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Deep in the Baliem Valley of Indonesia’s Papua region, size really does matter. The Dani tribe, first discovered by air in 1938 and still isolated in the mountains today, are known for a particular appendage: the horim. < Back A Horim The Travel Almanac 14 Dec 2023 Deep in the Baliem Valley of Indonesia’s Papua region, size really does matter. The Dani tribe, first discovered by air in 1938 and still isolated in the mountains today, are known for a particular appendage: the horim. Made from a dried-out elongated gourd, this penis protector is much more than a simple sheath. Whether a long cylindrical peaking pipe or spectacularly curved seahorse shape, this uniquely Papuan add-on is a sign of prestige, respect, and seniority within the tribe. In fact, the Dani’s male members (pun intended) have two horim – one for show and one for work . Their traditional existence on the land means that their more elaborate, longer phallocrypt s get in the way when working closely with others. No one likes to cross horim . It is no surprise that such an accessory exists in this patriarchal, polygamous society. Manhood in all its forms carries the responsibilit y of traditional authority within the tribe, and displaying such is expected. Smooth and mid-brown in tone, horim are carved out and gifted from father to son, a sign of respect for a growing boy. Many are customised as the years pass by; the more ornate ones carry small cowrie shells and decorative feathers. Manhood in all its forms carries the responsibilit y of traditional authority within the tribe, and displaying such is expected. Fastening a horim is not for the uninitiated: a short loop at the base sits very tightly around the scrotum, while the tip is held in place with a loop halfway up the chest. Carefully wiggled into place with a little adjustment here and a slight tuck there, the men are then off walking. The days of the horim appear to be numbered, though. Generational change is succeeding where the Indonesian Government’s Operasi Koteka (Operation Penis Gourd) failed , replacing traditional attire with W estern clothes. For the younger men, it’s cargos over calabash, garments over gourds. The exception is festivities where pride is as evident as the tribe they belong to. Original Publication: The Travel Almanac < Previous Next >

