PAPUA NEW GUINEA MY LAND MY COUNTRY

ALL FIVE RAPE SUSPECTS IN POLICE CUSTODY

2013-02-25T09:26:00.002+10:00

All five suspects wanted for the rape of a Lae nurse have been arrested by police. The arrests come against a backdrop of increasing calls for the death penalty to be imposed.

The Morobe Provincial Assembly’s Law and order chairman – the provincial equivalent of the National police minister – says he will be writing to the Prime Minister to seek tougher penalties or at least reignite discussions about the death penalty.

It brings to mind a discussion with the former police minister, Bire Kimisopa who said: “As long as I am in government, no Papua New Guinean will be put to death.”

What should we do?

NIMO THE RAPE SUSPECT SURRENDERS, TELLS ALL

2013-02-20T09:37:00.000+10:00

Police and members of the Lae’s East Taraka community yesterday began a hunt for three suspects wanted for the rape of a Lae nurse on Saturday.

This came after one suspect turned himself in on Monday hours after Angau hospital staff staged a sit in strike and demanded the arrest of the rapists within 48 hours. The other was arrested by police yesterday.

The first suspect known only as “Nimo” has given the names and details of three others.

"We know who they are... We need your help."

As in many urban communities, when crimes are committed, there’s always somebody who knows the troublemakers. The reaction from the community has been one of outrage.

Heads were shaken and the disgust and the anger on the faces of both young and old was clear as the police officer in charge called out the names of three young men who broke into the nurse’s home.

Those present at the meeting know them. They know their parents and they know where they live.

“We have to bring that boy (Nimo) here and ask him,” said one community leader. “If he doesn’t cooperate we’ll burn down his house.”

The East Taraka suburb is known for all the wrong reasons. This was once home. My parents lived in this neighborhood. They were assaulted and robbed in the first years of residence. But as the years went by, my dad who helped out in the neighborhood church, got to work with some of the youths who stole his shoes and our television previously.

Paps Charlie: Disgusted!

If you live there long enough, you understand it’s a close knit community. You can’t run and you can’t hide if you commit a crime like rape.

Cases of sexual assault should grab attention of any decent law abiding community.

But many other instances of rape throughout the country, parents and relatives of the victims seek compensation and those responsible go unpunished.

This case has grabbed attention only because the victims colleagues have stood up for her, closed a public hospital and demanded action from authorities.

Do I hear some political murmur for stricter penalties? Maybe the death penalty? Apart from Gary Juffa, the political silence has been deafening!

RAPE OF NURSE TRIGGERS PUBLIC OUTRAGE

2013-02-19T09:28:00.003+10:00

The rape of a nurse in Papua New Guinea’s second largest city on Saturday has triggered widespread public outrage and the closure of the city hospital.

Staff closed down Lae’s Angau Hospital hospital late yesterday after the incident was reported. They are demanding the immediate arrest of the rapists within 48 hours.

Details of the incident aren’t clear but it’s understood the off-duty nurse was at home with her family when armed men broke into her home, held up the woman’s husband and assaulted her.

This morning, more than 100 nurses and doctors met with the management. They called on the Chief Executive and board to improve security and housing conditions for the nurses and doctors.

This is the latest of many attacks on hospital staff in recent months. An attempt to kidnap a female nurse in January was foiled by workers and security guards. The suspect was caught and severely beaten.

Papua New Guinea’s record of physical and sexual violence against women has brought widespread criticism and international attention on the plight of women in rural and urban areas.

In a country, reeling from the recent public torching of a woman accused of sorcery,

this attack expected to be brought to the attention of the Prime Minister, Peter O’Neill.

“I got reports of the incident yesterday and I am very disturbed by it,” Dr. Polapai Chalau, the Hospital’s CEO said. “This matter has to be brought to the attention of the highest office. Enough is enough!”

“We demand the utmost respect for our workers,” said hospital chairman, Benson Nablu. “This cannot go on.”

This comes also as global attention has been focusing the recent brutal gang-rape of an Indian woman in Delhi who later died of here injuries.

SUPPORTERS CALL FOR ELECTION PETITION TO BE WITHDRAWN

2013-02-12T09:50:00.003+10:00

Supporters of the Morobe Governor, Kelly Naru have called him and former governor, Luther Wenge to set aside their differences and end a court dispute over election results.

Luther Wenge’s lawyers filed an election petition against Kelly Naru last year on grounds that Naru and his supporters bribed voters during the elections.

Former Governor, Luther Wenge

“We’re here to prove allegations of bribery,” Luther Wenge said outside the courtroom. “The court has to decide if this matter will go to a full hearing.”

More than 100 political supporters of both men packed the Lae courtroom yesterday to hear if the matter will go to a full trial. A decision will be made on Thursday.

Both Wenge and Naru are no strangers to the legal landscape. Naru owns a law firm and Wenge worked as a lawyer and a magistrate before running for office 15 years ago.

Wenge was also instrumental in the removal of the Australian Government’s Enhanced Cooperation Program (ECP) which brought Australian Federal police advisors to Papua New Guinea.

Wenge’s lawyers presented submissions saying the facts of the case are sound and should proceed to a full trial. Lawyers representing the electoral commission and Kelly Naru say otherwise. They also want the petition dismissed. Thy have also argued that details of whether Governor Kelly Naru paid money to his supporters with in intention of influencing votes remain unproven.

Outside the court house, supporters of governor Kelly Naru, carrying placards said both men should put aside their differences and allow the governor and the provincial government to perform their jobs.

“We want services,” said Plankus Miamel. “We urge the governor and the former governor to have this petition dismissed.”

ON THE WAY TO MILLIONS - SAMAP'S BUAI ENTREPRENEURS

2012-05-25T11:12:00.001+10:00

Samap village in Papua New Guinea’s East Sepik province is like many other places in in the country - isolated and without road access. It lies in a tiny secluded bay facing the Bismarck sea. The village houses stand on ancient rickety posts bearing withering sago thatch roofs.

A group of women and children stand on the shore as a fleet of nine fiberglass dinghies each powered by relatively new 40 horse power Yamaha engines come into the bay. Apart from a few men on each of the boats, all are void of any large cargo.

The community’s isolation masks a transformation that has been happening over the last three years. A transformation driven by a small group of businessmen on a path to becoming self-made millionaires.

Typical village house in Samap

The men are returning from Madang. It’s a trip that has just earned the community more than 12 thousand dollars from the sale of buai or betelnut – the fruit of the aceca palm traditionally chewed during social gatherings.

