By Hadassah Kutkue
A Limerick: By a 13 year old (who happens to be my youngest sister)
By Hadassah Kutkue
A Limerick: By a 13 year old (who happens to be my youngest sister)
By Hazel Kutkue
I live in Finschafen, Morobe, where the only way to reach Lae is by watercraft.
The Lutheran Shipping Services have their ships which have a set schedule and pass through Finachafen at least once or twice a week. The LHS ship MV Ialibu does runs to Maneba Wharf here. The only downside is the time it takes to travel here. The new shipping schedule has shown that the older MV Momase is now doing runs to Finschafen. It is a whole lot faster to travel by banana boat and this is the only reason I travel by boat.
I have traveled to and from Lae on irregular visits and everytime I do, I get on random banana boats at the boat stop in Gagidu and at Voco Point in Lae. It is quite the struggle to choose which boat to get on when young men will forcefully grab your bags, and shout at you to get on boats that they recommend because it belongs to someone they know, or because they get to make a couple of bucks for getting a passenger. It bothers on harassment and no matter how you try to argue otherwise, you will be a passenger on a boat you did not choose.
My last trip to Lae was last week Thursday. I needed to visit my bank because my bank did not have a branch in Finschafen.
Just past Butaweng on the Mape River, there is a boat operator who I get in touch with for travel arrangements. I have never traveled with him before and I decided to call him for pick up. We call him Manus.
Manus told me that he would pick me up at seven am at Butaweng River. At first I figured he would be a bit late, but for the other persons he had picked up before, he always arrived on time. I was surprised, but pleasantly so.
Thursday morning met me with heavy rains and a downcast sky. I knew Manus always came on time so I hurriedly got ready and was at the boat stop at seven.
Manus did not show for the first twenty minutes after seven, so I called him and enquired if he was still going to make a Lae trip. Turned out he was. Due to the rain, he was a bit delayed. I was soaked thoroughly by that time so I had to run back to the house and change into dry clothes. I had lost my umbrella a while back.
At seven thirty, Manus arrived at the mouth of Butaweng and glided up to pick me. I hopped on and hoped for the rain to stop as we made our way to the boat stop at Gagidu. Manus always maintained that he had to leave before 9am. I figured it was just talk as most boat crews wanted at least 5 or six people to be on board before they start out. At that time, we were only two passengers. The rain let up for a bit and then started coming down again.
Manus walked over to me and informed me that we would be leaving the boat stop at between eight thirty or nine. True to his word, at eight thirty he called out to me and I walked over and hopped on. He told me the rain would not be letting up so we needed to leave early.
After being on our way for 15 minutes, the rain came down in bucket loads and we could not look more than 3 meters away. It was very grey and dreary. However, the sea was kinder than I thought it would.
Needless to say, I arrived in Lae safely and went about my business.
I was delayed by the bank and had to spend the weekend in Lae. I planned to return on Monday. I called Manus to check if he was in Lae and sure enough he was. His schedule was ruined because of some miscommunication with the SDA church wanting to use his services.
As usual, Manus planned to leave before 10am. The weather was cloudy and there was a strong wind blowing in. The boat was almost full by the time my luggage was loaded. A man approached me and asked me for my name to put on the bag. This was the first time asked me. I looked at him puzzled and he told me he wanted my name so he could tag my bags incase they got lost. I gave him my name, and he did just what he promised, except instead of writing Hazel, Butaweng, he wrote A.J Butaweng. I didn’t mind though. I was quite impressed by the tags.
Once I was seated in the boat, the same man who tagged my bag started doling out life jackets to all the passengers. Even a six year old on board got to put on a small one.
Eventually when we were about to leave, Manus addressed the passengers in a way very similar to flight attendants. He gave a small talk about not smoking or drinking on board and his weekly schedule. After which, owing to his Christian nature, he said a prayer.
The tale of my latest trip to the city was a round about way of bringing a point across of how sea transport could be revolutionized for even the smallest boat operator.
What if the National Maritime Safety Authority does more than only registering every small craft through the Small Craft Act? In Morobe, the Small Craft registration office was established in 2016 and was mainly used to insure and register small crafts due to the ongoing issue of pirate attacks. Newspaper showed the first registration to have been done in 2020, but I may have to verify this. However, this office could do so much more than simply registering and insuring boats.
Apart from every single passenger boat that goes to and from two single ports can being accounted for, each province’s Small Craft Team should also be responsible for scheduling the trips of all the watercraft so no one business owner misses out on passengers. For instant, schedules should be made for each week as well as for each day. Boats should leave the ports of departure at set time periods. Passengers would not have to worry about when they should be at the Wharf because they know the departure times of the boats. Boats could start leaving ports from as early as six am with intervals in between.
This body should also introduce ticketing systems where all boats scheduled for the day can have customers purchasing tickets for the boat that leaves at a particular time of the day. I mean that is not too much to ask, right? Anything done for larger vessels can be replicated for commercial small craft.
