Liklik longway

PNG News # 19- Liklik longway


Just got back from trying out a crackers idea that two English volunteers had. They figured it would be possible to bike from Bogia all the way back to Madang. The road hugs the coast all the way southwards. Only an Englishman and a Canadian woman would actively seek hardship and pathos by trying to cycle 200 kilometres in the tropics in one weekend. On the crappiest bikes on Earth.

Friday began with an endless wait for Richard's wanwok’s open backed truck to haul us up to Lupabisa (the school he worked at in the summer which is about 10km outside of Bogia, so strictly speaking not all the way but near enough). I was pleasantly surprised when we left a mere 3 hours after the appointed time. We picked up the 28 other people from the buai market and tried to fit on the back of the open truck. Quite obviously the bikes had to go somewhere - so they were bound untidily to the roof of the driver’s cab and then had lots of shopping bags draped off them. Finally we were off, jammed in like people on a PMV can only truly be. There were many spak (drunk) men singing and talking noisily and incoherently at us so we applied the rather successful strategy of pretending to sleep as we rattled our way north. Spak men need frequent beer and piss stops so the journey - under a gently rising yellow full moon - was interminable. It was a beautiful night to travel, the smells were evocative and that’s probably the highlight. Just before midnight we arrived in Lupabisa.

We slept in the same house that Rich lived in when he supervised practicum teachers but not before standing happily on the moonlit beach. At 5am we crawled out of mosquito nets and contemplated the day ahead. The sky was brightening slowly, it was cool and quiet. We reckoned about 100 km to Malolo Lodge. Malolo means rest.

As it turned out we were considerably out in our estimations (Sam is notoriously hopeless at directions and Rich is hopelessly optimistic). It was more like 150 km away. Which is a remarkable difference when you have a bike with one gear, which weighs as much as a large pig and travels about 15km an hour tops. The first few hours were happy indeed. The sun wasn’t too hot and the road gently undulates through low hills and endless coconut plantations. There was a constant sound of surf breaking on deserted beaches and plenty of stops for water, life giving mangos and the application of vast amounts of sunblock.

My crotch was extremely painful after a few hours and then the discomfort of the heat and knackered knees sort of drowned it out. I suspect I’ll be sitting down with a wince for a few days, mind. As is fairly predictable the rest breaks became more frequent and longer in duration as early morning became midday became oven. You rarely see trucks or any vehicle of any kind but there were always people walking to the river or the beach or garden who singout and wave. All very hamamas. And, when things got desperate there was always a shady tree and acts of generosity from concerned and somewhat bemused people (it is a very unusual sight - 3 white people on bikes). The ripe mangoes at the haus sik and the burly truck driver, the water from the last bucket of the people in Magir, the trucks that stopped to see if we wanted a lift...we loved them all.

After 11 hours on the road we were back in familiar territory. There were rumbles of thunder and the sky was darkening. Luckily, Rich had had the presence of mind to arrange Malolo Lodge to come and find us if we weren’t there by 4pm and surprisingly at 4:15 they drove out and picked me up with 15km to go. Stubbornly Sam and Rich cycled on. With just one kilometre to go they had the first puncture of the expedition. One inner tube had already mysteriously vanished off my sack. The one Sam had hoped to replace his burst one was bizarrely small - a dwarf inner tube; a midget. Hopelessly yet entertainingly small. And then they realised they had sent the pump off to the Lodge with me.
So, like the true Sheffield man he is (stubborn, proud, determined to the point of insanity) Sam slung his bike in a truck and walked the rest of the way to the Lodge. You have to admire that stubbornness, you really do.

Needless to say we were asleep by 7.30pm and slept exhausted for 12 hours. Instead of Malolo being halfway we were only 35 km from Madang. Forward planning was not a strength.

Sunday was a steady and tender cycle to Jais for a swim and a beer and then, finally, onto Madang in a light rain. However, there is a little coda to the tale. Just as we arrived triumphantly at Jais Sam got another puncture (they flock to him like mosquitoes). Now we definitely didn’t have any inner tubes left and that seemed like the end of the adventure. Just 15 kilometres short of Madang. But Sam wasn’t having any of that, mate. He hitched a lift into town, cannibalised another bike for a spare wheel and returned to Jais to complete the trip. That is dedication. That is sheer bloody mindedness. Hardship and stubbornness a magic combination.

Of course, the roadworks were like a white sticky mud bath and we were thoroughly filthy by the time Madang Teachers' College hove into view. Sam and I had another 20 minutes to get to our homes. Never again will I travel this far on this bike in one day. Not even if my life depended on it.

So, that’s the weekend that was.

We’re safe on the road again for the time being, although another volunteer friend was held up at gunpoint like last weeks. This time Anja screamed and ran off leaving the startled raskol helplessly behind. She was ok but the University will seriously need to sort out their security in the run up to Christmas.

Last week we had some firewroks when Manam volcano erupted in fine style. No pyroclastic flows this time (thankfully for the thousands of people who live there) but new lava flows and huge amounts of ash (40cm in a couple of days). The local youths had vandalised the remote monitoring equipment so they had no warning. Not the sharpest move that. It was all spectacular (and much safer) from Lupabisa but we didn’t see anything when we briefly slept there on Friday. Disaster tourists.

