PNG Echo

PNG ECHO FIRST EDITION

FEATURING

Sheppard

rocks Scotland MASERATIS IN PNG: MAKING LEMONADE OUT OF LEMONS INDEPENDENCE FOR BOUGAINVILLE: IS IT A PIPE DREAM?

FIJI’S PLANTATION ISLAND RESORT: A TROPICAL IDYLL WITH A SOCIAL CONSCIENCE

And so much more inside...

CONTRIBUTORS

CHRIS BARIA

ELLA HALL

BORN in the Kieta District of Central Bougainville, Papua New Guinea, Chris is old enough to have survived the civil war of the 1990s on Bougainville.

He was working at the Copper mine, Panguna, when it was sabotaged by disgruntle landowners provoking civil war between the landowners/people of Bougainville and the government of Papua New Guinea.

At the cessation of hostilities, he worked closely with ANZAC and Pacific peace monitors to effect a ceasefire and peace agreement.

For seven years prior to his recent retirement Chris worked as a Press Officer in a government ministry in Port Moresby. He currently resides in Arawa, Central Bougainville where he is writing a book about his lifetime experiences.

FORMER food/travel blogger has lived in PNG for 10 years, where she has attempted to “single-handedly change the Internet’s opinion of Lae.” She is actively involved in women’s issues and was the President of the Lae Lioness Club for five years. Married, she is owned by two cats, six dogs and a green tree snake called Kevin.

Her goal in life is to go a day in Lae without a power blackout.

GREG SHEPPARD DR KEVIN A practising lawyer based in Port PONDIKOU Moresby, Papua New Guinea where he has resided for thirty years.

He was born and educated in Perth at Guildford Grammar School and the University of Western Australia.

He is married with three children and apart from law and poetry, his interests include music – classical and pop.

He began to write poetry as selftherapy and takes inspiration from many styles including the seers, the nonsense rhymers and Dr Seuss.

MIKE JONES

RITA

TANYA LLOYD

IT consultant, writer and grandfather, Mike has been meditating since the late 1970s. He is a student of the Western tradition of Buddhism. He has found that mindfulness meditation helps him to travel a kinder, more nourishing pathway.

RITA (surname unknown) started writing on the advice of her therapist who suggested it as a salve for her (ever so slight) drinking problem and her more disagreeable social tendencies. Rita will be regularly featured in ‘PNG Echo’ and will be a boon to the team – mainly because she’s handy (she lives downstairs from our editor.)

A published author and professional writer who is involved in a wide range of committees and organisations within the local community. She is an Australian expat currently enjoying life and culture in PNG.

KEVIN is half Manus and half Simbu by birth. He is 40yrs old and has been working at Rumginae Rural Hospital for five years.

He was admitted to Laloki Psychiatric Hospital for two months in 2013 which proved to be a life-changing experience for him.

He is currently on medication for Bipolar Disorder and uses writing as a catharsis and also to record the untold stories of remote communities.

ALSO:  REBECCA RUNDUALI  SUSAN MERRELL  LYDIA KAILAP • JUSTICE GEORGE MANUHU CSM

P N G E C H O S E P T E M B E R 2 019 EDITOR

PROPRIETOR

COVER PHOTOGR APH

Dr Susan Merrell E: susanmerrell13@gmail.com

Pacific Perspectives P/L Suite 3, 571 Military Road Mosman NSW 2088 Australia

Chugg Entertainment

PUBLISHER

Dr Susan Merrell E: susanmerrell13@gmail.com

PNG ECHO

Magazines byDesign www.bydesigngraphics.com.au

ONLINE EDITION

www.pngecho.com

2

DESIGNER

www.facebook.com/PNGEcho1

 Copyright 2019. Pacific Perspectives P/L’ All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in whole or in part without the written permission of the publisher.

Whilst every care has been taken in the preparation of this publication, the publisher nor any of its employees, subcontractors or contributors assume any responsibility or liability for any loss or damage which may result from any inaccuracy or omission in the publication.

Opinions expressed are those of the respective authors and not necessarily the publisher.

EDITOR’S NOTE

DR SUSAN MERRELL

E

verything changes – and so have we.

After more than six years as a blog specialising in political commentary, we have decided to spread our wings and to add more voices figuring that there is more to life than politics and/or a single opinion and that a magazine is so much more satisfying to read than a blog.

We’ve added travel, food, short stories, reviews, humour and poetry to the mix - and that’s just for starters.

Read it online – at www. pngecho.com Happy reading. Don’t be a stranger. •

In this edition we are featuring super-group ‘Sheppard’ whose musical influences date back to their early years growing up in Papua New Guinea.

This is my Scottish encounter with Amy George and Emma - in concert, in Glasgow.

At PNG Echo, we love a little humour and who better to supply it than our official reviewer: meet the reluctant (read lazy) and irreverent ‘Rita’? Here you’ll find Rita’s thoughts on those controversial Maseratis and her brilliant (ginsoaked?) solution: an annual ‘Independence Boulevarde 300’. *Remember you heard it here first. (No, it’s not one of the Governor’s “million ideas,” he’s hampered by sobriety!)

Got a little time on your hands? Our travel feature takes us to Fiji and Plantation Island and explores the concept of eco-friendly tourism while Mike Jones, one of the most popular writers of Australian ABC’s unleashed, takes our minds for a walk and into a state of ‘mindfulness’.

Along with Mike, yet more exceptional writers have contributed to this edition (and we are always looking out for more - so, get in touch): Dr Kevin Pondikou – tells of the hardships of being a doctor in a remote area of PNG while

Rebecca Runduali reminds us that we’re not doing enough to protect our orphans.

Tanya Lloyd writes of how she’s getting used to life in PNG as an expat, Lydia Kailap has a recipe for lamb flaps and Ella Hall, will make you smile with her tale of being introduced to a Western Highland’s culinary delicacy.

Chris Baria catches a Sailfish – his detailed and colourful description inspires me to want to give it a shot … and not having forsaken politics completely and with the Bougainville vote for independence imminent, Chris has also contributed a personal account of the ‘taim bepo’ when Bougainville squandered its chances at independence – hoping it won’t happen again.

I would also like to introduce you to our two regular features: Greg Sheppard will be commenting on life in rhyming verse in ‘Concerning Greg’. Beware, he can make you laugh out loud or make you cry at whim – but he’ll always leave you thoughtful.

And last but not least, Justice George Manuhu will be the first guest to adorn our last-page spot ‘My Job’ where, in each edition, a new job and a new special guest will give their insights into the job that they do. So, if you aspire to the National or Supreme Court Bench, read about his Honour’s personal journey to get there.

CONTENTS

11 FOOD 11 Lamb Flaps

04

IN REVIEW 4 To Maserati or not?

08

COVER STORY 8 Sheppard in Glasgow

12

LIFE’S ECHOES 12 The Sailfish 14 Concerning Greg 15 What goes around comes around 16 No cheese on the pizza

18

HEALTH & WELLBEING 18 Collagen 19 Mindfulness

20 SPIRIT OF THE NATION 20 Independence for Bougainville 23 Tears on the last page of Papua New Guinea 24 Orphans

26

TRAVEL 26 Plantation Island

30

MY JOB 30 Justice George Manuhu CSM PNG ECHO

3

in review

4

PNG ECHO

Somewhere in POM

or not?

TO MASERATI

by RITA

(THE RELUCTANT REVIEWER)

“Y

The reporter in her second-best jeans

ou want me to do what?”

I asked incredulously of ‘Er Upstairs – (otherwise known as our esteemed editor whom I call that because we live in the same apartment building and, in a context where ‘floor envy’ is a real thing, she lives many floors above.)

She wanted me to review the ultra prestige car, the Maserati Quattroporte (the name sounds posh but just means ‘four-door’ in Italian) for a magazine to be published in Papua New Guinea.

I’m thinking, she’s finally taken leave of her senses, all the rarefied air up there where she lives will do that to you. Nevertheless, I go ahead and state the bleeping obvious: “Papua New Guinea is a developing country, surely, there wouldn’t be a market for them there?”

“That’s all you know,” she replied adding, “it’s why I’m the editor and you’re not.”

She’s got a point there, so I just gave in and just said “OK.” But she wasn’t finished, oh no - on her way out she said, “…and before you start try Googling PNG and Maserati,” as if she needed to tell ME how to suck eggs.

So I did.

And speaking of sucking eggs, I don’t need to tell you lot about the 40 Maseratis (and three Bentleys) airfreighted to PNG on specially commissioned 747 cargo jets late last year to be used specifically for the APEC week, do I? Neither do I have to remind you of the government’s assurance that they were variously either “pre sold” or selling “like hotcakes” afterwards. Nor indeed to inform you that, as I write, they are still on a wharf or in a warehouse in Port Moresby, unused, gathering dust (save for two Maseratis and a Bentley that have been sold and another Bentley that is now used as the Governor General’s official car.)

Recently, the APEC Minister has told PNG that the reason they’ve remained unsold is because the tender process only solicited a few ridiculously low offers and after that people lost interest. (What happened to ‘pre-sold” and ‘hotcakes” I wonder? Empty hyperbole?)

The intention of ‘Er Upstairs had now become apparent. She’s a troublemaker that one.