Despite load restrictions in place a, no official from the Small Craft team actually inspects passengers boats that travel to and from boat stops. To be more effective, it would be a good thing if officers are assigned to do safety checks, including checking the number of passengers so that no one boat gets too much passengers or is overloaded and a minimum number of crew members. Passenger numbers would also be more easily regulated because of the ticketing system in place where people purchase tickets for a particular boat that leaves at a certain time. This also is a safety net as all passengers would be accounted for in case of disasters or mishaps at sea.
Safety wise, all boats, should carry basic safety gear and offcourse give precautionary mandatory talks before every trip. Life vests, flare-guns and maybe even radios etc. There is a total of eleven items listed in Schedule 4 of the Small Craft Act 2011 that should be on any small craft but most times operators have only one or two of them. On my recent trips to and from Lae, I have only once been given a life jacket. On all other trips, I did not see any on board the boats except a long pole carried in place of the specified oars in the act.
My sister on a recent trip to Lae was on a boat that met several mishaps. Running out of fuel twice, they were forced to drift until passing boats came to their rescue. They were adrift without so much as a life jacket. Now frequent travellers might not see this as a big deal, but finding out about this from my sister made me realize the potential this event had of turning nasty. Such risky events could have a safety net, with the safety apparatus on board that should be a requirement for all boat owners.
If each maritime province’s small craft team actually did their job in a more strict manner like the airline industry, a whole lot of good would be achieved. Instead of people struggling to choose which boat they should be traveling on at a particular time and getting hareased in the process, the entire hustle can be avoided. There will be no scuffle amongst business owners who offcourse will be able to participate much more equally in a well regulated setting. Passengers can purchase tickets and depart at the right time, and be accounted for in case of disasters at sea. Passengers can also have their safety guaranteed with basic safety devices in case of any mishaps.
To improve further, proper docks should be constructed instead of passengers and skippers using the old age way of wading into the water to get on board. Simple things for better traveling experiences is possible but in this day and age, these are deemed impossible, comparable to building a rocket in Port Moresby.
Systems like this should be in place even for land transport, modified accordingly to suit the area the transport services are in.
While on this same visit to Lae, Friday saw me struggling to get on a bus. The previous night there had been a murder of a bus crew member and as a result, all the bus operators staged a protest. Most PMVs in Lae are owned and operated by people hailing originally from the Highlands of Papua New Guinea and the crew that was killed was also from the highlands. We were looking at something that could blow out into a fully fledged regional or tribal warfare.
I resorted to hailing a taxi on Friday for places I needed to go to but was quite far away. In doing that, I got in a taxi driven by this large, friendly man most probably hailing from the New Guinea Islands. In giving his opinion about the bus operators’ protest, he casually mentioned something I could only vigorously nod at in agreement because I never figured someone would think like that.
He said that a set number of buses should be operated by a set number of people that represent all regions. He gave an example of saying that maybe twenty buses should be run by Highlander operators, twenty by the Morobe people themselves and so forth for the other regions, saying this would prevent events like this. The general public with no private vehicle and inability to afford cabs took to walking everywhere will not have to do so
Maybe one day a better regulated public transportation system would be in place. Maybe then passengers would not be harassed and be able to choose who or what they want to travel with or on.
By Hazel Kutkue
We recently got to talk to Papua New Guinean writer and educator about her experiences of living in China. It was one mix of super interesting facts. Thirty three year old Betty Gabriel Wakia from Papua New Guinea’s Hela Province was born in Ramu Town in Madang Province but grew up between her village and Port Moresby city. After a short stint of being a fourth grader in her village in Hela, she had to return to Port Moresby for school due to tribal fighting.
But we wanted to know her about her China experience: how did she go to China in the first place? It is a roundabout tale! Apparently, Betty had applied a total of six times for the Chinese Government Scholarship all throughout high school and her college years. She had studied for one year at Sonoma Adventist College in Rabaul to get a diploma in primary teaching, but as is a common plight, high tution fees saw her withdrawing from studies the following year. Betty however managed to get a diploma in Vocational Education Training at the PNG Education Institute in 2010. Now, that’s where we came to how she landed in China! While working at Airways Hotel in Port Moresby, and on the seventh attempt at applying for the Chinese Government Scholarship, Betty made it!
“I went to China in August, 2011. It was my seventh application and I was in the process of giving up.”
“We all met in Beijing and dispatched to various universities in different cities. Some travelled by air and others by train.”
“I was asked to study the Chinese language for a year at East China Normal University in Wuhan, Hubei Province.”
Yes you read that right, Wuhan, now famed for being the city of origin of Covid-19. Wuhan is a commercial centre divided by the Yangtze and Han rivers. After her one year stint in Wuhan, Betty moved to Tianjin to study her major. Tianjin lies on the shore of the Bohai Sea in Nort-Eastern China and it is a major port city and among nine of China’s mainland cities.
