Inside the Baliem Valley: daily life of the Dani people

Before the descent the small plane crosses an exuberant landscape: steep, forested mountains shrouded in mist embrace a river that winds bright through the valley. A column of smoke among the trees signals human habitation. As the flight loses altitude the mist lifts, the smoke fades and a cluster of primitive huts arranged in circles beneath thatched roofs is revealed, surrounded by patchwork fields.

On landing, however, the scene is less romantic. At the tiny airport impatient taxi drivers wait; in the town streets there are motorbikes, shops and youths in caps and worn jeans taking selfies and listening to reggaeton. Global culture has reached this remote corner. Yet a few kilometres from the town, as the valley narrows and the asphalt ends, noise falls away and time feels to slow. No cars, no lights — only muddy and rocky tracks, ever-denser vegetation and the Baliem River crossed by a series of shaky suspension bridges.

I enter Dani territory accompanied by Nanang, a local who knows every path, village and family in the valley. Over five days we walk through a land that remained largely hidden from the outside world until the early 20th century. Each day we walk five to six hours and reach a different village. The reception is warm: men, women and children take my hands and, despite the language barrier, make me feel welcome.

In the villages some people still use Neolithic-style tools. The region is home to more than two hundred tribes, each with its own dialect. In the most remote settlements the wheel and glass are unknown; pigs are treated as wealth, cared for like children, and only eaten on very special occasions. Older practices, such as ritual cannibalism, were recorded before the arrival of missionaries.

Daily life is visible in small details. A woman walks barefoot and bare-chested carrying firewood in a nasang, a net hung from her head used to transport crops or even a child. A man walks almost naked, wearing feathers and the traditional koteka — a dried gourd used by Dani men as a penis sheath. Nanang explains that, though striking to Western eyes, the koteka is a marker of identity for many Papuan peoples.

Evenings bring the smell of burning wood and the sound of insects and night birds mixed with the laughter of children. Women prepare simple dinners of roasted tubers, sweet potatoes and some sago while men gather around the fire to tell stories. In the huts a mother sings to soothe her baby; elsewhere a couple holds hands and speaks softly. The communal rhythms of work, food and story create a sense of continuity.

Visiting the Baliem Valley requires giving up many comforts: distances are long, infrastructure is virtually nonexistent, and the huts where visitors sleep have changed little over the centuries. Expect no mattresses, sheets or pillows — living as the Dani do is part of the experience. Single women wear woven grass skirts while married women wear seed skirts symbolizing fertility.

Despite centuries of technological advances and more than twelve thousand kilometres of distance, the everyday life observed in the valley — work, care of children, communal stories and ritual practices — highlights continuities that make the Dani’s world both remote and recognisably human.