted by other Tsuwenkai residents (who had no particular stake in the issue), and the Tsuwenkai kaunsil warned Aikupa that he should cease hunting at Aiyonju. Aikupa still claims hunting rights there and, although he continues to visit the area and has recently shot Astrapia there, he has not been involved in any further disputes on the issue.

Although restraints on the hunting of female-plumaged birds were formerly a matter of choice for individual hunters, the Council has now declared that all hunters must observe this rule. No one could tell me how such a rule could be enforced since, according to Maring legal conceptions, an offence that can be sanctioned by the living, as opposed to spirits, only occurs when the rights of another person have been infringed. Shooting female-plumaged birds does not constitute such an infringement, as no one claims to own them.

The only rule introduced by the Council which has no traditional

basis relates to the use of shotguns. Councillors have been told in Tok Pisin by government officers that it is illegal throughout Papua New Guinea to shoot kumul with a gun. To Jimi people kumul means only the Lesser Bird of Paradise and not the wider category of birds of paradise in general. It is therefore permissible, they say, to shoot other valuable birds of paradise^[9] with a gun, provided this is done only by the licensed holder of the gun and that he hunts only in areas where he has rights to kill valuable birds. This misconception, the result of inadequate communication between government officers and councillors,^[10] has resulted in at least one unfortunate prosecution under national hunting laws.

Case 6: Anc Kills a Bird of Paradise with a Gun

This case, which does not involve any Kundagai, illustrates the misinterpretation of official court decisions that while officially punishing one offence appear to sanction informal Council rules.

Anc (a pseudonym) is the kaunsil of a Jimi Mating settlement and a prominent figure in the Local Government Council. He used his shotgun to shoot a Sicklebill on the land of a Simbai Valley community. Someone complained to the Simbai kiap about this infringement of their territorial hunting rights. The Simbai kiap informed his Tabibuga counterpart who convicted Anc on a charge of using a shotgun to kill a bird of paradise. Anc was fined and his gun impounded in Tabibuga, while the bird skin was confiscated in the Simbai where it joined a display of murder weapons on the courthouse walls.

According to Kundagai informants, however, Anc was entitled to shoot the Sicklebill with his gun but was punished for hunting on the land of another group where he had no rights.

No Kundagai own guns, nor is there any strong desire to do so. The leading Kundagai tep yu big-man told me he has forbidden the Kundagai to own guns. It is doubtful that his injunction would be heeded if the opportunity to obtain a gun license arose, but his objections to guns seem to be accepted by many. He argues that guns make hunting easier and that there would therefore be a real danger of rapidly exterminating valuable birds locally. This would disrupt trade and Kundagai ability to acquire valuables in exchange for plumes. He notes that bows and arrows and traps have hitherto proved sufficient to secure game. Guns are also dangerous, and he cites several incidents in other parts of the Jimi where men have borrowed guns and injured themselves and others through misuse. Finally, he says, it would be easy for a witch to

find a hunter in the forest by following the sound of his gun; the solitary hunter would make an easy victim.

All informants see these restrictions on hunting as safeguarding their bisnis interests. A common statement throughout the north Jimi is that plumes are bisnis bilong mipela (TP: "our commercial enterprise"). Council rules on territories and individual ownership of birds or display sites safeguard holders of hunting rights from poaching of birds to which only they have rights of access. Similarly, rules forbidding the killing of female-plumaged birds and shooting the Lesser Bird of Paradise with a gun are accepted for their value of conserving valuable species. The Kundagai recognize that it is in their own long-term bisnis interests to preserve bird populations at sufficient densities to permit sustained exploitation to provide plumes for trade, especially as there are very limited opportunities for entrepreneurial activities. I return to the issue of conservation of bird populations in the following section.

Where an individual's hunting rights are infringed he may bring the resulting dispute to a kot adjudicated by the kaunsil or komitis. Often these officials take no active part in the proceedings if public opinion crystallizes quickly and parties to a dispute agree to any decisions arrived at. Ideally a settlement is not reached until the principals to a dispute and the spectators have reached a consensus of opinion as to where the guilt for any wrongdoing lies and what recompense must be made to the injured party. Anyone is free to speak, and in the course of a dispute other grievances may be aired. Often these further complicate a dispute, opinion becomes divided, and no settlement is reached. In such situations, kots may drag on for days until an agreement is reached. Occasionally, to effect an early settlement, the kaunsil may threaten to take the disputants before the kiap, whose courts are seen as swift, intransigent meetings.

By law, councillors had no authority to deliver judgments in kots . Neither they nor their constituents were aware of this, and kiaps have encouraged councillors to settle minor disputes in order to leave the official courts free to conduct what kiaps see as more serious cases. Such encouragement by kiaps and their occasional upholding of rulings given by councillors in disputes referred to official courts certainly appeared to the Jimi people to support councillors' claims that they have the power to give judgments in kots .

Intervention by the kiap in disputes is interpreted as sanctioning the power of the kaunsil and therefore as legitimizing Council rules (TP: lo ). None of the lo relating to hunting territories and rights set down

by the Council have been forwarded to the Office of Local Government in Port Moresby for ratification. As such, they do not constitute formally recognized by-laws of the Council, and so transgressions legally cannot be punished either by local kots or the formal courts of the kiap. But by claiming and appearing to receive the endorsement of Council lo and local kot decisions, councillors and their followers created a situation where unofficial courts based on a blend of traditional and introduced conceptions of dispute settlement became integrated into the official national legal system.^[11]

Intensity and Effects of Hunting

This analysis of the ecology of plume production rests on a detailed examination of aspects of bird population dynamics which moves from strictly anthropological concerns to ornithology. Since this analysis and supporting data are dealt with elsewhere (Healey 1986) and may be of little interest for many readers, I simply draw on the relevant conclusions from that study, rather than detailing the research strategy and analysis.

Although Kundagai hunting appears to be more productive than in some highlands societies, it is unlikely that traditional strategies are much more efficient. Productivity of hunting partly depends on the game sought. As I have indicated, although Kundagai hunting is focused on a limited range of arboreal mammals and plume-bearing birds, the hunter is less discriminating in the prey he takes than some hunters elsewhere. Productivity also depends on the number of active hunters in an area and the abundance of game. Clearly, these factors may be closely linked.

Where there is a high ratio of hunters to a given area of hunting land, their effects on prey populations will tend to be greater than where there is a lower ratio. Many hunters combing the area for game are more likely to secure a higher total bag than a few hunters. This may even be the case where each individual has limited success as game becomes scarcer through intensive predation. By contrast, where the ratio of hunters to area of hunting land is low, individual hunters can achieve high productivity while the total bag of all hunters remains relatively low. Predation, in short, may be extensive rather than intensive.

These propositions can be examined by a comparison of hunter to land-area ratios in several Mating territories (table 11). Areas of hunting land in the table include only primary forest, and in all places other

than Tsuwenkai this includes lower-montane forest. All males over the estimated age of fifteen years are taken to represent the number of potential hunters.

The actual ratio of hunters to forest land will be lower than indicated for two reasons: population figures include small numbers of absentees, as well as old men who seldom if ever hunt. I can correct for these factors only in the case of Tsuwenkai. Assuming that the proportion of male nonhunters is similar in each population, these ratios serve as a rough index of the maximum potential hunting pressure expressed as the number of hunters operating in a given area.

A more useful ratio for comparative purposes would be the number of hunters within a radius of half a day's walk of settlements—that is, forest that can be exploited in a one-day trip from settlements. All Tsuwenkai forest is within this distance and, since Tsuwenkai includes within its borders the largest known area of forest of all Maring terri-

tories, I would estimate that the area of accessible forest of all populations listed in the table within which settlement members have primary hunting rights is also within half a day's walk. The Bomagai-Angoiang of the Gunts area are an exception, for they have access to a vast, unpopulated tract of primary forest to the southeast beyond their territory (Buchbinder 1973: 133). For this group it is likely that the number of hunters to the square kilometer of hunting land (whether in absolute terms or within half a day's walk from Gunts) is well below the figure for the Kundagai.

Even if game is equally numerous in all territories listed, it must be subjected to less intensive predation in Tsuwenkai as measured by the density of hunters operating in a given area. The inference is that each hunter in Tsuwenkai, having a larger area in which to hunt, competes less with his fellows and may thereby be capable of securing larger amounts of prey in a given time. Men of all settlements probably have roughly equal demands on their time to participate in social and subsistence activities.^[12] This places an upper limit on the amount of time they are able to devote to hunting. Kundagai and Bomagai-Angoiang hunters may be more inclined to approach the maximum amount of time possible in hunting, as the returns from this activity will be greater, making hunting a more rewarding activity.

Since the amount of time available for hunting is limited, it also follows that game is subjected to less hunting pressure where the density of hunters is low. For example, 6 Kundagai per square kilometer of hunting land will have to work much harder to exert the same hunting pressure in the same period of time as 117 Kauwatyi. It is in this regard that the differential rights of clans and individuals to hunting land or specific sites become particularly important in reducing overall hunting pressure, although these restrictions do not apply to all categories of game.

Aside from the time available for hunting and competition from other hunters, the efficiency of a hunter is further limited by his personal knowledge of game, skill in hunting techniques, and efficiency of his weapons. Available time and other limitations set an upper limit on the productivity of hunting. Where the ratio of hunters to hunting land is high these additional limitations become less significant in reducing hunting pressure. Where the ratio of hunters to hunting land is low, as in Tsuwenkai, additional limitations become more important in reducing overall hunting success, so that although each hunter may be highly productive, the sum of all hunters' efforts may have a lesser effect or

pressure on their prey. This may be so even if the total number of prey killed exceeds the total killed by populations with a high hunter-to-area ratio, because prey species may remain more numerous, in turn sustaining continued high productivity of hunters.

Game, of course, is not equally numerous in all territories, while the preferred prey also varies in relation to what is locally available. Feral pigs and large lower-montane marsupials are especially sought by the non-Kundagai listed in the table. These animals are absent from Tsuwenkai where hunters concentrate on montane marsupials and birds. I have no good data on the relative abundance of game in different territories. Informants' subjective opinions and the results of a dietary survey by Buchbinder nonetheless offer a rough guide.

Kauwatyi men told me that birds of paradise were less numerous in their territory than in Tsuwenkai. In a survey of the contribution of game to the diet, Buchbinder (1973) found that little meat had been eaten in most populations during the week prior to her investigation, and that had been mainly from small animals rather than the preferred larger prey. The Kandambent-Namikai and Tsenggamp-Mirimbikai said small game was common, but the Kanump-Kauwil, with the highest ratio of hunters to land, said there was little game available and apparently had difficulty in locating it. Only the Gunts people had caught large quantities of game, including larger animals. Their hunter-to-land ratio is no doubt lower than the table suggests because of access to uninhabited forest in the Ramu lowlands.

Buchbinder's data suggest a gradient of game availability from least where overall population densities are highest to where densities are lowest. The Tsuwenkai Kundagai conform to this pattern; with their low hunter-to-land ratio they appear to have access to much game. The Kundagai consider that their preferred prey are mostly quite common and, although a competent hunter may not always find what he is searching for, he seldom has much difficulty in locating game of some sort. His problem, rather, is actually killing it. These observations are inconclusive but lend some support to the hypothesis that game is more plentiful and an individual's hunting productivity is greater in those territories where there is a low ratio of hunters to land area.

Demographic factors may limit the intensity of hunting but have no necessary and direct conservatory impact by imposing absolute limits on levels of predation. Although hunting contributes to subsistence, though marginally and erratically, the motivations to hunt are very different from those of subsistence hunter-gatherers, whose levels of

predation are intrinsically limited by the finite demands of modest and immediate subsistence targets (Lee 1979; Sahlins 1972). For the Kundagai, hunting is subservient to the demands of subsistence production, rather than being a component of such production, and as such, although wild meat is a welcome addition to the diet, it is not considered a culturally "necessary" component. Nor is success in hunting ideologically necessary for the achievement of masculine identity. Thus, as far as I am aware, women and children do not nag men of the household to go hunting for meat, nor is there any suggestion that unsuccessful hunters are deficient in masculinity. In this the Kundagai contrast with some hunter-gatherer societies, such as the Kalahari San (Lee 1979) and hunter-horticulturalists, such as the Amazonian Sharanahua (Siskind 1973).^[13] A proficient hunter may gain some notoriety, but a poor hunter suffers no loss of esteem. Many men rarely go on deliberate hunting excursions, and only a few are skillful and knowledgeable hunters making extended trips into the high forest at all frequently.

Under these circumstances hunting serves as a diversion from everyday pursuits rather than a materially and ideologically "necessary" undertaking. It provides a welcome source of meat but is hardly an imperative. The tangible fruits of hunting can be readily absorbed by the nonsubsistence exchange economy, as the finite objectives of subsistence have no bearing on the activity, except to supress hunting in times of intensive agricultural labor demand.

This means, on the one hand, that active hunters are self-limited to those with sufficient skill and inclination. On the other hand, those who do choose to hunt tend to focus their activities on plume-bearing birds and marsupials valued for their pelts and fur. Notwithstanding the Kundagai hunter's willingness to take a range of prey, his search strategies are thus directed to securing products that can be accumulated almost without limit. As such, there is no intrinsic factor beyond personal disinclination which will limit the intensity of hunting by ardent hunters. Potentially, then, the survival of birds and marsupials valued primarily for feathers and furs is endangered by overexploitation to satisfy a highly elastic demand for trade goods, in addition to the threat of habitat destruction that threatens all forest game.

I have already argued that habitat destruction is unlikely to pose an absolute threat to most valuable game animals (see also Healey 1986). Various practices and belief also limit hunting pressure and may therefore have some conservatory value.

Taboos on hunting and eating certain favored game animals as-

sociated with ritual states, notably in times of war, undoubtedly reduced hunting intensity in the past, as did fear of ambush in the lonely forest during hostilities. The occurrence of war followed a long cycle of periodicity ranging from about eight to twenty years. With the cessation of war such long cycles of fluctuating hunting intensity no longer occur. The short, seasonal cycle of decreased hunting intensity in the wetter months remains important, however. Since most birds, including plume-bearing birds of paradise, breed in the wetter season, the seasonality of hunting facilitates the annual recovery of populations of deep-forest birds.

Dietary taboos affecting particular individuals permanently or collectivities periodically may make hunting a less attractive pursuit for the gourmet, since most tabooed species are favored larger game mammals. Plume-bearing birds, however, are not subject to such taboos. Nonetheless, the reduced range of potential prey may serve as a disincentive to hunt at all.

The observance of hunting restrictions in relation to corporate territorial rights or the rights of individuals to harvest valuable birds at flowering trees, blinds, display trees, or in de facto personal hunting reserves reduces the number of hunters active in certain localities. This in itself does not necessarily mean that hunting intensity is comparably reduced. However, fewer hunters will concentrate their active search for game on more numerous, desirable prey. Should such game decline in numbers from overhunting or other causes, hunters will turn to alternative prey or cease hunting altogether.

In combination with factors reducing the number of active hunters the technology of uncertain reliability is of particular importance in limiting predation. Despite often considerable knowledge of his prey and skill in hunting techniques, the simple technology of hunting often leads to failure: wind or leaves deflect the unfletched arrow; bowstrings snap at inopportune moments; or a bird darts from its perch on hearing the twang of a bowstring. Traditional hunting weapons and, of course, traps are only effective at a close range many prey will not tolerate. These limitations make the shotgun an attractive alternative. The success of a hunting expedition is never a foregone conclusion—and therein no doubt lies part of the attraction for some men.