A University Library
“I was studying at the Tianjin University of Technology and Education. I was studying for a Bachelor’s Degree in Education – basically I was studying the Chinese education system.”
Curious how a Chinese university was like, we enquired and Betty shared a lot of interesting information.
“Chinese university campuses are much larger than our universities and colleges in the country. For instance, Jilin Agricultural University lies on a 15 000 000 square meters area!”
Zhejiang Normal University sports stadium
Betty describes a lot of Chinese architecture as influenced by their culture. However, she says modern university facilities boast a more westernized approach to the design and architectural styles.
She further describes the labs, dining halls and sports facilites as being on a level far removed from the ones university students experience in the country.
Outside the Main Classroom Building
Student behaviors are also markedly different from Papua New Guinean student behavior. Apparently, Chinese students are very respectful.
“Students show respect to teachers or the elderly by bowing their heads. Students are quieter, and very respectful. When they hand in a paper, they always use both hands, as if making a gift presentation. They often use terminology such as ‘our dear teacher’.”
2011 was a year where not many students were studying in China, however they had a warm reception.
“Three PNG students met us in Wuhan at the train station. We were lucky.”
Betty estimates over five hundred srudents currently studying in China today through various scholarships.
Burning Question: are the Chinese friendly? Betty describes them as not friendly but respectful. Students in China are very disciplined! Betty puts this down to their millitary training.
Betty with a Chinese classmate
“Military training was introduced in 1955. It became compulsory for all high school and university students to do training in 2001. ”
Military training is believed to encourage a more disciplined community, goodwill and to improve the country’s level of defense.Betty did not have it smooth language wise. She learnt enough to get by though.
“I was surprised that classes began the next day and communication was a big problem.”
It was Betty’s first time in a country where English was not the first or second language. She however loved the fact that a common language united China and gave them a common purpose
“I travelled to fourteen of China’s thirty four provinces and I discovered that if you cannot speak the dialect, you can write it down!”
To write in Chinese, Betty had to study Shufa, a form of Chinese Calligraphy so she could write good Chinese characters.
Winter was Betty’s favourite season because she got to do a lot of travelling.
“Ticket prices drop in winter time and not a lot of people travel.”
In winter holidays
Another burning question: What does snow look like in real life? 😅.
Matters of the tummy are another thing Betty loved about China.
“One of the best things about living in China is the food !”
She described food for the Chinese was almost anything that swim, walk or grows. Chinese dishes are famous for colour, aroma, taste, meaning and appearance. Food is cheap, tasty, diverse and easily available at your doorstep even.
Somebody ordered Chinese? Yes we think!
Betty’s favourite dishes included Dumplings or jiaozi, Chaomin, and Peking roasted ducks amongst others. Some dishes are more of an acquired taste, and Betty did not particularly take a liking to, including Ma Po Tofu which was too spicy and quite hot.
Ma Pa Tofu
Chinese food aside, Betty still missed a good old mumu and coconut creamed vegetables. Nobody ever outgrows these!
Summer and winter vacations were times Betty jumped at the opportunity to travel. The must sees that she’s seen include the Great Wall of China, the Forbidden City and the Summer Palace.
Visiting the Great Wall of China
Travelling by train is the easiest way to get around and she travelled to fourteen provinces by train only! However, travelling by train has its downfalls as on one occasion, she had to stand for 16 hours from Tianjin to Zhejiang Province.
So what has China thought Betty?
1. DO MORE, LESS TALK, wisdom all Papua New Guineas need.
2. START FROM SCRATCH AND CLIMB YOUR WAY UP!
Will Betty be returning to China given the chance? Not suprisingly, she is keen to return.
“I’m planning to go back to pursue a doctrate degree.”
We wish Betty only the best of everything she aspires to do. If you are planning to travel to China, maybe this might be helpful.
By Hazel Kutkue
One of the last frontiers, unconquered. Even the attitudes and the “bad” cultures are unconquered.
We have out here, a culture of time-wasting, bad, almost disrespectful attitudes among the whole population. The exception are the uncorrupted mind of babies and toddlers, free from the influences that will later shape them into also corrupted adults.
People tend to think corruption is clustered somewhere among the grounds of Waigani, where politicians are based. People embody corruption as a pot bellied, double-chinned man or men in dark suits sitting in swivel chairs on a green carpet. But, they never realize the real roots of corruption. It’s all in the culture.
Ours is a culture that encourages us to be lazy. Our people think handouts are the way to go. Free money for doing nothing, burnt in a day, on binge drinking and binge shopping. Story telling, hours on end, not minding the minutes and the seconds. No! There’s tomorrow, people say. There’s time!
In our culture, we are content with the way things are! We don’t worry about a broken louvre, a dirty front porch, a dirty front yard and the old chair we can repaint! Everything is okay! We are content with the way things are! Ours is a culture that is satisfied with the lowest quality of anything!
