Poetry of elegance and continuity

Literary nuptials Melissa and Simon.

No parent in Papua New Guinea would be more proud of his or her children than a Mr. and Mrs. Aigilo and Mr. and Mrs. Sete, last Saturday (21/05/11). Indeed the Aigilos and the Setes had every reason in the world to feel so much elevated that day. Their children Melissa Aigilo and Simon Sete were blessed at the Sacrament of Holy Matrimony with Father John Mitarda presiding, at the Holy Spirit Seminary Diocesan Chapel of the Catholic Theological Institute at Bomana.

In that predominantly disciplinarian albeit military atmosphere poetry, we note, was allowed to dictate its stance of prowess, elegance and class. Even in their own closing remarks towards the end of the day neither Mr. Aigilo nor Mr. Sete realized how much eloquence they both possess when it comes to poetry.  But they said their piece for their children. Melissa and Simon both represent that atmosphere of elegance and class, even though they both said nothing throughout the proceedings of that wedding ceremony. And this remark their contemporaries, meaning those of their generation today who know them in one way or another, will agree with.

At this wedding ceremony the organizers, particularly the MC of the occasion, took every trouble to point out the who and who of the invited guests and the crowd present. A good number, senior in rank of both disciplinary forces, including a handful of VIPs representing the higher strata of our society, was present; and an informal mention of these would include the former Police Commissioner along with Mr. Jerry Singirok whose words of advice and wisdom on the newly-wed couple were those of encouragement for their future, Justice Kathy Davani and her family, notable personalities of various business houses around town, and a handful of academics, laymen and friends and relatives of the Aigilo and Sete families.

The blessing part of the ceremony, consisting of the wedding and Holy Communion, took place at Holy Spirit Chapel, upon a hill overlooking the rest of that part of Bomana renowned for its idyllic setting and rows and groves of eaglewood trees. That place becomes the type of atmosphere where poetry can be written, the sort of poetry betraying evidence of much rumination, pondering and deep thought.  Those students of literature and creative writing who are familiar with Melissa Aigilo’s writing will now know where all that poetry was coming from. But it is a sanctuary, a kind of retreat that virtually all Church denominations would want to go to for some quiet moments of prayer and fasting. And it became quite a fitting place for the Aigilo and Sete families to observe their children’s wedding, as both Melissa and Simon are, unlike their fathers perhaps, very quiet people.

After the wedding service the guests took a walk down from the Chapel, past seminary blocks and houses, including various chapels and retreats, but always through walkways lined with eagle wood and other prized trees, and down to an open field where the overall ceremony was observed. There were several tents erected, one for the MC’s personnel and equipment, another for the VIPs, and two more for catering services. It was a well-organized military type of service and ceremony and well that it should be, and so efficiently planned and executed a guest would simply say, “Yes, this is Peter Aigilo’s work.” A former UPNG classmate of Melissa’s, present at the occasion, remarked to storyboard: “You know, Mr Aigilo took half a day to plan all this; whereas with us non military people this could take months.” Several adjoining tables were placed for gifts and these were filled with wedding presents some of which were placed on the grass for want of space.

But food surpassed all, what with two large catering houses hired from town to take care of all that, including beverages of various choices and tastes. Guest queued up at their respective tents to be served and towards sunset the lines became longer as the shadows grew longer and still there was plenty to eat as well as take home. And by nightfall, when all this was drawing to a close, and when the mothers have enjoyed their dancing out in the field, there were seen bands of youth milling about in order to do the cleaning up sooner after the guests have left, so that by Sunday morning the entire open field would still look green and fresh and as clean as ever. Such are the remnants of what one usually means by the term elegance of poetry. Even a military setting has its own language of poetry, and those familiar with classical literary criticism will recall the name Horace.

Way to go, eh?

At this point the reader will probably guess what storyboard is getting at. And that is the amount of planning done by parents, either for their children’s education or observance of nuptials such as this one of Melissa’s and Simon’s. There is so much devotion put into this and the result is what the children themselves have to show to and for their parents. Sometimes things get toughened up, times get bad, but being Papua New Guineans, we do our best. As poetry is eternal so are our moments of striving towards those higher stations in life that spell grandeur, splendour and eloquence.