Although limits on hunting intensity, supported by legal principles, religious belief, and a disinclination to persist in unproductive activity may have beneficial consequences for the conservation of game, it is important to recognize that such consequences are not necessarily in-

tended. Further, although it is possible to hypothesize, as Rappaport (1968) has done for the Tsembaga, that cultural and social factors reduce hunting pressure absolutely or periodically, thus enabling game numbers to build up to optimum levels, it is difficult to demonstrate that this circumstance actually occurs synergistically (cf. Dwyer 1982: 179).

Many Kundagai and other north-Jimi people consider that trade in forest products is an important bisnis or cash-earning activity, and they recognize the need to limit their hunting to conserve bird populations for continued harvest. Voluntary restraints on killing female and immature male birds of paradise and on leaving some adult males alive at communal display sites are explained by hunters as having deliberate conservatory value. To the extent that these restraints are actually observed, so confining hunting to adult male birds, they would undoubtedly have beneficial effects. Sparing female and immature male birds helps maintain the reproductive pool of females in polygynous breeding species (including all valued birds of paradise) and the number of immature males to reach maturity for later harvest. Such practices are nonetheless intended to further the short-term exploitative interests of individual hunters rather than for the benefit of the community at large, much less the preservation of wild animals as an end in itself (cf. Bulmer 1982).

Various Kundagai hunting rights and practices and mystical beliefs amount to an integrated system of conservatory value. There is, however, no direct evidence for the positive benefits of hunting techniques and restrictions in limiting the intensity of predation. The Kundagai, however, regard most valuable birds to be quite common in their territory. The two exceptions are the Black and Brown Sicklebill Birds of Paradise whose present rarity may well be due partly to past hunting pressure. There is some circumstantial evidence for reduced hunting pressure at communal display sites of the Astrapia as a consequence of de facto personal hunting preserves of those claiming exclusive rights of harvest, and of restraints on killing females, young males, and all adult displaying males (Healey 1986). However, in the absence of comparative material from other communities that do not observe the restrictions outlined here, it is possible only to infer the conservatory benefits of these beliefs and practices.

On purely intuitive grounds one might suppose that among birds lacking pair bonding, as with the more ornate birds of paradise, selective hunting of mature males will only endanger local populations if all

or nearly all such birds are killed. This is because a few surviving males mate with an undiminished stock of females, so that annual breeding rates remain unaffected (see Healey 1986 for a fuller discussion of this issue as it relates to Tsuwenkai). Given that Kundagai hunting of birds of paradise is, by their own testimony, sex selective for males, one would expect an unbalanced sex ratio in favor of females in the few species subjected to intensive hunting. In fact, hunting records indicate that predation is not as markedly age and sex selective. This may go some way to explaining why sex ratios in Tsuwenkai bird populations appear close to equality.^[14]

The Kundagai claim, correctly, that they have intensified trading since the government peace was established in the mid-1950s. They also claim that hunting rates have increased to sustain a greater volume of trade. If this is so, one might presume that hunting now poses a greater threat to the survival of wild birds, and so to the Kundagai's continued participation as major providers of trade plumes. To evaluate the situation one must therefore compare predation rates with rates of recruitment in bird populations. This is a difficult exercise. Obviously one cannot reconstruct past predation figures because many former hunters are now dead.

Estimating annual recruitment rates for birds is a problem of a different order, involving concepts and methods of the animal population ecologist. I have attempted this elsewhere (Healey 1986) and will not repeat the exercise. Suffice to say that the conclusions I summarize are merely approximations on a thin data base and refer only to three species of birds of paradise intensively hunted for their plumes.^[15] Predation rates of individual hunters vary considerably over time, but since the numbers of hunters, their identities, and skills also vary, any fluctuations in predation rates by individuals are not necessarily reflected in their combined rates. Contrary to Kundagai opinion, an analysis of the fifty-seven hunting histories I collected, which extend back to the 1920s, shows that there has been no appreciable increase in predation rates of the more commonly killed valuable birds. How greater rates of trade are sustained in the face of no significant change in local production will be examined in chapter 5.

The following table (table 12) provides an index of annual predation rates in the years before and after 1956. Obviously, these figures are not based on the total number of birds killed but on total remembered kills by men still living. Absolute numbers of kills would be higher for both periods, but most especially so for the pre-1956 years because rec-

ords for that period are based on the testimony of fewer surviving men who were actively hunting then. I add figures for the number of birds killed during fieldwork, which represent as close to absolute numbers as is possible to show. Clearly, annual rates can fluctuate within limits without seriously endangering the long-term survival of local bird populations, but I have no way of determining whether 1973-1974 records are anywhere near average rates. Also, I cannot be certain that I heard of all kills during the year, though I am confident that few escaped my channels of information. Similarly, it is not possible to even suggest how much higher annual predation rates for pre- and post-1956 should be. Given these limitations of data, what the table does suggest is that predation rates have remained fairly constant over time, even if they have fluctuated in the short term.

It is, in fact, quite possible that pre-1956 predation rates were not only higher than suggested but actually exceeded post-1956 rates. If this was so, the decline in hunting rates might be a consequence of either increased rates of trade through Tsuwenkai replacing hunting as a means of acquiring plumes, or a response to increasing scarcity of birds, or both. The opinion of Kundagai hunters certainly does not support the latter suggestion. That predation rates for three of the birds listed are within estimates of minimum annual recruitment rates suggests that these bird populations are safe from the threat of serious depletion or extermination by present levels of hunting. There is no way of knowing, however, whether present recruitment figures are representative of past reproductive potential. Given the recency of large-scale Kundagai settlement of Tsuwenkai, it is quite likely that many bird species were more numerous in the past and could sustain higher rates of hunting.^[16] In other words, although some present bird populations seem to have achieved homeostasis, there are no good grounds for presuming that there has been a static equilibrium. This conclusion has important consequences for the wider ecological framework of this analysis: although the cultural organization of territoriality, rights to resources, and restraints on hunting can be interpreted as tending toward limiting hunting pressure, it is not actually possible to specify any positive links between these practices and the population dynamics of birds. In other words, the relationship between belief and hunting practice and their consequences as manifested in bird populations through production for plume trade and use can only be inferred; the parameters cannot be integrated operationally. One cannot, therefore, assume that the relationship between hunting and bird recruitment necessarily

tends toward homeostasis. By contrast, it is reasonable to conclude that hunting rates over time have remained within the limits set by rates of bird reproduction.

Although the ecological data on bird populations does not lend itself to definite conclusions, the collective wisdom of Kundagai hunters deserves a place in the analysis of the impact of hunting on the population dynamics of birds. From the perspective of the Kundagai hunter what ultimately counts is the ready availability of plumed male birds. Hunters of the current generation quite dearly have an appreciation of the potential impact of their activities on bird numbers. They can articulate strategies hunters should adopt to reduce that impact while maintaining yield. Whether they systematically apply strategies of restraint and conservation is another issue. The point is that in the light of their clear appreciation of critical ecological insights into their impact on their prey, Kundagai hunters express no concern over diminishing availability of favored prey. The available evidence on the population ecology of the birds does not contradict Kundagai evaluation of the impact of their hunting. Notwithstanding my cautionary comments on the interpretation of ornithological data, it seems to me quite reasonable to arrive at a more definite conclusion: under current regimes of exploitation the Kundagai are able to maintain long-term production of feathers (and other forest products) on a sustained-yield basis. In short, their particular place as producers in a wider network of trade can be maintained.

This chapter has examined the local ecological basis of Kundagai production of certain valuables that in part sustain local participation in trade. In succeeding chapters I turn to an examination of the articulation of distribution in various forms of exchange with levels of production and consumption of valuables.

4
Valuables and Prestations

Trade and Prestation

Melanesians have been represented as preoccupied with the exchange of material goods.^[1] In many instances the stereotype is undeserved and serves to mask a fuller understanding of the nature and meaning of transactions. Nonetheless, many ethnographers have pointed to broad distinctions between classes of transactions involving material items, variously contrasting trade, barter, commodity exchange, or "economic exchange" with ceremonial exchange, prestation, or gift. Others have made such distinctions from more theoretical perspectives (e.g., Gregory 1982; Sahlins 1972).

The passage of goods between parties to an exchange is one of innumerable forms of transaction as that notion may be broadly understood (Kapferer 1976). As I have argued in the Introduction, it is misleading to distinguish trade from prestations on the basis of descriptions of their conduct. This is an exercise in typologizing that must crumble in the face of intermediate cases. Rather, I argue that these forms of exchange should be distinguished in terms of actors' primary interests or intents. This is not to say that a label can be attached definitely to any particular transaction one may witness. Multiple social and cultural factors are involved in any transaction which are capable of manipulation and variable interpretation by the actors (cf. Bourdieu 1977).

This approach has the advantage of conforming to some theoretical arguments developed by Sahlins (1972), and also to the conceptions of the Maring themselves. The Maring make a terminological distinction between two general forms of exchange which I gloss as "trade" and "prestation." Each term entails an understanding of reciprocity, but the social and material contexts of the exchanges may vary widely. The term munggoi rigima , literally "valuables exchange," which I translate as "trade," refers to transactions explicitly concerned with the acquisition and distribution of goods. As stated by informants, the overt focus of such transactions is on the reciprocal movement of dissimilar objects of value. Trade transactions may occur between individuals— never groups—standing in any relationship to one another.

The term munggoi awom , literally "valuables give," I translate as "prestations" or "gifts." In these transactions the participants are explicitly concerned with the establishment, continuation, or discharge of social relations, rights, and obligations. The flow of material objects is not necessarily reciprocal but may entail the transmission of valuables in exchange for the gift of a woman in marriage, military aid, or settlement of insult. Maring exegesis points to the more restricted nature of munggoi awom exchanges: they occur only between particular categories of persons or collectivities in certain circumstances.

As a consequence of these different orientations of modes of exchange, the interests of transactors shifts from the appearance of a dominant concern for objects and the self in trade to a concern for the other in prestations. I say "appearance" of material self-interest since, in the final chapter, I argue that in the praxis of trade there is a potential for the expression of a central concern for sociability. Further, although the Maring characterize trade as centered on objects, it would be a misleading oversimplification to treat it as an essentially materialistic pursuit. It is also important to note that, in the absence of overt haggling or bargaining, trade does not involve competition within or between groups of "buyers" and "sellers," nor is it geared to the making of profit (cf. e.g., Thurnwald 1932). These issues can only be noted here but will be dealt with further in later chapters.

Trade transactions tend to be unremarkable events, involving only a pair of individuals. The actual exchange of goods is a relatively private event, unencumbered by elaborate codes of conduct. They are therefore hard to see, and many ethnographers whose attention was focused elsewhere may have gained the false impression that trade is of little significance. Prestations, by contrast, run the whole gamut from

the commonplace, private exchange of minor valuables between individuals as a sign of courtesy or intimacy to the rare and glorious spectacle of the dances and distribution of salted pork to allies in the final stages of the konj kaiko ceremony.

The various forms of prestations in fact can be grouped into two broad classes that I gloss as major and minor prestations. There is no general term for major prestations. Usually, they are highly public events involving groups of transactors. They consist of several named categories of ceremonialized exchange to mark specific events in the life cycle of individuals or the fortunes of collectivities. Such transactions usually involve strict codes of conduct relating to participants and the appropriate nature and quantities of goods. The various kinds of major prestations are detailed below, but examples include bridewealth and death payments. Minor prestations or gifts are known collectively as munggoi aure awom ("valuables nothing give"). The various forms and circumstances are not named. They are unceremonialized exchanges, usually between individuals, expressing solidarity, reconciliation, or intimacy attending numerous social events for which no named ceremonial exchange is obligatory. There is no set code of conduct relating to the occasions when gifts are appropriate, or to the kind and quantity of goods involved. Examples include mutual gifts between visiting matrikin or affines, or small prestations as expressions of sympathy in times of misfortune or as appreciation of past kindness.

There may be some objection to collapsing into a simple dichotomy the variety of transactions empirically present among the Maring and others (for which both the participants and anthropologist can provide distinctive labels). Mauss (1954: 28-29) provides some justification for such an exercise implicit in his complaint of the proliferation of Trobriand terms for different kinds of prestations, which masks the common features of all forms of the "gift."

To characterize trade as primarily "economic" in focus and prestations as social, political, or religious in orientation is misleading.^[2] Clearly, both forms of exchange have important economic implications for the production of exchangeable items, their distribution, and consumption. A trader, nonetheless, may be motivated by a desire to acquire a particular item that he can use in a social and political transaction, such as bridewealth in exchange for rights to a woman's productive and reproductive powers and the political support of her agnates, or a religious transaction, such as the sacrifice of a pig to the spirits in exchange for health and protection. Even trade transactions

with an apparently self-interested and materialist, "economic" focus may also involve strong social and political motives. For instance, trade between affines may be pursued partly because the transaction has some utilitarian benefit for the participants, but also because it expresses a commitment to maintain their social and political links. By the same token, parties to a prestation may be conscious of the practical utility of the exchange as a means of redistributing useful or desirable goods.

These considerations indicate that trade and prestations as pure forms occupy the poles of a continuum and that they intergrade in some intermediate region. I stress that the distinctions, which derive from a particular ethnographic context, lie in actors' perceptions or interpretations of particular events and motives. The labeling of any specific transaction therefore cannot be based on mere observation by the ethnographer but requires attention to transactors' evaluations of their activities. This scheme thus serves as an advance on a similar continuum of forms of exchange proposed by Sahlins (1972) in terms of generalized through balanced to negative reciprocity, in which a priori assumptions about kinship distance are held as important determinants or covariants of the form and conduct of transactions. In Sahlins's scheme, what I call prestations fall toward the generalized reciprocity pole, typically involving relatives, and trade transactions toward the negative reciprocity end typified by self-interested, potentially hostile relations between unrelated persons.

Maring prestations occur between kin and affines, but parties to trade transactions run the spectrum from unrelated strangers to close relatives—even true brothers—and transactions may be completed immediately or delayed for up to several years. The conduct of trade transactions will be examined in chapter 8. Here I wish merely to note that although trade and prestations may be difficult to disentangle theoretically, to the Kundagai the distinctions in practice are clear, and must be so, if they are to react appropriately by normative standards in any particular transaction. Of the several thousand cases of exchanges that I collected, my informants were nearly always quite certain whether any one was to be understood as munggoi rigima or munggoi awom .

Since the goods and persons involved in Maring prestations are also those engaged in trade, neither form of exchange can be examined in isolation. Both are forms of the distribution of goods and of intergroup relations. Although the focus of this study is on trade, it becomes obvi-

ous from the foregoing remarks that one cannot understand the movement of goods in trade in isolation. The last chapter showed how the production of plumes destined for trade is embedded in the relations between humans and the environment, between groups and individuals, and between humans and the spirit world. Here I identify the major goods involved in trade and prestations, their ownership, and the flow of goods in prestations, before making a detailed examination of trade in subsequent chapters.

Valuables

In common with many other New Guinea societies the Maring class a range of goods in a named category, munggoi . The term has two meanings. In a general sense it refers to any object that is described in Tok Pisin as samting pulim pe , something that "pulls pay" or has exchange value. In this sense it may refer to any good passed in trade or major and minor prestations. In a more restricted or focused sense it is confined to "valuables" or "prestige goods." Paradigmatically, valuables in this narrow sense embrace items passed in major prestations: pigs, cassowaries, certain shells, stone and now steel tools, and paper money. Some high-value bird plumes and marsupial skins are also classed as munggoi in this restricted sense, although they are not used in major prestations among the western Maring. The Kundagai explain that they are "valuables" because they are of comparable exchange value to pigs, the preeminent object of ceremonial exchanges. Indeed, many such plumes and skins are used to acquire by trade pigs later killed for prestations. In all, some thirty-six objects fall into the category of "valuables" (although some informants are inclined to expand the list). Only twelve of these, however, are valuables in the restricted sense and are or were regularly employed in major ceremonial exchanges, and only munggoi are so used. Although traditionally the western Maring, including the Kundagai, did not use plumes in major prestations, the eastern Maring and the Narak and Kandawo have always done so. The Kundagai, however, have recently received some Red Bird of Paradise, Hornbill, and Paradise Kingfisher feathers in bridewealth, mainly from eastern Maring communities, although they do not include feathers in any major prestations they make.