I’m the fall guy. Oh well, there are worse jobs. Here goes.

PNG ECHO

5

in review A VISIT TO THE SHOWROOM After lunch last Saturday, fortified by spaghetti and prosecco, I found myself outside the very swish showrooms of Maserati and Ferrari in Sydney’s inner suburbs.

In I went, full of bravado, entering this haven of the rich and powerful (everyone except me).

I easily located the Maserati Quattroporte (that it was labelled as such was the clue I needed) and was taking some photographs when a voice from a partitioned room boomed, “If you’re looking for some good-looking blokes to be in your photos….”

I walked towards the “good-looking blokes” who were leaning on a bar that served, cakes, pastries, finger sandwiches and coffee (from a real barista’s coffee machine).

I’d been in a car showroom like this before; they ply you full of goodies to keep you there and keep you occupied until you buy a car. So, would I like a cup of coffee? No. I would not – I’m not falling for that one twice.

What could they do for me?

“I’m interested in the Quattroporte,” I said. (It wasn’t a lie - I never mentioned buying it.)

Alas, they were ‘Ferrari’ men; they’d have to get (let’s call him) Charles.

HALLO CHARLES…

Charles arrived…he wasn’t happy.

Even wearing my second-best jeans, I clearly didn’t look sartorially splendid enough to be a real customer (all this attitude from someone who was wearing a baby-blue knitted vest too!)

Charles answered my questions - albeit briefly and with an air of incredulity that I didn’t already know the answers.

I learned that the starting price for the base model was a whopping quarter of a million Australian dollars, (according to Charles – I didn’t tell him that I knew where to get one cheaper) and that it was a performance car – “…a real driver’s car,” he said.

“So why would people buy it if they had a chauffeur?” I asked. (All you people in APEC Land can see where I was going with that one, can’t you?)

He spluttered a bit and said, “Because it’s a Maserati!”

“What does that mean?” I asked, “is it about image?”

He claimed not to know what I meant by “image”…so I helped him out.

“Well what sort of person buys a Maserati,” I asked?

“Successful business men,” he said without missing a beat. (He may have said “business person” but I don’t think so – he certainly didn’t mention women.)

There was no stopping me now, I was on a roll: “What do they find attractive about it?’ I asked.

“It’s a Maserati,” he answered once again shaking his head in disbelief. Stupid question, apparently. And there were more where that one came from.

“So, how does it handle potholes?” I asked. (Still with me?)

“Potholes?” he repeated, as if I was talking Swahili.

“And what about if you lived in the Pacific – in a country such as…well… Fiji?” I said, trying to steer him off the scent of the controversial PNG Maseratis.

“Where could you get it serviced?” (Are you keeping up?)

“We have a service centre here,” he proffered. Yeah, but not much use to Port Moresby buyers, hey?

Other than that, he didn’t have a clue. The nearest Maserati dealership to Port Moresby is in Brisbane - FYI, I left it at that – he was becoming visibly anxious.

ACCORDING TO THE BROCHURE AND IN RETROSPECT

The brochure tells me that the Maserati was designed to take advantage of the vast network of motorways in Europe. In Italy, home country of Maserati, there are 4,200 miles of motorway alone, with Spain topping the bill at 10,500 miles (I’ll leave you to convert that to kilometres.)

It maybe makes sense then for someone who is driving large numbers of miles, and has more money than s/he knows what to do with, to drive a car that can perform at speed on a made road (the Maserati can do between 270- 310 KPH.). Still, with speed limits now at 130kph (tops) on these roads, does it really make sense?

In PNG, there are no roads to speak and of the few that exist, they are normally in a state of ill repair – both in the capital, Port Moresby and elsewhere. Potholes are a fact of life.

With the sporty Maserati having a chassis close to the ground. I’m wondering how long it would last driving from the airport at Nazdab into Lae? However, in Port Moresby, they do have a lovely new road named ‘Independence Boulevarde’ but dubbed by you folk, very wittily, as the ‘Road to Nowhere’ because from APEC House, it leads…well… nowhere. It was built by the Chinese at great expense and is variously reported as being either one kilometre long or 300 metres - with six lanes.

At 300 KPH – this road would, at 300 metres, take the Maserati only 3.5 seconds to travel its distance, or, at one kilometre, it would take about 11 seconds.

On the bright side: driving those distances, I guess it wouldn’t use much petrol.

But hang on: I hear the PNG Maseratis are diesel models with the pollutant factor too great for Australian omission laws. A bit of impediment if Minister APEC’s target market for the cars was ex-pats who’d import them into Australia.

So to my question: “Who buys Maseratis?”

Does the answer begin with ‘w’ end in ‘rs’ and have ‘nk’ in the centre? Just asking!

Oh, and does PNG have 40 of them?

Ok, Boss, is this what you were looking for? •

6

PNG ECHO

JUST SAYING...

Someone should have organised drag races down the length of Independence Boulevarde as entertainment during APEC. They had the cars and the track.

What’s more, there’s a birds’ eye view from up there at APEC House and the splendid sidewalks would have made good viewing platforms for the public too.

Port Moresby could have held the Inaugural Port Moresby, Maserati, Independence 300. And why stop at APEC? It could become an annual fixture of national life - like the Monte Carlo Rally did in Monaco. Whoo hoo!

7

cover story

SHEPPARD IN GLASGOW:

On the Edge of the Night Facebook reminded me this morning that it’s two years to the day (as I write) that I was in Glasgow, Scotland to attend a ‘Sheppard’ concert.

by SUSAN

8

PNG ECHO

MERRELL

I

’m sure I neither have to introduce the Sheppard family nor Sheppard the band to anyone in Papua New Guinea. Sheppard siblings Amy, George and Emma, grew up and attended school in Papua New Guinea and cite PNG musicians as some of their early influences, especially music teacher Buruka Tau who taught them at primary school and still mentors them to this day.

Over the two years, since that Scottish concert, new hits have managed to eclipse the mega popular ‘Geronimo’ proving they are not just a one-hit wonder with songs like, ‘Coming Home’, ‘Edge of the Night’ and ‘Keep Me Crazy’ that have gained popularity in such far flung places as The Netherlands and Kazakhstan. Their latest album ‘Watching the Sky’ debuted at No 1 on the Australian Aria charts and in 2018 and 2019 the band were nominated for three Aria awards.

What’s more, when Australia was looking for acts to represent them in the Eurovision song contest (Sheppard now reside in Brisbane, Australia) Sheppard was one of ten acts chosen to compete for the role. While Kate Miller-Heidke won the Australian ‘heats’ and it was she that ended up representing Australia, the grand prize winner of Eurovision was Duncan Lawrence of The Netherlands who was support act for Sheppard in their Amsterdam concert at the end of last year. Ironic, hey?

BUCKING OR SETTING THE TREND?

I’ve seen Sheppard described as Indie Pop/Rock and while I’m not claiming to have a definitive description of the term, for me it conjures up dark, edgy subversive and grunting of the sort that every mother of an acne-inflicted, angst-ridden teenager recognises.

Well, Amy, George and Emma are the antipathy of this. (So sorry guys if I’ve spoilt the image). No, nicer more articulate people you could not wish to meet – and I did meet them, maybe a year or more prior to the Glasgow gig. On that occasion, I joined the family for dinner at their home in Brisbane at the invitation of Greg and Linda (Mama and Papa Sheppard) whom I had met through Papua New Guinean connections.

It was after their winning of an Aria award but, at that stage, I knew little of the group.

Geronimo!

Post our very genial get together and on subsequently seeking out Sheppard music, I developed what has been labelled Baader-Meinhoff syndrome – i.e. I was hearing Geronimo everywhere. I even found myself

singing along to it on the ‘Muzak’ system in a Paris department store. Thrilled; I said to the saleslady, while pointing upwards at the speakers, “Ils sont mes amis (they are my friends). She replied “Vraiment?” (Really?) – She was clearly impressed.

In Italy, on the shores of Lake Como, television was airing a documentary on some woman – I don’t speak Italian and I don’t know who she was, but she was clearly a blonde bombshell in her day, a bit like Bridget Bardot, (but not her). A while into the show there popped up, to my surprise, Sheppard singing… what else… Geronimo. I asked the Sheppards what that was all about but they didn’t know.

What is clear, is that Sheppard music is infiltrating the popular psyche. I mean, how many times have you heard ‘Coming Home’ lately? It’s everywhere – advertisers particularly like using the riff.

SCOTLAND THE BRAVE

It had been pure serendipity that I was on the same side of the world when Sheppard was touring Britain two years ago. They were there mainly as a support act for Little Mix but it was a solo concert in Glasgow on a date that was just before my scheduled departure from my Provençal idyll: destination Sydney, that had me setting off a few days early and detouring through Scotland in order to attend.

Touching down in beautiful Edinburgh, I stayed in a Georgian apartment with high ceilings and huge windows on the edge of the city. It was heavenly.

Glasgow was different.

I took the train there the next day in preparation for the concert. My hotel room resembled a cell – with a bed jammed between the two walls and the bathroom a cubicle, resembling an alien spaceship, filling the rest of the space. Never mind, I was looking forward to the concert. Little did I know it was a portent of things to come.