Here, storyboard would like to say a little about Melissa as a poet, and this the reader as a parent might find valuable. When Melissa enrolled as a literature student at UPNG in 2000 that was the time she and her generation of new intakes brought glamour, fashion and class to an otherwise dismal looking academic environment – particularly the literature class rooms. The years previously saw little excitement in this academic discipline and there were stories doing the rounds that anyone studying literature would be lucky to get a job after graduation. Our enrolments figures prior to 2000 read as two or three literature majors. But today all that has changed thanks to young people of Melissa’s calibre, with herself as the leader and role model. In each class we have figures soaring from ten and upwards to fifty, not to mention our compulsory Literature and Politics course which averages fifty students a year. Are there jobs for this lot out there? Yes, declares storyboard, there are jobs, and they are plenty. If the world out there lacks jobs create new ones for yourselves. Literature is about creativity, about life, about doing something positive in our lifetime.

Finally, congratulations and thanks to Simon and Melissa for a wonderful day last Saturday. And now a reminder to parents that applications for enrolment for continuing students in 2012 are open at UPNG. Start planning now. Don’t leave everything to the last minute so that you come bothering poor nakimi or cousin for late registrations until before you know it the poor nakimi or cousin could lose his/her job trying to help you.

                                                                          

Tea at Alice Wedega's

What is it in an autobiography that makes us want to go back and revisit: certain settings, turn of events or simply family set-ups that we find fascinating?

Perhaps it is more of that family scenery than anything else. The Kikis, the Kilages, the Wedegas, the Kidus , the Mama Kumas and so on. Indeed the Papua New Guinea autobiography is quite often family-oriented, but more striking in that it enormously influences the political thought of the times it was written in.

Thus, Kiki’s is closely associated with PNG’s struggle towards political independence, Kilage’s with the first-contact experiences and missionary influences in the central Highlands, Kidu’s with the notion of cross-cultural ventures and sentiments, Wedega’s with the vision of the young learning the art of “listening” to the heart beat of their country and Mama Kuma’s with the necessity of embarking on tireless journeys back to one’s roots.

All these works, simple sounding though they may be, and no matter how much time they spend around family or bese circles, constitute Papua New Guinea’s very search for self-discovery.

“Papua New Guinea will never be a country without problems, but it could be known for the way we get over them,” declares Alice Wedega in her autobiography, Listen, My Country.

In fact, the first thing that comes to storyboard’s mind when he tries to “listen” to that work by Dame Alice Wedega is the smell and taste of hot buns and scones, even fresh bread, from a 44 gallon drum oven. In those times gone by, usually around the Korobosea area, it was nice to drop by at Alice’s for tea and hot buns for some. Life was never meant to be hard and complex. That would be so because Alice always made things easier in any given situation.

Last Saturday, storyboard went down to Vabukori for tea at Alice Wedega’s. Well, not quite the same sort of set-up that Alice’s many friends would remember around Korobosea. This tea gathering was special because one of Alice’s descendants had recently graduated in political science at UPNG and it was quite fitting for the bese to hold a feast in her honour. All the more fascinating was the sort of struggle this young graduand would go through during the course of her last four years of academia. These achievements Alice would certainly feel most proud of as she herself in her autobiography speaks with special care and attention to the need for young Milne Bay as much as Papua New Guinean women to strive for higher goals in their lifetime.

Emmar, right, cutting and distributing the cake with Mum assisting.

But for Emmar Daure, the descendant and graduand, life was not as easy as many of us can expect or imagine. For her going to school meant waking up before 5 am to prepare catching 3 or 4 different buses just to reach the school grounds which were usually at the other end of the city, including the University of Papua New Guinea. The routine alone of those hours spent on road travel would make many young people give up easily, what with so much pushing and shoving, screaming and shouting for room or space. But Emmar seemed to have managed that for various reasons, among them her size and the fact that she is Alice’s great grandniece. “You forget, Sir, that we Milne Bays are very small people. We can weave our way around through crowds,” she would explain to storyboard at times, but too modest to add that with a great grand aunt like Wedega at the back of your mind you should not even contemplate giving up.

Added to the woes of transport difficulties (sometimes the buses not turning up at all at Vabukori the students of Emmar’s generation would walk to Badili or Koki to catch buses there) there was the problem of soaring school fees at all levels of school throughout the country. For families who could afford to meet these costs that was fine. But a great majority we must realize simply struggle with these. So then, when on the day that Emmar’s mother would collect mail from the post office looking suspicious like it contained some good news from UPNG, the family had nothing in the kitchen for dinner. That did not matter. They all wanted Emmar to open the envelope and see what was inside. Sure enough, it was a letter of congratulations on her achievements in completing the BA program; plus a request for her presence at the graduation ceremony of 29^th April 2011.