The category munggoi as valuables includes items that may also be used as decorations, mokiang , but not all mokiang are also valuables. Many non-munggoi decorations are also traded, though less commonly

than are munggoi and generally at lower exchange rates. There is no doubt that the introduction of money has facilitated trade in these lesser goods and that, although some of these goods were formerly obtained by the Kundagai from beyond their territory, this was mainly in minor prestations from kinsmen rather than by trade. A few items are neither munggoi nor mokiang and are occasionally exchanged for money; these, however, were probably seldom if ever traded in the past.

Appendix 3 gives details of over seventy goods transferred in trade. The catalogue of items actually traded in any one period of time has varied as indicated in the appendix. Most things no longer traded are not used for any other purpose, such as decorations, or even retained as mementos of the past. For instance, to my knowledge no Kundagai now owns a dog-tooth necklace or pack of native salt.

Over one hundred items, animal, vegetable, and mineral, provide decorations, but I recorded only forty-seven used in trade. Of the fifty-three species of birds used in decorations, twenty-seven are or have been traded.

Goods passed in trade can be classed broadly either as more or less ubiquitous or as specialized and localized in origin. Here I classify goods relative to their availability in Tsuwenkai. Items found in both Tsuwenkai and many other areas of dissimilar environment are not of specialized origin. Things found only in Tsuwenkai or a limited number of other similar environments, or widely distributed goods absent from Tsuwenkai, are classed as being of specialized origins. By this reckoning twenty-three, or somewhat less than half of the items ever traded, are the products of ecologically or technologically distinct areas. In most cases items are peculiar to high or low altitudes, although salt, stone, and some pigments are derived from localized deposits that are distributed with little relation to altitude.

The Maring grade valuables into broad hierarchic categories of order of value. Unlike, for instance, the Mae Enga (Meggitt 1971: 200), the Maring hierarchy does not involve rigid restrictions on the interconvertibility of items of different hierarchic levels. The Kundagai say that ideally items of one level can be exchanged for those in any other level. Mae Enga valuables normatively can be exchanged only with items of the same or immediately adjacent levels. Nonetheless, on the one hand, exchanges of goods with widely divergent value would not be contemplated by the Maring. On the other hand, convertibility. between Maring levels is enhanced insofar as items within any one level

are not of equal exchange value. The levels of value therefore do not conform to a scale of exchange value but are, rather, a hierarchy of "worth or desirability" (Meggitt 1971: 199).

Scales of value have altered over time as items available for use in prestations have changed. Table 13 lists hierarchies of valuables around the year 1900 (as related by an old man born around that time) and in the present. Opinion varies somewhat as to the number of levels and the allocation of specific items in the contemporary hierarchy.

Some informants list money in the same category as pigs, shells, and steel tools, because, like those items, it is a major component of prestations. Those who place money in a separate category of superior value do so because they say that since money can be converted to any other item more freely than other valuables it is the most valuable. It is therefore the most desirable of all goods.

Other categories crosscut these hierarchies: all shells are glossed mengr , bird plumes as kabang an (feathers) or kabang wak (skins), and marsupial fur as koi-ma an and skins as koi-ma wak .

Ethnographers frequently record quantities of valuables transferred in ceremonial exchanges. Except for pigs, however, there are few published details available on valuables stocks retained by individuals. A major aim of the following discussion is thus to document patterns of ownership of valuables among the Kundagai and show how the means of acquiring valuables varies. It must be conceded immediately that custodianship of valuables does not necessarily mean ownership, as one may hold temporary stewardship over, say, shells that belong to others. Nonetheless, the great bulk of valuables I saw during a census of valuables collections were identified by their custodians as their personal property.

I did not discern any reluctance on the part of the Kundagai to show me their plume and shell collections. It is possible that some men had stored separately shells that they had received in, or were about to give in, prestations, and that they preferred to keep the fact secret from my assistants and spectators in case their display should provoke claims or comments. In the absence of signs of evasiveness, however, I am confident that I saw most shells and plumes owned by resident Kundagai. I also saw some valuables belonging to absentees which were stored with resident kinsmen. In their general willingness to display and discuss valuables collections the Kundagai dearly contrast with some other societies—such as the Mae Enga, at least in respect of pigs (Meggitt 1974)—where such information is sensitive and secret.

As noted in chapter 2, most plumes and furs are owned by younger men, as it is they who more keenly participate in dances. Plumes and skins are not used by the Kundagai and other western Maring in major prestations, so that older men who are uninterested in dancing do not generally retain such goods except as trade items. In table 14 I give details of how animal remains recorded in the census of valuables were acquired.

The most common means of acquiring plumes and marsupial skins retained in valuables collections was by gift, followed by trade. By "gift" I mean minor prestations as outlined above. All the marsupial skins listed in the table are low-altitude species unavailable to Tsuwenkai Kundagai hunters by virtue of territorial hunting rights. Concerning bird plumes, trade and loans are more important means of acquiring valuable, or munggoi , plumes than those regarded only as decorations. This is as one might expect, for munggoi items, being more desirable, are more likely to be sought by a trader than are non-munggoi , as they can be used not only for decorations but exchanged for other valuables. In other words, they become commodities as well as decorations and, as such, can be converted into other desirable items. Non-munggoi

goods do not enjoy such free exchangeability. Gift is almost as important a means of acquiring munggoi as non-munggoi plumes, but hunting is of relatively minor importance in acquiring munggoi plumes, though in large part this is because six of the fifteen munggoi species are not found in Tsuwenkai.

The pattern of acquisition of shells differs from that of other animal products. Partly this is because shells are not of local origin and also because their uses and the categories of men owning them differ. Shells are transferred in large numbers in major prestations in which older men participate. Tables 15 and 16 give details of the ownership of 210 kina and 250 greensnail shells recorded in the collections of all 55 resident adult males. I have not reordered data on the distribution of ownership by age for other shells, as the numbers recorded are small and these shells are now very rarely used in prestations. Gross holdings of these other shells were as follows: 28 sets of Nassa dogwhelk headbands and ropes, most acquired in bridewealth, 3 sets of Cypraea cowry ropes, 8 Conus shell disks, mostly obtained in gifts, and one Melo bailer-shell fragment, acquired in bridewealth.

Although plumes and skins are retained primarily for use in decorations or trade, shells are required as major components of prestations. They are also commonly traded but are only minor items of decoration. Consonant with these different social utilities, patterns of ownership and means of acquiring shells differ by age groups from holdings of plumes and skins.

In general one might anticipate that young and old men will own fewer shells as they will tend to be less involved in ceremonial payments, requiring fewer shells for prestations and receiving less. Young unmarried men are not considered to be fully adult, partly because they have not assumed responsibilities for dependents and for the maintenance of amicable relations with affines. As such their need of shell valuables is not great. Old men similarly are often little involved in

prestations. In part this is the result of their declining interest and ability to participate through age and ill health, but also because sons.., on reaching middle age, assume the exchange responsibilities of their fathers. It follows that married men of middle age can be expected to be most involved with prestations and so to handle larger amounts of shells. This does not necessarily mean that they will hold larger stocks.

Data on shell holdings of fifty-five men are arranged in ten-year-interval age groups in tables 15 and 16. Some clarification of certain tabulated means of acquisition is required. Informants usually specified whether a shell was received in a major prestation—mainly bridewealth and death payment—or as a return gift for such a payment they had made or contributed to. In the first instance, shells were acquired directly from donors or indirectly in redistributions from major recipients. Return payments include three subcategories: direct returns for earlier major prestations by current shell owners; as indirect returns in redistributions from other major recipients; as returns for helping kinsmen make their own major prestations. That is, figures for bridewealth and death payments, and for returns for these two prestations, include shells both distributed between groups making prestations and redistributed within recipient and donor groups. The inclusion of several types of distribution under one heading conforms to Kundagai presentation of information. The "gift" column includes shells passed in minor prestations (munggoi aure awom ) that were not counted as reciprocation for aid in amassing prestations associated with marriage or death.

As suggested, the average number of shells owned by individuals in different age groups varies as does the relative importance of means of acquisition. Most shells are acquired in prestations, although relative proportions vary with age. Trade assumes greater significance as a source of shells for young and, to a lesser extent, old men, with prestations being most significant for men aged between thirty-five and fifty-five. The few shells listed as acquired by "other" means include several taken live from the sea, then cut and polished by their present owners while working on coastal plantations. One man also inherited nine shells from his father. Several dogwhelk collections had also been inherited. Inheritance of shells seems uncommon; on death a man's valuables are normally distributed to kinsmen as part of a death payment.

It is appropriate to note briefly how the age groups employed in the analysis relate to the developmental cycle of men and their households.

Lucien Yekwai in full dancing regalia. He wears a mamp ku glong wig, decorated
with lines of scarab beetle heads, cuscus fur strips, and plumes of eagle, fowl, and
parrot, and carries a bow in his left hand.

Looking north up the Kant Valley to Gendupa Pass on the Bismarck Crest. The
buildings on the nearer ridge include the ethnographer's house (center) and the
haus kiap (government rest house) located on the edge of the census ground (left).
Note the planted casuarina trees around the census ground, graded walking track
on flank of farther ridge. Newly cleared gardens can be seen at the forest edge at
the head of the valley where the Kant River turns sharply westward. Fallow growth
in the middle altitudes obscures several homestead sites.

Looking south across the Pint Basin grasslands. The long ridge sloping down from
the right is the north face of Komongwai near the southern border of Tsuwenkai
territory. Kompiai settlement is located on the ridge to the left. The Sepik-Wahgi
Divide lies on the skyline. Note the landslip scar on the flanks of Komongwai and
horizontal marks attributed by the Kundagai to old garden terraces cleared in
grassland before the arrival of steel tools in the 1940s.

Mount Dundunk on the heavily forested Bismarck Crest, seen from a homestead
yard.

Kumbwamp in 1974, aged about 65. She wears a traditional bark cloth cape and
necklace of greensnail shell fragments.

Wande planting a newly cleared garden cut from advanced secondary forest. Burnt
rubbish is still smoking in the background.

Kamkai returning home from work in his gardens. He carries harvested tubers and
other produce in a bilum (string bag) and improvised bundle carried in the male
fashion slung from the shoulder. Because he has been working in a bush area, he
carries a bow and hunting arrows in case he encounters game. He has hitched up
his apron for ease of movement in thick undergrowth.

Bird hunting blind at a pool in the high altitude forest. The blind has been abandoned
for some time and is in disrepair, with its heavy leafy covering largely rotted
away revealing the domed structure. A bark tube to guide an arrow to its mark
protrudes through the blind wall bound to the top of the pole that serves as a
perch.

Sacrifice of a large pig for a bridewealth presentation in a raku , sacrificial grove
and cemetery.

Spectators at a bridewealth presentation in 1974. The low, turtle backed house in
the background, roofed with pandanus fronds, is typical of Tsuwenkai houses.

Part of a bridewealth presentation on display, 1974. Greensnail shells are arranged
at the far end, kina, flanked by lines of paper money on the left (the arrows are
to prevent the money from blowing away, and are not part of the presentation),
axs and bushknives to the right. Joints of cooked pork are on display in a separate
pile out of the photo.

After presentation of bridewealth the bride and her companion emerge from se-
clusion. She is heavily decorated, mainly with parrot feathers. In her left hand she
waves a Lesser Bird of Paradise plume and carries a joint of pork in her right hand
as gifts for her husband's kin. This practice of presenting a heavily decorated bride
has been adopted recently from Kuma-speaking areas of the upper Jimi.

Giewai displays Harpy Eagle feathers he hopes to exchange for money with a party
of visiting traders from the upper Jimi.

Kemba (left) displays money (folded on his thigh) to a group of fellow Kundagai.
He has been given the money by a trade partner in the Simbai Valley who asked
Kemba to get him a pig.

John Kandemungu (left) ponders the merits of a piglet a visiting trader from Togban
(right) wishes to exchange for money. The visitor holds a stick of sugarcane he
has been offered in hospitality.

Itinerant pig trader from south of the Jimi River at festivities hosted by the Angli-
can Mission at Koinambe, Christmas 1973. Note his traditional decorations of
netted cap, slivers of bamboo in nose, and woven belt. He carries the piglet he
wishes to exchange for plumes slung in a bark roll from his shoulder. The piglet's
trotters can be seen protruding from its wrapping.

Dance contingent and spectators at a pati held in Tsuwenkai, 1974. The building
in the background is a temporary shelter for visitors. The man in the right fore-
ground has a Lesser Bird of Paradise plume in a bamboo tube he wishes to trade.

The fifteen to twenty-five age group represents young adults, the bulk of whom are bachelors attached to the households of their fathers, elder brothers, or other senior cognatic or affinal kin. The next three age groups (from twenty-five to fifty-five) represent predominantly married men with responsibilities for one or more wives, growing numbers of children, and perhaps unmarried siblings, widows of kinsmen, aging parents, and other kin. As a man approaches middle age his responsibilities for dependents tend to increase and he becomes more involved in a network of exchanges flowing from both his own marriage as well as those of other clansmen. By the time he is in his late forties or early fifties a man's conjugal family will begin to break up, with the marriage of his children. Relatively few men in their late fifties have continuing responsibilities for young children, and their exchange obligations and care of dependents have frequently been assumed by sons or younger brothers. Thus, the last two age groups represent old men, most of whose households have dissolved and who have been incorporated into the households of a younger generation of mature men.

A large proportion (all unmarried) of men under twenty-five own no shells at all. Of those that do, their stocks of kina are lower than of any other age group, although holdings of greensnail approximate the average for all age groups combined. Bridewealth forms the most important means of acquiring kina, whereas trade is the major means of obtaining greensnail shells. Most greensnail coming by trade were bought while their owners were on contract labor near Rabaul. Men of this youngest group are a significant source of new greensnail brought from beyond the locally based spheres of exchange. Kina are less often brought home in this way. It is mainly such younger men who go to work in distant areas.

Men of the twenty-five to thirty-five age group retain the largest stocks of shells. Bridewealth and trade are the most significant means of acquisition. Men in the thirty-five to forty-five age groups gain most shells in bridewealth and death payments but rely least heavily of all ages on trade for their supplies.

In the forty-five to fifty-five age group the average size of shell stocks is below the mean for all age groups combined. Receipt of bridewealth and death payments and return gifts for these are the most important means of acquiring shells. These means become more marked for the oldest two age groups.

There are two peaks of the average number of shells owned: in the fifteen to twenty-five and fifty-five to sixty-five age groups. The peak in

the younger group can be explained by their acquiring shells by trade, whereas the older group receives some by trade but most (57.4 percent) in bridewealth, mainly for their daughters. Most women are probably married when their father.,; are in this age group.^[3]

If average shell stocks are calculated on the basis of all men in an age group, rather than the number of men owning shells, then the largest collections are held by the twenty-five to thirty-five age group, with stocks decreasing thereafter with age. This pattern may be accounted for as follows. Men between twenty-five and thirty-five are amassing shells for their own initial bridewealth payments. Indeed, at the time of the valuables census, several men in this group stated that they had many shells because they were about to give bridewealth. Although this group receives only 21 percent of their stocks in bridewealth, mainly for clan sisters, they are evidently receiving many shells in return for their own bridewealth payments and in return for helping kinsmen, mainly agnates, in making bridewealth payments. Of all age groups, they receive the largest proportion of their stocks in the form of return gifts associated with bridewealth.