I don’t know what I was expecting – but what I found wasn’t it.

It was one of those dark, grungy, venues with an ‘underground’ vibe where…come to think of it…I would once have expected to find my previous idea of an Indie Pop/Rock group performing.

It was very dark, there were no seats, the floor was sticky and they served alcohol in plastic cups – not a venue any act would get too excited about.

Thinking the band would sing a few songs and leave quickly while breathing a sigh of relief – how

PNG ECHO

9

cover story

Sheppard music is infiltrating the popular psyche

wrong I was. They performed as if they were doing a gig in Madison Square Garden to thousands even though they were singing in a grunge pit from hell to less than a hundred.

They sang all the perennial favourites and debuted quite a few of their songs off the then new, as yet unreleased album. It was here that I first heard the mega hit ‘Coming Home’.

In spite of the surroundings, I must admit, the audience was enthusiastic and Sheppard rewarded them – not just by their presence on stage, but also by availing themselves afterwards for autographs and photos. They’re nice. That’s just how they roll.

AMY’S CAMPAIGN

And if you’re not yet convinced of what great guys these are (as well as demonstrably talented musicians), Amy Sheppard has recently taken up the issue of ‘body shaming’: doing something to counteract the pressure young people feel to have perfect bodies.

In the public spotlight, nevertheless, she has been posting photos on Instagram and Facebook without any filters. The attendant caption reads ‘Kiss my fat ass’. That’s so brave in an era where everyone knows how to Photoshop – and does.

She’s following this up with a song called…yes, you guessed it…’Kiss my fat ass’. As I write, it is being recorded and should be available by the time we go to press.

Bravo Sheppard…and you’re right: – ‘The Best Is Yet To Come’, I’m sure! •

10 P N G

ECHO

LAMP FLAPS

by SUSAN

MERRELL

T

Barbecue or grill until the meat is glazed and sticky.

he popularity in of lamb flaps in PNG is hardly surprising: they’re cheap, a good source of protein and utterly delicious.

It’s the fat content that makes them so chin-drippingly delectable (any chef will tell you that the fat is where the flavour lies) - but it is the high fat content that fuels the controversy over the importation of lamb flaps into the Pacific from New Zealand and Australia.

With problematic and significant levels of obesity in most Pacific Islands and considering the calorie content of lamb flaps, Fiji banned their sale in 2000.

Fiji has the highest death rate from obesitylinked Type II Diabetes in the world at 188 deaths per 100,000 people. In major Fijian hospitals there are three amputations per day (usually lower limbs) caused by the effects of diabetes. The population of PNG also has significant levels of obesity resulting in diabetes.

But is it really the fault of the lamb flap?

Fiji’s incidence of diabetes has not abated since they banned the controversial meat but is, conversely, increasing.

It’s generally believed that Australians and New Zealanders do not eat lamb flaps: that they are fed only to the animals – well that’s what they think.

Really, the very name is enough to turn you off the product isn’t it? Anything with ‘flap’ in the name does not sound delicious …or even edible.

And so, in some quite up-market Sydney and Melbourne restaurants ‘Lamb ribs’ have been making an appearance on the menus. A lamb flap by any other name… And what’s more, the doner kebab beloved of late night revellers is almost pure lamb flap.

Garnish with watercress

IT’S ALL IN THE PREPARATION

Sticky lamp flaps (ribs)

by LYDIA

KAILAP

INGREDIENTS • • • • • • • •

2 lamb flaps I teaspoon salt I cup dark soy sauce Half a cup jam (any flavour) 2 cloves garlic, crushed 1 inch piece ginger chopped finely I small chilli – or to taste Watercress to garnish

METHOD Bring a saucepan of salted water (1 teaspoon of salt) to the boil that is large enough to fit the lamb flaps.

Simmer gently until the meat is soft but not yet falling off the bone (around 45 minutes).

Allow to cool.

In the meantime Mix together the soy sauce, jam, garlic, ginger and chilli to form a marinade.

Marinate the meat for at least an hour.

*The recipe also works well with other cuts of lamb but if you are using less fatty cuts of lamb, they do not need to be boiled first.

As seen in the Victoria Market, Melbourne, Australia.

A lamb flap by any other name…

I’m told by our guest chef, Lydia Kailap of Ziah’s Cafe in Kimbe, West New Britain and previously of Ricochet Café in Port Moresby, that rendering the fat in the cooking is a way to minimize the calories. Here’s her recipe for lamb flaps (it works well with other cuts of lamb too, she tells me.)

And remember, there is no ‘bad’ food – everything is good in moderation. • PNG ECHO

11

life’s echoes Beautiful Southern Bougainville

The Sailfish

A SHORT STORY FROM BOUGAINVILLE

by CHRIS

BARIA

W

hen Kuruma arrived at the beach, the familiar smell of salt and sea hit his nostrils as he looked up and down the shoreline. There was no one around but there were footprints and drag marks made by canoes on the sand leading to the waters edge.

Looking out across the bay, he could make out the canoes even though the sky was overcast. From where he stood, they looked like chess pieces on a vast chessboard.

Going by the sun, barely visible through the grey clouds, Kuruma estimated it was about 3 o’clock. He had thirty minutes to paddle to the spot where he had seen a turtle surface last time and two hours to fish.

Kuruma turned around and walked up the stretch of sand sloping from the waters edge to the edge of the bushes where he kept his canoe under the coconut trees.

12 P N G

ECHO

His canoe was under a sheet of roofing iron exactly where he’d left it. He lifted the roofing iron, set it aside and looked into the dugout hull of the canoe to make sure all his equipment was there. With both hands, he picked up the canoe by the outrigger and dragged it out of the bushes onto the beach.

In his tote bag, he took out a 20-pound line rolled around a 7-inch round and buoyant piece of softwood and proceeded to fashion a ‘jig rig’. This was a multi-hooked line for bottom fishing, usually for baitfish although also ideal for when fish were in a feeding frenzy.

Next he made a trawling jig, placing it towards the back of the canoe and the trawling line towards the front to avoid them getting tangled.

He had been careful to check the four pegs driven into the outrigger attaching it to the canoe, remembering another time when he hadn’t checked and the loose pegs had come off, detaching the

outrigger and leaving him to swim five kilometres to shore.

Then, with one foot inside, he pushed the canoe into the water with the other before bringing that foot inside the canoe too. Picking up the paddle from the outrigger, he dipped it deep in the water and with one stroke, sent the small six-metre craft over the crest of the incoming wave and out into the calmer waters beyond the break.

Kuruma steadied himself by locking his legs against the narrow mouth of the canoe before, moving forward, towards the outrigger frame. He bent over and reached down into the bottom of the dugout and brought up the line he had prepared for trawling.

He let out the line as he paddled and once he was satisfied that there was enough distance between the lure and the canoe, he stopped and let the string out.

Using three reference points, Kuruma located the position he was looking for before dropping the anchor. When the anchor reached the bottom he moved to the prow of the canoe and fastened the rope to a 4-inch nail driven into the prow.

BOTTOM FISHING

Satisfied with his position, he dropped the jig rig down the side of the canoe.

Holding the roll of string with the left hand, he felt the weight of rod taking the jig down, until, all of sudden the string became light. Either something had snapped the line or there was fish swimming around with the jig. He quickly gathered up the string dropping it in a heap in the dugout - there were two

A beach on Bougainville

small, silver trevally caught on two hooks on the jig.

Bottom fishing had yielded him two excellent baitfish.

He unhooked the fish and dropped the jig down again until the sinker rod hit the bottom. He jerked it a couple of times and the line went taut, biting into his fingers – he had hooked something. Kuruma played with the fish at the other end of the line by pulling and letting go of the line until the fish got tired and gave up. He’d caught a large red emperor. It seemed that he had interrupted a feeding frenzy.

Unhooking his catch, he dropped the jig back down quickly to take advantage of the situation. When it reached the bottom he jerked it up once, twice and bingo! His hand dropped as the lined straightened with a powerful tug from the deep. This time it was a trevally just about the same size as the red emperor. He had caught enough fish this way and he was ready to trawl.

TRAWLING FOR SAILFISH

Kuruma took an 80-pound line out of his bag with a large hook attached. He took one of the two small silver trevally out of the canoe and slipped the large hook through its gill and into the flesh near the tail.

After more preparations, Kuruma pulled up anchor before dropping the trawling rig in the water and letting out a length of the string. When he was satisfied all was well, he paddled out to stretch the line slowly, keeping a close watch before setting the line when he felt that there was enough distance between the bait and the canoe.

Paddling towards the reef, he felt a nibble on the line. Three minutes passed before he felt a tug. This

time it hit the line hard and, as if on auto unwind, the line sped out of the roll as Kuruma dropped the paddle and grabbed for it.

And then it happened - a twelve-foot long, slim fish lifted out of the water – a magnificent silver streak against a setting sun - the fabled sailfish.

As soon as the sailfish re-entered the water, Kuruma turned the canoe as the old man from the village had instructed him to do, keeping the line out from under the outrigger so as to stop the fish from overturning the canoe.