Each month, they earn an average of 40 thousand dollars which translates to a gross annual income of more than 400 thousand dollars which is shared amongst the members of the community depending on how much work they contributed.

“There are local buyers who buy buai from people in the village,” says Robert Mandu, the ward councilor who made about 6 thousand dollars today. “We pack them in bags and sell it to Seti a businessmen who comes from the Highlands.”

Those actively involved in the buai trade say it’s not just about business and making money. They’re building on extended family relationships and supporting their clansmen and women in improving their standard of living. Robert from the Sepik and Seti from the Highlands aren’t related by blood but they drew on the strengths inherent in both their cultures and reached out to others.

L-R Brothers Henry and Robert Mandu

Every decision is made collectively with their elders. Robert consults with other members of his family. Seti is always accompanied by an older uncle who helps him buy the buai. The trading happens at the small village of Kosakosa on the Madang - East Sepik border where Robert’s sister lives with her husband.

Over three years, Seti and Robert’s families developed this once tiny local trade confined to village consumers into an industry which will be worth over a million dollars over the next 5 years. The trade spans six provinces and links coastal buai growers in Samap to the vast market of more than a million consumers in the highlands of Papua New Guinea.

The venture began with Henry – Robert’s older brother – who started off by selling Buai using small 25 horsepower Yamaha engine. Henry is a man of few words and doesn’t readily take credit for the success of Samap’s growing band of young entrepreneurs. But everyone knows his actions speak volumes. For many in Samap, Henry is a visionary. These days, there is very little haggling over prices. The buyers and sellers agree on a price that is beneficial to both families. Seti then makes direct deposits of up to 15 thousand dollars for every order into the bank accounts managed by Robert. Each seller knows how much he or she will get per bag and how much is being deposited. The boat owners are also paid for the hire of their boats upfront. Nobody is cheated.

Four of the nine boats brought from buai sales

Theirs is a relationship based on trust and constant communication. No lawyers. No overseas consultants. No written agreements. It’s an arrangement that is working with little trouble.

“We’ve bought 10 boats from our buai sales,” says Robert. “We are working to get a few more.

“We are in control of our own economic development. We are deciding what we want to do and how much money we want to make”

The Buai trade isn’t their only income source. Every week, a boat goes to the East Sepik Provincial capital of Wewak loaded with bags of dried cocoa beans. This is another community effort that brings in a collective income of up to 1500 dollars a week.

“We used to sell unprocessed cocoa beans to buyers from other villages,” Robert says. “Many of us aren’t well educated and we knew very little about cocoa prices and we used to get cheated a lot.”

Led by Henry, the people of Samap, sought the expertise of a relative who built them a cocoa fermentery. This reduced the weight they had to carry into town and increased the value of their product.

Buai

What the people of Samap are doing is in vast contrast to those in the nearby villages of Kaup and Tiring where Malaysian loggers are clear-felling large areas of rainforest. They’ve been promised oil palm development as well as benefits under a special agriculture business lease (SABL) which is currently the focus of an investigation. So far, there’s no hint of progress and they’re still waiting for that “development.

Henry packing cocoa dried beans

“We kicked those loggers off our land. They drove their bulldozers into a wildlife management area that our fathers established,” Robert says. “But the people of Kaup and Tiring have taken what we rejected. We told them but they haven’t listened.”

After more than three decades since the Australian colonial administration left, Samap is still without a road link to the provincial capital of Wewak. The road ends at the nearest mission station of Turubu which is a day’s walk from Samap. Malaysian loggers are pressuring leaders of Samap to sign logging agreements that come with the promise of a road link.

“Those Malaysians haven’t learned and still think we’re dumb!” says an amused Samap elder. “How can you build a road with 500 thousand kina? We know they only want the trees.

“Besides, what would we need a road for? We already have what we need.”

As the Local Level Government Councilor, Robert is the man responsible for the implementation of government policy. But he gets no support from the provincial or national governments and he doesn’t get paid. Yet it doesn’t bother him.

“We don’t need government handouts. We don’t need employment provided by a logging company. We’re making more money on our own.”

The important thing for them is that they are in control and they can choose what they want. Next month, Robert and his brothers will buy a sawmill. This will help his community build new houses for themselves from timber harvested from their land.

“The next time you come, these houses will be gone. We will have posts made of sawn timber and houses that have corrugated iron roofs. People deserve to live in good houses.”

WHY PAPUA NEW GUINEANS SHARE...

2012-05-15T12:43:00.000+10:00

Sometime ago, I remarked food tastes a lot better if you share it with others.
When I was little, I always wondered why my grandmother would send small parcels of meat or fish
to new neighbors who had just moved in two blocks away. Why would she go out of her way in a
province so far from her own village to give away food that we could have easily kept for next week’s
supper? She shared what she had without any expectation of getting something in return. Several
months later, a child (or several children) would turn up at our door step with a small package with the
message: mum sent this for you. Ok. Who’s your mum? And where do you live? In many instances,
we did not know who his parents were because grandma gave away lot of food parcels. Life is richer
when you share.
Papua New Guineans have great difficulty eating alone. Food, no matter how small the portion, still has
to be shared. From an early age, we are taught to share everything we eat even if there is a lot. Eating
alone is boring. It’s not about how delicious or tasteless the food is. The act of sharing nourishes
relationships and builds new ones.
There’s an old saying that I must be able to see smoke (from cooking fires) from my neighbors’ house.
It means I can’t eat and be content knowing that my neighbor is hungry.
Those relationships that my parents and my grandparents built when I was a child still exist today. I find
help and a place to sleep in the most unlikely places and from the unlikeliest of people.
They built those relationships with a future generation in mind – my generation and my children’s
generation and those who will come after me.