Bridewealth increases in importance as a means of acquiring shells up to the age of sixty-five, but return gifts associated with bridewealth decrease in importance. 'This is because the major contributors to bridewealth payments tend to be younger men, whereas older men give smaller and receive larger proportions of shells by this means. Men between forty-five and fifty-five, by contrast, are the major recipients of death payments and return gifts for death payments. Such payments are mainly received for deceased married sisters and their children and for their father's sisters and father's sisters' sons and unmarried daughters. Men in the oldest age group, who are often real or classificatory fathers to men of the forty-five to fifty-five age group, are also the main recipients of death payments for the latter category of deceased males and unmarried women, who are sisters' children.

These data concern only shells currently held in personal collections. I have no comparable material on the number of shells or other valuables that men may have distributed in prestations or contributed to major exchanges of other men, and for which returns are outstanding. Indeed, this would be a fruitless exercise of computation for the ethnographer and Kundagai alike, as one can never be certain that valuables will be reciprocated in equal quantities and worth, or when, if at all. Some shells I saw in collections were already earmarked to settle existing debts. The number of shells a man may expect to exercise rela-

tively autonomous control over therefore is indeterminate and does not necessarily include all in his possession but may include some in the custody of others.

Notwithstanding these considerations, the material on existing shell stocks can be used as a basis to suggest the means of loss of shells. Although men aged twenty-five to thirty-five receive relatively few shells in bridewealth, they receive the largest proportion of all age groups in return gifts for bridewealth. Men of these ages are most active in giving bridewealth, and the large amounts they receive in return gifts reflect this. Similarly, men aged forty-five to fifty-five are not only receiving large proportions of shells in death payments but pay out substantial death payments for parents and young children. In the census of valuables, return gifts for death payments exceed receipt of death payments. As not all death payments are countered by a return gift (see below), it is probable that many of the return gifts listed are from other men whom shell owners have helped to make payments, rather than as returns for presentations their owners have made as principal donors. Men over fifty-five years old have received no shells as return gifts for death payments, and few as return gifts for bridewealth payments, which suggests that they contribute little to such prestations. This conclusion is borne out by my observations on contributions to such prestations that occurred during fieldwork.

Bridewealth becomes increasingly important with age as a means of acquiring shells, but the fact that the size of shell stocks decreases with age indicates that losses of shells, mainly in death payments in middle age and as contributions to sons' bridewealth payments which are not replaced by return gifts,^[4] exceeds the acquisition of shells with advancing years. Accumulation through trade is most important for younger men and of secondary importance for men over forty-five. The latter are perhaps attempting to replenish their stocks, which are declining through prestations that are not fully reciprocated.

Regardless of age, bridewealth and associated return gifts are the most important means of acquiring shells (55.6 percent combined), with trade being next in importance. Shells received in death payments and associated return gifts are of lesser numbers, if only because death payments are smaller than bridewealth.

Nine of the fifty-five men whose shell collections I examined are big-men. Two of these (in the forty-five to fifty-five and sixty-five to seventy-five age groups) are politically influential tep yu ("Talk Men"). The other big-men are bamp kunda yu ("Fight Magic Men") and

mengr yu ("Shell Men") who are not outstanding in political affairs. The older tep yu owns more shells than the average for his age group and slightly more than the average for all shell owners irrespective of age. The younger tep yu owns fewer shells than these averages. Most remaining big-men own stocks approximating averages for their age groups. Greatest variations are two men owning no shells and one owning thirty shells. There is, then, a wide range in the collections of big-men, but there is no strong evidence to suggest that they tend to possess more shells than other men. I doubt that big-men as a category have created more outstanding debts by contributing to other men's prestations than have other men, although the younger tep yu may have done so. It is reasonable to conclude that big-man status of itself does not necessarily correlate with personal wealth.

I obtained no ordered data on the ownership of steel tools. Most men own several axes and knives, but they are often all used for everyday tasks, even if one tool is favored above others. Thus, steel tools are seldom stored in separate bundles like other valuables and, if not in immediate use, are propped up inside doorways or wedged into house walls. One man aged about thirty had a bundle of thirteen axes stored. in his house. Another man of about forty-five had five axes. While on contract labor in coastal centers most men buy several steel tools for use in their own bridewealth payments or to distribute as gifts to male and female kin. Steel tools are also bought from stores in Tabibuga, Koinambe, and Simbai Patrol Post and are usually purchased by younger men collecting bridewealth payments. Steel is also commonly traded between settlements. Most such tools, however, change hands in prestations.

I attempted to determine the size of the Kundagai pig herd on two occasions: during the population census at the beginning of fieldwork and again in late September 1974 . During the population census I simply asked men the number of pigs they owned. I did not see all animals, therefore, and, although I know at least some men gave accurate figures, some errors were inevitable by this method. The Kundagai do not appear to be secretive about the number of pigs they own, unlike, for instance, the Mae Enga (Meggitt 1974: 168, n. 8). Nor do kinsmen in other settlements agist pigs for the Kundagai to any significant extent.

A man generally divides his pigs among his wives and older unmarried daughters to care for. If his herd is larger than these dependents can care for on their own, he may assign some pigs to the care of mar-

ried sisters or his mother resident in Tsuwenkai, or to male kin who in turn assign them to their own female dependents.

In January 1974 the Kundagai pig herd was counted at 243 animals, which is no doubt an underestimate. At the end of September 1974 the number of pigs was 311. This latter count is more accurate.^[5] It excludes pigs agisted outside Tsuwenkai, though probably no more than 12 animals are involved. The total includes piglets, but I do not know the age or sex structure of the pig herd. Table 17 shows the distribution of ownership of pigs by age and sex as of September ]974.

All males over about fifteen years old are potential pig owners, though few adolescents actually own beasts. Almost every male over the age of twenty-five owns at least one pig, whatever his marital status. Women do not normally own pigs over which they can expect full rights of disposal. Of the three women owning pigs, the youngest is a remarried widow whose husband lives in Bokapai with his first wife. The older woman is a vigorous and independent co-wife of a mengr yu big-man. Her two pigs were a gift from a daughter's husband. The remaining woman is a non-Kundagai widow with several young children. She lives in the homestead of her husband's brother.

All married men owned at least one pig, while one man owned as many as fourteen. On marriage a man will often be given a pig by his father or an elder brother for his wife to care for. A woman with no pigs under her charge will complain to her husband.

The size of an individual's pig herd shows an increase up to the forty-five to fifty-five age group, after which the size of herds falls. Two of the twenty-two unmarried pig owners are likely to remain permanent bachelors, as informants say no woman would consent or be expected to marry them. One, aged about thirty, is considered plim , "mad," the other aged forty to forty-five, a notorious kwimp , "witch."

Men between thirty-five and fifty-five own the largest pig herds. This may be explained by the tendency of men of these ages to support the greatest number of female dependents who can care for their pigs. Most polygynists with both wives surviving are in this age range. It is also between these ages that a man generally will have the greatest number of unmarried younger sisters or daughters to help his wife or wives and widowed mother to care for his pigs. Once a man's sisters or daughters are married they will be caring for their husband's pigs and, even if they remain within their natal settlement, the number of further pigs belonging to agnates which they can care for decreases. Thus, older men are often unable to find sufficient guardians to maintain large pig herds.

Younger unmarried men are in a similar position. They rely upon unmarried sisters, mothers, or brothers' wives to care for their pigs. All these women may also have responsibilities for other men's pigs. There seems to be only a minor tendency for big-men to own slightly more pigs.

The average number of pigs per owner (male and female) is 4.2. This compares well with data Meggitt (1974: 168, n. 8) gives on Mae Enga pig holdings, where the average number of pigs per owner varies from about 1.9 for bachelors to 5.4 for married men, with a mean of 4.1 for all owners. (The equivalent figures for the Kundagai are 3 pigs for bachelors and 5 for married men.) Meggitt suggests his ratios are underestimates, as the Mae Enga are reluctant to reveal the number of pigs they own.

The ratio of Kundagai pigs to the total resident human population is also high by highland standards. In September 1974 there were 1.1 pigs to I person. This compares with 0.83 to I among the Tsembaga when the pig herd was at its maximum prior to their 1963 konj kaiko (Rappaport 1968: 93) (see table 19 for other Maring ratios). Ratios in the central highlands range from about 1 to 1 to 3 to 1 (Feachem 1973). It is clear, then, that the Kundagai cannot be considered poor in pigs. Although the much denser human populations of the central highlands mean that their pig populations are also much larger, it is unlikely that Kundagai husbandry practices and the work burden of women would permit a much larger pig herd. Nonetheless, informants were of the opinion that the Kundagai herds were larger prior to the last konj kaiko in 1960, although I cannot evaluate this statement. The herd is maintained at a lower level now, they say, as pigs are more frequently killed for damaging food and coffee gardens and are killed periodically to be butchered and sold for cash within Tsuwenkai. Such killings are now an important means of depleting the pig herd. Major prestations often include joints of cooked pork from one or more large pigs, while celebratory feasts and sacrifices to the spirits to cure sickness account for most other pigs. Table 18 lists the number of pigs killed during fieldwork and the principal reasons.

In addition, at least five adult or subadult pigs died of sickness or were killed by other pigs during fieldwork. An unknown number of piglets died, mostly from apparent intestinal infections. Several of the larger pigs were eaten, two being cut up for sale.

To the time of the September pig census fifty-nine pigs were killed, or nineteen percent of the then total population. If no further pigs were

acquired before November (as I suspect was the case), the loss rate of pigs by killings was 21.2 percent. The number of live pigs lost from the Tsuwenkai herd was small. Most such losses were of piglets imported by trade and then quickly exported again.

Buchbinder (1973: 131) gives figures for the number of pigs killed by several Simbai Maring populations in 1968. Comparative data are given in the following table.

These data indicate that the size of the Kundagai pig herd relative to human population is similar to ratios in other Maring settlements. The Simbai Maring are further comparable with the Kundagai in that none were collecting pigs for a konj kaiko (Buchbinder 1973: 130). A ratio of about one pig per person therefore appears to be the general size of contemporary Maring pig herds. In 1968, however, no Maring population approached the Kundagai slaughter rate. The collective kills of the Bomagai—Angoiang and Funggai—Korama clan clusters of Gunts made up the highest slaughter rate. The average proportion of pig herds killed annually for the nine Simbai populations was 9 percent.

The greater rate of killing in 1973-1974 no doubt reflects an increase in the number of pigs killed for butchering and sale. Money was still scarce in the Simbai in 1968. My presence in Tsuwenkai as a ready source of cash undoubtedly encouraged the killing of pigs for sale. If

these animals are excluded from the table, then 17.6 percent of the Tsuwenkai herd was killed. This is only slightly above the highest rate of slaughter in the Simbai in 1968. If kills for such rare events as celebratory feasts for the diocesan bishop and other visitors are also excluded, then 16.1 percent of the herd was killed. This is still a high slaughter rate.

To maintain their pig herd in the face of high slaughter the Kundagai would need to increase the recruitment rate of the herd. The major means of achieving this are by import of live pigs and a reduction of export of locally raised pigs^[6] Medicines are sometimes acquired from agricultural officers at the Tabibuga government station, which help reduce pig mortality through sickness. Considerably increased import of young pigs has probably been the major factor in allowing greater rates of slaughter. I doubt, however, that pigs are often kept until they reach full size, and this may be important in permitting a sustained rapid turnover of the pig population. Indeed, a feature of the present pig herd is that it appears to be maintained at near-maximum size. Formerly, and still so among those Mating populations yet to stage konj kaiko ceremonies, pig herds went through long cycles of slow increase to maximum densities followed by massive slaughter at the end of the ritual cycle (Rappaport 1968). The present Kundagai strategy may have serious ecological consequences yet to be determined. However,

assuming that fewer pigs are allowed to reach maximum size (and certainly I saw few very large pigs), the overall live-weight of the herd at maximum numbers permitted by the capacity of women's labor to sustain them may be considerably less than that of a herd immediately prior to a konj kaiko . In short, the demographic pressure of the Kundagai and their pigs may be less than that of a comparable population approaching a kaiko .

Small numbers of live piglets are lost from the herd in trade, gifts to affines or occasionally as return gifts for bridewealth or death payments. Most pigs are nonetheless lost as pork rather than live. The same holds for the Narak and Kalam neighbors of the Maring. Unlike many parts of the central highlands where ceremonial payments may include relatively large numbers of live pigs, losses from a Maring herd do not swell the herds of recipients^[7] One is led to conclude, therefore, that notwithstanding the periodic large pig kills among central highlanders, there is probably a more rapid turnover of pigs among the Mating and their neighbors. Even if Maring pig fertility is similar to that in the central highlands it is unlikely that reproduction is sufficient to maintain the Kundagai pig herd at its present size without considerable import of live pigs, mainly effected through trade,^[8] a matter to which I return briefly in chapter 7.

Kundagai stocks of other livestock are low. Two men owned one cassowary each during the period of major fieldwork. One of these birds was killed as a sacrifice to the spirits during the illness of the owner's wife. Three men owned four dogs, two of which had litters. Most householders own fowls, but their numbers are few.

Prestations

So far I have identified those items traded and variables affecting the ownership of valuables. I now turn to a discussion of how these goods are distributed in prestations between groups and the geographic patterns of these movements.

Here I focus on those transactions labeled munggoi awom , "prestations," by the Kundagai. Being concerned with the establishment, maintenance, or discharge of obligations and rights, these transactions are a form of social relations grounded largely in kinship. The categories of individuals or groups making or receiving prestations are determined mainly by the patterns of past or present marriages linking

donors and recipients. To this extent, one can speak of exchange as defining groups, as Wagner (1967) argues for the Daribi (Healey 1979; LiPuma 1988).

As I have shown in chapter 1, the distribution of marriage ties has a strongly directional component and, to this extent, it follows that prestations flowing between individuals or groups related by marriage (in the same or different generations) must also be directional. If these prestations are balanced by an equal flow of similar goods in the reverse direction, then the movement of goods in prestations becomes symmetrical. In that event, prestations would effect a circulation of valuables among intermarrying communities. Where the flow of women between communities is not symmetrical, however, there will also be an unequal flow of valuables in prestations, such that prestations will serve to drain valuables from those communities receiving more wives than they themselves give in marriage.

The following payments are those that the Kundagai class as munggoi awom . In the Kundagai view the principal prestation is bridewealth, and it is invariably mentioned first in any list of payments sought from informants. This is understandable in that not only are bridewealth payments generally the largest prestations a man makes, but they should ideally continue as long as a marriage lasts. Contingent on the presentation of bridewealth and the legitimation of a union that it effects, various other prestations follow. Thus, for instance, the recipients of death payments are determined by the direction of bridewealth.

The analysis of trade in subsequent chapters is based on detailed case material of individuals' recall of trading histories. The same numerically based analysis of individuals' involvement in prestations is not possible, for informants were generally unable to remember precise details of prestations they had made. I believe this "amnesia" to be genuine, not an attempt at evasion. A few men claimed to recall quantities of valuables in major bridewealth and death payments they had made, though most could give only vague indications. It is, of course, possible that men reigned forgetfulness—especially when witnesses were present—for fear that disclosures might open them to claims on their resources by exchange partners. Yet, willing public disclosure of the composition of prestations by some men does not support such an interpretation.