< Back The Strangest Town in Australia 26 Apr 2015 We both looked up. It was a strange sound, obviously unfamiliar to my host. “When was the last time it rained here?” I asked. A pause. “Um… this is the first time this year. Might settle the dust though,” said Nick laconically. Perhaps a good omen to mark the centenary of what some would say is Australia’s strangest town. I was in Coober Pedy, located in the desert of the South Australian outback, a red dirt town under big blue skies. It’s a town that was founded 100 years ago on opal mining, a town where 50% of the population live underground, and a town that hadn’t seen rain for a while. As the showers gently eased Nick, the owner of The Lookout Cave Underground Hotel, commended me for visiting during the ‘colder’ months (it was 31° outside). In January it had been an unbearable 43°. The locals avoid the worst of it by living in ‘dugout’ homes excavated out of sandstone hills, giving them a constant 22° and respite from the harsh desert heat and dust. Unlike ‘mole holes’ these homes – like my underground hotel room – are generally at ground level, super quiet and thankfully not claustrophobic. When the rain stopped Nick pointed out the air vents that dotted the landscape, rising like metallic mushrooms giving air to the dugouts below. Google Maps had already shown me that Coober Pedy was going to be different: the reddy-brown landscape, few structures, fewer roads and lots of dirt. But what the town lacks in looks it makes up for in superlatives: it is, after all, the Opal Capital of the World, down the road is the Largest Cattle Station in the World, cutting through it is the Longest Man-made Structure in the World, there’s the Driest Golf Course in the World and of course, the Largest Underground Hotel in the World (capitals intended). I think it also has the most flies in the world. I’d timed my visit with the Coober Pedy Opal Festival, which this year was celebrating 100 years since fourteen-year-old Willie Hutchison found the first opal there. The festival kicked off with the annual Street Parade, hosted by jovial MCs keeping the crowd entertained under the blazing mid morning sun. Slowly the flotilla came into view, heavy mining trucks leading the way followed by local businesses, AFL fans and the obligatory Mines Rescue vehicles. In a town of only 3500 if you weren’t in the parade you were cheering it on from the sidelines. “Where you from eh fella?” asked the aboriginal man next to me, from under his Akubra hat. I told him and then David Mindi Crombie told me his life story. Born inside an open-cut opal pit with his twin brother. Famous for writing songs about Coober Pedy. Performed at the Sydney Opera House on a national tour. Named Coober Pedy Citizen of the Year (1992). A Justice of the Peace. Singing tonight at the pub up the road. I’d picked a good person to sit next to. Nick commended me for visiting during the ‘colder’ months (it was 31° outside). The Opal Festival also coincided with Easter so there was no better time to visit one of the town’s underground churches. Father Brian Mathews welcomed me at the door of Saint Peter’s and Paul’s and patiently took me through its history. “The parish is rather large I guess,” he said, standing in front of a wall map. “And we don’t always have a church everywhere. Last week I had mass in the dining room of a pub.” He drew his finger across the boundaries. It went up to Uluru, touched Western Australia, Northern Territory, Queensland and New South Wales. This priest was responsible for a parish area bigger than Texas. Across from the church was one of the town’s two dozen opal jewellery stores, which makes sense when you consider that 85% of Australia’s opals come from Coober Pedy. “They’re all individual, that’s what makes each one so special,” said George of Opalios, peering up with his jewellery magnifiers still on while polishing a stone. “It doesn’t matter what type of opal you like - cut, rough, milky, black, pinfire – it’s bound to be different to what anyone else has.” He pulled out a solid opal set in 18k gold. Price? A steal at $12,500. The dirty end of the business was found at Tom’s Working Opal Mine. After the briefing and donning a hard hat, I wound my way down 12 metres underground. Blower pipes, Caldwell shafts, pillar bashing, explosive setting, sump tunnels - there’s a lot to this opal mining gig. Which explains the numerous abandoned drill holes in the area (“Beware deep shafts” “Don’t walk backwards” the signs warn). Even the town’s name comes from the Aboriginal kupa-piti meaning ‘white man in a hole’. The landscapes weren’t just a potholed mess though; this was the scenery that had starred in Priscilla: Queen of the Desert and Max Mad: Beyond Thunderdome so I arranged to explore more. “Today we’re gonna go off road for about 600k’s,” said Rowie as I put my seatbelt on. Peter Rowe isn’t your typical tour guide. He’s an official Australia Post contractor and I was joining him on ‘mail run’ from Coober Pedy to William Creek to Oodnadatta. The 12-hour drive would take us across the Great Artesian Basin to the edge of the Victorian Desert. First stop was Anna Creek Station, the largest cattle ranch on the planet at a whopping 24,000km2 – that’s 6,000,000 acres. To give you a sense of scale, the distance from the property boundary to the unassuming homestead is further then the distance from Auckland to Hamilton. No one was home but Peter dropped off the mail, disturbing hundreds of screeching Corella birds all wanting to make their presence known. To get to Anna Creek we had to pass the Dog Fence, designed to keep dingoes away from livestock. The fence is twice as long as The Great Wall of China; 5600kms of protective barbed wire and posts weaving across three Australian states. William Creek (pop. 6) is a town so small that it’s entirely surrounded by Anna Creek Station. One thing it does have though – aside from a pub – is an outdoor ‘rocket museum’. I had to squint to read it but that’s what it said: the metal carcass in front of me was part of a rocket used to launch a British satellite from the nearby Woomera Rocket Range. Impressed, I went back inside for some Kangaroo Yiros and a Hahn Super Dry. The unsealed road that runs from William Creek to Oodnadatta is known as the Oodnadatta Track. Partially built on the old Ghan railway line the track is at times bone jarring, very geologically diverse and a little surprising. In the distance a dingo stared at us. “Hang on to ya hat!” Peter yelled, as he turned the 4WD onto the tundra and raced towards the now scurrying dog. That particular chase was futile but we did get close to kangaroos, camels and hawks. On the way back to Coober Pedy I was regaled with more stories – from the Afghan cameleers to the unfortunate souls who perished in the desert heat. We arrived back long after dark. The week of celebrations culminated with the Coober Pedy open-air cinema. Held every second weekend it seemed like the whole town had parked up, tuned in, sat back and enjoyed the free ice creams and cheap snacks. It was one of the few above-the-ground activities in town. Of course, like any movie theatre, it began with the “Patrons: Explosives are not to be brought into this theatre” slide, a joke flashback to the old days. Staying in Coober Pedy made me realise it’s not for everyone. To be honest, it can be a little strange – like that uncle you try to avoid at Christmas – but if you’re ready to exchange more than pleasantries and are willing to be surprised, you’ll find that there’s a lot more under the surface of this unique outback town. < Previous Next >

< Back Goroka selected for UK Portrait Salon 21 Oct 2015 The UK Portrait Salon has accepted ‘Goroka’ by Guy Needham, into the 2015 exhibition to be held in London in November. The photo of a young boy preparing for a traditional ceremony, taken in the Southern Highlands of Papua New Guinea, will join others on the wall of The Embassy Tea Gallery from November 19th as a part of a salon style exhibition. < Previous Next >