DIPLOMACY, HONESTY & THE ART OF RELATIONSHIPS

2012-05-15T10:20:00.006+10:00

Mine is a warrior culture. One that prided itself on conquest, expansion of territory and on the ability of its young warriors. My ancestors killed and ate their enemies. We were a group of people who refused to become cargo bearers for the colonialists and instead chose to lead expeditions inland carrying the weapons they brought with them.
But the great battles fought over long distances to lay claim to enemy lands wasn’t the central part of my people’s existence.
Diplomacy was of utmost importance and the skills to prevent violence through diplomatic means was and still is highly valued. Such skill didn’t come into play only to prevent war. It was part of everyday life. Brothers resolved issues by talking for hours or even days so that their present disagreements didn’t affect their relationship and their children’s relationships in future. Past relationships between members of distant clans were also equally important.
Each word used in the dialogue was chosen with care. The potential effect of every gesture was considered before it was made. Elders listened and were slow to speak because to offend someone physically or verbally was costly. It was the equivalent of an expensive lawsuit in today’s justice system. Resolving the issue involved an apology and compensation which included payment in the form of pigs and other gifts. So sincerity and honesty were of paramount importance during negotiations.
While the men provided protection as warriors of the clan or tribe, their economic power both in peacetime and in times of war rested on the women. A man’s wealth and status in his society and his ability to negotiate the terms of a diplomatic solution on behalf of his family or clan hinged on his woman’s skill to raise pigs. The foundation of a man’s success depended on the woman.
Women were highly valued members of our society. They were our mothers who gave us life. They were key in the man’s economic and political status and they raised the warriors who laid claim to new land and resources.
Traditionally, women were marked to become wives. But that didn’t stop girls from choosing their future husbands if they so wished. In many instances, a girl would take her possessions and go to the family of the man she wished to marry and be accepted as part of the household. If she was rejected by the young man, another process of diplomacy was initiated by his father and mother. The young man’s family would take gifts - pigs included - to the girl’s family as a sign of respect. That gesture simply said:
“We appreciate your daughter’s decision to choose our son but our son will not take your daughter as his wife. We value your daughter and respect the decision she made and we apologize to your family for the inconvenience this may have caused. We give you these gifts as a token of our appreciation and we hope our relationship and that of our children and our children’s children will not be affected by this event.”
In family life, disagreements between husband and wife rarely erupted into physical violence. This was because apologizing to a woman and her family was an extremely expensive exercise. The number of pigs demanded for the harm caused to their daughter or for the open display of anger was determined by the woman’s uncles and brothers.
The raising of children also had to be done creatively. Children were not only the responsibility of the parents but also of the uncles and aunts. Spanking and even raising your voice at your child in the presence of other family members or guests was offensive. It also called for an expensive apology.
Today many of those practices have lost their meaning. It’s the 21st century and many feel that we have no need for stone age customs and traditions that use pigs as legal tender. There is “no need” for the extended family and children are our responsibility and we can do what we want.
Today, we march against gender based violence and inequality. The man is called the the “breadwinner” and the “head of the family.” We attend conferences on child abuse run by overseas consultants. We use child protection methods that come from other countries and we’ve forgotten that violence against women and children was shunned in our societies.

THE BONE DAGGER

2011-12-12T15:55:00.001+10:00

Simon, a leader of his clan, is an elderly man who has no use for shoes and the clothes that the white man brought in more than 50 years ago. This proud Hela elder is one of hundreds whose world revolved around traditional symbols of wealth and status.But all that is being torn to shreds as the whiteman's cash takes precedence over headresses, bird plumes and pigs. The whiteman's law has also rendered centuries old traditional commandments unapplicable in the 21st century.

These days Simon refuses to leave the confines of his village and venture into the Tari township -the capital of the new Hela province. His whole world - the world of the Hela man - is slowly crumbling around him.

For laws enforced to the letter by armed police dictate that he abandon his cassowary bone dagger that a Hela man always carries after initiation. The whitemen from gas project are fearful of the Hela with their strange headresses and their "offensive weapons," -the cassowary bone daggers. Police tell him that he can wear everything else but the bone dagger. Some of his tribesman have chosen. To wear shorts and trousers to avoid hassles with the police but not Simon. He doesn't care much about Exxon Mobil's multibillion dollar gas project but what worries him are ancient prophecies of strife and turmoil that will befall his people if the land is disturbed and the "fire" given to the outsider.

What also worries him is that his land is being invaded and trampled on by foreigners and he is unable to defend it.

WE'RE BEING INFORMED BUT WE'RE NOT ACTING

2011-12-08T08:56:00.001+10:00

OKSAPMIN, SANDAUN PROVINCE - 2002: Election year. I arrived at a school in the Tekin Valley after a 6 hour trek through the jungle. The rain had just ended when I began an interview with a local teacher. I was asking him about maternal and infant mortality rates and he mentioned in passing that the nearest health centre was a days walk from where we were. Two days for villages I had passed. For those in very remote villages, it was just too difficult for them. This teacher told me they had no proper record of the number of mothers and babies who had died that year or previous years. He gave me an educated guess. He said between 15 and 30 babies died in a year. So when a baby died just after birth, the father would take the tiny body to the back of the hut and bury him or her there. No one mourned for them. They were just nameless children who had not even seen their first birthday.

Oksapmin, Sandaun Province

NUKU, SANDAUN PROVINCE- 2002: I met a health worker in a small aid post. Half the concrete floor had collapsed. It had sunk about 15 centimetres into the ground. The medicine cabinet had only anti malarial tablets and liniment used for body aches. He told me a child had died about 24 hours ago of dehydration. By the time the child had been brought to the aid post, the health worker couldn’t insert a needle because the child’s veins had already collapsed. The father arrived minutes later and the health worker told him: If you want your son to live take him now and run to the health centre. To walk would have taken him six hours. He did make it to the government station. He had the health centre in sight. But the child had already died.

PORT MORESBY, NCD - 2003: At the Airlines PNG hanger. I was taking pictures for a story on EMTV news. The story was about the aftermath of ethnic violence. In front of me were seven coffins bound for Goilala in the Central province. What caught my attention were two coffins - a large one in which lay a man and beside him was a smaller meter long coffin containing the body of his son. They had been hacked to death after being blamed for instigating trouble at a marketplace. Usually, I don’t try to think about these things. But when you’re doing the job, you find yourself thinking about it a lot. You try to understand the reasons behind why people kill others and in this case – an innocent child. I still have difficulty understanding the brutality and reasons behind that massacre.

PORT MORESBY, NCD 2009: I met a landowner from the Moran Area in the Southern Highlands province. He’s been fighting for about three years for the government to recognize the legitimacy of his landowner group in the LNG project. He’s a young man in his early thirties. He isn’t as well educated as many of you in this room but he knows where is land boundaries are and he knows his land rights. He represents a group of dissatisfied men and women.

So what does the murder of seven Goilalas in Port Moresby’s Tete settlement have to do with maternal and infant mortality in remote Sandaun Province?

How does the story of a southern highlands landowner tie in with a child dying in his fathers arms minutes before reaching a health centre Nuku?