There is an ideal of equivalence and balance rather than competitive

increment in Maring prestations (see also LiPuma 1988: 148, 151). Contrary to the pattern observed in certain other highland societies, Maring big-men do not gain status through the management of wealth in competitive exchange (Rappaport 1968; Lowman-Vayda 1971; Healey 1978a). Social relations stress egality rather than inequality, although this does not rule out the occurrence of imbalances over a series of prestations. This ethos of egality makes the absence of strict accounting of prestations explicable as a subversion of any certain means of evaluating individual performances against others; prestations are expected :to conform loosely to a general ideal rather than to be evaluated against specific transactions of other individuals. Thus, men can give statements about the general size and composition of different kinds of prestations in particular periods while maintaining ignorance of details of their own transactions—the number of items and the identity of those who contributed to a prestation.

Although most major prestations are made in the name of a particular individual, he receives assistance from a range of kinsmen, so that they are essentially collective transactions expressing the state of particular social relationships at specific moments in time. Despite the ideal of egality and conformity to conventional composition, there is, nonetheless, scope for a degree of negotiation on the part of donors and recipients, and for generosity in giving larger prestations than customarily expected. For example, a representative of bridewealth recipients may be present when a donor amasses valuables in his homestead prior to the ceremonial presentation. In veiled speech he may indicate the recipients' expectation of a larger prestation or try to prevent too large a bridewealth being made if he feels his group's resources will be unduly strained in providing a return gift. The possibility of generosity in major prestations introduces elements of tension into particular transactions which the collective suppression of memory prevents from developing into invidious comparisons of performance over time.

By contrast, most men show remarkable recall of the details of trading transactions. The reasons for this lie in the Maring view of trade as explicitly focusing on reciprocal and strictly equivalent transfers of objects rather than on the nature of social relationships. This is so even though trade may be an expression of, and a means of, constructing ongoing social relationships, as I argue in the final chapter. Unlike prestations, trade transactions are exclusively the private affairs of individuals, not of collectivities in public. As explicitly balanced

transactions regardless of the state of social relationships linking transactors, trade exchanges are rigorously equalitarian. Further, although particularly vigorous traders may gain some notoriety, men do not compare performances, and no status attaches to differential involvement in trade. Full recall of trading activities is thus no real or potential threat to the equalitarian social order.

Although account is not kept of the composition of prestations given and received, men do recall details of many specific items involved. Thus, in recording trade histories, I often learned of a shell or an axe that had been acquired by trade, contributed to a prestation a kinsman was amassing, and reciprocated in a return gift. The point is, however, that such accounting is keyed to specific items , not the events in which they moved in prestations. I found it as fruitless an exercise to ask men to list others who had contributed to their prestations as it was to recount the composition of prestations. For example, on one occasion I asked separately a man who had given bridewealth and his brother, who was a major contributor, to detail the composition of a prestation a few days after I had observed its ceremonial display and presentation. Their opinions differed, and neither account tallied with my record. Once assistance has been received and reciprocated the details of an event are forgotten.

In this general lack of recall of the details of major prestations the Kundagai are in marked contrast to other societies, such as the Kaulong (Goodale 1978), Wola (Sillitoe 1979), and Melpa (Strathern 1971). Significantly in such societies the social identity and status of men (and, for the Kaulong, of women also) or groups is inextricably linked to prowess in the skilled manipulation of valuables in competitive ceremonial exchange.

It is noteworthy that by the mid-1980s the situation in regard to the recall of major prestations was changing. In respect of at least bridewealth, men were beginning to claim good recall of bridewealth payments they had made, and often the composition of prestations was written down. The stated reason for this change in attitude toward recall of bridewealth was so that a donor could gain full return of the prestation in the event of divorce. Though never common after the payment of major bridewealth, divorce occasionally occurs nowadays when a young man feels that his young wife is not attending to his entrepreneurial interests. These revolve around the production of parchment coffee, as well as a man's interests in such ventures as trade stores

and alluvial gold works (see chap. 6). Concern to record exact amounts given in bridewealth does not seem to be general, however, but mostly confined to younger and more entrepreneurially ambitious men.

Bridewealth

Bridewealth payments, ambra poka ("woman price"), are often delayed until the birth of a child, by which time it is generally regarded that a marriage will endure. There seems to be a tendency nowadays for bridewealth to be given with less delay, and often before the birth of a child. Of the several bridewealth payments a man usually makes to his wife's agnates during her life only the first or second are substantial. In making the major presentation a man generally requires assistance, as he seldom owns sufficient valuables of his own. Fellow subclan members provide the most aid, with other clan members and, to a lesser extent, matrilateral kin providing smaller amounts. Bridewealth received by a man for his sister or daughter is shared out among the same kin, and such distributions are often specified as returns for aid in making the recipient's own bridewealth payment, or, if he has not yet given bridewealth, they may be counted as creating debts that can be canceled by contributions to his later bridewealth. A woman's brothers are the principal recipients of bridewealth for her, though her father may receive it if there are no true brothers of sufficient age to receive and redistribute the bridewealth.

Informants say that the amount of bridewealth given is decided by the husband. One of the bride's agnates, however, often comes to watch the husband make a final count of valuables on the day preceding the presentation. The purpose of this visit is to gauge the amount of valuables bridegivers will have to amass for the return gift, but if the bridewealth is less than expected the visitor may intimate to the husband that he must collect more valuables.

Bridewealth presentations are divided into two portions, the gi poka ("black price") of nonreturnable valuables that may be "eaten" by the recipients, and the jika poka ("return price") of valuables to be reciprocated in a return gift. This, however, must not include any items that were received in the bridewealth, so that recipients cannot rely on the prestation to finance their return gift. Even return gifts of money are made up of notes (coins are not used) that have been collected within the receiving group. The same rule applies in making return gifts for other payments. Return gifts of valuables from the bride's agnates

to the husband may be made the day after bridewealth is ceremonially presented or delayed for many months. Nowadays, a return gift of money is often made with little ceremony immediately after bridewealth is received. Return gifts of other valuables are usually delayed longer. The size of return gifts varies from about 25 percent to 75 percent of the bridewealth received. Table 20 gives details of the composition of bridewealth payments since the turn of the century.

Bridewealth for previously married women, mostly widows, occasionally divorcees, is less than for unmarried women.

Additional bridewealth payments generally consist of a single cooked pig and/or a few shells and steel tools and money. These additional payments are often made after the birth of children and are sometimes called wamba poka , "child price."

Whatever the reason for a marriage, bridewealth should be given; failure may be a cause for divorce, initiated either by the wife who feels her worth is unacknowledged and her agnates not compensated for losing her, or by the wife's agnates who prefer to reassign her to someone more likely to be conscientious in making affinal prestations.

Bridewealth received from the Kalam is usually smaller than that given by the Maring. The Kalam, however, do not expect a return gift although their Kundagai affines sometimes offer one.^[9] In making bridewealth payments to Kalam the Kundagai give customary Maring amounts and receive return gifts.

It is clear from the table that there has been considerable inflation in bridewealth values, as well as changes in their composition since around the 1930s. There was a sharp increase in the number of shells, steel tools, and the amount of money passed in bridewealth in the 1960s and early 1970s, while the number of pigs increased also. Thereafter, the numbers of shells—especially kina—and steel tools included in bridewealth fell off considerably, while the number of pigs and sums of money increased yet further. Marginally more pigs were included in bridewealth in 1974-1978 than in the subsequent period, but the variation in numbers in individual transactions was lower: from two to six pigs in 1974-1978, against five to eleven in 1979-1985. It has become more common to include at least some live pigs in more recent bridewealth presentations.

Death Payments

Death payments, munggoi gwio wele awom ("valuables bones break give"), or munggoi kump-kent awom ("valuable bones give"), for

males and unmarried females are given by the deceased's agnates to the group that ceded rights in the deceased's mother to that group. In most cases the transfer of rights is effected through bridewealth payments.^[10] In the case of married females, the payment is made from the woman's husband to her agnates. As the Kundagai explain the direction of these prestations, death payments for all males and unmarried females are made to the deceased's ama cen , or matrikin. Specifically, the recipients are the deceased's bapa , mother's brother, and wambe , mother's brother's son. If the deceased is still a child his father makes the payment. Death payments for a married woman are given to her agnates by her husband, if he is alive, and by her sons if they are adult. Death payments are therefore clearly related to patterns of marriage.

A return gift is not always made for death payments. The practice of sister exchange and repeated intermarriage between two clans means that there will be many death payments flowing in both directions between two clans. Donors of a death payment may tell recipients not to make an immediate return gift but to count the death payment for a specified wife or member of the recipients' clan as a later return. Ideally such paired death payments should be of equal value. If this is not the case, a return gift should be made to balance the payments.

Unlike bridewealth only a single death payment is usually made. However, several smaller prestations are sometimes made to different recipients.

Informants say that death payments for people of either sex or any age are the same. Since few informants could recall exact amounts given in particular cases the statement is difficult to evaluate (see table 21). It seems, however, that death payments for young children are generally smaller than for adults and are often counted by their donors as doubling as a further bridewealth prestation.

A general inflationary trend since the mid-1960s at least, similar to that shown by bridewealth, is suggested by the small number of cases listed in table 21.

Girls' Puberty Payments

The term "girls' puberty payments" seems the most appropriate translation of the Kundagai, munggoi am yundem , "valuables breast assemble." This payment is given by a girl's father to his wife's brother, the girl's bapa , when she reaches puberty. It is generally made when the girl is between about fifteen and eighteen years of age. The donor

receives aid from fellow subclan and to a lesser extent clan members. The Kundagai rationale for the prestation is as follows. The girl's bapa has received much bridewealth for his sister and thereby relinquishes his rights to share in bridewealth received for his sister's daughter. It is the girl's brothers or, if they are still young, her father, who are the principal recipients of her bridewealth. Yet the mother's brother has "planted" the girl in another clan,^[11] and her father has benefited from her labor, and her brothers will not only receive her bridewealth but may themselves obtain a wife in sister-exchange for her. On the girl's marriage the bapa also loses rights to receive a death payment for her. The am yundem is therefore given to the bapa to compensate him for his loss of rights to share in bridewealth and death payment for the girl. At the same time the prestation discharges any further obligations the girl's father and brothers have toward her bapa in respect of her. Males retain obligations and rights of mutual aid with their bapa throughout their life.

This kind of prestation does not seem to be widely known as am yundem among the Kundagai, and it is apparently unknown in at least some other Maring groups including the Tsembaga (Roy Rappaport, pers. comm.) and the Tugumenga (Neil Maclean, pers. comm.). Many Kundagai regard such a prestation as an additional substantial bridewealth and name it accordingly. Significantly, am yundem payments approximate the value of a major bridewealth, but no return gift is received. Informants suggested that the approximate size of a prestation in the mid-1970s would be one or two pigs, K100, and twenty each of axes, bushknives, kina, and greensnail shells.

Child Reclamation Payments

Young widows often return to their natal homes or remarry into different clans if their husbands' agnates do not exercise their right to marry the woman in widow inheritance. Any children they take with them tend to become assimilated into their mother's or her new husband's clan. Occasionally a deceased man's agnates may wish to retain or reclaim his children as members of their own clan while allowing their mother to depart. This may be done by a wamba munggoi lem prestation ("child valuables give"). Such a "reclamation payment" is made to whoever assumes guardianship of the children—usually the widow's agnates or new husband. In practice the payment seems seldom given and informants could not recall any cases. They considered

that a payment of several hundred Kina and one to three pigs would be an appropriate amount.

Payment to Military Allies

On the final day of the konj kaiko festival hosts distribute salted belly-fat of pork, konj kura ("pig salt"), to those who have helped them in the last round of hostilities. Since recruitment of allies in war is an individual enterprise, these highly ceremonialized prestations pass between individuals. Allies, nokomai , are drawn exclusively from consanguineal and affinal kinsmen. They are always of different settlements, as all members of a local population participate as a single unit in warfare with major enemies.

I asked fourteen men to list the konj kura prestations they made in the last, 1960 konj kaiko . The sample comprises almost 60 percent of surviving men who were of fighting age in the last war the Kundagai fought as major enemies. One of these men had never given konj kura , while four of them had also fought in the 1943-1944 war with the Tsembaga and rewarded their allies in the 1952 konj kaiko . The man who made no prestations, long regarded as a witch, had not recruited allies, because he was either unable or unwilling to do so. The remaining men made a total of 59 prestations or an average of 4.5 each (range 1-15). In the 1952 kaiko four men made 27 prestations or an average of 6.75 each (range 2-12). Combining the two sets of prestations, seventeen men (counting those who gave prestations on both occasions twice) gave 86 prestations or an average of 5 each. The categories of kin to which prestations were made, and the distribution of their settlements of residence, are shown in table 22. Kinsmen of the same generation provide the greatest amount of aid (68.6 percent). Brothers-in-law are the single most important category of kin who provide aid, classificatory brothers, mainly mother's sister's sons, being next-most important. All recipients are related to ego through women in either the same or first ascending or descending generations. The distribution of allies in relation to marriage, however, is tempered by the areal distribution of these kin. Settlements closest to Tsuwenkai generally provide the greatest number of allies. Five allies recruited from Kinimbong were all wife's brothers in Aikupa and Kwibukai clans. Both these clans were autonomous until recently, although they participated with the Kundagai as major enemies rather than as allies in war against the Tsembaga. Informants say the konj kura prestations to these kin were

made as affinal prestations rather than as discharging obligations to allies in war.

Ideally a konj kura prestation should consist of the salted belly-fat of a single pig. Other portions of the cooked carcass are often given in addition. In fact, each prestation varied from one-third to one whole carcass. The number of pigs killed by each donor in 1960 ranged from 1 to 5, with an average of 2.8 per donor. The number of Tsuwenkai men who fought in the last war and survived to 1960 was about thirty-two, which means that at least 90 pigs were killed in 1960. This compares with 96 pigs killed by the slightly smaller Tsembaga population in 1963 (Rappaport 1968: 213). The figure for the Kundagai is an underestimate as an unknown number of additional pigs were killed to discharge debts of deceased men. At an average of 5 prestations per donor there would have been a minimum of 160 transactions. In their 1963 kaiko the Tsembaga made at least 163 prestations (Rappaport 1968: 214). Tsembaga and Kundagai prestations were thus of roughly equivalent composition.

In the sample there is a tendency for both older men and big-men to make more prestations. Older men have firmly established affinal ties by repeated affinal prestations as well as having increased the number of such ties through the marriages of their sisters and daughters. Older men also have more same-generation consanguineal kin of fighting age if the latter are sons of younger sisters. Big-men, because of their prominence in the fields of ritual and magic, politics and fighting may be able to attract more allies simply because of their status. Such men with specialized knowledge, influence over their fellows, or prowess in fighting will also be particularly useful allies when those who aid them in turn wish to recruit allies of their own.^[12]

Failure to reward allies is regarded as a serious renegation of obligations. In their last konj kaiko the Kanump-Kauwil allegedly refused to reward their Kundagai allies. The Kundagai were only just restrained from starting a fight on the ceremonial ground to press their claims for reward.

If a man dies before giving konj kura his sons assume responsibility for the prestation. Similarly, a man's sons inherit the right to receive konj kura due to their father. His widow may advise the heirs of their rights and obligations. If the sons are still boys their mother may receive konj kura on behalf of her dead husband.

Other prestations are often given at the time of konj kura . Of the sample of thirteen men giving konj kura in 1960, six gave additional

bridewealth payments, and one of the four men who gave konj kura in 1952 gave an additional prestation, again bridewealth.