PNG News- November 13, 2004

Bush is president another four years?

The abstract word “leadership” suffers from what is called reification in PNG as in the rest of the universe; whether it is our need to take power playing mini god, or fear that has us relinquish responsibility to someone else. Leaders in the national newspapers suggest that PNG enjoys a great deal of corruption with pictures of members of parliament coming out of courtrooms and jails giving the thumbs up sign. Is this the sanitization of corruption?

When things are not clear (or maybe clearly Australian), everything is continuously negotiable therefore favours will need to be granted. And there is an overlay of cultural reciprocity where visitors are warned that if they accept the gift of a pawpaw (which could come out of your own garden) you are indebted. It is fascinating and horrible to be within this atmospheric pressure.

But let me drop the analysis and tell you what is happening here. Or rather, there. I have moved off campus to the Madang Lodge by the sea and am enjoying three days off.

The rainy season is rascal time! (would you be afraid of a criminal called a rascal?) There have been three guns on campus , four separate incidents in the last four weeks. Two homemade guns have been pointed at three white women. There is a problem, however our leaders hide and deny it.

Saturday, I sat through a governing council meeting where the staff representative said nothing about security. One of the counsellor brothers raised the issue and our leader president Fr. Jan proceeded to tell a detailed story about a woman who had a relationship and attitude problem. And how luckily she sought help counselling at the university. I don’t know which person he was talking about, however one was held up at gunpoint by two boys/men with her valuables stolen and a threat of rape.

I was stunned- like a deer in headlights. It is only now that I realize how this detailed blame- the- victim- story nicely answers how this counsellor would know about the incident. Silence- not one person contradicted this bold lie- not one person took any action other than to make eye contact with me. (nine dolphins just swam by)

Physically sick, I came out of that meeting angry- angry with myself and fearful of the silence. If they were silent with this what if it happens to me.

Monday there was a meeting about security which was happening as a result of two NGO’s (Horizon 3000 and VSO) requesting the university to call such a meeting. Individuals were specifically invited. When asked the VP Academic said he invited all volunteers and vulnerable people. When Marijka, VSO part-time lecturer in gender studies asked why she wasn’t invited she was told of course he assumed she was invited as he invited her partner. Besides she wasn’t an employee of DWU? The meeting progressed including information I supplied to others.

Michel questioned his staff representative’s report to the council that did not include security. The next day, Bro. Andrew approached Michel saying that the staff report was confidential, who had supplied this to him? Further into the conversation he said that the volunteer who was supposed to work with him in the physio department pulled out because of security. Michel was spooked- called me the source, what did I want to do? I went to bro. Andrew and let him know that I did give him the report and let others know what happened in the council meeting.; it is a matter of security.

I will stop my raving. I am safe; not trusted by the administration however I can live with this short term. Now I need to negotiate my exit strategy. I am not sure what I will be doing from here on in. I’m on the bridge of hesitation.

Stay tuned,
Patricia

PNG News- Brisbane
November 27, 2004

I was released leaving Madang- the take off a symbol of transformation. The plane ascended into the sky above Port Moresby and once we were over the clouds I sighed in relief. I was unrestricted by the pressure. Below are the enemies and colleagues, the sites of my terrors and house arrest; all of it infinitesimal, scratches on the earth, ripples in the sea. A lesson in perspective.

After all, my lack of happiness could stem from only having one outlook to play with. The movements of travel allow me unbroken thought. Conducive to internal conversation, large views allow large thoughts. At the end of three hours plane dreaming, I begin to feel I have returned to myself - brought back into contact with e- motions and ideas of importance to me.

I have arrived in Brisbane for some doctor’s appointments and a visit with Travis. It is summer here and Travis has embraced Australia wearing surfer clothes, owning a board and taking me to Byron Bay. (not at all poetic- a Whistler of the waves)

Changing hospital beds again, on the Gold Coast bus I keep looking for a sign telling me what next? All I notice are the red and dirty white rectangles in capital letters

WRONG
WAY
GO BACK

I better explain the reference hospital bed, otherwise you might think that I am sick, which I am not. Baudelaire in Le Voyage suggested that life is a hospital in which every patient is obsessed with changing beds. This one wants to suffer in front of the radiator, and that one thinks he will be better if he was by the window.” “It always seems to me that I’ll be well where I am not and this question of moving is one that I am forever entertaining with my soul.” A sentiment I sometimes share.




He also sarcastically imagined accounts of travellers returned from afar:
“We saw stars
And waves; we saw sand too;
And, despite many crises and unforeseen diasters
We were often bored, just as we are here.”
So here I am on the east point of Australia with waves crashing the rocks and miles of hard packed white sandy beach. Unfortunately the windy is blowing and the fine sand gets into everything including my mouth. Not what the brochures show!

All in all I am getting things sorted out here and enjoying the wicked west that is art and music and theatre. I have another six glorious days here and then it is hopefully off to Indonesia.

Patricia

PS I am reunited with my camera- ah technology you gotta love it.

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