And there it was again – out of the water, standing on on its tail with its long sharp spike extending from it upper lips, pointing to the heavens as if prodding for deliverance from above – a deliverance that never came. Its fate had been sealed.

The sailfish continued to pull on the line dragging the canoe hither and thither before its energy was finally sapped. As it came alongside the canoe, measuring its length along the side of the boat, Kuruma drove the spear straight into the sailfish’s large head. Kuruma needed all his strength to wrestle the large fish into the dugout.

Proud and satisfied with his afternoon’s work, Kuruma turned the canoe homeward, towards the beach where his wife and eldest son were waiting.

“My dear husband you have killed the boss of the sea”, his wife said.

He smiled proudly, “I didn’t know if I could do it but now that I have done it, I know how to get them.” •

The fabled sailfish

PNG ECHO

13

Concerning Greg…

PNG Echo’s poet laureate Greg Sheppard (also known to some as eminent legal counsel) counts the seers, nonsense rhymers and Dr Seuss as some of his main influences. His poems will sometimes make you laugh, may even make you cry – but will always make you thoughtful as he comments on life in rhyming stanzas.

THE FAN

by GREG

A teary eyed fan meets her pop idol (looking very much like George Sheppard)

SHEPPARD

She lived all alone in her one bedroom flat, on the fringe of an uncaring city, and worked for the folks at St Vincent de Paul, who had hired her out of pure pity.

She had toiled in that shop since her mother passed.

There was nowhere else she could go.

She longed to be accepted by the others, but they said she was too fat and slow.

In her bedroom at night, she took some solace, with music and her little cat.

Her iPhone, her headphones, and a YouTube account, she didn’t want much more than that.

Her favourite band were top of the pops, and she tapped her toes to their beat.

Their music made her happy like nothing else did, and she played them all night on repeat One day she heard on the radio at work, her idols were coming to town.

She bought a “meet ‘n’ greet” ticket online, and counted all the days down.

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.On the day of the gig,

she set her alarm, and jumped out of bed around five, then caught an Uber out to the airport and waited for them to arrive.

For about 90 minutes of glorious fun, She “belonged’ in the midst of the crowd.

United by the words of every song, and she sang along, right out loud.

The band’s private jet touched down on time, but security was tight as a drum.

Her idols were bussed to their hotel unseen.

She might as well never have come.

When the last encore was finally done, She rushed to the “meet ‘n’ greet”, and stood in a line with her piece of their merch, while the others trod on her feet.

She caught a cab, to the stadium gate, and stood in the line there all day, enduring the casual taunts of the punters, who lined up behind her to wait.

She wanted to be really cool when she met them, and God knows how hard she tried.

When the singer kissed her and hugged her, she trembled Then broke down and cried.

Inside, she suffered the supporting acts, as they proudly strutted their stuff, but she longed to see her idols on stage and felt she had waited enough.

He smiled and said "It's all OK," and held her shaking hands, "I hope your tears are only for us" and not for some other bands

When at last, her band took to the stage, she jumped from her seat and screamed.

The drummer pointed right at her and waved, She felt she was one of ‘the team’.

She laughed and he gave her a poster he's signed, and took a selfie he said he would keep.

"Thanks for coming out, Darling," "We love you."

"See you in Sydney next week."

As the first loud strains of their popular hits belted out through enormous speakers, her joy was unbridled, she danced where she stood, and kicked off her grubby old sneakers.

When at last she returned to her flat late that night, she laid out his poster on her bed.

And remembered how wonderful he made her feel with gesture and some kindly words said

WHAT GOES AROUND

comes around

by ELLA

HALL

NOT FOR THE SQUEAMISH

A Kalifunga culinary delicacy.

M

y children will tell you I’m a bit of an obsessive – a fanatic, if you like.

I have been described by various fruits of my loins as ‘the manners fanatic’, ‘the grammar fanatic’, ‘the ‘food fanatic’ and, indeed, the second youngest once described me as ‘the everything fanatic’.

I am perfectly ok with all of that, but it’s my reputation as a food fanatic that I want to focus on.

SOME WEIRD STUFF

I admit, I eat some weird stuff: chicken’s feet, duck tongue, jellyfish, my mother’s chicken casserole. I’ve eaten snake, bull’s penis, deep fried pigs ears, just to name a few things I have willingly put in my mouth.

Which is not to say I serve this sort of stuff to my family - I don’t. But, the rule in my house is that you don’t have to like something, but you do have to try it.

Everyone is treated the same and that includes Vop – my adopted daughter who hails from Kalifunga in the Western Highlands Province. I cook dinner and she eats it. If she doesn’t like what I have served, she will be offered an alternative, but only after she’s actually tasted it.

It’s been lovely to watch her tentatively approach everything from sausages to jelly cups and watch her eyes widen with pleasure as she realizes that just because something looks different to what she’s used to, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t taste good.

THAT FATEFUL INVITATION While the husband was up in Hagen, I invited a friend around to keep Vop and I company. Roslyn is a local woman, who knows Vop well, Indeed she’s from the same village and was instrumental in helping us get Vop in the first place.

So Roz turns up the other day toting a plastic bag, in which, she declares, she has a present for Vop. And indeed she does. A lovely big plastic bag of boiled chicken heads.

Would you like a few moments to re-read that and compose yourselves?

Ever-thoughtful Roz has cooked these delights up at home, poured the entire disgusting mass into a plastic shopping bag and walked for at least half an hour in 90-degree heat to our door.

And Vop fell on these culinary horrors as if she was starving.

These critters still had beaks and freaky little boiled eyelids, People!

And Vop grabs one of these things and starts sucking on it like an icy pole.

And then, Vop, with juicy boiled chicken brain goodness dribbling down her chin, grabs one of these zombie pops and offers it to me, muttering “Here, Mumma, you eat this one, it’s good.

Very tasty” Can I get a resounding, “please, NO?” There is no way on goat’s green earth that I am putting a whole boiled chicken freaky all-day

sucker in my gob. I swear, its mouth was open and that little zombie critter was smiling at me.

Yes, I’ve eaten some weird stuff, but I have never eaten the entire head of any other creature, especially not one that has been steeped in a cauldron of salmonella with a side order of staph.

I back away from this horror, with my hands outstretched and a look of pure disgust on my face, which, by the way, was a perfectly reasonable response, I feel.

And Vop says to me, over the sound of her crunching through skull (breaking the number one food commandment of never talking with your mouth full) “You must try it, Mumma. You don’t have to like it, but you have to try it” Hoist by my own petard! What goes around, surely comes around!

Thinking quickly and with years of children’s excuses to draw on, I declared that I wasn’t hungry right NOW, but I’d LOVE to have one for my dinner later.

There’s a whole plate of the freaky boiled critters in the ‘fridge. I can hear them laughing at me, and waiting for me to go to sleep before they summon their zombie energy and march on their sautéed neck stumps, up the stairs, to peck me to death in my sleep. Aaarrrrgggghhh! •

PNG ECHO

15

life’s echoes The view from Port Moresby Royal Papua New Guinea Yacht Club.

NO CHEESE ON THE PIZZA

but much love on the plate.

PNG can be a tricky country to navigate as an expat. Many find it quite challenging but some of us come and fall in love with the place and never want to leave.

Port Moresby from high on a hill

Road travel PNG Style.

by TANYA

T

LLOYD

here are many reasons for embarking on the expat life in PNG: it’s an adventure, you need a change of scenery, or maybe it was a decision made for you by your employer.

Whatever be the case, as an expat, I’ve found one of the key things that’s needed in PNG to successfully navigate life here is flexibility - and I don’t mean changing dinner plans occasionally either - it’s the flexibility to be able to conduct everything that you would normally do in your life in a different way.

Expectations tend to get in the way.

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If you expect that a planned meeting at a specific time will commence at the prescribed time, for instance – you’ll likely be disappointed. If you expect that the agreed on arrangements will be ready as planned – they won’t be.

Want to cook a favourite meal that reminds you of home? By the time you’ve searched the shelves of the fifth supermarket looking for that vital ingredient it’s guaranteed you’ll be exhausted and, what’s more, empty handed!

Are you craving a Hawaiian pizza? How do you feel about Hawaiian without the pineapple? Or even better, pizza without cheese? With stomach grumbling, salivating

Clearing the road for passing traffic.

like a hound, you open the box at home to find the vital ingredients missing. Oh well.

When you change your attitude into flexible mode and just ‘go with the flow’ you’ll find that these little things are just petty annoyances that just prove to encourage your own creativity and problem solving skills. For instance, for times like this you will always have a contingency plan like a fresh pineapple and some grated cheese in the refrigerator at home.

And isn’t ‘going with the flow’ so necessary on the roads of Port Moresby (POM)? Patience is a must.

Being in a hurry in POM will provoke the inevitability of two cars travelling side by side up the Poreporena Freeway somewhere in the range of 20 kilometres per hour (kph), each one alternating speeding up to 25kph then dropping back to 20kph as soon as you’ve changed lanes. At least one of them will have a shattered windscreen and be blowing heavy black smoke.

With this very small attitude adjustment, after very little time you’ll find you’ve become quite practised at switching to internal air and whispering words of encouragement to those people trying to get their cars up that hill: “Come on, you can do it, just a little bit further.” They usually do make it - making me think there could be power in my whisperings - a power that the horn of a car, however loud and often it’s tooted, doesn’t have.