Refugee Payments

Two prestations are involved, given by groups of refugees who have usually fled from their former home after rout in warfare or following fighting within their natal clan cluster. The first payment may be made several years after the arrival of refugees, when they give a payment called munggoi wunt-piye yanggale mia , "valuables sleeping-mat sit-down remain," to their hosts. I could not discover the precise amounts involved, but the payment includes several cooked pigs, shells, and steel tools. In about 1955 three agnatically related Tuguma men sought refuge in Tsuwenkai after an interclan fight at Mondo. The refugees were cognates of Wendekai Kolompepe men. After about five years' residence with the Kundagai they made the above payment to their Wendekai hosts and a few men of other clans who had publicly welcomed them. Two of the refugees later married Kundagai women, thus consolidating their links with those who had offered them refuge. All three men and their children are now regarded as members of Wendekai Kolompepe by virtue of the payment and their continued residence and full participation in clan affairs (see Healey 1979).

Shortly prior to the 1960 kaiko a group of Kalam refugees of Tawanjen clan of Kumbruf fled from feuds at home and took refuge with kin of Atikai Kolompepe. They did not make an arrival payment, but they did make the second payment given by refugees on their departure. This departure payment is called munggoi wunt wele mule yemp wi , "valuables sleeping-mat break fold put come." The Atikai hosts gave a return gift, and as an earnest of their continued friendship, a woman in marriage to Tawanjen.

Vengeance Payments and Homicide Bribes

Both types of payment are called munggoi kupi lem , "valuables homicide give," and are given to those who avenge the death of a close kinsman and to those hired to assassinate a selected victim. Ideally a man's death by violence should be avenged on the killer's group by the dead man's close kinsmen. Sometimes they are unable or unwilling to do this, but another man may do so, either by ambush or on a fight

ground during war. The victim of vengeance need not be the killer himself and is sometimes selected for his superficial resemblance to the dead man. Such vengeance payments apparently do not exceed a few shells. They are now seldom if ever made among the Jimi Maring, as the presence of the government deters vengeance killings and encourages claims for compensation instead.

Kupi lem payments are also offered as a bribe for the assassination of selected victims, generally witches or enemy big-men. The payment, consisting of shells, is often secretly displayed to possible homicides to induce them to join an assassination party.

Compensation Payments

Collectively, compensation payments are known simply as munggoi awom or munggoi lem , "valuables give." The most substantial payments are those made to the agnates of an ally killed in warfare and to those of a victim of accidental killing or murder. The former payment, classed as a death payment by the Kundagai (and so named), is said to have consisted of up to twenty pigs and other valuables. Informants suggest that the present monetary equivalent would be about K800-K2,000. These amounts may be exaggerated, but at the least they indicate that such payments for the deaths of allies are the most substantial that the Kundagai make. No one could recall any such payments given or received by the Kundagai since the 1930s.

The only cases of compensation for deaths not resulting from hostilities between enemy populations that I learned of followed a murder and an accidental killing within the clan cluster. Such payments, known as munggoi yu mamp lem , "valuables man head give," include cooked pork, shells, steel tools, and money. The amount given is said to be more than for death payments and less than for bridewealth, though no one could remember precise amounts. The killer's clan should also give a woman in marriage to the dead man's clan. Her first son is considered to be a replacement for the dead man and usually bears his name.

A further named category of compensation payments is for illicit sexual relations. The payment, ambra duai konj awom , "woman penis pig give," or ambra ku konj , "woman steal pig," is given by the offender to the woman's male guardian. Two such payments occurred in 1974. One consisted of a medium-sized dead pig and K8, the other a dead pig, one axe, one kina, one greensnail shell, and K8. No com-

pensation was given in a third case that came to public notice, as informants explained that the woman involved was a widow with no male guardians to be affronted at an infringement of their rights in the woman. Compensation given in more recent times has risen to between K100 and K200 and at least one pig.

Other compensation payments generally involve lesser amounts and are paid in reparation for damage done to another's property, for insult, or to settle quarrels. In the latter case both parties generally exchange the same items simultaneously.

Minor Prestations

These transactions are called munggoi aure awom , "valuables nothing give." There are no set forms and occasions for such gifts. Although they are regarded as creating debt, menga , and an expectation of reciprocity, there is no injunction that specific gifts must be reciprocated. Sometimes men make reciprocal minor prestations of equivalent goods at the same time. Often, however, a donor explicitly abjures any specific return for his action. These transactions are instances of what Sahlins (1972) calls generalized reciprocity.

Minor prestations frequently involve single munggoi items and other more valuable trade goods, as well as luxury foods and exotic manufactures. They usually pass between individuals in comparative privacy. A common form of gift is the sharing of special foods as a sign of friendship, solidarity, and hospitality with visiting kin and affines. On returning from contract labor young men distribute gifts of money, shells, steel tools, decorations, and cosmetics to consanguines, male and female. More substantial gifts include providing fowls or pigs for sacrifice in the event of an affine's or matrikin's serious illness. Matrikin and affines often favor one another with gifts of munggoi items when visiting. Such transactions, whether reciprocated immediately or after a delay, may take on the appearance of trade, yet are rarely confused as such by those involved.

Prestations in Relation to Marriage Patterns

Marriage patterns have altered over time. Consequently the flow of valuables in prestations has also changed. Bridewealth, death payments, am yundem, konj kura , and compensation payments for allies

killed in war are the most important prestations in the redistribution of valuables between local populations, in terms of the frequency of their occurrence or the size of prestations. Parties to these transactions are all connected by ties of marriage in their own or ascending generations. Affinal and matrilateral ties also predominate in relating parties to various minor prestations.

Several prestations related to marriage ties are mandatory, in that ideally they must (and in practice almost always do) follow the establishment of a stable marriage. These are bridewealth; death payment for a wife, her sons, and unmarried daughters; and am yundem for her daughters. Other payments, such as konj kura or compensation for death of allies in war, are only contingent on the voluntary decision to recruit matrilaterals or affines for aid in war.

Ideally, a reasonable picture of the patterns of flow of valuables in and out of Tsuwenkai over time could be obtained by collecting complete case histories of all prestations given and received by a sample of men whose affinal and matrilateral connections are representative of the population as a whole. Besides procedural difficulties in obtaining such a sample, the exercise would be fruitless because of the Kundagai's insistent claims to be unable to remember the details of numbers of different items transferred in prestations. Further, such a sample would relate to a much shorter timespan than is available in records of marriages contained in genealogies.

Less precise but operationally feasible methods must therefore be used to outline the movements of valuables in relation to marriage patterns. Mandatory prestations related to marriage will only continue as long as at least one of the following conditions hold for a married woman:

1. She is alive—so that bridewealth payments are still periodically made and her agnates are yet to receive her death payment.

2. Or, if she is dead: her sons are alive—so that her agnates are yet to receive death payments for them.

3. And/or: her daughters remain unmarried so that her agnates are yet to receive puberty payments for them, or death payments if they die before marriage.

The payments result in an unequal flow of valuables. If the bride givers who receive these payments are themselves bride receivers from donors of prestations (as in sister exchange), then the net flow of valuables may

be equal. But only death payments are subject to deliberate attempts to effect a balanced reciprocal flow of valuables. The full range of mandatory prestations set in train by a marriage may take seventy years or more to run its course. For example, such prestations relating to the marriage of the oldest Kundagai's mother are complete except for the death payment for that man to his matrikin. Other series of prestations are only just beginning with the marriages of young men and women, and may stretch as far into the future.

Once all of the above conditions are no longer met, that is, once the woman is minimally a deceased grandmother of living men or unmarried women, her marriage may still be a basis for prestations,^[13] but there are no mandatory life-crisis payments patterned by that marriage. Such relationships are ideally concerned with mutual aid, and any prestations are usually in the form of munggoi aure awom resulting in an ideally equal flow of goods, if the relationship is maintained through gifts at all. A common form of exchange between such kin is the balanced flow of dissimilar goods in trade.

In determining the flow of valuables in mandatory prestations patterned on marriage only the following marriages need to be taken into account:

1. Living in- and out-marrying women (husband surviving or dead).

2. Deceased in- or out-marrying women whose sons and/or unmarried daughters are surviving.

I cannot apply this method of analysis fully, as it requires complete genealogical records of offspring of all women married within Tsuwenkai, those arriving as wives from elsewhere, and Tsuwenkai women sent out in marriage to other settlements. Such records are available for the first two categories but not for the non-Kundagai offspring of the last category. If, however, the number of children for whom death payments and am yundem have been or will be given are excluded (on an assumption that there is an even distribution of the number of offspring by region), then the material can be presented in respect of those marriages where the wife survives, that is, where it is clear that at least death payments for the woman are yet to be received (table 23). This table gives only a partial indication of the geographic distribution of Kundagai marriages patterning the flow of valuables in mandatory prestations, as transactions are continuing in respect of affinal and

matrilateral ties through women now dead (see map 4 for locations of regions listed).

The table indicates that sixty-one or 48 percent of all marriages where the wife survives (to 1974) are within the Kundagai-Aikupa population. Prestations related to these marriages largely remain within the population as a whole but, since Tsuwenkai has received more women than it has sent out in marriage with Bokapai, there is a net drain of valuables in prestations to Bokapai. Clearly, given a marked excess of Tsuwenkai women sent in marriage to settlements further up the Jimi (principally Kompiai), there will be a net inflow of valuables in prestations from that region, which will be redirected to Bokapai and, in a minor way, to the lower Jimi, the upper Simbai, and the far (north) wall of the Simbai.

Given the reservations already outlined concerning the utility of this material, more detailed interpretation of the table would be misleading. Some rather impressionistic views, however, of changes over time in patterns of movements of goods in mandatory prestations can be gained by reference to material on marriages presented in appendix 1 (see also chap. 1).

Over time, genealogies indicate that the Kundagai have received

Map 4.
Trade Regions

more women in marriage than they have sent out. This is largely an artifact of the structure of genealogies, which tend to omit female agnates in distant generations: there are no records of out-marrying Kundagai women before about 1915. After this date the number of non-Kundagai women recorded as received in marriage approximate the number of Kundagai women sent out in marriage. The pattern of marriages is uneven by region, however. Excluding records for pre-1915, the flow of women between Tsuwenkai and upper-Jimi settlements was roughly even until about 1955 when a dramatic excess in the number of out-marrying Tsuwenkai women developed. Until 1955 the Simbai, especially the upper valley, sent more women than it received, a trend that has been weakly reversed since that date. Marriage ties across the Jimi all but ceased in the mid-1930s. Many marriages contracted prior to 1955 are still patterning mandatory prestations. The general trend, however, is that there is an increasing flow of valuables from the upper Jimi moving against Tsuwenkai women sent out in marriage. Much of this wealth will be lost in prestations to the upper Simbai, but such losses will diminish in the face of changed patterns of marriage. With a trend toward greater endogamy within the Kundagai-Aikupa population, valuables received from the upper Jimi will increasingly accumulate within the greater population but will be drained out of Tsuwenkai to Bokapai, which provides more wives than it receives.

In short, there is currently a general trend for wealth to flow in mandatory prestations from nearby upper-Jimi settlements through Tsuwenkai to Bokapai and the upper Simbai, with smaller net outflows to the lower Jimi. This conclusion can be qualified. The amount of wealth passed in mandatory prestations depends partly on the number of children a woman bears and also on the customary items and size of prestations. Neither factor is necessarily stable for the large geographic area encompassed by Kundagai marriage relations. Buchbinder (1973: 96) gives evidence to indicate that family sizes in the Simbai vary between settlements in relation to environmental factors that affect fertility. There are no comparable data for the Jimi.

The size of prestations does vary by area. Payments received from the Kalam (from Up-Simbai and Down-Jimi) are generally smaller than those received from other Maring groups, whereas Kundagai payments to the Kalam are usually of customary Maring amounts. Thus the inflow of valuables from Down-Jimi will be small and may well be exceeded by prestations in the reverse direction. Similarly, the outflow of valuables to Up-Simbai may be greater than table 23 would suggest,

given that the Kundagai will receive smaller prestations from these Kalam groups. The flow of valuables, therefore, may be even more strongly directional from Up-Jimi to Up-Simbai than the table suggests.

Increasing intermarriage with Up-Jimi communities, and especially the excess of women sent from Tsuwenkai, is related to the Kundagai view of this region as being a major source of valuable exotic imports. Some men have sent sisters and daughters in marriage to upper-Jimi settlements specifically to forge close affinal ties that can be used to gain access to the wealth of the region. On their own account, some women are also attracted to men of this region whom they regard as more sophisticated than Simbai, lower Jimi, and Tsuwenkai men, with their reputation for rusticity. As far as I can tell from the few detailed cases collected, bridewealth received from Up-Jimi groups is not consistently larger than such prestations from other Maring populations.

I suggest, then, that there is a rather small net inflow to the Kundagai of valuables in prestations. At the same time, there is a distinct directional flow of valuables in prestations from Up-Jimi to Up-Simbai and, to a lesser extent, Down-Simbai. The flow of valuables is therefore from the direction of ultimate plume consumers toward primary plume suppliers: from the center to the periphery. There is an infrequent flow of plumes of the Raggiana Bird of Paradise, a product of the major plume-consuming areas, in the same direction but, except on rare occasions, plumes do not go in prestations in the reverse direction. Prestations, then, do not directly affect the flow of plumes between communities. As will be seen in subsequent chapters, however, the overall directional flow of valuables in prestations affects the power to obtain plumes in exchange for other valuables from communities situated toward primary plume suppliers.

This flow of goods in prestations parallels movements of some of the same items, specifically shells and steel, in trade. This means that there are two major means of obtaining exotic goods: in exchange for women by prestations and in exchange for forest products by trade. In fact, as will become clear in subsequent chapters, the size of prestations is such that the Kundagai are unable to rely on goods received in such exchanges to fund their own prestations. Trade and prestation as modes of conveyance thus become functionally integrated and interdependent for various aspects of their maintenance and operation. The remaining chapters are devoted to describing the structure of trade and specifying the nature of the interdependence between spheres of trade and prestation.

5
The Structure of Trade

Trade Transactions

In this chapter I am concerned with giving an overall description of the network of trade centered on Tsuwenkai. The focus here is on the geographic and ecological dimensions of the trade, as a prelude to an analysis of more sociological aspects in later chapters. I conclude, however, with a discussion of mechanisms of maintenance of the trade which foreshadows material on social relationships to be discussed in more detail in chapter 8.

There have been important changes in the items and patterns of trade in precolonial and more recent times. Some of these changes are indicated here, but a more detailed discussion is reserved until later chapters. Importantly, although the Kundagai increasingly encountered strangers from distant areas after the imposition of colonial authority in the Jimi, they continued to conceive of trade as maintaining its aboriginal economic and social organization. Whatever the motives of visiting traders from the central highlands, trade did not become more "commercial," "materialistic," or characteristic of market exchange as far as the Kundagai were concerned. It is only in the 1980s that this sense of continuity with past practices of trade has begun to crumble.

This description is based partly on general statements by informants about past and present patterns of trade, but I rely heavily on detailed case histories of individual men. By the time I left Tsuwenkai in 1974 I had interviewed all but one of the men who lived there for the full

period of my fieldwork or returned during that time. That one exception was an old man whose speech had been rendered unintelligible by what was probably a stroke (attributed to a witch attack). I also interviewed a number of men who left for work contracts during my time in Tsuwenkai. I collected fifty-eight such case histories.