In Journalism school, they tell you to keep the big picture in mind whilst giving your story a human face. The stories that I’ve told you shows you the human face of the challenges and difficulties that confront ordinary Papua New Guineans.

These stories are also the human face of the dissatisfaction felt through a cross section of society.

A few years ago, the Institute of National Affairs published a small article about the ethnic violence that happened in the Solomon Islands. It said ethnic violence…

“…was largely the result of imbalanced development …with portions of the population feeling alienated and aggrieved…”

“…they were missing out on opportunities… or had injustices done to them or had lost control over land and resources…”

‘…corruption and deals over natural resources contributed to that dissatisfaction…”

Somehow all this sounds very familiar. If I were a doctor, I’d say Papua New Guinea already has what appears to be the Solomon Islands Syndrome and we are in denial. We’ve taken the formula that created the disaster on Bougainville and we’re creating a more lethal recipe for nationwide self-destruction.

OUTSTANDING ISSUES

We as a nation have so many outstanding issues that we need to address. Yet we keep creating new problems for ourselves. We haven’t solved Ok Tedi’s environmental problems and yet we’ve allowed another foreign company to dump it’s waste into the Basamuk Bay. While dozens of teachers in Port Moresby and other major centres live in classrooms because of the lack of accommodation and high rentals, we give ourselves hefty increases in accommodation allowances and we say it’s justified.

Why does a father in remote Sandaun have to accept the death of his son when our leaders have access to the best doctors in a foreign country. Why do we buy a jet to be used by just a few when we don’t want to subsidize rural air transport for ordinary people?

We all have solutions to the ills of our society. For ethnic violence, we say send them back to where they came from. But send them back to what?

To a village that has no road access?

To schools that have no teachers?

To health centres that have no medicine?

It is sometimes difficult to understand why we choose to nurture dissatisfaction and anger amongst our people? In a sense, we are fortunate that the vast majority of Papua New Guineans do not draw the link between decision makers and poor service delivery. Maybe it’s because they’re too busy just trying to survive because of those bad decisions.

But I tell you this that void of ignorance is diminishing at a very rapid rate. Soon every Papua New Guinean with a mobile phone will know exactly what Waigani is doing though mobile internet access and they will have every right to be angry.

WHAT TO DO

Each of us has a responsibility. Every person has the job of fixing this great country of ours.

If a teacher taught for eight hours a day, five days a week. Wouldn’t we have better educated people?

And if that one person in authority made sure medicine got from point A to point B, wouldn’t we have less people dying?

At almost every workshop or meeting where the role of the media is discussed, people keep saying “the media has an important role to play in development.” It has been said so many times that its become a cliché.

If you buy a paper, you see headlines on a newspaper. Turn on the radio at midday and the NBC tells you what’s happening around the country.

We can write a hundred stories about illegal immigrants and human smuggling…

We can write about disappearing millions and investigations by the Public Accounts Committee… But the media is good only if ordinary people and those in authority take the information that is supplied and act on it. If the systems and authorities don’t take steps to address the problems we expose, then our attempts amount to very little.

TODAY I LEARNT HONESTY FROM A CHILD

2011-12-08T08:10:00.001+10:00

In Madang town today my wife and I met a child – a boy of about seven – no more than a meter tall.

He was selling DVDs. I don’t always buy DVDs on the streets but there was something about this kid that drew my attention and I couldn’t put my finger on it. Of course when you meet someone, you notice the obvious first. He was small and of elementary school age, probably 6 or seven. His nose was dirty. He had a bag slung across his body.

After the obvious, you start to pay attention to the less obvious. To me, he wasn’t trying to be a streetwise salesman. He just wanted to sell his DVDs and go home. But where was home? He showed me his DVDs. Two of which looked good. He said without saying that if I wasn’t interested he’d go somewhere else, he didn’t mind if I wasn’t interested. I still didn’t know what it was that drew me to this kid until I spoke to him.

I asked him who actually owned the DVDs he was selling and he told me they belonged to him. I asked him a second time and again he told me the same. I asked where his parents were. He said his mother had died and his father “cut grass for Peter Barter,” the former governor of Madang. He said all this with a level of honesty that just broke my heart.

The DVDs - Green Hornet and Sucker Punch

This little person wasn’t seeking sympathy nor was he asking for help. I decided to buy two of his DVDs – not because I felt sorry for him but because they looked interesting. While I was giving him the money he told us that he had eaten too many lollies and that he had a belly ache. Again, he wasn’t looking for someone to feel sorry for him. He was just stating facts as they occurred. I paid for the DVDs and gave him two kina extra – a spur of the moment decision. Not because I felt sorry for him.

He hesitated but then took the money. I’m writing this because I can’t forget his eyes and what his whole being said without saying.

As young as he seemed, this little person had his dignity. He was honest. He was trusting and he was willing to work hard without begging.

What was sad was that he had accepted life as it is. He had accepted that life for him and his dad is difficult and will continue to be difficult. Yet he wasn’t going to take it lying down. He didn’t express sadness about his mother’s death. Had simply accepted that sometimes mums die when kids are small and that dads have to work hard to cut grass and that kids have to sell DVDs to make money. Today, I learnt a lot about honesty, perseverance and hard work. I will work harder and appreciate the simple priceless gifts that money can’t buy. I didn’t take a picture of him.

AFTER

2011-12-06T11:40:00.001+10:00

After we’ve waged wars

laid waste

maimed and murdered

and drunk our fill

What then?

After we’ve raped and plundered

Gouged the earth,

Taken all her riches

And stripped of her dignity

What then?

After we’ve polluted the rivers

Cut all the trees

Annihilated all beasts

And built our cities

What then?

After we’ve melted the poles

Drowned the islands

Gorged on tuna

Harpooned all the whales

What then?

After we’ve decimated cultures

Displaced our peoples

Robbed them of land

And established destitution

What then?

After we’ve fed our lust

Satisfied our greed

Abandoned all common sense

And that which is morally right

What then?

After we’ve destroyed

Our past

Our present

Our future

What then?