Ours is the culture that says girls are second best! Women can say this or that only after the men speak. Women do not do things as perfectly as men. Men can do these things and women cannot!
How pathetic a culture! How sad! A culture so negative, so destructive, and yet we feed it! Yet we fatten it! Yet we embrace it!
What is to blame? Our ancestors? Maybe not, their times were so much different! Ours is a changing world! Our culture should be evolving for the better, yet we are stuck! Stuck in a rut, digging holes to get out, but infact digging graves!
What if after reading this, you decide to not be content with the way things are? What if you decide to wake at 6am each day and clean out the muck of yesterday? What of you decide to never waste a minute?
Will our culture then be a less corrupt one? Will it?◻️
Observations about a Society that is Toxic for Girls and Women
By Hazel Kutkue
Photographs provided by Dominica Are
Poetry makes for beautiful literature. Sipikriva Girl, despite not entirely embracing poetry in its entirety in writing had the opportunity to speak to 34 year old writer, poet and fulltime accountant Dominica Are who recently had her poetry collection published. Hailing from the highlands of PNG, Dominica works full time with PNG Coffee Exports Ltd in Goroka as an accountant.
Growing up, she spent almost all of her formative years in Mt. Hagen, attending schools there and then moving to Madang to attend Divine Word University.
Dominica has been writing for almost 20 years, with her prose being mostly poetry and short stories. As in a lot of art, powerful emotions often are the triggers of works of great beauty. With her parents separation in 1998, she took to scribbing in her notebook about all the hurt, pain, hopes and wishes she was having.
“I find solace in spilling out my thoughts and emotions. It has been quite a long journey but I haven’t given up on documenting what I go through.”
Dominica religiously makes daily journal entries and that was what formed the basis of her book. Apparently her book was in the pipeline for a quite a while.
“I keep a collection of all that I’ve written over the years. I have been keeping notebooks and newspaper cuttings of published work. When I got my first laptop at University, I started keeping e-copies.”
Initially Dominica wasn’t very keen on publishing. However her collection was a growing one.
“I was only writing for myself.”
“When I started seeing my entries published in the annual Crocodile Prize anthologies ( including My Walk to Equality), I experienced a different outlook in approaching my writing.”
Dominica decided to give publishing a shot after encouragement from people close to her.
“In 2019, I decided that I must do it! I started pulling out my work from here and there. Seeing that all my writings were all about my personal experiences I decided to have my first publication about it all.”
Putting a collection of her poems together for publication was not easy for Dominica who struggled to fight off the negative feelings of exposing her own very personal experiences.
“The thought of dying with these beautiful stories within saddened me. I care about my stories. I care about my writing. ”
She found courage enough to tell her story through poetry in the end however.
In early 2020 , Dominica contacted the late Francis Nii who helped edited and publish Prized Possessions – A collection of Poetry.
Dominica likes freestyle poetry best and believes it to be her strength.
She has also dabbed in the more technical styles poetry including ballad, sonnet, ode, rondeau, kyrielle, haiku, limerick and tanka.”
Prized Possessions is one hundred and sixteen pages long and contains ninety poems in total.
“I want my readers to be inspired to write their own story. No matter how ugly it may seem, your children need to hear your story. You might not be around long enough to relay these stories to them. Your writings can give them an important insight into your life.”
Dominica believes that our experiences, written down and read by others might even be a helping hand for a reader who is downtrodden and lost.
Prized Possessions was published by Francis Nii Publications through CreateSpace. Francis Nii also played a part in editing the book. Working with Francis, Dominica described Francis as open and a straight shooter.
“I truly appreciate his honest critique on my work. There were few pieces whose meaning were quite ambiguous so he asked me to look at them again. I read over and over again and found that it was true so I had to rewrite it again.”
Francis emphasized that writers have to think of the average Papua new Guinean reader when trying to publish. At the time of publishing, Mr.Nii was sick, but pressed on in lending a hand to making Prized Possessions a reality.
Dominica faced some hurdles in getting hardcopies of her book. Amazon had stopped shipping to PNG so it was difficult to get hardcopies. Dominica had to buy copies of her book and have them shipped to person in Australia etc who can then ship the books to PNG.
Dominica believes government support should be the way to go. “Support should be given through the initiation of writing competitions, reviving and building libraries, and supporting local authors in the purchasing and distribution of their books. The environment must be so ideal that local authors and publishers can produce well and profitably too.”
Dominica has a few words of wisdom for other writers as a parting remark. “You don’t have to be an expert or have a background in creative writing in order to write. You have to make it happen. Be persistent and you’ll get better eventually. The most important thing is to read. Reading and writing goes hand in hand. The more you read, the better your writing will be. ”
Sipikriva Girl wishes Dominica only the best in her endeavours, writing or otherwise
An Experience that Deserved a Tale to be told from it – Comparing Lae and Port Moresby
By Hazel Kutkue
After ending my career as a resident doctor at Angau Memorial Provincial Hospital, Lae, it was time to pack up my bags and move temporarily to the big city.