My informants claimed that these accounts covered every instance of trade they could remember. In addition, I learned of the odd transaction of a further twenty-seven men, either dead or absent, and of two Tsuwenkai women. In all, these histories and additional accounts deal with 2,382 separate trade transactions by Tsuwenkai residents. Some of these had occurred between coresidents, and I was told of them by both men. Such exchanges within the settlement, whether of goods that remained there or of items originally imported or subsequently exported, amount to 9.6 percent of all transactions.

In subsequent fieldwork I collected further case-history material from nonrandom samples of men. In 1978 I gathered details from twenty-three men of 217 trading transactions conducted since 1974. In 1985, fifteen men provided details of 210 transactions occurring since 1978. I have full trade histories for all three periods of fieldwork for only six men. All told, trade histories deal with 2,809 transactions.

Case histories cover a timespan of about sixty years, extending back to a few transactions conducted in the 1920s by men in their seventies in 1974. There is no way of knowing how complete a record of the trading activities of informants these accounts represent. Certainly a few older men confessed that they had forgotten some of their dealings. In terms of an average number of transactions per year, older men's rates are lower than those of younger men, although this in itself does not indicate an expected increase in forgetfulness with age and lengthened trading period. Such lower rates are explained in large part by a decline in trading activity as men pass their prime. Old men have also been trading for longer periods before the establishment of the colonial order, after which time trading saw a general increase throughout the highlands. Nonetheless, I consider that case histories represent the bulk of the transactions ever completed by my informants, especially since 1974. Those forgotten are most likely to involve items of relatively low value which the trader merely handled on behalf of someone else without retaining for his own temporary use.

For the purposes of this analysis, however, it is not important to claim near-total recall on the part of informants. I do consider it reasonable, nonetheless, to take these transactions as representative of the

trade history of each individual, and also the combined trading patterns. of all Tsuwenkai Kundagai over the last five or six decades.

The total of cases does not include numerous incomplete transactions unless the parties involved had already agreed upon the final arrangements and were awaiting the delivery of the goods. Some quantified material derived from case histories is given in accompanying tables.^[1] The following analysis of case material is based primarily on data gathered in 1973-1974, and unless otherwise indicated the "ethnographic present" refers to this period of major fieldwork.

A note is in order on what I take to be a trade transaction for the purposes of tabulating numbers. Put simply, given the definition I have already proposed (chap. 4), a transaction involves the exchange of one or more items as a discrete unit for another such unit. Thus, a man may exchange a bird plume for an axe. But in Maring practice the exchange of two bird plumes for two axes (or other objects), even if between the same men, is invariably two transactions because two separate assessments of appropriate exchange rates are involved. The Kundagai and their trading partners, however, commonly trade some items in variably sized bundles or in multiples in exchange for single items. For example, eagle feathers may be traded in large or small bundles at different rates of exchange. Or again, the Papuan Lory may be passed as a single skin or in multiples—commonly five or ten in one set. When describing exchanges involving several goods informants were generally quite dear whether the items were transferred as a single or as several separate transactions, even if they were all taken by the same individual. Essentially, then, my view of any particular transaction follows Kundagai opinion.

Each transaction, of course, involves a reciprocal flow of items. The 2,809 separate transactions deal with 2,866 imported items and 3,153 exports (some imports counted again as exports). Obviously, many transactions involve the transfer of multiple items in the one direction.

Exports exceed imports by about 9 percent. This is accounted for mainly by local production of trade goods rather than by diverting goods received in prestations into trade, as will be discussed below.

Directions of Trade

I have divided the Kundagai trading sphere into seven geographic regions with reference to Tsuwenkai as a focal point. The divisions are

the same as those used in the earlier discussion of marriage patterns (map 4).

The Jimi and Simbai are divided by a line running along the Bismarck crest. A second line intersecting this at right angles and running through Tsuwenkai divides the Jimi and Simbai into Up- and Down-regions. Areas to the north of the Bismarck crest axis and lying beyond the Simbai Valley I call Trans-Simbai. The Kaironk, Asai, and Kinenj Valleys are included in this region. The south bank of the Jimi River is labeled Cross-Jimi. I include, however, areas south of the Jimi River but upstream of a line running south from about Togban to the Tsau River in the Up-Jimi region. These divisions roughly follow Kundagai directional categories. In Tok Pisin they refer to Up-Jimi—including such settlements as Karap on the south of the river—as antap (on top, upstream) and to Down-Jimi as daunbilo (below, downstream). Cross-Jimi is referred to as hapsait long Jimi (other side of Jimi). Areas to the north of the Bismarck crest are similarly distinguished. Orientation terms in the vernacular are more complex. Two cardinal points are recognized—east, rungga kemi mingge ya , "sun below it-comes to-see," and west, rungga yure po , "sun it-turns it-goes." An intersecting axis is also recognized: north is referred to as keno or kiyo , "toward the head of the valley," and south as kemi , "below." The latter terms are specific to Tsuwenkai's location in a north-south valley, and different ones would be used in settlements situated on other topographic features. Crosscutting these cardinal points is a more complex system of referents based on topography—valleys, ridges, mountain flanks, and altitude, and the location of places in relation to these features—on the same ridge system, across a ridge or river, or across at the same, higher, or lower altitude.

The line separating the upper and lower Jimi relative to Tsuwenkai places the settlement of Bokapai in the Down-Jimi region and the nearby settlements of Yimpigema and Koinambe in the Up-Jimi region. The Kundagai refer to all three places as kemi , "below." This, however, is a reference to their altitude rather than to their position on a roughly east-west axis. Some further remarks on the limitations of the boundaries of the trade areas will be made in the course of this chapter. In the main, however, the areas identified allow for the discussion of the directional movement of goods in trade in terms of the model of trade outlined in the Introduction.

All six regions are within about two days' walk of Tsuwenkai and

are now regularly visited by the Kundagai. Visitors from these regions also periodically journey to Tsuwenkai and are encountered by Kundagai traders in other settlements, at ceremonies, government stations, or community projects such as roadbuilding. Where transactions are conducted away from the homeground of both parties involved (for instance, where men of Tsuwenkai and Karap trade at Kompiai), I determine the place of origin of the non-Kundagai trader by reference to Tsuwenkai as a focal point, not the place where the actual exchange took place.

Since contact, a further trade area that I simply label "Other" has been exploited by the Kundagai. This "area" consists of any point beyond the Jimi, Simbai, or Trans-Simbai which the trader must make special efforts to reach. Included are the Wahgi Valley, the Simbu region, coastal centers of Madang, Rabaul, and Port Moresby, and any other area with which the Kundagai might have trading relations.

Settlements of each trade area which have at any time been linked to the Kundagai by trade are given in appendix 4.

In the course of analysis in this and subsequent chapters it is convenient to group the geographic regions just identified into a dichotomy in terms of a center-periphery model of trade outlined in the Introduction. It should be stressed at this point that the model specifies a spatial structure; it does not entail. any propositions about political-economic domination. In that sense, my use of the terms center and periphery does not entail the kind of conceptual loading associated with "world-systems" analysis (e.g., Wallerstein 1974). (Chap. 6, however, takes up some recent transformations in center-periphery relations and argues for the emergence of ties of dependence and domination.)

In terms of the model of trade the "center" constitutes that region of the central highlands designated as "ultimate plume consumers," whereas the "periphery" encompasses the highland fringes, occupied by "primary plume suppliers." Any of the seven local regions can then be designated as peripherally or centrally located relative to Tsuwenkai. Those regions lying toward the periphery are Down-Jimi, Up-Simbai, and Trans-Simbai, whereas those lying toward the center are [Up-Jimi, Cross-Jimi, and Down-Simbai. The Wahgi Valley, which has been included in the "Other" residual trade region, also can be classed as more centrally located.

In this chapter I am concerned only with intercommunity transfers of goods; trade within Tsuwenkai, which amounts to less than one-tenth of all recorded transactions, is not considered here.

Although all the transactions recorded in case histories were conducted by present Tsuwenkai residents, many were made while traders lived in Kinimbong, when Tsuwenkai was only lightly settled. Most transactions, however, have been conducted by Tsuwenkai residents. The present sample, therefore, cannot be regarded as representative of the trading patterns of inhabitants of any other settlement. It is unlikely that the trading patterns of Tsuwenkai men formerly resident in Kinimbong were appreciably different from patterns centered on Tsuwenkai. These men formed only a part of the total Kinimbong population. The overall pattern of trade centered on Kinimbong may differ from patterns outlined below, if only because the distribution of marriages, and hence of potential trading partners, may differ from Tsuwenkai marriage patterns. The difference in location and distance from other settlements would have relatively little effect on trading patterns of the two settlements. Certainly, trading patterns of men who have lived in both places do not appear to have changed with their shift in residence.

I begin this description of trade by detailing the movement of major locally obtained goods, over which the Kundagai and their neighbors have a large degree of control in the process of production. These goods, which I refer to as forest products, include almost all plumes, many animal skins and furs, live cassowaries and, formerly, various minerals and stone products. Trade in goods sent in exchange—mainly shells, pigs, and steel tools—is then described.

Bird Plumes

The ornamental plumes, skins, or loose feathers of at least twenty-seven different species of birds have been traded (app. 3). Only about seventeen of these are valued as decorations or trade items, the rest are merely curiosities of little significance and seldom regarded as worthwhile trade items. The numbers of more valued plumes that are traded largely reflect the availability of wild birds rather than their exchange values or appropriateness as decorations locally. Plumes can be grouped into three major categories: those locally available in Tsuwenkai forests, those locally absent but regionally available to trading partners of the Kundagai, and exotic plumes of distant origins. All local birds are also regionally available, and trading patterns in both categories are essentially the same.^[2] Some local birds, and rather more lower-altitude regional birds, are also available from exotic regions. Besides the odd curiosity the only truly exotic species regulary imported from distant

regions is the Red Bird of Paradise of the Wahgi Valley and the southern and eastern lowlands. Although present in the lower-Jimi and Simbai Valleys, most skins of the Common Paradise Kingfisher are also obtained from coastal regions.

Hunting, of course, is an important source of locally available plumes. Since the critical period of the mid-1950s,^[3] when the government presence and imposed peace were consolidated, trade has assumed increasing significance as a means of acquiring plumes. Only for the Long-tailed Buzzard and the Black Sicklebill have trade imports always exceeded hunting as a supply source for export, but the numbers involved are low. Table 24 summarizes the patterns of trade for eleven species: seven local and four regional.^[4]

Whether one considers the number of transactions involved or the number of skins traded (since some species are commonly passed in multiples), the pattern is dear. The great bulk of plumes have always come from the upper Simbai (around 50 percent) together with the lower Jimi (up to 25 percent), with about the same proportion (75 percent) sent on to the upper Jimi. This pattern has remained remarkably stable through the timespan covered in trade histories. Minor variations in the quantitative data are increasing imports from the Trans-Simbai over time, additions of "Other" sources, and increasing exports to Cross-Jimi settlements since about 1956. In fact, Kundagai testimony indicates that Cross-Jimi exports were formerly more numerous than suggested by data from trade histories, with much exchange of plumes for stone axes with Wum-Tsenga people.

The overall flow of plumes is markedly toward ultimate plume consumers from more peripheral regions. Since there is a drain of plumes along the Wahgi toward the east, the flow of plumes Cross-Jimi constitutes an arm of the general orientation toward the central Simbu-Kuma area. Most known Wahgi destinations of plumes sent Cross-Jimi are to Melpa areas and the Banz region.

The dominant pattern of trade is highlighted by the very minor counterflow of plumes from the upper Jimi. This has involved only two species, the Red Bird of Paradise (excluded from the table) and the Lesser Bird of Paradise. Plumes of the latter mainly came from Kompiai, and largely in the pre-1956 period (see below). Counterflows to the Down-Jimi region are more marked. The great bulk of these transactions, however, are with Bokapai Kundagai partners. Smaller Up-Simbai counterflows have mainly been to the Kinimbong Kundagai. In many cases my informants knew that feathers sent to Bokapai and

(Table continued on next page)

Kinimbong were redirected to Up-Jimi settlements, while Cross-Jimi links from Bokapai are also important. The Bokapai Kundagai have long maintained marriage and trading relations Cross-Jimi, especially with Kwibun. In other words, most transactions against the dominant trend actually preserve the pattern of movement from the periphery toward the center via the upper Jimi or south across the river to the central Wahgi Valley.

Two significant anomolies remain, nonetheless: some exports to the

Up-Simbai involve Papuan Lory skins to Kalam partners, for special cultural reasons. Two-way movements of plumes assume greatest proportions between Tsuwenkai and the lower Simbai. This area is geographically closer to the center than Tsuwenkai, yet it is the third most significant source of plumes for the Kundagai. Imports from the lower Simbai have always exceeded exports to that area. I discuss both these departures from the predominant pattern further below.

For the eleven species listed in table 24, a total of 1,600 plumes, skins, and feather collections have been exported from Tsuwenkai over time, with 1,062 imported. Exports thus exceed imports by 1.5 to 1. Just over half of these imports (560) are of regionally occurring species not available to the Tsuwenkai hunter. Since the 1920s I recorded only four kills of such species by Tsuwenkai men, hunting on land of affines or cognates elsewhere in the Jimi or Simbai. In contrast, lesser proportions—about a third of these plumes (429 of 1,600)—are subsequently exported. In other words, most exported plumes are of locally available birds. This is not to say that all such plumes were acquired by hunting in Tsuwenkai forests; indeed, almost half of them (502 of 1,071) were acquired by trade, mainly from the upper Simbai and lower Jimi. Small numbers came as gifts from kin and affines in other areas.

Although over time nonlocally available species have accounted for about 53 percent of all plume imports to Tsuwenkai, patterns of export of local as against nonlocal species have changed. Prior to contact almost 77 percent of exports were of locally occurring species. From 1956 to the late 1970s this proportion dropped to about 56 percent, climbing to around 80 percent in the 1980s. In other words, since contact there was until recent times an increased traffic of plumes through Tsuwenkai: proportionately greater amounts of nonlocal plumes have passed Up-Jimi through Kundagai hands. As I will show later, this development also involved an increasing volume of trade.

There have been some slight changes in the volume of certain kinds of plumes or skins traded over time. This is most clearly evident for the Raggiana Bird of Paradise, unknown to the Kundagai before about the early 1960s, although it was occasionally obtained by people further up the Jimi well before that time. Plumes of this bird have never been very highly regarded. In the 1970s it was obtained from Up-Jimi and southcoastal areas, but it seems to have been abandoned since then. Similarly, skins of the lowland Purple-bellied and Black-capped

Lorys and the Common Paradise Kingfisher, though regionally available, have only been obtained in significant numbers in the 1960s and 1970s, mainly from the coast. In contrast, certain kinds of feathers now considered dull, such as of the Goura Pigeon, Hornbill, and White Cockatoo, have decreased in popularity as decorations and trade items in recent years. These variations partly reflect changes in decoration styles among the Maring and their neighbors. A degree of innovation and an attraction for bright and contrasting colors characterizes decorations. Perhaps significantly, there is little evidence of fluctuations in trading rates of other plumes that have always been more important items of local decoration, and also in high demand by distant traders. I now give brief details about trade in a few species that exemplify particular aspects of the overall trade in plumes.

Patterns of trade in the handsome black and red feathers of the Vulturine Parrot, Psittrichas fulgidus (Maring: kopel ), are little affected by local decoration styles. These feathers are considered only minor decorations by the Maring and are rarely worn. They are, however, very popular with the Narak, Kandawo, and other upper-Jimi and Wahgi groups, who construct halolike headpieces and elaborate forehead plaques from flight and body down feathers. The Kundagai handle large numbers of feather packets of this bird, which is among the most highly valued of trade goods. In terms of the number of transactions in which it is involved, this species is the most commonly traded bird and the third most frequently traded object after pigs and money.