I’m also told and encouraged by the media and well-meaning friends that by lowering rigid expectations and embracing flexibility, I will reap benefits in increased physical and mental well-being and perhaps even gain a more peaceful existence.

Certainly, anxiety about turning up late is a thing of the past for me … everyone else is doing it so it must be okay?

And very soon you’ll see that you’re assimilating without even trying!

LOOK FOR THE GOOD

I truly believe that what you put out into the universe is what you’ll get back. Look for the good and that’s what you’ll see.

“This would never happen in Australia!”

I once heard someone complain loudly to a beautifully polite young woman serving at a wellknown eatery. Well guess what mate? You’re not in

Look for the good and that’s what you’ll see.

Australia, best you face up to that fact so we can all get on with living our care free expat lives.

We are blessed to be invited into this diverse country and even more fortunate to still be young enough at heart to learn new tricks, no matter what our age. Embrace your flexibility even when you’re feeling a little rigid and above all practice kindness the same kindness that is given to you by the people of PNG. •

PNG ECHO

17

health

Collagen

IS IT THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH?

I

t’s the next best thing to sliced bread, according to the hype – or at least the next big thing after the discovery of the benefits of omega 3 fatty acids.

We’re talking hydrolysed, ingestible collagen that is essentially a beauty treatment (but not only) that works from the inside out, effectively slowing (and repairing) the effects of aging.

Collagen is a protein made of amino acids that naturally occur in our bodies. It makes up 30-40% of all our bodily proteins and is responsible, in the main, for the production of connective tissue: Skin, nails, hair, gut health, joints, tendons, ligaments and muscle are all dependent on bodily supplies of collagen.

At around the age of 25, our body’s production of collagen dwindles by around 1% per year. It explains the visible signs of aging like wrinkles, thinning hair, brittle nails and also the not so visible signs like joint pain and lack of joint flexibility.

For many years, the beauty industry has produced topical skin creams in their skin-care ranges that contain collagen, although scientific studies concluded that the molecules in the creams were too large to penetrate to the desired level of the skin to be truly effective and suggested that the perceived efficacy of topical collagen likely came from the other ingredients in the cream.

Enter ingestible collagen.

COLLAGEN AND ME

Firstly let me be clear: I am not a bio-anything.

Neither am I trained in any science, including medicine. What’s more, I have inherited fine Celtic skin (that I largely take for granted).

A saleslady at a beauty bar once grabbed my hand on which to demonstrate one of her creams: “Your hands are so soft,” she exclaimed incredulously, unnecessarily adding “I guess you don’t spend too much time in the kitchen.”

What’s more, I have more hair on my head per square inch than most, albeit fine.

Nevertheless, I have self-prescribed between 10-20 grams of hydrolysed marine collagen per day and here’s why.

It seems that however genetically blessed we are, age will always catch us up eventually. Me, I had been noticing red blotches appearing under the skin on my forearms. They seemed to appear when I had been carrying heavy bags – so they’re bruises – but they aren’t blue - they look like raspberries.

They did not bother me too much until, one day, I accidentally scratched the surface of one of these

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‘raspberries ‘ (the skin on top of these bruises is very fragile) and it bled as if I nicked my jugular vein. It was alarming.

And so, as is my wont, Google was consulted. And so it was that ‘Wiki’ came to the rescue: Solar purpura …is a skin condition characterized by large, sharply outlined, 1- to 5-cm, dark purplish-red ecchymoses appearing on the dorsa of the forearms and less often the hands. [The accompanying picture was convincing – they looked like mine] The condition is most common in elderly people of European descent. [Oh thanks for that!] It is caused by sun-induced damage to the connective tissue of the skin… The lesions typically fade over a period of up to 3 weeks.

It fit perfectly, for although not a sun lover, my forearms are the part of me most often exposed to incidental sunshine. I was relieved it wasn’t terminal.

The next Google task was what to do about it.

And so I happened on the link between collagen and connective tissue and the consumption of hydrolysed collagen to boost flagging bodily supplies of the protein to the benefit of skin, nails, hair and all other functions relying on collagen. The theory is that it will strengthen the skin on my arms made fragile by sun damage and depleted collagen supplies.

On the minus side, there have not been extensive studies – so the jury is out amongst the sceptical.

However, the one study that was quoted many times on Google sites had had positive results with the sample finding a 20% improvement in skin tone. What’s more, the science, from a non-scientists viewpoint, sounded credible and logical. If lack of collagen was the cause – boosting collagen was the answer.

The burning questions: What form did it take?

• • What dosage?

• Where could I buy it?

• Were there any side effects?

Collagen supplements come from two sources – marine and bovine. It seems that marine collagen is more bioavailable – meaning easier for the body to absorb but is more likely to cause allergies (not to the collagen but to the marine sources) and marine collagen can also cause hypercalcemia or too much calcium. Once again this is not the collagen itself but from the source, especially if the supplement comes from shellfish or shark’s cartilage – that are both high in calcium.

I chose marine collagen because I have no allergies to fish and I figured that the calcium would be a bonus as I also have a vitamin D deficiency (the vitamin you get from the sun) that contributes to the reduction of bone density and the onset of osteoporosis. (I find it

ironic that I get enough sun to damage the connective tissues in my arms but not enough to fulfil my vitamin D requirements.)

The collagen supplement, in various forms, liquids, powder and pills, was not hard to find – on the Internet. It proved more difficult to find in the small town where I was staying at the time.

But I did find it, in pill form, in a pharmacy. The chemist assistant kept asking me if I wanted it for “articulation,” or joints. She looked puzzled when I told her my reason. Nevertheless, I bought them.

That was a mistake.

The recommended dose, if there are no issues (like bleeding solar purpura) was 5-10 grams per day and up to 30 grams if you were aiming to combat a problem. These HUGE pills contained only 750 mgs.

I’d need a bucketful of them to get the daily dose.

However, I have since found sources of supply at large chemist outlets in Australia in boxes of 5 gm powdered sachets and also 100 ml bottles of liquid collagen that contain 10gms of collagen per bottle.

So, before you buy, check on the amount of collagen per serve. Some manufacturers simply deal in ‘daily doses’ not explaining what those doses contain. I’m led to believe that any amount under 5 grams a day is not likely to have much effect.

Apart from the side effects already mentioned – that are, at best, low-risk possibilities and easily avoided if you’re aware of your allergies, there doesn’t seem to be any.

With all of this newly-found knowledge, I thought “why not’?

THE RESULTS:

They told me that it would take at least six weeks until I noticed any effect – it has now been 10 weeks.

In that time I have only had one raspberry bruise on my forearm and it faded a lot quicker than the others.

Before I was taking the collagen my arms were never completely free of them. Hopefully the collagen is repairing the connective tissue and thickening the skin on my arms.

My hair is shining – and that’s not easy when your hair is blond. My nails are also noticeably stronger.

As for my wrinkles – I have noticed that the wrinkles under my eyes, while having not disappeared, are noticeable shallower. The skin on my hands, is still soft – but that’s clearly due to the fact I spend so little time in the kitchen – just ask that sales assistant!

I intend to persevere with taking the collagen supplements because it has, so far, improved my problem of raspberry bruises – any incidental benefits are pure serendipity. •

MINDFULNESS:

being in your present writes MIKE

JONES

I

t’s a lovely sunny day. You are walking through a beautiful park but you are not happy.

Tomorrow you face a trip to the dentist and you are worried that it will be painful. You have a knot in the pit of your stomach, maybe your teeth are clenched and you generally feel very tense. You remember the last time you had root canal therapy you fainted because of the pain.

You are re-living the past and rehearsing for the future.

In the meantime, you have been completely oblivious to the lovely day. You have completely missed the present because your mind was somewhere else, colouring your day black.

We can do better than this.

ACCORDING TO BUDDHA

About 2,500 years ago, the man who was later to become the Buddha realised there was a difference between pain and suffering: Pain, he said, is an inevitable part of life, but suffering is not. He found that there was a way to deal with suffering by being aware of what our mind is doing, through regular meditation - not only when we are experiencing pain, but with regular practice.

In the early 1970s, Jon Kabat-Zinn (now Emeritus Professor) of the University of Massachusetts University Hospital, began to explore a secular use

of the practice of mindful meditation to help patients with intractable chronic pain that was not benefitting from conventional analgesics. He taught patients how to refocus their attention away from the pain and to look for tiny islands of stillness when they perceived no pain.

Since that time, many other proponents of mindfulness have brought elements of Buddhist teaching to the West, not only to assist patients but to help people become more conscious of what is happening in the present. That is, to minimise re-living a past that we cannot change and to stop rehearsing for a future that may never happen.

Anyone can do it. Mindful meditation is based on simply sitting quietly, often with eyes closed, preferably in a peaceful place and concentrating the mind on monitoring one’s own breath in order to anchor us in the present – our breath.

So find yourself a pleasant peaceful place to sit.

Close your eyes. Breathe naturally and count your breaths. Gently let go of any thoughts and be in the present - your present.