In Lae, I had lived in accomodation provided by the hospital for resident doctors. I had initially lived in a bedsitter inside the hospital, and then I moved to Eriku in flats rented by the Hospital. I shared a spacious 3 bedroom flat with two housemates, who were residents dentists. I grew up with my mother in urban suburbs of Wewak and Mt. Hagen and knew of no other life.
Offcourse I’ve had several years of “growing” in the village, but village life is a far cry from living in slums in Papua New Guinea’s capital city.
Before I left Lae for Port Moresby, I had joined several Facebook groups that advertised rental rooms in Port Moresby. I scoped out the rooms and made enquiries while still in Lae. I wanted to be able to arrive in Port Moresby and move into a fairly good rental room with good sanitary facilities.
Most “good” rooms costed between K500 and K250 per forthnight. I knew that I’d be able to afford rooms for K300 or less per forthnight. Most rooms looked okay in the photographs. I got into contact with two people, one as a backup and one to actually check out the property.
The day I left for Port Moresby, I had informed the contact that I would be travelling that day and he needed to be at the aiport to take me to “his” rental property.
I had booked the first Air Niugini flight for that day so I had to get up super early to travel to Nadzab Airport. Being excited, the 45 minute flight went by in a blur. I had the largest luggage on that flight, a massive black bag with wheels with an orange sticker with the wards “HEAVY! BEND KNEES” or something stuck to it’s side. After collecting my luggage I wheeled it out of the terminal to the waiting area.
After the rainy, lush green of Lae, I did not like the dry, brown face of Port Moresby at all. Not a single bit. I called the man who informed me that he was in Morata and he would be coming over. The property was at 9 Mile. This confused me a bit but then I put it down to him visiting people at Morata.
Waiting around at the waiting area, I looked around at the people, some in dirty clothes, others well dressed. On the concrete floor, a run-away baby crawled on all fours with snot running down it’s nose and shoving random pebbles in it’s mouth. Much to my annoyance, the mother who was perched on a bench telling stories with her wantoks would glance at the baby and hurl a sharp retort at it and then carry on with her tales. I looked at the small groups of people and wondered about their lives in the city.
Soon enough, the guy called to say he was at the airport. I wheeled my bag outside to the parking lot where the guy stood up to ask if I was who I was. Getting into a cab, we headed for 9 Mile. In the advertisement, the house looked good on the outside and the rooms look good. It said that tenants share common ammenities including the shower, toilet, kitchen and lounge room. The walls were painted a nice shade of blue and the cupboards had neon colours painted on the doors. I liked what I saw. The rent was K300 per forthnight. The electricity and water bills were covered for in the rent.
Driving towards 9 Mile, I was a bit worried about the location as I have never lived elsewhere than my dorm room at UPNG when I was in school and my aunt’s place at Gordons 5. It was a whole new experience.
When we arrived at 9 Mile, the man directed the cab driver to turn down an unpaved, dusty and uneven road with people standing by the road almost the entire lenght of the road. There were houses built in different styles and materials the 100 or so meters of the road. Some houses were more aesthetically pleasing than others. A couple of Highlands men were drinking beer at the side of the road and talking in loud voices. I became worried.
Stray dogs with scabs and no hair roamed around digging piles of rubbish to search for food. I became more worried as we drove past roadside vendors sitting under scrap corrugated iron shelters selling fried meat and sweet potatoes.
At last the cab rolled up to a metal gate and honked. Several dogs who looked only slightly better fed than the ones in the street scampered to the gate and crawled under it outside and barked at us. It created an annoying fiasco.
We made it inside unscathed and to my surprise the man who brought us there was not the owner of the property. The owners were an imposing highlands couple-the man was very large and the woman looked like the madhatter (except female).
We were shown the rooms and I liked it. The only problem was there was no ceiling fan. I was used to having the fan on full blast day and night. I decided to just go with it, after all it was only for two weeks only anyway.
After showing us the rooms the owners went down a long list of “rules” which I verbally said I were fine with.
Then slap-bang, they mentioned that tenants are either short term or long term. Short term for them is 6 months and long term is a year. I was taken aback. I was also taken aback that the “bond-fee” was K500. After explaining that I was going to be in the city for max a month, the owners said it was OK for me to just pay rent instead of the bond fee and stay without signing a tenancy agreement form.
Unpacking in the room, I couldn’t help but sweat. Despite big windows, the sun shone directly in and baked the room like an oven. The curtain on the window was an ungodly brown that was too short and too narrow. The locker style cupboards were cute but had broken latches. I could make do I thought. Exploring outside, I discovered that the toilet and the shower were squeezed in a 2m by 1.5 m space that doesn’t allow any possible humane movement at the end of the hall. I was taken aback. The kitchen was spacious and a fridge held the food of the occupants. There was a common double electric cooktop for use. The living room had wooden lounge chairs and a Television set. Everything was covered in dust. The only ceiling fans were in the lounge and the dining area. It was not very convenient to sit in the room.