< Back The Dani come to Auckland 27 Sept 2023 In Guy Needham's first New Zealand show in three years, The Dani is now showing at The Grey Place in Auckland. A testament to the tribe, the exhibition will be a collection of intimate portraits displaying both a quiet intensity and a subtle momentum. The images – all taken using natural light in front of a backdrop held up by villagers – are printed on C-Type photographic prints and Giclee prints. The Grey Place is open 10am-3pm Tues-Sun at 37 Scanlan Street, Grey Lynn. < Previous Next >

TRAVEL Carnaval de Negros y Blancos Global El Carnaval de Negros y Blancos (Black and Whites' Carnaval), a five day party held in January, is the world’s biggest foam fight. The Carnaval is the loudest, longest and messiest festival in southern Colombia. The pinnacle of the Carnaval is the Grand Parade that falls on Dia de Blancos (The Day of the Whites) - but not before the celebration with flour bombs and talcum powder. Previous Next

< Back Interview with The Photographers' Mail 13 May 2015 Adrian Hatwell of D-Photo magazine and The Photographers' Mail sat down to discuss Guy Needham's upcoming solo exhibition, Shades of Otara. As part of the Auckland Festival of Photography, the exhibition opens on Wednesday 27 July. < Previous Next >

< Back The Mentawai in D-Photo Magazine 19 Jul 2017 In an exclusive interview with D-Photo magazine Guy Needham talks about the lengths he went to to get the shots for his upcoming exhibition, The Mentawai of Indonesia. The article reveals what it's really like as a photographer where a contrast in culture is the least of your worries. Read journalist Adrian Hatwell's article here . < Previous Next >

< Back The Vatwa go to Melbourne 6 Oct 2025 Melbourne's Ladder Art Space will be showing the Vatwa exhibition as part of their 2026 programme, bringing to Australia one of Angola's most intriguing tribes. Regarded as the first indigenous inhabitants of the Angola's Onconcua region, no-one knows exactly where they originally came from, not even their chief. In May next year a curated selection of captivating portraits will be on show in Melbourne accompanied by texts sharing the lifestyle, history and social structures of this semi-nomadic tribe. The Vatwa are the ninth in Guy Needham's Tribal series, which to date has included indigenous peoples in Africa, Asia, the Pacific and South America. < Previous Next >

< Back First Place win in Florida 28 Sept 2019 Hadzabe Girl has taken away 1st Place in the People & Portraits category at the Florida Museum of Photographic Arts. The image, taken under a rock ledge in Northern Tanzania, shows a young girl, her face covered in dirt except for the clean areas around her mouth. She is one of only 1,500 Hadzabe left in the world, who to this day still speak in clicks. < Previous Next >

< Back Here to Help 19 Jan 2016 Guy Needham's latest article about voluntourism in Ethiopia is the cover story of the New Zealand Herald's travel section. Covering his adventures working with Big Beyond, an NGO working out of the Lower Valley of the Omo, the article follows his time with the Hamar tribe. < Previous Next >