In essence, storyboard wanted to witness the spirit of perseverance in young people once relished by women leaders such as Alice Wedega. He went down to Vabukori to speak in praise of Emmar and be reminded once again that our pioneer greats certainly did not waste their time in writing those autobiographies. What they have achieved we shall continue to achieve.

Emmar’s big uncle and leader of the Keia Sere clan, Willie Moses, acknowledged the young woman’s academic achievement with wonderful words of prayers and blessing. Other guests spoke as well in praise of her at the feast. And Emmar herself, in expressing her gratitude, echoed the words of her Vice-Chancellor and those of Dame Carol Kidu of the necessity there is in young people of her generation and calibre to strive and achieve the best in order that the bese which they represent will feel proud of them. Nothing comes easy; but difficult situations are often overcome through perseverance.

The food at Emmar’s feast, or should we rather say, the tea at Alice Wedega’s was so profoundly delicious storyboard in spite of himself had to ask for a second helping. Shame on him; coupled, of course, with an additional request for a bahu wrapping for him to take home. Food prepared came from both sides of the graduand’s respective families. This is a wonderful family. So quiet yet highly dignified.

In fact, when we think of Alice Wedega and all her influences we are listening with her to the heart beat of our country. And all that starts at family level. Alice herself never married and never had children of her own. But everywhere she went she was surrounded by children eager to learn, eager to obey her stern rules and eager to feast at the end of the day. Among these are today men and women of renown and spread all over Papua New Guinea.

                                                                          

A teacher's castle and estate

At a UPNG book presentation. From left: Mairi Mehutu, Dr. Nicholas Garnier, His Excellency Alain Waquet, Ambassador of France, Hon Minister of Education, James Marape, Pauline Riman, Storyboard and Professor Ross Hynes, Vice-Chancellor of UPNG.

A teacher’s classroom is his castle and estate, so to speak. Like an eagle in the light of Alfred Lord Tennyson’s literary metaphor, he keeps territorial watch over that classroom. It must be clean and tidy at all times. And it must be inhabited by children eager to learn.

The teacher goes missing and the classroom along with everyone in it gets thrown asunder. When that happens, all the policies, reform bills and related directives imposed upon such a little place from those higher up the bureaucracy may not work.

For one thing, the teacher’s absence will be the cause of such reforms not being properly implemented. Then we will have the obvious: questions surrounding the OBE and what it proposes to do or how it really could work if our teacher did not go walkabout. Then again, we hear the teacher himself complaining that he does not have the material which could enable him to stay back and keep his classroom in order.

The moral of this little story? Give that teacher a good book and he will certainly remain in his classroom and share some of the excitement he sees in that book with his pupils. He will not, if he is based at Kwikila, for example, go to town in search of his fortnight pay.

So what appropriate material can we offer to make that teacher’s job a little more exciting?

Dr. Nicholas Garnier of the Visual Anthropology section of the Anthropology and Sociology Division of the University of Papua New Guinea believes he has the answer. His oft-mentioned publication, Twisting Knowledge and Emotion: modern bilums of Papua New Guinea can do wonders in keeping both teacher and pupil in the classroom the best part of each school week. And the only way this can be done is to supply the Education Department with copies of this book to be distributed free of charge to all the lower secondary and primary schools throughout the country.

Last Thursday (21^st April) a special ceremony was held at the University’s Council Room to observe this presentation. 3,000 copies in all were presented to the Minister of Education, Honourable James Marape, under whose directives the books will find their destination at possibly all the schools in Papua New Guinea. Also present at this occasion were His Excellency, Alain Waquet, the Ambassador of France and the Vice-Chancellor of the University of Papua New Guinea, Professor Ross Hynes.

Speeches made by these dignitaries touched on the need there was for reading material to be made readily available to schools, to make things easier for teachers and pupils to grasp the significance of new reform programs such as OBE. Such gestures in free distribution of material to schools, pointed out Honourable James Marape, enable UPNG to stand out as the leader in new reform initiatives.

At the launching of this same book by Dame Carol Kidu at the Parliament House at 12 noon 31^st March 2010, Dr Garnier on behalf of the stakeholders, the publication sponsors and printers, along with the contributors and a women’s bilum organization from Morata, made the promise that 3,000 copies would be donated to the Education Department for distribution. That promise was fulfilled last Thursday. The remainder will be sold in the hope of regenerating enough to cover print costs of similar publications in the near future, this time on the theme of vernacular architecture.