THE DARKNESS OF NEON LIGHTS

2011-12-06T08:48:00.001+10:00

Downtown Port Moresby - (My Magic Moments)

A youth of nineteen by Burns Peak road

A ten seater flies past his humble abode

His buttons undone his face a blank

Gust of air and into a twig his teeth he sank

A lump protrudes from his lanky frame

Cancer they said but tis all the same

He’ll die anyway and no one will care

For many more his life they share

His mind a baggage of a childhood lost

The last of six and born at great cost

His father a landless Moresby squatter

For years lived in the same city quarter

On the radio a new hospital is opened

For him it’s but a dream with a sour end

He’d curse his father for his foolish dream

If he’d known a better life for it he’d scream

This has been life since his mother left

Her death at birth left him bereft

Life sometimes was a cruel joke

No pain. No sadness nor tears on which to choke

Lights of the city had beckoned to his father

Even here on the hill they seemed farther

He lives it. He breaths it every day and on countless nights

He knows without knowing the darkness of neon lights

"WE CRY WHEN THE WOMEN DIE" - A STORY FROM SAIDOR

2011-10-23T12:00:00.001+10:00

Dilung Gama and her daughter Martina sit on bed in a small maternity ward at the Saidor Health Center. Martina who suffers from epilepsy, gave birth near their village a few days ago.

The child has been given away for adoption and Dilung - who appears to be in her 60s - says they did that because Martina has too many children. She doesn’t say how many children her daughter has but she points to a boy behind her and says: “That’s one of them.”

Mother and daughter, Dlung and Matilda Gama

Like many other parts of Papua New Guinea, stories about the plight of women and children is all too common. We’ve become desensitized to images and stories that would cause panic and alarm in other countries.

Martina is one of the lucky few who have made it to a health center. Her village was beside a road and she was fortunate that her relatives brought her to Saidor in time. Many others aren’t so fortunate.

“…For instance, we get a radio message that says there’s a women in pain,” says Lynette Dawo, a community health worker. “In actual fact, she’s been in pain for the last three or four days and the message has just reached us because it took several days for her husband to get to a radio.”

Lynette Dawo - Community Health Worker

The Raikos area of Madang shares a common border with the Morobe province. The area is rugged and mountainous. It’s people are scattered along across a thin coastal strip stretching from the Astrolabe to Wasu in Morobe. Many more live in hamlets in the the rugged hills overlooking the coast. Transportation is extremely difficult when it comes to medical emergencies.

Lynette and other workers here at Saidor are a dedicated lot of health professionals. But their dedication and commitment has not always been enough to save countless lives lost because of transport difficulties.

“It is a painful place to work,” she says. “Our patients are like family.

She recalls a medevac she requested several years ago for a woman who was suffering from birth complications. She died while Lynette other staff were desperately trying to find a boat.

“I cried for her. I went to the health office and I said: why did it take so long to find the boat. We let her die.”

Gabriel Puak, Nursing officer,

Saidor had a sea ambulance once. But the heath Center didn’t have the money to get it fixed after it broke down 10 years ago. The health centers, buildings are badly in need of maintenance. The workers point out that all available resources are channeled towards saving lives. Transportation alone eats into the meager user fees collected by the health center.

“Sometimes we try to get the patients to pay for emergency transportation,” says Gabriel Puak. “ But they can’t afford it. Transport difficulties also has a major impact on the local economy and their ability to make their own money.”

Gabriel holds a Bachelor’s Degree in Midwifery. In saidor, he has been able to reduce the number of deaths during birth. He knows he can do a lot more if only he had the money and the means of transportation to get the medicines and staff to the many rural locations that demand attention.

“Sometimes I sit at home and wonder why I was born here and why I chose this profession. I’ve got the skills to do the job but how do I get to those many people who need help.”

FINALLY EVICTED FROM THEIR LAND

2011-02-26T22:48:00.004+10:00

For two years, brothers Peter and John Kepma from Kurumbukare have been resisting attempts by the Chinese owned Nickel Mine to force them onto a temporary camp site. In September 2010, a group of armed police accompanied by mine workers forcefully evicted them from their ancestral home. The brothers documented how their huts were demolished and their lives destroyed.

On the morning of the 8^thof September 2010, John Kepma was suddenly awakened by noise outside his hut . He peered through the cracks in the wall and saw several policemen who had begun pulling down his dwelling.

He came out of his hut and was confronted with a sight he had come to both dread and expect. Armed policemen had begun an eviction of remnant members of the Maure clan who had refused to move to a temporary relocation site. His clan members included his father, his uncles his older brother, Peter and several children.

“One of the ‘officers of the state’ told us that we were weren’t landowners and that he would get three other clans to burn our houses down and chase us off the land, ” John recalled. “He said: ‘all of you come out and pack your things and leave,’ then he began breaking down the houses.”

Since January last year, John and his older brother Peter had become the face of a people’s resistance against the Chinese owned Ramu Nickel Mine’s push to evict them from their own land. On eight previous occasions last year, older brother Peter was confronted by heavily armed police who demanded that he pack up and leave. But each time he refused.

“They came armed and dressed in their uniforms. They wanted me to leave.,” he said. “But I told them: this is my land and I will stay here. This is an issue between me and MCC. You all are not from China. You’re all Papua New Guinean like me. You own land as well.”

The Maure of Kurumbukare are a small clan that control a small land area. For Peter Kepma, the success of this resistance is crucial. His clan’s survival depends on the land on which they live. But this large scale mining development has taken away their very means of survival – their ancestral land. “Our entire clan land will be mined for nickel, ” Peter says. “We’ve been forced to move to a temporary relocation site but that too will be mined later.

“They’ve told us that we’ll be moved to a permanent site but that land belongs to another clan and we won’t be allowed to plant gardens or hunt.” Like the majority of rural Papua New Guineans, becoming landless is unthinkable. It simply doesn’t happen. But for Peter, John and members of his clan, it has become a reality. With nowhere else to live, the clan planted a food garden on an area designated as the mining company’s ore stockpile area. John says that they had no choice but to plant on what is now the company’s land. Members of their family now reside on the fringes of what was their customary land. Their huts perched on a small mountain ridge overlooking the mine site. They’ve been living there for the last two years despite talk of relocation. When the eviction began, John documented it all using a digital still camera.

He took pictures of his village being demolished and of his displaced family. He even took pictures of a Chinese company worker who told him not to go to the media. John and Peter said they want the world to know about the things that are being done to them and how they’re being treated on their own land.

Ends…

HERE AND NOW

2010-12-08T09:27:00.002+10:00

Many of the stories on this blog are based on real experiences. I wrote this story after covering a rape and murder of an elementary school in Port Moresby. Personally, I've always wondered how parents of children who have been killed by total strangers go on with life.