“Hold on, I just need to scrape something off…” My guide had removed his gumboot and was reaching for a knife. Slowly he sliced the blade down his leg to remove the blood sucking leech that had attached itself to him. “Welcome to Mentawai!” he said with a broad grin. < Back The Mentawai of Indonesia New Zealand Herald 24 Oct 2017 “Hold on, I just need to scrape something off…” My guide had removed his gumboot and was reaching for a knife. Slowly he sliced the blade down his leg to remove the blood sucking leech that had attached itself to him. “Welcome to Mentawai!” he said with a broad grin. The leech and I were on the island of Siberut in the Indian Ocean, 150km west of Sumatra, on one of Indonesia’s 17,000 islands. I was there to spend a week living with the Mentawai tribe, a proud, independent hunter-gatherer people living off the land since the Stone Age. Far from your typical holiday, only a few people make it this deep into the equatorial rainforest, and had I not been researching for an exhibition I doubt I would have heard of them. So, here I was, three flights, one ‘fast’ ferry, 1 motorcycle ride, 3 hours on a motorized canoe, and 2 hours tramping through mud later. No electricity, no cell phone, no internet, no bedding, no toilet, no running water. “Anai loita” welcomed the tough, wiry sikerei (medicine man) who wore nothing more than a loin cloth, as his intricately tattooed hands firmly gripped mine. Aman Teutagougou was to be my host for the next few days, and after pointing out where in the uma (long house) I could leave my backpack – just under the monkey skulls hanging from the door frame – it was time to look around. Aman Teutagougou, like other Mentawai men, had multiple tattoos all over his body. He told me that the tattoos – which are tapped out painfully with needle and ink – each take a week. The men all have the same designs and start with the Sun, symbolising life. The final tattoo applied is to the face, signifying “I am finished”. Perhaps more disconcerting to the Western eye is the Mentawai women’s teeth. In a show of traditional beauty women sharpen their teeth to a point, which the Mentawai men find attractive. A beaming Bai Ibuk proudly flashed me her chiselled molars one night, as the jungle rains came down hard outside. Looking out into the torential rain it was easy too understand why the Mentawai consider themselves Keepers of the Rainforest. They are entirely self-sufficient, only taking what they need from the world around them and are at one with nature. I saw first-hand bark from the breadfruit tree stripped to make loincloths, water channelled to make sago, special leaves picked to mix poison for arrows, and left-over chicken bones fed through the floor boards to the snorting pigs below. What living with the Mentawai lacked in creature comforts, it made up for in spirits. Literally. While the rest of Indonesia is predominantly Muslim, the 64,000 Mentawai still follow a type of animalism called sibulngan, which worships the four main nature spirits of the Sky, Sea, Jungle and Earth. It was these spirits that were called upon when I was sick with fever towards the end of my trip. In a show of traditional beauty women sharpen their teeth to a point, which the Mentawai men find attractive. Ill, sweating, shaking, lying on a thin mattress under a mosquito net, I awoke feeling pressure on my stomach. Struggling to open my eyes, I could just make out a man kneeling over me pushing his hands into my abdomen. He slowly lifted my head and poured a crushed concoction of berries, leaves, water and dirt into my dry mouth. Delirious, I wondered why he was wearing my watch… When I awoke the next day I was told that the medicine man who came to see me was Aman Toikok, a village elder I had met at the start of my trip and who I had gifted my watch to. He heard that I was sick, and made the 3 hour walk to the uma I was staying in to call to the spirits of the Sky to heal me. While I was grateful for the relief, officially the Mentawai are not allowed to practice medicine, nor their indigenous religion. Pressure from the Indonesian government, including a 1950s decree prohibiting such customs, and the construction of ‘Government villages’ with schools, amenities, healthcare and free houses to entice the Mentawai from the jungle, are threating the traditional lifestyle and simple values of the tribe. Today the Mentawai people have to work harder than ever to preserve their ancient unique culture. Leeches and all. Original publication: New Zealand Herald < Previous Next >

