A Story of Making: Bilum as Inherited Craft

There they sit in small clusters, women weaving side by side. If one imagines the conversations they might have while they work – comments about their spouses and their children, concerns about their aging parents, worries about money, the moments they’ve witnessed and thoughts they’ve pondered throughout the day – the artistic and emotional value of each bilum bag becomes clearer.

While synthetic bilum bags may appear more fashionable thanks to their brighter, more interesting colors, the more muted tones of the handcrafted varieties belie the rich, deeply human stories woven into each one.

The tree is carried back to the village, where bilum makers strip it of its outer skin and then remove the bark from the stem.

Once the bark is removed, the weaver will beat it down until its flat and lie it out on a mat to try. She must then separate the dried bark into thin strips.

Now she can start working the fibers, twisting the fibrous strips into long strands and spinning them against her thigh until they’re ready to be looped into the shape of the bag.

The rough strips sting and pinch her legs, but she spins them until they are pliant enough to be draped through her fingers.

Finally, she’ll clean the strands as a final preparation of the fibers.

If the weaver plans to use natural dyes or other materials, she’ll collect and prepare these before she starts making the bag.

The natural dye process adds three to four days to the time it takes to create a bag because the woman needs to gather the materials and extract from their source.

Should she want to incorporate the yellow of turmeric, she’ll have to grind the root into a paste in which she can steep the fibers.

She may choose to use local flowers as well to add different hues to the bag, and these, too, will need to be readied. The fibers must be soaked in the dye and then fully dried before she can weave.

As cheaply produced, vibrantly colored synthetic bags proliferate, these may crowd the market and cause buyers to overlook the handmade products. This makes it all the more difficult for local bilum bag makers to earn a fair price for their work.

A seasoned bilum weaver’s hands work deftly, years of muscle memory allowing her to loop and twist the material expertly.

There’s a calm assuredness about the movement, and there’s a sincere sense of witnessing centuries of wisdom and skills at work in the weaver’s small hut.

That bilum making is so integral to Papua New Guinean’s everyday experiences matters deeply for development purposes. As in many emerging economies, development organizations see the sale of handcrafted goods as a means of stimulating financial well-being and elevating the quality of life. But oftentimes, outside groups will come in and teach locals crafting skills and encourage them to sell those products to tourists. Though well-intentioned, these solutions are not authentic to the people of those nations.

Bilum is synonymous with Papua New Guinea. It’s not a forgotten art form or a folksy trade practiced for the benefit of outsiders. Weaving is something every woman in the country learns to do, and bilum bags are a living, breathing artifact of what Papua New Guinea has been for centuries and continues to be today.