Some years ago Papua New Guinea’s Governor, Powes Parkop, damned near caused civil insurrection on New Year’s Day when he enacted a law to ban the chewing of betel nuts on streets of Port Moresby. I said “betel nuts”, not “beetle’s nuts”, in case you think it’s a typo. Most Westerners are not familiar with betel nuts unless they have toured the Sub-Continent.
Hygiene laws in Western countries have thankfully stymied the proliferation of this dirty habit to where a still surprising 10 to 20% of the planet’s population still chaw it in one form or another; making it the 4th most used psychoactive substance, after nicotine, alcohol and caffeine.
Captain James Cook made mention of betel nut in 1770 when he stumbled upon Sabu Island, one Indonesia’s most isolated of all its scattered landfalls. Cook noted that the locals were addicted to betel nut—and no doubt remain thusly today.
Betel nut comes from a small palm tree and the fruit resembles a rather small egg. It is bitter, a stimulant, and is clearly addictive given the ruckus caused in Port Moresby. According to the Australian Drug Foundation it is a schedule-4 poison meaning a prescription only medicine.
My introduction to the betel nut, of which I had no prior knowledge, was many years ago in Bombay, now called Mumbai. Bombay was a cultural shock for a Sydney lad not at all accustomed to running the gauntlet of countless beggars in a city of around 6 million, about half the total Australian population at the time.
Neither was a gregarious Aussie on walkabout yet hardened to the sight of humans cooped in cages. They had been deliberately maimed with deformed and severed limbs designed solely to stir compassion in the repulsed visitor, and hopefully increase the alms in their cup.
A short taxi ride soon identified the value of life in those parts when a minor traffic jam revealed a milkman had been knocked from his bicycle and appeared either dead or unconscious. Several drivers from waiting cars rushed forward, dragged the twisted bicycle to the roadside and began sweeping the glass from the broken milk bottles—the mangled milkman was ignored. The glass might cut the tyres of cars, my driver explained. Tyres were valuable—more so than the milkman’s life it seemed.
The vibrant colours of Bombay were a marvel and seemed to meld with the savours of wild curries, albeit with the curse of sticky flies and what they might carry. Particularly what they might carry from the deceased on the footpaths who lay, covered in white muslin, in the place where they had lain down for a sleep, never to awaken. Those, whoever they were, are first grabbed by the crotch of a government worker and, if unresponsive, are deemed dead and hoisted upon the back of a truck to be taken away—I never asked to where.
The walls of all buildings, however, were painted pastel pink from about waist-high blending to a deeper red at the bottom where it spread across the footpath and into the gutters that served as a sewer for everything, including ladies monthly unmentionables, that is, if the ladies had the means to buy even one—never mind a box-full. The flies lived in perpetual paradise.
Attired in shorts and thongs to combat the oppressive heat and humidity I noticed my feet had turned a bright scarlet matching the local paint scheme. I thought it might have been perspiration that had run down my legs causing my feet to slip and slide in the thongs. Sweat might have been part cause but it was then that I realised that the red paint scheme was the filthy sputum from a betel nut spat on the walls and streets. Gumboots would have been practical in Bombay where swarms of ravenous flies from brawl for your lunch. I recalled the adage, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”. With a population then of more than 600 million, I took heart in that saying, although I never again wore thongs in India!
Meanwhile, betel nut connoisseurs up in PNG were not pleased with Governor Parkop’s ban, especially considering the entrenched tradition and keenly honed skills required for optimum pleasure would pass for naught. It’s the red gollying that the governor hoped to eliminate from the streets of Port Moresby.
Perhaps the armchair traveller might appreciate the rules of betel nut eating, just in case you visit a place where it is traditional?
Now, follow these rules carefully because they are in PNG lingo. You will need the green betel nut (buai), a bag of lime powder (kambang), and (daka) a bean-like green called mustard seed.
Break the betel nut open by cracking the shell with your teeth. The take the inside meaty bit out of the shell and start chewing it. For God’s sake do not swallow the stuff as it causes wicked stomach ache among other not so pleasant horrors.
Chew the poultice for a few minutes until it forms a mushy wad inside your cheek, now comes the real treat. Moisten the mustard seed with your mouth and dip it, (not your mouth, the mustard seed), into the bag of lime powder. With your tongue, deftly shift the wad to the side of your mouth and then bite off the piece of mustard seed that has the lime powder on it. Alert, do not put the lime directly on your mouth or gums whatever you do.
Chewing this mess together will create a chemical reaction giving a mild buzz and turns your teeth and lips red causing your face look like a monkey’s bum. It is important to spit out the nut fibre as needed (which is constant) and that’s how the lower half of all walls maintains the appearance of being painted red.
There is, however, cause for concern over at least one of the essential ingredients—the lime powder. I thought lime powder was likely made from evaporated lime juice and turned into a powder. It’s not! The appropriately named “Kambang” is in fact slaked lime, (Calcium Hydroxide). That comes from Quicklime (Calcium Oxide) the same stuff that is shovelled into mass graves to cause decomposition—just add water!
Anyway, the pleasantries of betel nut use are mixed: mild euphoria and a sense of well-being with increased alertness, palpitations, increased heart rate and high blood pressure are just some delights. If that’s not enough, connoisseurs may enjoy excess sweating, facial flushing, tremors, dizziness and volcanic diarrhoea. Most visitors get a powerful dose of the latter from the food and water anyway!
Those rewards are further enhanced for the habitual user with peptic ulcers, mouth ulcers, gum disease, oral sub mucous fibrosis and oral cancers. It sounds like a mass killer even though it’s supposed to be jolly good fun for the whole family.
I think I’ll stick to me Toohey’s Old!
Chaucer
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