“In the olden days,” began Apinelu, a tone of longing in his voice, “it was never this hot. Never. Now everything has changed, not just the sea.” It was a very still 33° and my earlobes were sweating. Welcome to the small island nation of Tuvalu. < Back Where the Ocean meets the Sky New Zealand Herald 2 May 2017 “In the olden days,” began Apinelu, a tone of longing in his voice, “it was never this hot. Never. Now everything has changed, not just the sea.” It was a very still 33° and my earlobes were sweating. Welcome to the small island nation of Tuvalu. “Tomorrow I take you out to the islands, less crowded, more local,” he chuckled. We were driving around Funafuti, the densely populated capital and I’m pretty sure I was the only tourist here. To answer your ‘where?’ question, Tuvalu is 1000km north of Fiji, an archipelago made up of six coral atolls and three islands nestled under the Equator. It used to be one half of the Gilbert & Ellice Islands before it became independent from Britain and dropped the Ellice name. These days it’s better known for being the poster child of climate change. It’s fair to say that Tuvalu is unlike any other islands you’re likely to visit: small, isolated, beautiful, sleepy and sinking. I was here to explore the country and see what it was like on the frontline of global warming. Arriving in Tuvalu is an experience in itself. After two and a half hours flying over the Pacific the wheels are down but there ain’t no land. Out of nowhere appears a thin airstrip – lagoon on one side, sea on the other – and the passengers let out a collective breath. It seems all of Funafuti is here to welcome us: kids waving, locals on motorbikes, and officialdom waiting in front of the world’s smallest airport building of Immigration, Customs, Quarantine and Baggage Claim all rolled into one. The exit door leads to a slower pace of life. Even the wind seems laid back here, as heavily-burdened motorbikes putt along at 20kph, hammocks in pandanas trees get a solid work-out, and schoolchildren kick rocks along the road. Apilenu had to laugh, “No need to rush, eh,” his arm resting out the window as we meander up the main island, Fongafale. Tuvalu isn’t really set up for tourism but there is one must-see: the Funafuti Marine Conservation Area. Unfortunately Apilenu had injured himself so it was up to his neighbour, Villi, and my new friend Kato from Tuvalu Overview (a climate change NGO) to take me into the lagoon. Tuvalu is unlike any other islands you’re likely to visit: small, isolated, beautiful, sleepy and sinking. “See that island over there,” yelled Villi over the outboard motor, “that is where our families go for picnics.” It was seriously, ridiculously beautiful. The whole lagoon was. Motu after motu (island) of swaying palms on white sand beaches, stark against the puffy white clouds and azure sky. “But this one we’re coming up to, not so good…”. Tepukasa Vilivili was nothing more than sand on coral after its vegetation had been washed away over the last 20 years. It was a sobering reminder of the challenges facing Tuvalu: rising sea levels, coastal erosion, king tides, increasing tropical cyclones and drought. We boated on to Funafala, an islet inhabited by 5 families and a church. Kato knew some of the locals from his work planting mangroves there to stop the erosion. Greetings were exchanged but no one got off their sleeping mats – it was too damn hot. On we went and eventually Villi dropped me back at the main beach just in time for a sundowner at Vaiaku Lagi Hotel, the only one in town. The hotel has a pleasant outlook to the horizon that is only broken by foreign fishing vessels. Commercial fishing rights are one of Tuvalu’s main revenue sources; the other being the “.tv” internet domain name which the Government sub-licences for millions. By the next day I‘d learnt my lesson and started exploring before the harsh sun hit. “Hi palangi!” the kids yelled out; the adults were more circumspect and simply noded and raised their eyebrows in a cool Pacifika way. I knew I was taking a chance walking around when thunderstorms were predicted and soon enough the weather turned. The rain was intense. “Hey you, come here.” A man was hurriedly waving me towards his house, cigarette in hand. “That’s better,” Suauili said, with a big beaming smile. “We need this rain eh, but it won’t last.” It didn’t. “You know in Kiribati they have water from under the ground, but not here. Too salty now.” He lit another cigarette as his nephew played with my camera. We chatted about New Zealand. “You know the ‘borrow pits’?” he asked, referring to the huge ground holes that had been left when construction materials had been taken, and which had subsequently turned into cesspits of garbage. “New Zealand filled those in. Didn’t have to but they did. And they filled over the dump too. You have a good Government.” The rain cleared and it was time to head back. As the sun lazily went down, my ears pricked up. Singing! Not just any singing but Tuvaluan hymms, men and women alternating with highs and lows, harmonies escaping through the open slat windows of the nearby church. The men were sitting crosslegged dressed in their Sunday best, while the women fanned themselves and tried vainly to keep the children still. Greetings were exchanged but no one got off their sleeping mats – it was too damn hot. Religion plays an important role in Tuvaluan life with 98% of the population being Protestant. Many have faith that God will never let their islands disappear. It says something for their positive nature that despite being able to run off the names of cyclones like old friends – Bebe, Ula, Pam, Winston– they are absolutely committed to staying in Tuvalu and no one wants to leave. When it came to me leaving though, I didn’t have to go far. My lodge was next to the maneapa (meeting house) that was next to the terminal. But before the plane landed the fire truck sounded its siren, a signal for everyone to clear the runway. Yes, when not in use by the two flights a week the runway becomes a racing strip, volleyball court and dog park plus a road cuts through the middle of it. A cursory security glance in my luggage, a check of my name off a list and I’m allowed to return to the lodge. “Wouldn’t happen at Heathrow," observed a fellow passenger. But neither would the customs officer handing me back my passport with, “Oh, you sunburnt!” Despite my peeling forehead, Tuvalu really was a surprising pleasure. If you’re after the cocktails of Denarau or Gallic treats of Noumea then Tuvalu isn’t for you. There are no credit card facilities, no resorts, no duty free stores and no all-inclusive excursions. What you do is up to you and who you make contact with. As Apinelu would say, this is what the Pacific used to be like, “in the olden days.” Details Requirements: New Zealanders do not need a Visa but do need 6 months validity on their passport. Getting there: Via Fiji. Fiji Airways flies from Suva to Funafuti 2-3 times per week depending on the season. Check with your travel agent. Weather: Temperatures vary between 28° - 32° every day of the year. Try to avoid the Western Pacific Monsoon Season between December and March. Currency: Australian Dollars are the offical currency of Tuvalu and there are no credit card facilites in the country. Be prepared with cash. See: Funafuti Marine Conservation Area requires a AUS$50 permit and the boat ride will cost you AUS$200. Stay: The government-owned Vaiaku Lagi Hotel or the family-run Filamona Lodge next to the airport www.filamona.com Original publication: New Zealand Herald < Previous Next >