THE PRACTICALITIES

Some meditators silently count breaths – say counting to ten and then starting back at one. There is no hard and fast rule about how long a meditation ‘sit’ should

That is, to minimise re-living a past that we cannot change and to stop rehearsing for a future that may never happen. be. It’s best that whatever time one can reserve for mediation, one should sit daily. Many people prefer to start their day with a 20-minute silent sit – alone or in the company of others. •

CAUTION: While there are undoubtedly significant bodily and mental health benefits in mindful meditating; in creating islands of peace in our increasingly hectic lives, few if any meditation proponents would argue that meditation is a panacea. Most would describe meditation as being beneficial in supporting other forms of therapy.

PNG ECHO

19

Spirit of the Nation Children waving goodbye to the Buka ferry

Independence for Bougainville The Papua New Guinean government has been given more than fifteen years to convince Bougainvilleans not to break away. To this date, its efforts have been dismal.

The move towards independence with the referendum vote soon to be taken has reached the point of no return.

Bougainville will be independent whatever it takes. writes CHRIS

T

BARIA

he first time I heard the word ‘referendum’ was back in 1968 through my maternal uncle who was spending his holidays with us. I was eight years old at the time.

Uncle James Rutana was the one after my mother in a family of six; they were close. My father was also fond of his well-educated brother-in-law with whom he liked discussing issues of the day.

It was one of those nights, by the light of kerosene lamp, that my uncle explained to us what a referendum was. And he knew what he was talking about.

I later learnt that my uncle had been a member of a group of Bougainvillean tertiary students from Port Moresby (and maybe other centres as well) who had formed themselves into a quasi-political movement called Mungkas Association.

On September 8, 1968, soon after CRA* announced that there was an estimated 900 million tons of low grade copper at Panguna, two out of the three members of the Papua New Guinea House of Assembly and 22 students met in Port Moresby to discuss a referendum to choose whether Bougainville should remain part of Papua New Guinea, secede or become part of the British Solomon Islands Protectorate (now the Solomon Islands – an independent nation-state).

To effect their goal, and on a purely volunteer basis, the students used their Christmas break to raise awareness on the referendum vote that had been discussed in Port Moresby.

As they started to move around the communities in Kieta District, a pro-Australian ex-serviceman [named] who had served with the Coastwatcher Paul Mason during World War II heard about what the students were doing. He was one of a small group who had been advised by Australian missionaries and government officers that Bougainville ought not to break away from Papua New Guinea.

The Australian reported the students to the Australian government – a government that was pro a

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political status quo where Bougainville was politically governed by Port Moresby. As a result, all activities in preparation for possible independence were stifled by the Papua New Guinea government.

That was how the first attempt at staging a referendum ended – the battle was lost, but the war wasn’t over (both metaphorically and actually).

OF SQUANDERED OPPORTUNITIES…

The failure of this referendum spawned a couple more unilateral declarations of independence. One on September 1, 1975 just two weeks before Papua New Guinea’s independence on September 16, 1975, and again during the Bougainville conflict on May 17, 1990.

At the start of the conflict in 1990, I, and many others, believed that had the Bougainville Revolutionary Army (BRA) gotten their act together they may have effectively taken independence for Bougainville then.

The Papua New Guinea government had withdrawn from the island totally, leaving an opportunity for the BRA to step into the breach.

By then, the Papua New Guinean cause had lost the sympathy of the Bougainville population when the security forces started to take out their frustrations on the civilians when they failed to apprehend the BRA ‘rebels’. From this, the independence movement, triggered by the war over the mine at Panguna and prosecuted by the BRA, gained wide support throughout Bougainville: from north to south and east to west.

However, eventually, this support was sorely tested when, finding there was no enemy to fight some of the BRA started to mistreat their own people, settling old scores using the power they had acquired through the barrel of the gun.

As the young, post-crisis writer Leonard Fong Roka wrote in 2014: “The problem with these political manoeuvres was that the politicians had no power over the reckless

BRA men who, over time, had carved their own minispheres of influence as they pursued a lawless grab for the spoils of war gains and the opportunity to remedy past grievances.”

Independence, at that time, was a rare opportunity that we were unable to harness. But this was a war that was not fought by an institutionalized army with a proper chain of command. This was far more anarchical with all the attendant risks that flow from an armed force with a lack of hierarchical authority: The power of the gun was available to be abused and it was.

Had independence happened then, by now, we would have built up an indigenous-based system of government and organised an economy based on a wide range of resources and innovations.

In reality, we had our first taste of effective independence (if not actual) when the PNG government imposed an economic blockade on the island during the war. With supples blocked, people became innovative; they reinvented hydro power: they used coconut oil as substitute for diesel fuel: villagers traded with each other in whatever way they could either using cash or bartering items and goods.

As the war deepened and the Papua New Guinea Defence Force (PNGDF) came back to Bougainville to fight and regardless of the rogue antics of some of the BRA, media personnel and some government officials in Bougainville stated that all of the people with whom they had spoken wanted secession and independence. There was no question of the unity and total support for the call to independence, they said And it seems that the word on the street (and elsewhere) is that things have not changed for this upcoming independence vote.

Speaking on ABC Radio Australia recently, Vanuatu-based Australian photojournalist, Ben Bohane, who was awarded the Bougainville Mission, Pacific Journalism Grant, said that all Bougainvilleans

with whom he had spoken told him that they would vote for independence in the forthcoming referendum.

I believe that the only thing that can stymie the Bougainvillean march to independence is lack of registered voters due to their names not being on the electoral roll and/or a poor turnout of voters.

However, I am heartened by reports of how the level of voter enrolment is proceeding throughout the region and also in the rest of PNG, Solomon Islands and Australia.

IN RETROSPECT

Looking back at those times when a referendum was illegal; students worked without funds to raise awareness and educate their mostly illiterate people on the finer points of a referendum.

They walked on foot over the mountains and valleys and along the beaches to bring to their people the message of a referendum and the hope of independence – a hope that has remained with us to this day.

If, before we became disoriented and disunited due to abuse of power by some of our fighting men, we were able to stand together against what we perceived as a common enemy, then what better reason is there for us to huddle together once more than the hope of independence: a hope past generations have instilled in us and a reality that this generation has the power to effect - in their honour.

A significant ‘yes’ vote for independence is going to be very hard for Papua New Guinea government to ignore. • (*Cozinc Riotinto of Australia Ltd. was renamed CRA in 1980 before becoming Rio Tinto Group)

Kieta - once a thriving harbour

An eerie mist falls over Panguna PNG ECHO

21

INDEPENDENCE FOR BOUGAINVILLE FROM A WOMAN’S PERSPECTIVE

by CHRIS

M

rs Lucy Madoi is a resident of Arawa. This former capital of Bougainville is more like a village today with many, displaced by the conflict, living and occupying houses left vacant by mine employees and public servants.

Mrs. Madoi is a widowed mother of three who lived through the war and moved to Arawa with her now late husband Steven Madoi when the crisis ended.

“It has not been easy to plan for the future in Bougainville,” she tells me, “but since my husband

BARIA

died I have kept myself busy with volunteer work providing charity work for the needy.”

“I am now the President of ‘Bougainville Women’s Federation’, which is a voice for women in Bougainville. Our main activities are mentoring and grooming younger women to take our place as leaders in their community.”

It is recognised that women’s groups in Bougainville were integral to the peace process and the development of the peace agreement that brought the war to an end.

And they continue to be influential.

In the 2017 Autonomous Bougainville Government elections, six women from the Bougainville Women’s Federation were appointed to be election observers and in the upcoming vote for Bougainville

independence, the Bougainville Women’s Federation has undertaken an extensive programme of voter education, including educating the women of Bougainville about their participation rights.

Of the upcoming vote Mrs Madoi advises: “Lobbying should be intensified in the National Parliament by our members to get support from other members of parliament - like the New Guinea Islands who understand our plight. We should also be lobbying for support with our Pacific Island neighbours to speak out for us.”

“We must all speak with one voice and leave no one behind, as we move forward to achieve what our older people had dreamt about for so long - that is total independence of Bougainville.” •

BOUGAINVILLE WOMEN AND GOVERNMENT

by SUSAN

MERRELL

E

xcept for a few districts, Bougainville is a matrilineal society where ownership of land is passed down through the female inheritance line.

Although matrilineal, Bougainville society is not matriarchal, men still dominate public life – but women are vocal.

Nevertheless, Bougainville leads the way when it comes to women’s political participation and advancement in Papua New Guinea.

For, unlike the National Parliament of Papua New Guinea, which currently has no female members and reserves no seats for them, the Autonomous Bougainville Government reserves three of its 33 seats for women with one of the three awarded a cabinet position.

Women are free to contest the other seats but, as I write, there is only one woman, who has currently won a non-reserved seat, indicating the prevailing dominance of men in public life.

The Autonomous Bougainville Government is addressing this with legislation such as the ‘Bougainville Community Government Act’ of 2016 where, at the local level, each municipal ward must have one female and one male member and the awarding of the ‘Chair’ must alternate and rotate between the genders. •

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Sohano Island, Buka

OPERATING IN THE DARK

I

Dr Pondikou and his healthy patient.

View from the hospital to the living quarters.

