Many, many years ago, when I was about 18 months old, our family took a trip around the world to move to Mt. Hagen, Papua New Guinea. It was 1975, just after Australia had granted Papua New Guinea independence. Most of the government houses were empty since the Australian administrators had left, and for the first few years we were there, we lived in town in one of these houses.

When we had to move out, we house hopped for perhaps a year, staying in some very interesting places–one was out on a tea plantation, and another had tons of Rhinoceros beetles, which would make very loud hissing noises if you poked at them. Finally, we found a place in a village about 20 minutes drive from the town of Mt. Hagen. The village was called Bomrui because it had a hill in the centre of it that had been accidentally flattened by the allies during WWII. On top of the hill was the villages pride and joy–a large A frame church. Our house was just down the hill from the church and our roof was just about level with the floor of the church.