Soon I discovered that the other end of the house was occupied by the owners and their children. The kitchen space was however for the tenants use only. The lounge area always felt out of bounds to me because the children of the owners have their stuff there and they hang out in the lounge and do homework or watch cartoons. Now, not that it’s bad, but sharing the same space with tenants for anything is not recommended at all. It is the most restrictive thing owners can ever do.
For two weeks I walked that unpaved, dusty street with people just sitting beside the road talking. Men drank at small road side shops and shout in their languages in loud voices. Kids ran around, playing or crying. People often stare, but sometimes not-given we were new faces in the area. All houses seemed to have running water and electricity, which is a good thing.
At the main road, buai vendors sit in the heat and dust, sweating into kambang bottles and shelling buai to give as piksas to customers. I hated that place. I hated the sun, the heat, the dust, the landlord’s dogs and everything else.
While I planned to stay for only two weeks, the process of acquiring my licence dragged on longer than planned. On the Friday of my second week in Port Moresby, I acquired my licence. That left me to process my applications to hospitals I was interested in working.
Of the three hospitals that I put in applications, I got accepted at two. One was an urban Hospital in the New Guinea Islands and the other a rural hospital on mainland PNG. I decided to go for the latter. Due to administrative matters I had to stay in Port Moresby for another two weeks. This turned out to be very horrendous for me.
The rental room was never a comfortable hideaway. It was an oven day and night. There was no rain. The place was dry. The Landlord’s dogs hated me despite my love for all dogkind.I compared everything to Lae. The price of food, the meteorological issue and everything else. I wanted out.
Lemons costed me K1 a piece when I got them for 20t in Lae. Aibika costed me K1 for flimsy leaves when a huge bundle was 70t in Lae. Almost dead carrots costed me 50t or K1 a piece and Capsicums K2 a piece. I dreamt of Lae in the night, unsurprisingly. Busfares for long or short distances was K1 as compared to 50t and 70t in Lae. Chicken was however cheap and that surprised me too (lol).
I spent the second two weeks making the most of my stay in Port Moresby. I went to Ela Beach, I went to Taurama Beach, I went second hand-shopping and I rode the bus to almost all the suburbs in the city and strolled around. I ate street food and drank gallons of water and soda.
Soon the two weeks ended and the Landlord with the imposing eyebrows knocked on my door to ask if I was staying on or leaving. He had an interested tenant who wanted to rent two rooms long term and there was only one room free for him and his family. He needed the one I was staying in. It was time for me to go.
I again looked up rooms online and saw a room for K150 a forthnight at East Boroko. I decided to check it out. Again it was in the slums. However there was running water and electricity paid by the Landlord. The room was smaller than the previous one and was not furnished. I had a veranda all to myself and trees shading the front. It was very cool and I didn’t need to switch on my portable fan at all even during the hottest hours of the day.
The landlord was a kindly middle aged Apo, who was very soft spoken with a very lovely teenaged daughter. I liked him right away. His daughter was the model hostess.
Water was sourced from a long hose and got filled into large blue plastic drums. There was water for kitchen needs and showering and a seperate black plastic drum to flush the septic outdoor toilet. I knew I was staying for less than 2 weeks and I didn’t mind.I liked the outdoor shower where you can shower with sunlight and not feel cold outright. I was a bit scared of the toilet however, it was a flush toilet which functioned well but I was scared of the frogs that tend to perch around on the floor at midnight when my bladder became outstretched. The kitchen sink had a proper drainage and everything with the only catch in it being outdoors and you have to fetch water from plastic containers to wash your stuff.I enjoyed my stay at East Boroko more than at 9 Mile. I got to stay home and chill all day without the excessive heat of 9 Mile. The landlord and landlady and their children lived in their own house and left us to ourselves. It was ideal.
I watch the most glorious sunsets in the afternoons from my plastic chair perch and looked at the pinpoint lights of Boroko in the night. I loved the view.
Now, despite the perfect location of the room, the journey getting there is a hustle. Climb up a paved road and then take a turn up an unpaved one with people who originate mainly from Hela Province shouting, cursing, drinking beer at the roadside shops and gambling with decks of cards. That was almost unbearable.
Another turn in the road climbing upwards and in a depression beside the road, a PVC pipe spews out water. Throngs of women and children gather with their buckets and plastic cointainers, laundry and plates and much more. Little kids climb up the road, hauling large containers of water, breathing heavily and struggling to balance their loads. Women had large buckets of water in each hand and plastic bottles of water in large bilums climbing uphill, straining with the effort.It was painful to watch.
The 1 and a half week I spent in East Boroko, I marveled at the ability of humans to adapt and survive. I now understood a little bit more about life.
In the middle of my second week at East Boroko, all administrative issues with my hospital of choice were fixed. The landlord arranged for my pickup to the airport at 4am. I had to get an early flight because it was the cheapest and I was already running over my budget.
