I was born in a Port Moresby hospital in Papua New Guinea in
- The week I was born, there was a strike at the hospital, and
all the babies were packed off to different places. I was wrapped
up and put in a taxi, and sent to the home of Adele and Hartmut
Hensch. Adele was English and had been working at the hospital
as a nurse. She and Hartmut had four school-aged children, and
were living in Papua New Guinea because he was the international
rep for a German company. One week with them turned into a few
months, then, when they wanted to leave the country a year later,
they decided to adopt me.
We went back to Germany for a couple of years, then moved to
Brisbane when I was about three. Their children – my brothers and
sisters – were all born in different places because of Dad’s job; two
were born in Sierra Leone, one was born in England, and the other
in Ethiopia. I grew up surrounded by a lot of artefacts and sculptures
they’d collected on their travels. You don’t realise it’s unusual to
have those things around until you go to other people’s houses.
In hindsight, having that visual aspect of Papua New Guinean culture
was probably quite important for me. Some of my very first memories
were of sketching the marble female busts that flanked the front
door, and the cowrie shell-encrusted Papua New Guinean masks
that ran along the hallway.
Growing up Papua New Guinean in a Caucasian family never struck
me as strange or different, because I didn’t know anything else. My
siblings are all blonde and German-looking, so I don’t look like them
at all. When we were out at the shops or markets, people would think
I was there by myself. It came as a genuine surprise when I found out
I was adopted. I remember Mum pulled me aside on my first day at
preschool and said, “We just want you to know you’re loved very much
and that you’re adopted.” Looking at it now, I guess she thought it
was time I knew. It was sort of left at that. Other kids had questions,
but there wasn’t any malice.
When I was about 11 or 12, I’d sit down with the artworks in the house
and ask about Papua New Guinea, but my background wasn’t readily
shared with me. Once, at 13, I was at the markets with my parents.
I stopped at a stall and made up a name, Euralia. I called it out to
my dad and he turned around and said, “That’s your birth mother’s
name.” I get a bit teary thinking about that now. Little did I know, that
was the first of some intrinsic internal stepping stones. At the time,
I didn’t understand the importance. We never spoke about it again
because he said, “Don’t tell your mum.” I guess they feared that
telling me about it all would lead to me leaving them.
At 19, I was living in Melbourne, and one day while on the phone
to my dad the conversation just opened up a bit more. It fired me
up to explore this other side of myself. A while later, I did a Google
search for Euralia and Papua New Guinea, and this woman popped
up, with an email address. I sent her a very concise and forthright
email, saying, “My name is Weniki Hensch, I was born on October
11, 1979, and my birth mother’s name is Euralia. If you’re not her,
please disregard this email, but if you are and you want to contact
me to discuss this further, please do.”
She got back to me a day or so later. All her email said was, “Hello
Weniki, where are you located and what do you do?” We started
emailing, without me really knowing who she was. There were lots
of synchronicities – she was also involved in the arts, and turned out
to be a really good friend of a contemporary Papua New Guinean
artist whose husband was my boss at the time. A few months later,
I decided I was going to go to Papua New Guinea at the end ofas a baby, weniki hensch was adopted
into a whole new culture.
AS TOLD TO LUCY CORRYeverybody
has a story
pieces of me