Tears on the last page of Papua New Guinea

by KEVIN

T

PONDIKOU

he world is a book. And those who have not travelled have only read one page.

One day, if you’re searching for a different perspective on life I would recommend spending some time in a little hospital far away from the concrete and fast-paced urban surroundings of surburbia.

Turn the page with me as you leave the urban scenery, where everyone has a phone and the world happens only as it’s updated on a social media.

Leave the plush, air-conditioned surrounds of the plane as you travel from Kiunga Airport through the searing heat along the only sealed road in town and onto the Kiunga-Tabubil Highway, through a forest of sago palms, rubber trees and trees that are home to various Birds of Paradise.

As you wipe the sweat from your brow from the tropical humidity of the plains of North Fly District,

you have entered an alternate reality.

If you’re still willing to turn more pages, then come along with me as we step off the PMV bus with groceries purchased from Kiunga town - 28 km away as here, there are no shops, only the school canteen and small village canteens.

Here, we are in an unstable reality. It is a place where time stands still one moment and takes a huge leap forward the next as traditional culture is mixed with modern conveniences, lifestyles and attitudes.

Here on the last page of Papua New Guinea, you’ll find that there are Papua New Guineans living their lives the best way they know how. We move along with our hurts and insecurities and mistakes from the past, present and future.

Take a closer look at the cards that were dealt to our citizens here in remote, rural Papua New Guinea.

There are teardrops on the last page of Papua New Guinea. •

I’m writing this down for memories sake as something to read in years to come about the trials and tribulations of delivering health care to the citizens of remote Papua New Guinea.

t was a rainy day, just like any other rainy day at Rumingae District Hospital in Kiunga, Western Province. There were ward rounds to do, patients to be discharged, calls to be made to outposts to deal with any new cases or emergencies - and arrangements to be made if there were.

It had been a full day and I was heading home, but not before I checked in with a woman in labour who had given birth to large babies previously (one resulting in a caesarean section) and who was past her due date.

Earlier in the morning, after the first ward round, I had called an obstetrician colleague concerning her case. Being past her due date, she needed a delivery plan and I was happy when an agreed one was put into place.

Already, the woman was in considerable pain and was asking for a caesarean section but, in Papua New Guinea, there are rules we have to abide by when it comes to doing this operation and one is that there must be a good clinical reason for it and there didn’t seem to be one - even though she was a high-risk mother.

At that stage, there was nothing to be done but to wait and see how things progressed, so I left for home, asking the staff to keep me updated on her condition.

At 7 pm I got a “please call me” from the ward (my radio has been dead and as a result staff are calling me on my phone: - I hope to get a new radio in the near future) - it was about the woman in labour. I went to the ward fully expecting to operate.

However, after doing a clinical review I opted to give her at least two more hours in order to give her the best chance of delivering naturally. I decided that if she hadn’t delivered by 10pm then it was likely she would need the operation.

We prepared to do the caesarean section as time ticked by with no result.

It was late and it was raining, nevertheless, when I called Muba and Sister Kamura and sent Bob our security guard to check Sister and Mr Dusi as well as Tommy and Frank, the medical students, they came quickly.

We had no anaesthesia, so doing a spinal block was my only option. It’s a very tricky and precise procedure and I was not confident that my first attempt had hit the right spot, so I did a second one and this achieved the level of numbness required for the operation.

Then came the blackout!

Electricity supply is always unreliable here but thankfully Tommy had his phone torch with him so I could see to administer the bupivacaine spinal anaesthetic.

Because of the off again, on again electricity here, staff routinely carry torches and all of our torches went on providing the light I used to begin the caesarean section.

Sister Parila had a big torch and she stood on a stool to shine it onto our operating field.

Our blood pressure machine was operating on its battery while Sister Kamura got the foot pump suction machine working by pedalling. When we didn’t need it, we would tell her to stop pedalling and she would only start again when we needed it.

My two operating assistants were Muba and Frank.

As luck would have it, just as I was about to incise the uterus, the power came on. It was not a moment too soon as, thanks to the good light, I was able to get the baby out before I needed to deal with the complication of a placental cord snapping.

I’m so glad that Sister Dusi had prayed before we started operating under torchlight. We had delivered a healthy 3kg baby girl.

So all’s well that ends well thanks to the dedicated effort of our staff and students (Medical and CHW) who work in this remote place in such dire and trying circumstances. • PNG ECHO

23

Some children are forced to forage on rubbish tips

Orphans There is no accurate data for orphans in Port Moresby. Despite the Melanesian culture of ‘taking care of our own,’ thousands of children still walk the streets begging for food and money, whilst some sell stuff on the roadsides to make a living. The country has no working social network systems in place and no orphanages, though there are a few safe homes and outreach centres who give food and clothes to orphans. The plight of these children continues to go unheard. Here is just one of their stories.

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ECHO

by REBECCA

RUNDUALI

I

t was raining on that morning, 16 years ago, when my mother died from Tuberculosis (TB) in the Port Moresby General Hospital TB ward.

My father had long deserted us, I didn’t know what to do. I was only 15 years old then. The doctor helped me fill out the papers and gave me the death certificate. They put her lifeless body into the morgue - I had no money to pay for a car to bring her body home to pay our last respects.

I walked in the rain from Three Mile to our home in Konedobu. When I arrived, my younger siblings were sitting outside our little tin house collecting water from the raindrops with pots. Their faces looked tired and hungry. They ran to me hoping I was bringing food.

With a heavy heart, I hugged them to me and told them that Mama had died. I told them not to cry as we needed to work together and find money to bury her.

My twin sisters were nine years old then and our baby brother was seven: they were small for their age. I told the three of them to stay by the house as I had to go look for our father. He was a policeman at the Port Moresby Police Station. I set out to walk from Konedobu to downtown Port Moresby for the second time.

When I turned up at the Police Station, his new wife was there, she swore at me and told me to leave but some of the officers brought me in to the precinct to see my Dad, anyway.

I told my father that Mama had died expecting that he’d help us but he told me to leave his office, that it was none of his business and that she was not his wife nor were we his children.

I wanted to scream, to argue, but I couldn’t because I knew if I did, I would cry and I wasn’t going to cry in front of him and his new wife who had followed me in. I had far too much pride for that. I walked back home alone that afternoon, just as it was getting dark.

AFTER WE BURIED MAMA

It took the four of us two months to raise the money (by selling fish and empty tins and bottles that we collected) to buy a coffin and another month to raise money to pay for the land at Kilakila to bury our mother.

The settlement we lived in was kind to us, one of our neighbors transported us in his truck

and another women gave us a nice ‘Meri blouse’ for our mother to wear. We buried her on a Saturday morning.

Her family did not bother to come; they had disowned her many years before when she married my father.

A month later, my father turned up with his new wife and took our baby brother away. I fought him, but he beat me and left with little Johnny, I never saw him again.

It was just the three of us left. We carried on what our mother used to do and sold doughnuts and fried fish in downtown Port Moresby to survive.

While I sold the fried fish and doughnuts, the twins would collect the empty bottles and tins discarded by the city residents.

Life was good; at least we had a roof over our heads and food to eat at the end of the day.

I promised them that, the next year, I’d put them in school and they were so excited. We used the profit from our food sales to buy our food to eat and saved the money from the sales of empty cans and bottles for their schooling.

TB STRIKES AGAIN

After a year, one of my sisters started getting sick, she lost a lot of weight so we took her to the clinic and were told that she had TB – the disease our mother had died from. Later that month, my other sister also went down with TB. I couldn’t let the twins die, they were all I had: they were my family. The nurse said they had to eat good food and take their six months’ supply of medicine in order to get better.

I did the best I could, but within two months, they had both died.

They died a day apart, first Barbie then Nancy. Though I begged Nancy to not leave me, she said she was so tired and that her twin and her Mama were waiting for her, so I told her to close her eyes and go to them.

I left them in the morgue and walked home.

The next day I woke up covered in my own sweat and I knew I too had TB. I slept all day, praying for death to take me - it had already taken my mama and my two beautiful sisters - it had left me with nothing.

I lay on the floor of our tin house the whole week, too weak and sick to move.

Before that week was out, a man from the settlement, during a drunken binge, broke into our little tin house and raped me, I was too weak

to fight, too weak to scream for help, and just laid there as he raped me, beat me up and pulled me out into the darkness.

He thought I was dead. He’d pushed me into the drain that ran at the back of the settlement.

Eventually, I was discovered by a ‘white’ couple who called an ambulance to take me to the hospital.

It took me three weeks to recover during which time I was too sick to do anything. My father was a police officer but I could not go to him - he had already rejected me twice.

I couldn’t pay the admission fee or the ward fee but the nurse was kind enough and let me go without any payment.

I went back home, determined to bury my little sisters, so I, once again, started selling fried fish and collecting empty tins and bottles to sell.

It took me almost eight months to save enough (adding it to the money the twins had saved for school) but when I went back to the morgue, it was too late - they were not there.

I was told that the unclaimed bodies had all been buried in an unmarked grave at Nine Mile Cemetery two months previously. I cried for what was an eternity, my mind screamed, I couldn’t accept that their little bodies, were dumped into one big hole with so many others. The pain was unbearable.

