To Goroka and back and one "Extreme Bus Ride"….

The weekend away is over and I am back “safely” in Lae. Today is Wednesday and I am busy getting ready for next week start of lectures but felt the need to write a few words about my weekend away.

I left campus Friday morning at 6:30am. The day before I booked a ride into town so that I would get to the main bus stop early enough. I was quite excited as this was my 1^st PMV ride out of town plus I was looking forward to a few “quiet” days away and also to catchup with my AVI friends in Goroka. The PMV ride !!!  Now this is something else, I believe they should establish a new extreme sport called : “Extreme Bus Riding” !!  A badly maintained bus, packed full of people, food, kids and a “buai” chewing driver to boot hurtling down a pot hole riddled road at 140 km/hr. Here I was crammed right at the back of the bus curled up in the fetal position, praying to a god I don’t really believe in and wanting to yell out to the driver : slow down….  slow down !!  Just as well I brought that spare roll of toilet paper with me. As the 4 hour ride progressed I settled down and was able to enjoy the beauty of the countryside as we made our way up the highway towards the highlands.

There is a section of road between Lae and Goroka that is notorious for “Raskol” hold ups. In fact a couple of weeks before a truck full of PNG policemen, on there way to a sharp shooters competition were held up by one of these “Raskol” gangs. Of course at the time, these “Raskols” had no idea of the identity of the “people” in the truck. It turns out that the “Raskols” opened fire on the truck and the policemen responded by killing three of them on the spot. A few days later the police come back to the area searching for accomplices and a further four “Raskols” were killed. One of the “criminals” had his leg blown off by the police and was tied to the front of the police jeep and paraded down the main street of one of the local towns to show the locals what happens to “Raskols”. Justice in PNG is truly swift.

Anyway, back to my trip up the mountain. As we were “hurtling” along and making the Lae to Goroka run in what must surely be record time a road block appears ahead. There seems to be uncertainty amongst the other passengers and I look out the window and I see some men ahead with M16 rifles and rows of cars. The driver seems nervous and yells something at the passengers. We slow down and stop. I look around searching for a police or military vehicle, I can’t see any. I look at the men with guns and don’t see any in uniform. The energy in the PMV goes up a few notches as one of the armed men starts walking over to our PMV. I’m not sure what to make of it : Is this an official road block or is this a hold up my “Raskols” ? My breathing starts to speed up and I can feel my heart go “gethump”, “gethump”. My testicles which normally sit down below between my legs, slowly start working there way up to my neck. The toilet paper is very handy. As it turns out the road block must have been “legit”. We were allowed proceed on our journey and I am overcome with a feeling of immense relief. The toilet paper goes back into storage and my testicles slowly work there way down to there proper place. Incidentally there was another road block ahead but this time we were able to see a police vehicle and men in uniform. Sweet !!   We arrived in Goroka at around 12:00pm.

I did not take one photo in Goroka. I generally carry my camera around with me but most of the time I am very reluctant to pull it out of my bag to take pictures. Sorry, this is not entirely true, I did take some photos at Eden and Jason’s party Saturday night which I will post another day. For now you will need to rely on my writing and your imagination to get an insight into my weekend away.

Goroka is in a coffee growing region and during my stay I saw many local farmers from surrounding farms bringing in bags of raw beans to sell. Much of this coffee is bought up by exporters and goes overseas for roasting and eventually ends up somewhere in the west in some coffee shop somewhere. For those of you that are coffee connoisseurs the coffee grown in PNG is mainly “Arabica” (as opposed to “Robustus”).

Goroka is also a hub of activity and I found the town to be a very busy one. One thing about PNG, there are always people everywhere. One part of Goroka that I found the busiest was the market area. The market area in Goroka is known by the locals as the “World Trade Center” (WTC). There are two distinct markets, one of them known as “Main” markets and the other as “Kakaruk” markets. The main markets sell food, fresh produce and clothing. The “Kakaruk” markets sell betelnut, betelnut and more betelnut. The “Kakaruk” markets also have dozens of dart boards setup for people to play for a beer or smokes. Quite a sight seeing 24 dart boards setup along side each other, each dart board having one “owner” and dozens if not hundreds of people lined up behind, either playing or watching. Most dart boards have people sitting below and around them as others throw darts, the people sitting down relying on the accuracy of the dart throwers. Quite a sight !!!  Other sections of the Kakaruk markets have card and bingo games going on. Hundreds of people gambling and drinking and chewing betelnut, pigs running around and mud and shit everywhere. White people rarely go to Kakaruk markets. Needless to say that my walk around these markets was an adrenalin rush and an experience that I will remember for many years to come. By the way, I played some darts and won one bottle of beer and four “spiers” (local cigarettes).