I thanked my landlord and left for the airport. Leaving the big city was the biggest relief of my life and living in it was the biggest challenge of all.I will return one day, and I only hope it will be a better experience.
A Story About Marketing on the Net
By Hazel Kutkue
Changing times have brought changes in the way conventional trading of goods and services is done. A growing number of people are using the internet as a tool to sell products and services. Social media platforms such as Instagram and Facebook have aided a lot of people who have decided to venture into selling their “stuff” using digital marketing.
Sipikriva Girl had the chance to throw a bunch of questions to a person who has gone down the pathway of digital marketing, and how he’s doing so far.
Q: Tell us a bit about yourself.
A. My name is Kevin Igawa Wanowi and I am twenty six years old. My father is from Eastern Highlands and my mother is from East Sepik. I was born and raised in Kimbe.
Q. Where are you based currently?
A. I currently live in Kokopo
Q. What do you do as a full time job?
A. I am a licensed medical imaging technologist-radiographer, but I’m currently not formally employed. I left a permanent job in Port Moresby last year to pursue a dream that is still in the making.
Q. I know you run an online business called MB40. What is MB40 all about?
A. MB40 is my dream ride to being financially independent. I see growing a beard as a masculine trend in our society and a hat to go with it is not a bad idea! A 3D customized embroidery on genuine fabric is badass!
Hats in a Box on arrival
Q.When did you establish MB40? A.The idea was born when I was at university. It became a reality in December of 2018.
Q. How did you come up with the name?
A.The name MB40 is an acronym. It reminds me of my past and the one goal I wish to achieve with MB40. I am still not at a level yet to define it. *sigh*
Q. Apart from Facebook, where else do you advertise and sell your products from?
A.I mainly advertise through Facebook, Instagram and WhatsApp. I have some good friends who went out of their ways to print and put out posters in their place of work.
Q. I know MB40 is concerned mainly with selling caps with customized design of a bearded man’s silhouette, do you sell other items with the same customized design as well?
A. I have in the past sold shirts, decals and stickers. Currently I’m doing just caps.
Q. What kind of caps do you sell?
A. I sell 3D customized bearded themed hats.
I get the caps from an online shop No Shave Life (you can click on this link http://www.noshavelife.com to check them out). I also get the T-Shirts and stickers here.
The shop doesn’t ship out of US. I was fortunate to be able to get them in PNG.
I used to get the decals from http://www.livebearded.com.
Livebearded has since stopped selling decals.
Q. What are your usual prices for caps?
A. There are two different online shops that I resell from and promote their stuff: No Shave Life and Live Bearded. The caps I’m selling are from NSL.
I couldn’t get a deal to resell #livebearded hats but was lucky enough to get a discount code (MB40) for a 10% discount on everything purchased from their website (click here to find out more http://www.livebearded.com ).
I sell three different styles of caps: mesh curve truckers, snapbacks and flexfits. Previously I sold them at K120, K130 and K150 respectively. Currently I’m selling then at K140, K150 and K170 due to an hike in their prices.
They cost USD44 to USD50 for one. I get them at a discount and resell.
Q.What is your target customer base?
A. Bearded men offcourse! However, I have had some female customers too. Some women buy the caps for their male friends while others say they buy them because they are genuine.
Kevin with a very happy customer who is all smiles for the camera
Q.Can you tell me how starting out was for you?
A. I actually started it as a trial. The first cap that I got from No Shave Life was the first thing I bought online. I remember it was during the UPNG graduation week in 2017. I had been following No Shave Life on Instagram since 2014. I bought it to check it out.
The hat arrived and I was impressed about its quality. I wore the hat for about a year and then I realized the opportunity for making extra cash from being a reseller.
In November 2018, I ordered five caps. The caps arrived in December and was sold out in 14 days. I sold them through the local Facebook market pages.
The second batch of caps I got sold out in ten days. The fastest I sold was twenty in five days!
Q.How has Facebook helped in you getting your products out to your customer base?
A.I created the page MB40 somewhere around December 2018 and January 2019. I have some regular customers that do collections of the merchandise. There’s also people that buy just the one time.
I rely heavily on Facebook ads to reach my customers. Those who have my phone number are updated through my WhatsApp statuses.
Q. Would you say it is difficult to run an online business? Or not?
A. I’d say it’s not. It’s flexible most of the time. The only thing hectic about it is replying to messages and comments. Most of the time the demand exceeds the supply.
Q. Do you think of yourself as an entrepreneur?
A. I don’t. I think of myself as another millennial finding his foot in this hard times
Q.What plans do you have for MB40 in the future? Would you want to go bigger and expand?
A. I definitely want MB40 to go bigger. I have realized that I am the only one selling genuine bearded merchandise in the country.
I get requests from AROB right through to Vanimo! I want to reach everyone. I currently have a friend who is helping me doing my sales in Port Moresby . I take the hats with me wherever I travel.