I returned to my tin house at the edge of the settlement, and continued, as before, selling fish and collecting empty bottles and tins to sell.

LIFE THESE DAYS

I’ve been selling fried fish ever since and I continue to search for my little brother because he is my only family. I heard a couple of years ago that my father had retired and moved back to his former home in Morobe. And one day, when I have saved enough, maybe I’ll go to Morobe and look for my little brother - but perhaps this is just wishful thinking.

I still pray for him, every night before I go to sleep.

I hope he’s okay, I hope he went to school, and I hope he’s working, I also sometimes pray that he would come back and search for me.

Anyway, these days, I have many friends, other women who have similar stories to me - some sell food and goods on the roadside to survive as do I, while others sell their bodies – but not me - I know my mother and sisters are watching down from Heaven and might be ashamed of me if I did that. •

The character in the story is now 31 years old and still lives in the tin house she used to share with her mother and three siblings. She tells me that she started a rumor around the settlement that she was infected with HIV & Aids so no one bothers her, not even the drunkards.

PNG ECHO

25

travel

PLANTATION ISLAND RESORT

taking corporate responsibility seriously.

Planting coral on the artificial reef

I met the genial Alex Wilson while he was Manager at the Grand Pacific Hotel in Port Moresby. He’s now moved on and is managing Plantation Island Resort in Fiji where he loves to welcome visits from Papua New Guineans and people he met during his time in PNG. I have been one of those lucky people. This is what I found.

writes SUSAN

I

MERRELL

arrived at Plantation Island on a one-hour ferry ride from Port Denarau in Nadi - windblown but relaxed.

There was a welcoming party on the jetty: singing troubadours with shell necklaces to greet us, the newest arrivals.

In the achingly blue waters, not far from the beach, was the children’s water playground: a series of floating and fixed obstacles for the children to climb over, swim to and to dive off. It looked like fun. I wondered: were adults allowed to play too? Shoals of fish were swimming under and around the pylons of the jetty – and yes, the palm trees were swaying. Heavenly!

I was staying at the adult’s-only ‘Lomani’ part of the island and my room was a cool oasis with a lawn at the back that led directly to the beach. It was perfect

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– the epitome of a tropical idyll but with all the mod cons (including a backyard Jacuzzi) and a welcome bottle of ice-cold white wine to greet me.

This is some of the beneficial effects of tourism - along with boosting the economy and providing local employment, it also gives us the comfort of modern living to enhance the tropical experience. Did I mention the swimming pools?

But industry has its detrimental effects - and so too tourism. In particular I am talking about environmental concerns and the how the influx of tourists affects local life, habits and customs, sometimes for the better but too often for the worse.

Plantation Island Resort management is tackling these things in its own quiet way.

A friendly local with the children’s water park in view

Did you know that the presence of stingrays ensures a clean shoreline by keeping down the seaweed?

A sandbar lunch

REEF REGENERATION

The effects of climate change and human encroachment are nowhere as evident as in the Pacific. Reports of rising seas, dying coral reefs and the depletion of fish stocks are becoming too familiar.

What’s more, sometimes, in our enthusiasm to experience the unfamiliar and the exotic, we inadvertently do damage to those things that fascinate and attract us.

Manager, Alex Wilson tells of the how the daily feeding of the trigger fish – an activity beloved of the guests - was found to be having a detrimental affect on the surrounding coral reef. As a result of the feeding, the trigger fish no longer ate their traditional food – sea snails - and the sea snails, without their natural predators, were increasing and decimating the coral.

However, in spite of this little hiccup, it hasn’t stopped Alex harnessing the enthusiasm of his guests to participate in the ecological well-being of the local environment. (Although, he has stopped feeding the trigger fish).

The island management has a well-established reef regeneration program whereby the guests can plant a piece of coral and map its progress on subsequent visits and Alex encourages them to participate in the plantings with enticements such as a picnic on the sandbar in the middle of the lagoon afterwards. He does likewise with the regular clean-up-the-beach days. Picking up a bit of rubbish or planting a coral seems a small price for such a delightful reward and

the enhanced community spirit and camaraderie is its own reward too.

The children especially like being involved and there is a venue where they can make a fish house out of sand, stone and cement to plant on the reef.

These fish houses are somewhere that fish can hide to get away from predators - a necessity of a balanced ecology.

Did you know that the presence of stingrays ensures a clean shoreline by keeping down the seaweed?

Plantation Island is also planting sea grapes in the ocean, (known as sea caviar, because it pops in your mouth, similar to the fish eggs). Alex tells me it is a super food. Sea grapes are a seaweed packed with vitamins and minerals. Considered a good source of vitamins A and C, calcium, zinc and iron, they also PNG ECHO

27

Making fish houses contain a high level of vegetable protein per calorie and a good amount of omega 3 fatty acids too.

Which leads us to Plantation Island’s other corporate concerns…

…THE WELL-BEING OF THE LOCAL EMPLOYEES ON PLANTATION ISLAND

Diabetes Type II is rife in Fiji (and many other Pacific countries, such as PNG, are not far behind statistically). Plantation Island resort has three staff members with lower-limb amputation as a result of the disease.

Out of concern for the health of his staff – of which there are 280 – Alex set up a health check.

He was alarmed at the results. Generally, his staff was overweight and sedentary and their health check indicated this with the inherent diabetic warning signs.

He noticed that it was usual for his staff to eat a big meal late at night that was often refined, fatty, convenience foods and that they did little exercise.

He also noticed how alarmingly young many of them were when they passed away.

Leading the way by example, Alex now walks every Monday morning (at 6 am) with all staff that are present and on duty. He doesn’t take “no” for an answer. He says he’s noticed an enormous change.

While I was on the Island, he was also playing host to celebrated New Zealand chef, Colin Chung and hospitality trainer, Greg Cornwall of Pacific Islands Resort Consultants who were conducting staff training on how to use and serve local ingredients in new and modern ways.

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Chung believes that local ingredients have been ignored in favour of imported goods due to an erroneous belief that the local product is not good enough.

“It’s just a case of knowing how to use them,” says Chung, who rightly points out that the nutritional value of the local products surpasses that of refined imports.

Indeed, using local ingredients, as opposed to imports, has many benefits - for the economy, for employment and also for health generally. Chung tells me, for instance, that bitter gourd - widely available in Fiji - has properties that lowers blood sugar.

I interrupted the training in the middle of Chung overseeing the preparation of food for a Manager’s cocktail party that evening on the beach, which I happily attended.

The food was innovative and delicious and most of the recipes can be found in Chung’s cook book, Kana Vinaka,Contemporary Island Cuisine.

My favourite was the smoked fish pate – simple to make and delicious. (see recipe) Kudos to the management of Plantation Island Resort for taking the lead in addressing environmental and health concerns on their small patch. •

Kana Vinaka is published by Pacific Islands Resort Consultants and you can find out more detail on its availability from www.colinskitchen.co.nz

The beach at the end of my garden

PNG ECHO

29

my job

MY JOB

Sharing his employment experiences this month is...

Justice

George Manuhu CSM

Q | What is your job title?

Judge of Supreme and National Courts

Q | What qualifications do you need for this job?

Five years of experience as a lawyer

Q | Where and how did you obtain yours?

I was a lawyer with the Public Solicitors Office for four years and I was a District Court Magistrate for 11 years.

Q | What type of personality would you recommend to follow this line of work?

Someone who is patient, is a good listener, is compassionate but fair, courageous and firm in his decisions.

Q | What are your main duties?

In the National Court, I deal with criminal cases. I preside over all criminal cases from a simple assault to wilful murder. In the Supreme Court, I preside over appeals, reviews and constitutional matters.

Q | Who are you currently working for?

As a Judge, I work for the Independent State of Papua New Guinea.

Q | Did your job entail a long training period and an arduous climb up the corporate ladder after you completed your studies or not?

Yes. I was Chief Magistrate of Papua New Guinea before I was appointed as Acting Judge and subsequently as Judge.

Q | Was this a true vocation for you or did you fall into it accidentally?

I always wanted to be a lawyer and after I became a lawyer I wanted to be a Judge.

“When I was a child, I wanted to be a radio announcer because I love music.”

Q | What attracted you to the job?

My sense of justice, fairness and compassion for others, especially those who come into conflict with the law.

Q | What did you want to be when you were a child?

When I was a child, I wanted to be a radio announcer because I love music.

Q | What is the best part of your job?

When I make a good decision.

Q | The worse part?

When I am asked to impose the death penalty.

Q | If you could, today, change course and be and do something else, would you?

Yes

Q | What and where are opportunities for people with your qualifications?

A lawyer can become a Magistrate, a Judge, a politician, a diplomat, a consultant, a CEO or a businessman.

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Q | …and what would that be?

I want to be a preacher.

PROFESSIONAL ACCOUNTANTS

MERRELL ASSOCIATES Specialising in forensic accountancy.

If you have a need for a financial report for a court case - call us for a fixed-price quote.

Tel: +61 2 9960 4144 email: ralph@merrell.com.au

PACIFIC PERSPECTIVES PUBLISHERS OF PNG ECHO & REDEEMING MOTI

WITH DR SUSAN MERRELL

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