The birds are killed by the Kopon of the lower Kaironk and Jimi Valleys, the Kalam of the Asai Valley, and the Maring and Gainj of the: lower Simbai. Local people of the last area are allegedly resisting plans. to build a road through their lowland forest territory to link Simbai and Aiome Patrol Posts. The Kundagai report that these Simbai Maring fear the road will attract hunters to poach parrots in the forests.

Prior to contact only the flight and larger body feathers, known as kopel banka , were traded. Bicolored down feathers are now included in trade packages, which are usually larger than in the past. Most packages contain feathers from a single bird, although they are sometimes divided into two bundles in their passage toward the Wahgi and Simbu.

Throughout the period of records most Vulturine Parrot imports (50-70 percent) have come from Up-Simbai settlements, especially Kinimbong, Tekerau, and Kumbruf. Down-Jimi settlements, mainly Ginjinji, are the second major source (15-19 percent). Considering it is a source area for the species, Down-Simbai has provided relatively

few collections. Most exports from this area are probably sent to Jimi settlements upstream of Tsuwenkai. Recently a few collections have been obtained from the Kinenj and Asai Valleys beyond the Simbai, and from Port Moresby. People called "Goilala" by the Kundagai are said to be the main source of Vulturine feathers in the markets in and around the national capital.

Exports from Tsuwenkai are predominantly Up-Jimi, ranging from 90 percent before 1956 to 50 percent in the 1980s. Prior to contact 73.5 percent of these exports went to the large neighboring settlement of Kompiai. This is still an important destination, though exports to other settlements have increased. Exports to Cross-Jimi, previously often in exchange for stone axes, have been next in importance, amounting to almost 40 percent in the 1980s. In recent years, visiting Kuma-speakers from the upper Jimi and Simbu traders have purchased collections.

Trade in this species exemplifies the general pattern for most other commonly traded plumes passing through Tsuwenkai from more peripheral areas, including those species that are also procurable from local forests.

Patterns of trade in the Papuan Lory, Charmosyna papou (Maring: goli ), do not conform to this general pattern. This parrot is widely distributed in mountain areas, including the Owen Stanley Ranges inland from Port Moresby. Most birds in the Jimi-Simbai area are of the melanistic form, being starkly black and green with only small touches of red and blue. The predominantly red-colored forms seem to be more common near Port Moresby, where many skins are now obtained by Jimi men working on the rubber plantations of the Sogeri Plateau, and from itinerant traders—perhaps Goilala, Kunimaipa, and Orokaiva people—visiting the city's market and outlying rubber estates.

I have no record of imports of this species prior to contact, although men say small numbers were obtained from the lower Jimi and the Simbai. In this period exports were rather infrequent but roughly balanced between Up-Jimi and Up-Simbai. Since contact, imports have exceeded local production by hunting as a source of plumes for trade, with most skins coming from upper-Simbai settlements. Exports have also been intensified, predominantly to Up-Jimi settlements, although Up-Simbai forms a much more important destination of skins than in any other species. Over time, imports from Up-Simbai have doubled trade in the reverse direction, so that the net drain of skins to the upper Jimi

is preserved. Nonetheless, the relatively high proportion of trade in opposition to the main flow requires explanation.

The Kundagai note that Lory skins have ritual significance in Kalam semi initiation festivals for boys. As a festival draws near Kalam fathers seek decorations for their sons, and their Kundagai trading partners offer skins, sometimes obtained from Up-Simbai in the first place. After the dancing that follows the emergence of the newly initiated boys, dancers often offer their plumes to visiting traders, and the skins resume their passage toward the upper Jimi. Particular cultural factors thus intervene to deflect trade patterns in this species from grosser ecological and cultural forces.

Perhaps the most important species for local decorations, and the second-most commonly traded bird, is the Lesser Bird of Paradise, Paradisaea minor (Maring: yambai ). Although absent from Tsuwenkai it is found in lower-altitude forest in all surrounding areas, but only as far upstream in the Simbai as Nembenakump. Precontact records of trade reflect this central location of Tsuwenkai as a minor local importer and consumer of Lesser plumes. Prior to about 1945 the dominant flow of these plumes was from nearby Up-Jimi settlements and the lower-Jimi to Up- and Trans-Simbai areas largely a reversal of patterns for other species. Most plumes from Up-Jimi came from Kompiai in exchange for salt packets (see below). Kompiai trading partners acquired many Lesser Birds of Paradise in exchange for the Kundagai salt from their Kwibun (Cross-Jimi) partners. After 1945 trade patterns in these plumes changed to conform to general trends, with the great bulk of plumes passing from Up-Simbai and Down-Jimi to the upper Jimi.

The location of Tsuwenkai in relation to Lesser Bird of Paradise-supplying communities replicates in microcosm the geographic pattern of trade outlined in the Introduction. That the plumes now do not converge on Tsuwenkai, where there is a high demand, but pass through in the same way as other plumes requires explanation. Lesser Bird of Paradise plumes are only one item of a larger category of goods. Only very rarely are different types of plumes exchanged for one another. As a class of goods, plumes are therefore exchanged only for sets of dissimilar items. There are no specialized products of Tsuwenkai that neighboring communities;, also supplying Lesser plumes, do not have themselves. Tsuwenkai, therefore, does not hold a monopoly in relation to neighboring communities on a desired exchange item. Like most nearby areas the major specialized products of Tsuwenkai are animal

remains. Because these are not interexchangeable, they can only be offered in return for other goods, which, except in the case of pigs, salt, and stone axes, are not produced by their neighbors either. The desire to acquire exotic goods and use them in exchanges with other communities necessitates the Kundagai, and their neighbors who provide Lesser plumes, to direct their plume trade toward the source of these goods. In this connection it is probably significant that the dominant flow of Lesser plumes was reversed in the early 1940s when shells exchangeable for these and other feathers began arriving in increasing numbers from Up-Jimi rather than the Simbai (see below). Until this time, Up-Jimi and Wahgi communities that now obtain at least some of their Lesser Bird of Paradise plumes via Tsuwenkai may have relied on skins from wild populations of birds in the upper-Jimi and Ramu Valleys.

Marsupial Furs

Phalangers or cuscuses of the species Phalanger maculatus and probably P. orientalis come in a variety of forms—dark, white with dark or ginger blotches, and all-white (see app. 3 for Maring taxa). Pelts of these forms, exclusively obtained from lower altitudes, are highly valued. Tail skins of the tree kangaroo, riawe , are also valued, and it is the only species in high demand which is present in Tsuwenkai. It is, however, rare. Several locally occurring species of phalanger and ringtail possum^[5] also yield loose fur (used to decorate men's dancing aprons, women's best aprons, and good string bags), fur strips for headbands and armbands, and skins prepared as drumheads. Trade in such locally available products is relatively unimportant in terms of both volume and exchange value but has increased since the mid-1950s under the stimulus of a steady demand for fur from newly contacted and distant people Up- and Cross-Jimi. One Tsuwenkai man who is particularly skilled in hunting marsupials has made several special journeys to Banz in the Wahgi Valley to sell fur bundles in the town's market.

Few locally obtainable furs have been imported. Exotic furs, by contrast, predominantly come from the lower Jimi, where phalangers seem to be fairly common, and from Up- and Down-Simbai. Most Up-Simbai furs probably originated in the lower-Jimi, Kaironk, Kinenj, and Asai Valleys; the lower Simbai is also a source area.

The great majority of exports are to the upper Jimi, with Cross-Jimi

next in importance. There are no evident changes in trade patterns in furs over time. The flow of furs in trade is thus similar to that of plumes. The incidence of 'trade in furs and skins, however, seems to have diminished from the late 1970s.

Minor Animal Products

The only other local animal remains still traded are green scarab beetles. Whole exoskeletons are woven into yellow-orchid fiber head-bands, and beetle heads are threaded onto sticks about fifteen centimeters long. Hundreds of these sticks are then attached in zig-zag patterns to the wig to give a beaded effect. Beetles are collected by the Kundagai when they swarm in the drier season in lower altitudes. They are also obtained infrequently by trade, mostly from more peripheral areas.

Until the 1940s animal-tooth necklaces were one of the most important items of prestation. The most valuable necklaces were made of dog canine teeth. Incisors of marsupials and rats were sometimes interspersed among dog teeth, and necklaces of lesser value were composed entirely of these.^[6]

Dogs and other mammals were widely distributed so that no community had a monopoly on the ability to make necklaces, although the number of teeth required probably meant that necklaces were a long time in the making, and scarce items. Those with access to plentiful game may have had an advantage over less favorably endowed communities. The Kundagai say that the upper-Simbai Kalam made the finest necklaces, and these were obtained in exchange for stone axes, pigs, cowry, and dogwhelk shells. The last two items, say the Kundagai, ultimately replaced tooth necklaces in the 1940s. In turn, necklaces were occasionally exported toward the center in exchange for the same items. No records of trade in necklaces occur in the trade histories collected, from which I infer that it was infrequent.

Local Live Animals

Pigs are the most important live animals traded, but I reserve discussion of them until later, as patterns of trade are quite different from those of other animals, and the Kundagai see themselves more as consumers (literally and metaphorically) of pigs than as producers.

The next-most important species of local animal traded live, and the

only wild animal treated thus, are adult and immature cassowaries. Of ninety-seven birds acquired, only seven have come by trade, one from Nembenakump (Up-Simbai), four from Bank and one from Konggerau (both Down-Simbai, near the transition to Up-Simbai), and one from Tsembant (Down-Jimi). The remainder were all caught as chicks in the Tsuwenkai forests. Of these, thirty-five or 36.1 percent have been lost through mortality and occasionally as gifts to kinsmen or in sacrifice. The cassowary trade can be regarded as a high-risk, labor-intensive pursuit. Chicks require careful tending even though they forage much of their own food. Adult birds are caged because they may become dangerous and must be fed daily, mainly on bananas and cooked sweet potato. Improper or inadequate feeding and housing, neglect, or killings by pigs and dogs are the main causes of mortality.

Prior to contact most exports were Up-Jimi. Since then Cross-Jimi exports have increased following direct contact with the Melpa and Kuma. Kuma visitors from Up- and Cross-Jimi periodically visit Tsuwenkai seeking cassowaries for use in bridewealth.

Cassowaries are sometimes caught by laborers from the Jimi in forests near Port Moresby and are sold to Melpa and Southern Highlanders in the city. Some of these birds are airfreighted to the purchasers' home areas.

Wild dogs are allegedly common in Tsuwenkai forests and sometimes breed with domestic bitches. As far as I am aware the Kundagai do not capture wild puppies. Since contact at least, puppies have sometimes been traded. I recorded ten such cases: six to Up-Jimi, two to Down-Simbai, and one each to Bokapai (Down-Jimi) and Up-Simbai. All dogs traded were of the fetal New Guinea form, which seems to be a hardier beast than dogs derived from European breeds. I do not know if this Up-Jimi trend in trade is an established pattern or merely an artifact of a small number of cases. Feral dogs, however, appear to be less common in parts of the upper Jimi, where I saw few domesticated animals other than emaciated and sickly beasts brought in from the coast. Tsuwenkai may therefore be a minor local source area of dogs.

Most families own a few fowls. Sales of birds occur occasionally within settlements, but I know of only three live hens being brought to Tsuwenkai by trade.

Recently, a few cats have been obtained from feral litters and missionaries. Cats are well regarded as edible curiosities and useful ratters but seldom stay long with their masters. There are odd sales of homebred kittens.

Other Minor Local Products

Several vegetable products have been traded very infrequently. I have records of intercommunity trade involving a drum, an orchid fiber belt, and a string bag. Particularly well-made or decorated arrows are sometimes sold for about twenty Toea to visitors. Before shells became common, bead necklaces made from the seeds of the nonema shrub were important items in prestations. They were only rarely traded. All such goods were widely manufactured, and trade was clearly on an ad hoc basis related to individual's particular desires, but with no clear relation to resource differences.

Various exotic and luxury goods are infrequently bought from settlements in lower altitudes where crops grow better. Thus the Kundagai sometimes buy breadfruit, pawpaws, or European cabbages, even though they usually receive them in gifts from kinsmen. Bundles of cured tobacco are regularly sold within Tsuwenkai and less often between settlements. One man exchanged tobacco for a Red Bird of Paradise plume in Tabibuga.

Some of the first coffee seedlings acquired by the Kundagai came by trade from the upper Jimi and lower Simbai in exchange for money, furs, and minor plumes.

Salt

Trade in native salt ceased in the 1960s when salt bought in stores and received in payment from Europeans stationed in the Jimi and Simbai became freely available. Prior to contact trade in salt was of considerable importance. Rappaport (1968) has stressed the utilitarian, nutritional value of salt, though McArthur (1974) suggests he overestimated the importance of salt to Maring survival.^[7] My own impression is that the Kundagai neither traded in salt to the extent that the Tsembaga seem to have done from Rappaport's remarks nor valued salt as much for its addition to the diet. Rather, it seems to have been valued for its use as a trade good. Indeed, as I argue below, it is misleading to categorize trade goods as utilitarian and nonutilitarian when the goods may be used both to sustain life (if indeed that was the case with salt) and to exchange for other items of no direct subsistence value.

The Kundagai obtained six salt products. Five of these were mineral salts, the last, kiyop , was produced from the ash of a plant of the same name (Polypodium sp.). The salts timbi and rengen (glossed:

bunk ) were produced from pools near streams of the same names near Bank (Down-Simbai). Wum salt was refined from pools at Gai (Down-Simbai), while kanji came from a pool, apparently in Melpa territory, near Timbunki (Cross-Jimi). The exact origin of the last salt type, aka , is unknown. The Kundagai only rarely obtained it, in exchange for plumes and furs, mainly from nearby Up-Jimi communities said to have acquired it from Wum-Tsenga and other Cross-Jimi areas. Aka possibly came from Enga or Wahgi salt factories (see Hughes 1977).

Aka and timbi were considered to be superior in taste, followed by rengen , then wum and kanji , with kiyop least esteemed. Poorer-quality salts were sometimes improved by mixing them with better kinds.

Of the different salts only kiyop was probably widely produced in the Jimi and Simbai. I have only one record of trade in this salt, exported Up-Jimi in exchange for a pig.

The bunk varieties, from Down-Simbai, were often processed by the Kundagai. They traveled to Bank and collected saline water with the permission of kinsmen there. This was carried home in bamboo cylinders. The water was then evaporated slowly in clay vats built over a fire, and the salt residue collected. Bunk salts were also imported from Up-Simbai neighbors of the Bank salt-pool owners and, less frequently, from the lower Jimi. In turn, bunk salts were exported Up-Jimi in exchange for pigs, stone axes and, prior to 1945, Lesser Bird of Paradise plumes. Much salt sent Up-Jimi, especially to Kompiai, was redirected Cross-Jimi to the Wum-Tsenga axe makers. Some was also sent Down-Jimi to Bokapai and from thence Cross-Jimi to Rinyimp—that is, toward axe-making communities.

I have no case records of trade in the other three salt types, which were only rarely acquired by the Kundagai. Salt from Gai and Timbunki is said to have been extracted occasionally by the Kundagai, although since better-quality bunk salts were readily available it is unlikely that the Kundagai traded in these salts to any great degree.

Pigs

The pig is the preeminent exchange item, and because of constant slaughter for prestations and other purposes the Kundagai have a continuous demand for them. Table 25 shows patterns of trade in pigs. Prior to contact almost 80 percent of imports were from Up-Jimi. Since all Jimi and Simbai communities were pig producers, insofar as herds were at least in part maintained by reproduction, this marked direc-