Echoes of the Ancestors: Living Story, Living Purpose

By Evengelyne Kove

In Melanesia, we do not inherit stories — we are born into them.

In this photo, I am performing as Ya Gagara—the ancestral spirit figure—in the Binandere Ario, a sacred spirit dance from Papua New Guinea. Ario is a traditional dance drama that reflects the deep connection between people, ancestral spirits, and the natural world. Every Ario performance features three key spiritual figures: Ya Gi, the spirit guide or messenger, who connects the living with the spirit realm.Ya Gagara, the ancestral presence (my role), who represents wisdom, protection, and continuity.Ya Binei, the nature spirit, who symbolizes the land and the environment.

Our names carry memory. Our footsteps retrace the paths of those who came before us. Our lives are woven into the land, the sea, the sky, and the spirit of place. We are not separate from these things; we are of them. Storytelling in our world is not an art form, a performance, or even a written legacy. It is breath. It is rhythm. It is the quiet way a grandmother teaches without words, or the gentle pull of the wind reminding us of what we almost forgot.

To live in Papua New Guinea — a land of over 800 languages, thousands of clans, and deeply diverse landscapes — is to live in constant relationship with origin and identity. Yet, in this diversity, there is a shared truth: each person is born into a story that is already in motion. You do not create your purpose from nothing — you uncover it. You remember it. You walk it.

Together, these figures help maintain balance between humans and nature. In the past, The dance is performed during important occasions such as hunting or gardening rituals, where offerings and prayers are made for guidance and success.

I come from the Pu’re Tatoro-unji clan of the Binandere people. Our stories are embedded in the ridges of the slopes and whispered by the rivers. They are not locked in books or history — they are passed through action, presence, and ceremony. In the garden. In mourning. In laughter. In silence. In how we build, how we sit, and how we speak.

This is why, even now — in a time of concrete, Wi-Fi, and migration — the heartbeat of our way remains. Though many of us move between two or more worlds, the echo of our ancestors calls us to remain grounded. This grounding is not just cultural — it is spiritual. It is resilience.

Live footage of the fishing net which I took on my recent field trip (the younger generation don't use it anymore because of the introduction of fishing lines and hooks etc..)

Resilience, in the Melanesian sense, is not just about surviving hard times. It is about remembering who we are, even when the world tries to make us forget. It is about adapting without erasing. About growing without cutting our roots. And in times of environmental change, political uncertainty, and social disruption, remembering has become an act of strength.

Our way is not perfect. It has been bruised by colonialism, conflict, extraction, and misrepresentation. But even so, our stories have not died — they have adapted, shape shifted, found new vessels. And in this moment, we are being called to carry them forward — not as nostalgia, but as necessary wisdom for the future.

So we rise. Not to shout above others, but to stand firm in our truth. Not to echo trends, but to echo ancestors. And in doing so, we remind the world — and ourselves — that every person born into this land carries a story worth listening to.

Let us not wait for permission to speak. Our ancestors already gave it. Let us not wait to be validated. Our presence is already proof. And let us not isolate ourselves from each other, but rather come together — clan to clan, island to island — remembering that though our languages differ, our purpose is shared:To live in alignment with land, to honor the past by shaping the future, and to keep telling the story — with our hands, our hearts, and our lives.

A visual diagram and explanation of the fishing net, Sirawa; which was extracted from Professor Waikos thesis who was a Binandere Anthropologist/historian

Sirawa is a traditional fishing trap used by the Binandere people of Papua New Guinea, skillfully woven from natural materials and designed to patiently guide fish into its chamber. More than a tool for survival, Sirawa is a powerful cultural metaphor passed down across six generations—symbolizing how wisdom, purpose, and resilience are slowly and intentionally built. At Resilient Peers Limited, this metaphor is the foundation of an intergenerational education, coaching, and leadership program. Just as the Sirawa trap is formed through careful weaving, the program nurtures individuals through storytelling, shared experiences, and the collective knowledge of elders and emerging leaders. It honors the idea that resilience is not born in isolation, but through time, relationships, and the steady guidance of those who came before.

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About the Collaborator

Evengelyn Bauri Kove is a storyteller, environmental advocate, and community development consultant from the Pu’re Tatoro-unji clan of the Binandere tribe of Oro Province in Papua New Guinea. Her traditional name Bauri, named after the cuscus, symbolizes adaptability, resilience, and a deep connection to nature.  She is the founder and Director of Resilient Peers Limited, a social enterprise that draws on Indigenous knowledge to foster sustainability, leadership, and healing across to Papua New Guinea emerging leaders and communities. Her work weaves ancestral wisdom with present-day purpose to support grounded, community-led change.