Since her death, calling her name was forbidden in the house. It was just a house now. A home no more. When the police found her lifeless body, he didn’t want to believe it was his little girl. It had to be someone else’s daughter. It couldn’t be his pride and joy. He couldn’t think.
Those few hours were like a blur in slow motion. It was as if time had slowed so dramatically. In his mind he would pick out the events by the minute and look at them over and over. When he arrived at the scene, a crowd of men, women and children were hovering over the drain.
“They must have raped her too…” he heard someone say. “…it happened early this morning…”
Their almost unconscious fascination of a dead little girl sickened him. He pushed them aside and stumbled into the drain. Her school uniform was almost unrecognizable. Torn and bloody. Even her panties had been removed. There lay his own flesh and blood. He opened his mouth but couldn’t find his voice. It was as if his very being had been stabbed by a spear.

Picture from Zac's blog
http://www.zacsunderland.com/blog/2008_09_01_archive.html

Jennifer’s younger brother pulled him out of the drain when the police arrived. They would not let him hold his baby girl. His beautiful baby girl. They retrieved her small mangled body slowly and painfully and along with it three large rocks. All the hate and anger and sorrow… everything. It was all there. Crushing him under their weight. He tore at his face and dug his nails into his hair. He felt no pain even when his fists became bloody from pounding the earth upon which writhed. He wanted her back. He wanted her back. Why? Why? Why?
What pleasure did that animal seek from the body of an 8-year-old girl? What did he want when he took her away?
What hurt him most was the terror she must have felt those minutes before her attacker bashed her head with those rocks. Childhood fear is real when you dream. But somewhere somehow you know daddy or mummy will be there when you wake up and it will all be over with a hug. But that fear was not a dream. She must have closed her eyes and wished she would wake up from it all. It hurt him so much that he wasn’t there to take her daughter away from it all.
A fly sat on his lip and he slowly swatted it away with his hand. It hurt a bit. He couldn’t remember if he had broken a bone. He hadn’t been to the hospital since he took his girl from the morgue.
Since the hauskai, he had practically lived on the outdoor platform they built outside the house. He sat there for days on end. Another day was slowly ending. His eyes were now cast past the nearby hill. Port Moresby’s orange sunset on the clouds tortured his mind. …A little girl with a backpack…skipping… hopping… up the hill to the platform… then to the house. Jennifer framed by the timber door serving out food on three plates. Then an irritatingly beautiful girl’s voice calling out: “Daaaaaddy… Mama tok kam kaikaaaaai…! Slowly he pulled up his knees and laid down on the platform in a foetal position and closed his eyes. He didn’t ever want to wake up again.

END.

DISTANT (POEM)

2010-12-05T19:07:00.001+10:00

She seems distant and I am lost
I’ve taken so many turns
In this maze of life
Yet I am no nearer to her
With my careless lethargic ways
I keep hurting the one I love
I don’t know anymore
What is right and what is wrong
I can’t apologise
I can’t say I’m sorry
It means nothing anymore
There is anger in me
And I know I am to blame
The harder I cling
The farther I drive her from me
Every inch towards her
Seems to push her away
I can’t speak my mind
Without drawing anger
Yet I want her more each day
I long for her warmth
And I don’t know what to do
‘Tis like holding a shell
She does what has to be done
And doesn’t expect much of me
Slowly, I’m giving up on myself
For this selfishness is like
A monkey on my back
Eating into me and my soul
I ask and I don’t give
I give yet I want it back
I’ve lost the right
To fight for what is mine
For this barrier exists
Between me and what is mine
I caused it all. I know I caused it all

CONFUSED (POEM)

2010-12-05T19:03:00.000+10:00

The wee hours I wake
My slumber I break
My thoughts are a jumble
Through which I stumble

What should I feel?
How should I feel?
Still…all’s like twilight
And grey impending night

This silent intrusion
Of all this confusion
My feelings are a mess
My thoughts I suppress

I stifle my yearning
Yet my soul is burning
The storm hasn’t abated
For chaos I am fated

Again at days end
to my thoughts I tend
Why did I fall
To that beckoning call?

And now…. this pain
This pain…this pain
Tis as real as my heart’s beat
And the earth beneath my feet

In endless stupor
I seek and implore
If it’s a dream
Why is it real when I scream?

RIDICULOUS PAYRISES, DEAD BABIES AND CHOLERA

2010-11-30T13:24:00.005+10:00

It was election year in 2002 when campaign efforts were at their peak. I arrived at a school in the Tekin Valley in remote Oksapin in the Sandaun province after a 6 hour trek though the jungle.
The rain had just ended when I began an interview with a local teacher.    He was one of the few government representatives   in this   very isolated part of Papua New Guinea. The only government aid post in his village had closed down a few years ago. The orderly left   for the provincial capital of Vanimo and never returned.   I wanted to know about infant and maternal mortality rates. At the time the teacher was the only person available who could give me a fair analysis of the situation.

Funeral gathering - Tekin Valley, 2002

Having come from Port Moresby where one relies on easily accessible and “reliable” statistics, I got straight into asking   a series of questions trying   to establish the number of mothers and children who had died in the last 1 months.
“We really don’t know.” He said. “We only know of those who died in   this village and the next.”

He counted three infants and one mother who died in his village in that election month alone. They all died of complications that could have been solved if they had easy
access to a sub-health center or even a medical orderly.   The nearest health center was a day’s walk from where we were. It would take two days   to get there from the villages I passed. But for pockets of small hamlets in the far of distance, getting to that health center when a mother experiencing   birth complications is an impossible dream.     The teacher couldn’t give me an exact number of children who died in the last 12 months or in the previous year. But he gave me an educated guess. He said between 15 and 30 babies die every year in this mountainous region.

Woman and granddaughter - Tekin, 2002

“Too many,” he said shaking his head. “Too many.”

He went on to tell me   that people had come to accept the deaths of babies as part of their lives. In the nearby villages, many families would gather for the death of a respected elder.   For a baby who died at birth, only the father and the mother would be at the burial. The teacher said in the small mountaintop villages, this was the scenario that was played out every month when a baby died: The father would take the tiny body to the back of the hut and bury him or her there. No one mourned for them. They were “just” nameless babies who would not even be recorded as statistics because nobody knew.

In the same year, I found myself in another part of the Sandaun province at a small government run aid post.   Half the concrete floor had collapsed into the ground. The medicine cabinet had only malarial tablets and liniment for body aches. The medical orderly told me that a child had died about 24 hours ago from dehydration. By the time he had been brought to the aid post, the orderly could not administer treatment. The child’s father came at the aid post a few minutes later and was told by the orderly: “If you want your son to live, take him and run to the health center.” The orderly said he got word in the afternoon that the   father did make it to health center but the child had already died in his arms.