Recently I started using DHL and EMS to post caps to my customers out of Kokopo. The airfreight fee is paid for by the customers. I have plans to sponsor competitive students in need and support the awareness against cancer once I go big.
The hats on display for digital advertising
Q. Are there any tips or words pf wisdom you would like to give to others like you selling things online using Facebook?
A. If you are selling, always be courteous and diplomatic in replying to comments and messages. Join local market groups and share your products. If you can, register your card and use the Facebook paid ads Its a great way of find new customers.
If you have a friend who is doing it like me, don’t ask for free things. If you can’t buy, help expose them to potential buyers instead. I’m sure they’ll be people in your circle who would be willing to buy.
Sipikriva Girl wishes Kevin the best in his venture in digital marketing!
By Emmanuel Baladi
In the year 1996, in a rainforested nation, in a city where the rain never stopped falling a boy lived with his dog. The city received a lot of rain and was called Lae. But people had taken to calling it different names: the Second, Pothole City, Wopa Land, and the Cement City. How these names came about is a story for another day.
The boy, christened Emmanuel at birth had in turn christened her girl dog Blacky when he came into ownership of the dog.
Emmanuel lived with his parents and two older sisters, Anne Marry and Eve . The family lived in a suburb not far removed from the central business district.
As is the case with some children and their dogs, Emmanuel and Blacky were the of best friends. People loved to see the little boy and his black dog engaged in lively play outside.As in the case with all dogs, Blacky never wanted to part with the boy on school mornings when Emmanuel had to commute to school. It would follow Emmanuel, only to be led back home where Emmaunel’s mum would lock it up until he was out of sight or more correctly, out of scent.
Coming home, the dog will be already waiting for the boy at the gate, tail wagging vigorously, panting, and welcoming him. The boy usually swung the gate open and picked up his black furry pet, kissing, hugging and running his fingers down it’s black silky fur.
Abandoning changing out of his school uniform and discarding his backpack on the grass, the boy would continue playing with his dog until his mom, right as clockwork would call for them to retire. It was an almost daily ritual.
One particularly fateful night, Emmanuel’s mom was serving the family dinner on the floor, as is common in Papua New Guinean families. She was a tad bit tired after a long day of doing chores. Blacky was left to fend for food itself.
Blacky having sniffed aromas of food pushed open the door and went straight to where the boy’s mother was dishing out food, but did not find her plate of food.It was a norm that Blacky’s food was served together with the family dinner. Blacky having lived with the family for a while knew Emmaunel’s favourite plate and so made it her task to sniff up the contents of the plate.Unfortunately, it got scolded and chased out of the house.
Whimpering, the dog sought cover, then decided that it was better to be outdoors. It trotted out the house, out the yard and onto the road.A few yards off there stood a building that housed a sausage factory called Prima. Knowing that she might be lucky in looking for food there she headed for the sausage factory.
At that exact moment, Emmanuel was planted in front of the TV, absorbed in his favourite program.Blacky was out in the dark. A loud sound suddenly broke the stillness of the evening air. Tyres swerved on the road, a roaring car engine! Was it an accident? But amidst the din a canine was whining in pain, it’s cries fading with each passing second, until it stopped.
“Whose dog was that!” Voices came from across the street.
“DOG meat for a dinner!” Cheekier voices cried out.
The cheekiness of the voices died down and lower, subdued voices took over. Everyone recognized the black dog that was only recently so full of life and brought many a smile to a face.
Two teenage boys took it upon themselves to bring the dog to the boy.Emmanuel still did not know what was happening.
His family was sitting out on the patio swapping tales of how their day went. Soon they could make out shapes of the teenagers approaching. As the boys stepped into the pool of light spilling from the verandah, everyone noticed the black furred creature on the arm of the boy closest to the verandah.
Emmanuel’s parents and eldest sister went to have a closer look. Eve the middle kid ran inside calling wildly for Emmanuel.The boy walked out and stood at the veranda and looked down. People were milling around the lifeless body of Blacky. His 1st grade heart broke into a million pieces, and he stood where he was, never taking his eyes off the furred black creature.
Blacky was still breathing, every breath painful.Squatting beside the dog, Emmaunel eventually adapted a cross legged position on the grass and gathered the dog up. Sobbing, he stroked the black fur.”Blacky! Wake up! Wake up!” The boy almost screamed.But the dog had took its last, long, suffering breath just moments before.
A kindly neighbor gave the boy a hug. The boy’s parents and sisters wiped hot tears and tried to comfort him.
The teenaged brothers offered to bury the boys dogs.
The kindly neighbors chipped in money – enough for the boy to buy himself a brand new pet friend.
And on that very night that it died, the dog was buried near a power pole – laid to rest by two teenaged boys. The boy felt heartsick, and his parents excused him from school for an entire week.
He woke up with the memory of the dog who had been his best friend every day.Every year, the boy visits his dog’s grave yard unfailingly.