The PNG person loves to interact. The PNG person is very social. One of the big differences between westerners and the PNG local is their concept of relationship. Many white people come to PNG and remain isolated, isolated from the locals and therefore isolated from “relationship”. One of the keys to staying safe in PNG is to interact with the locals. My sojourn into Kakruk markets was potentially dangerous and some would describe as a silly thing to do. I walked around and I talked and I mixed. The odd “buai” gets chewed and we share stories. All men and women are equal. We all have 2x arms and 2x legs, we all feel, we all cry and we all laugh. We all get scared and we all feel sadness and anger. Black skin or white skin, who gives shit.

I have mentioned before that PNG men and women holds hands in public. Unheard of in western society. Unless one is homosexual of course. Where I come from so called straights do not engage in “hand holding”  or touch for that matter. Some of us hug from time to time but this is as far as it goes. The hand holding in PNG is fascinating, especially amongst the men. Coming from a homophobic place like Australia, it is kind of weird to observe this phenomenon of hand holding and even more weird to contemplate “participating” in this local custom. I came here to teach but there are times when I feel that I am doing all the learning.   

There were many opportunities over the weekend to interact with the locals and walk around town. The Goroka airstrip is right in the middle of town and right next to the airstrip there is a park. People come to the park, to meet, to play touch footie or to sit and watch the planes land and take off. On the Sunday afternoon I strolled down to this park and sat and read for a while. Men and boys started to wander over and sit with me. We sat in a circle and we talked (in Tok Pisin) and we told some stories (also in Tok Pisin). At one stage there would have been about 24 of us, all gathered and sharing and laughing. This experience in the park with these men and boys is what I am learning to love about PNG. Human interaction. What has happened to human interaction in the west ???

Friday night a few of us met for dinner and drinks at the “The Bird” (Bird of Paradise Hotel). I met a few of the other volunteers and also some of the ex-pats working in town. Jason and Eden decided to have a party at their place on the Saturday night. So you can see my weekend was filled with plenty of “social” activity. I enjoyed the party Saturday night and met a few more people. Jason cooked up a local BBQ which included meat and veggies stuffed into a piece of bamboo thrown on to the fire. Delicious !  As much as I enjoy interacting with the locals, there are times when I need to meet up with and socialize with my own “kind”. Balance in all things I guess. I took some photos at the party and will post them to the blog at a later date.

It turns out that this week a Gun Summit is being held in Goroka. Many politicians, senior bureaucrats and other “Big Men” in town for a week to attend the conference. I was told that the PNG PM (Mr Somare) was also attending the conference and would be arriving on the Monday. Sunday night I had the opportunity to meet and socialise with some of the conference attendees and got a direct insight into corruption PNG style. I was told that if you want to be rich in PNG one becomes a politician and if one is seeking power one joins the police or military. From my observation the so called “big men” in this country seem to have forgotten their people. The term “Big Man” was traditionally given to community leaders. These men had power and wealth but also responsibility. The “Big Men” in PNG today seem to be busy filling their own pockets and neglecting responsibility. Perhaps the common man or woman in the street need to stop relying on their so called “Big Men” and start taking responsibility for their own problems. The challenges facing PNG are many and the rate of change that is being thrust upon the PNG people is unbelievable. A people that have only recently come into contact with western ways and are expected and forced in many cases to adapt to a “new way” within one, two or three generations.   

Monday morning and time to head back to Lae. I wander down to the bus stop at around 8:00am and eventually get a seat on a PMV at around 10:30am. As I am waiting I start to wander how much a flight back to Lae would cost. People walk past and they wave to me and stop and talk. Something within my body warms up and I feel a tingle somewhere around the heart area. I realize that I am beginning to fall in love with PNG and its people.