Broken bridge near Telifomin

The situation may have already improved in those areas but in other places, it remains a reality that ordinary Papua New Guineans have to contend with. What matters most to the ordinary person in the village are roads, bridges schools, good health services and most importantly, the ability to make money for himself.   But it seems we keep getting it wrong every year!
In 2008, the Treasury department released figures in the Final Budget Outcome (FBO) which showed how much money was being wasted. The 68-page report outlined how the government more than doubled spending from K202.3 million to K478.5 million in deficit. The expenses   included car purchases, a 12 million kina Canberra residence, 100 thousand kina for pipes and drums for the Correctional Service band and 65 thousand kina for the Institute of Medical Research’s 40^th anniversary celebrations.
In 2009, Members of Parliament paid themselves K10 million in accommodation and motor vehicle allowances.    One government backbencher said immediately after the decision that he would “give all the allowances back to parliament.” In contrast, the Public Service Minister, Peter O’Neill said allowances which MPs were getting were “far below what was needed to meet the amounts charged by real estate companies.”
The increases gladly received by MPs came at a time when the Port Moresby General Hospital and other hospitals around the country were   experiencing a dire shortage of drugs and medical supplies. It was also a year when several hundred settlers were made homeless in Port Moresby after a police raid. Also in that year, working class Papua New Guineans in towns and cities struggled with accommodation problems and high food costs.
As if all that wasn’t enough, members of Parliament have yet again voted this year to give themselves a 52 percent pay rise. On average each MP will get about 77 thousand kina a annually.
All this is set against a gloomy backdrop   of high infant mortality rates and new outbreaks of cholera in several parts of the country.

WHAT STORY SHOULD I TELL?

2010-11-10T10:16:00.004+10:00

Tucked away behind the Nobnob mountain on Madang’s North Coast is a small school – the Nobnob primary school. Its students are the liveliest bunch of youngsters I’ve met this year. Keen to learn and well behaved even when the teacher is not there.

But like many schools through out Papua New Guinea the fibro classrooms show the wear and tear of the generations of kids who came through this school.

Like many others, I was just passing through to get to a vintage point where I could get a few take still photographs of Madang town in the far off distance. Walking into a classroom, a met a teacher. I asked If it was alright if I took a few pictures of the school and the children. Nobnob primary doesn’t have luxury of brand new classrooms but it does have a well maintained playing field and a tiny library . I guess, that’s what’s really important to kids – being able to play and enjoy growing up and being able to learn. Then again you think to yourself: How many of our political leaders would choose to send their children to schools like the Nobnob primary school? I can’t answer that for you. Some of the children, wide eyed and curious clutching worn copies of oxford dictionaries stared as I shot off a few stills on the camera I took with me.

I wanted to tell a story. But what story? I’d seen this story repeated a hundred times before. What new story was I going to tell? A sob story about children not achieving their dreams because government subsidies weren’t always paid on time? About demoralized teachers struggling with pay and living conditions as the cost of goods continued to rise everyday? About the teacher trying to decide whether he should have his salary deposited into his bank account only to have ridiculous bank fees charged on his earnings? Lecturers in university would have said give the story a human face, Scott. Make people see that it’s not just about the lovely statistics on flashy Power Point presentations. The kind that aid donors and government officials love to talk about in air conditioned conference rooms in Port Moresby.

Yes. But what story? The two other teachers I spoke to said Nobnob Primary is supposed to get 20 thousand kina every quarter as school subsidies. But it’s not news any more that the money doesn’t arrive on time or that many times it does not arrive at all. It’s not surprising. Not shocking anymore that our kids aren’t getting the support they need to achieve their dreams.

It doesn’t bother us anymore that maybe the kid in the picture I took won’t become a doctor because next year he’ll have to stay home all because daddy’s busy raising money to send his older brother to high school.

What story should I tell? For all this has become a monotonous repetition of stories with human faces we all recognize and live with everyday and yet choose to ignore. But then again, Nobnob is fortunate to have teachers and classrooms and a road leading to Madang town.

What about that school in Fiak? I bet you never heard of tiny primary school in some “insignificant” corner of the Sandaun province represented only by a mere statistic in the air conditioned conference rooms in Port Moresby. It’s a school that has had chronic teacher shortages for the last decade. Teachers just don’t want to go there anymore because the planes don’t fly there anymore because it’s unprofitable.

So what story should I tell?

FACELESS AND UNKNOWN (short story)

2010-08-14T10:31:00.004+10:00

Leonard dabbed on more somber colors with each stroke of the brush. The maroon blending with the darker brown. To the red, he was now adding a bit of black. It still retained its reddish hue. He wanted it that way. The sun dried blood at ten in the morning. The boy's feet had already taken shape. It was pale in the morning light.

The furrows his toes had made in the freshly dug garden soil were prominently placed. His head hung limp. The faceless strangers were only blurred images straining forward, the boys slender frame between them. Slowly congealing blood oozed from his nose and the corner of this mouth. Yes... it was slowing taking shape.

Leonard's brow creased. He leaned towards the large mug and drew a smaller brush from it and retouched the boy's slightly open eyelid. Another brush and another dab on the partially hidden white. the tip of the brush met the canvas again. the effect was an almost unnoticeable reflection of the early morning light on the dark glaze of the eyeball.

It was the intimate details of the boy's face that would have to tell the story and it was very much a story that needed to be told. Despite the brilliance of the artist, what the boy felt was far beyond anything that could be translated on to canvas. What Leonard could feel was the insecurity of the child begging silently in all hopelessness to be comforted. There were no words for it. No images for it. They could only be felt. Yes. Felt. But it was the feelings that Leonard wanted everyone to know. The tortured emotions of that one child. Half dragged, scared and his cries stifled by the shouts and taunts of adrenaline pumped strangers intent on satisfying that unquenchable lust for revenge.

It was now eight hours since he began. But he couldn't stop. He was angry and frustrated. He wanted the world to be angry with him. Life was being perverted and cheapened. Violence was accepted. It couldn't be and should never be.

All this was not only a symbolic crime against a higher class of society. For the boy was one of their own. He lived with them. His parents were as disadvantaged as they were. But he was an innocent victim of a foolish ethnic squabble.

He lived in the city all his life. It was so far removed from the tribal customs and traditions that governed his parents and grandparents. Besides, all that were just sketches of a life he barely understood. the blurred faces remained. the blade of the bush knife was stained with the boy's blood.

on the bottom right hand corner of the canvas was a trio dressed in blue camouflage uniforms of the special police task force. The aftermath of the murder. the attention...the authorities on the scene. But it was all too late. Too late. The boy was dead and his killers were only faceless figures in the ealry morning hours. People he didn't know.

END.

NOSTALGIA (Poem)

2010-08-01T19:17:00.003+10:00

That golf course on the hill

And thoughts of the thrill

Giant trees and their silent groans

Wet soil and white coloured stones

Berries and cold air in your nose

Damp earth and a pink rose

Kunai grass in waves of green

Tiny insects causing such a scene

The cold trickle of showers

Fields of tiny yellow flowers

Grass between your toes

Market sellers in rows

Distant hamlets, valleys and hills

Gentle showers and puddles it fills

Bamboo and pine cones brown

All at that small roadside town

Photo from "Kaunapulej's" photostream on Flickr

LANDLESS PAPUA NEW GUINEANS - IS THIS THE FUTURE?

2010-03-09T00:12:00.000+10:00

We came to Benny Mangua’s village at about Midday. This trip was for a story of how a foreign company allowed into the country by the government of Papua New Guinea was treating the local people - the original owners of the land.
I had packed a camera and several tapes not expecting anything major apart from a few disgruntled landowners who had not been paid their dues. As I was going to discover, I’d come to Kurumbukari mine site quite unprepared mentally.
Benny Mangua an elderly man of in his mid sixties greeted a teammate of mine, Steven Sukot - quite warmly but then whilst I shot a few seconds of footage, the old man broke down and wept. Steven responded as any Papua New Guinean would – embracing the old man and tried to calm him down as best he could.
“My tears keep falling. I’ve lost my land. I’ve lost my home.”
He continued to weep as I brought the camcorder around to him and clumsily adjusted the audio settings . In 10 years of television this, to me, was truly a rare moment. I never dreamed that I would live to see the day when this happened. This was a Papua New Guinean landowner who had been forced off his land by a foreign company. Benny Mangua of the Mauri Clan was born and raised on this land on which his ancestors had settled many generations ago. In a matter of months, he had become a landless Papua New Guinean.
“I’ve become like a parasite. I have no place to stay.”
He wasn’t exaggerating when he said it. For Benny Mangua’s entire clan’s land area contains some the richest nickel deposits in the Southern Hemisphere. It is here that the Chinese owned company – MCC - will begin the controversial US1.4 billion dollar nickel mining project.
About 50 of his clan members left for a temporary resettlement area – a forbidden, sacred site where Benny Mangua’s ancestral spirits dwell. It was a kilometer from where we were. But sacred as it was to the Mauri Clan of Kurumbukari, the site has been designated as a stockpile area for nickel ore.
Only two houses now stand on Mauri clan land. Both belong to Benny Mangua’s two sons - Peter Kepma and his younger brother, John. They’ve refused to leave.
“There is a permanent relocation area. But the land belongs to another person... another clan, says Peter Kepma. “If we go and live on the blocks of land there, we won’t be able to plant food gardens or hunt.”
MCC began issuing food rations to the Mauri clan since the relocation began. But the clan members say the food rations can only last them a few days.
“ The company is annoyed that we made gardens here,” John Kepma says pointing to cassava and taro growing on the stockpile area. “Even where the forest is… they don’t allow us to plant food.
“But we have to. If we don’t we’ll starve to death.”
John Kepma chuckles as he tells me about the company’s attitude towards local people.
“If we have a problems and we try to bring it to the company’s attention, they treat it like a criminal matter.”
Police have came to his elder brother’s house eight times already. Peter Kepma is the more serious type. Quiet undemanding yet stubborn.
“They tried to intimidate me,” he says. “They came well dressed in their uniforms and carrying their weapons. But I told them: “You’re not from China. You all own land just like me… I’m here because of my land. This isn’t State land. This is my land and I’ve still got it.”
To say “the Mauri clan faces a difficult future” is a gross understatement. As I filmed along the track leading to the temporary settlement, a five year old girl, walks ahead of me. She is in the shot nimbly picking her way through the kunai grass. I can see the audio levels on my camcorder peaking to the patter of her tiny feet on the yellow nickel rich earth.
I wondered if she understood why the old man had wept in front of total strangers about half an hour earlier.
He understood very well that She would not have the pleasure of learning the ways of old on her grandfather’s land nor gather eggs from the forest like her mother’s mother did many years ago. The old man understood that unlike other Papua New Guinean’s she was leaving behind the land that sustained her ancestors for generations. She was leaving behind her past and future.

ENDS

MOTI (Poem)

2009-11-09T11:09:00.002+10:00

It still baffles me so
Why they let Moti go
What did I miss? Fact is:
He hopped on a plane that wasn’t his
So who said he could go?
Why people won’t say, I don’t know?
It baffles me so
Why they let Moti go

NOBODY KNEW (Poem)

2009-11-09T10:54:00.003+10:00

Young lady got family to feed

Her husband gone and bubu is sick

“Children stay home no bus fare today

Or tomorrow… maybe next week”

When baby’s sick and she wait in line

Chinaman boss say: no wok no pay

Chinaman boss say it to everyone

Two weeks now baby still sick

Pekpek wara and strongpla kus

Her job someone takeover

She find ‘nother one taim baby orait

No food no pawa no water

Her daughter she die

Family not happy she did wrong

She killed her husband

And her baby daughter too

Husband’s people not happy

She get sick and soon she die

Bubu too sick to work

Children no mama no papa

No one knew she was HIV positive

FOREST REBELLION (Poem)

2009-10-27T10:16:00.004+10:00

One day he will rise from the squalor

The pleasure of his woman’s body no more

He’ll seek comfort from cold black metal

With his finger on the trigger

One day, this landowner’s child will be called a rebel

All because Daddy left him nothing when he was young

Beasts of metal ravaged his home when he was a baby

They tore down the giants that made him wonder in awe

The rivers are sick and the birds sing no more

The fish have left for distant streams

Daddy’s passion for pleasure died with him long time ago

What’s money when you don’t have a home?

One day, this landless landowner’s son will be called a rebel

‘Tis inevitable that he will arise driven by anger

At the slant eyed stranger who raped the ancient virgins

He’ll seek justice in lawlessness for rage will be his god