This is a lovely publication. Its glossy pictorial content coupled with poetries of relevance to the bilum as a separate art form, and a supporting treatise on this popular art by Dr Garnier himself makes the book all more exciting. What rural school teacher would dare take a trip to town on a payday with such a publication around? And with a few more yet to come sponsor and stakeholder alike will feel the gist of this raison d’être in book production for our schools at all levels. The teacher too will be reluctant to leave his work station.

Dr. Nicholas Garnier, author of Twisting Knowledge and Emotion: modern bilums of Papua New Guinea.

None of these success stories come to our reach without the enormous amount of work put into them by various individuals here and there. Dr. Garnier’s bilum project has been ongoing for many years, with everyone from virtually all walks of life participating. He finds a willing collaborator in storyboard who considers a privilege to work with him. And that instance of team work proves exciting, all the more so because neither one (due to linguistic hang-ups) can easily understand the other. And yet the work that they produce appears monumental.

Here are a few amusing instances. Now we all know that for a clock-conscious culture where Nicholas Garnier comes from Papua New Guinea is the worst place to be in. But for true-to-reputation modes of ceremonial protocol, Papua New Guinea remains the most glorious and memorable. Both men are perfectly aware of this. Thus, upon the hour that the presentation of books to the Minister of Education will take place, the venue changes from Ulli Beier Cultural Centre to the University’s Council Room; His Excellency the Ambassador calls that he will be some 15 minutes late; and the Minister also calls that he will be 30 minutes late.

To top it all, the icing comes during the ceremony itself. Storyboard opens the proceedings by being a keynote speaker and not an MC which is what his collaborator probably meant by saying, “You will be first speaker.” The Vice-Chancellor, noticing that slight misgiving, perhaps, offers to take up the task of being the MC for the occasion. Alleluia. And all this is happening on a pleasant Maundy Thursday afternoon! And the rest of the guests including the young journalists from Post Courier are probably thinking, “What a stupid old man you are, storyboard!”

But it was a lovely day. We would like to use occasions such as this to speak in praise of those wonderful people who work as teachers within the rural areas of our country. Where they are life is hard, but they keep on hacking away, in both experimenting and implementing the new reform policies that come upon them more as challenging surprises than as duties for them to perform. Given the appropriate teaching material they shall treat the classroom as their castle and estate.

                                                                          

A lahi dairi for Ulli Beier

Something we have to do lest we forget.

It is the sorrow of the lonely and the burning of the dead. When a member of the community passes on we hold the ritual of emptying the house, bringing out all the possessions and where possible burning the clothes that won’t be worn any more. A head dress, a dancing gear, the bagis and musical instruments, all distributed among neighbours or burnt. And then, when the spirits are appeased, we carry on with life.

Motsy David, a lecturer in Theatre Arts at UPNG along with storyboard feels that we must do that in honour of Professor Ulli Beier. Ulli Beier was the first Professor of the Literature Department of the University of Papua New Guinea. He is survived by wife Georgina and sons Sebastian and Tunji. But he is also friend and family to many Papua New Guineans.

Now there are so many things that can be said about Ulli Beier, here as much as elsewhere in the world. But storyboard has his own story to tell about the man.

He was not quite that man that a student would look at from a safe distance and say, “That’s professor so-and-so” and then get scared of walking up to say hello or talk to. He was so down to earth that a student would hardly believe he was a professor at all. But his name rang loud and clear at literary and art festivals and conference tables throughout the world. Whether it was Lagos or London or New York, or somewhere in mid-Europe, people knew who Ulli Beier was, what he was really about.

In 1977 storyboard found himself in the studios of the Nigerian Broadcasting Corporation in Lagos, being interviewed by newscasters there about literature in Papua New Guinea. As much as the names Wole Soyinka or Chinua Achebe, and counterpart names such as Vincent Eri and Albert Maori Kiki, the name Ulli Beier kept coming into the mind as a reminder that his influence in virtually any literary and artistic albeit cultural setting was enormous. Who could do without a name like Ulli Beier in the academia or the book publishing world, particularly in the 60s and 70s?

In December of the same year storyboard again found himself walking within the grounds of the Sydney Opera House in the company of random site-seers when one of whom asked if he knew Ulli Beier. Yes, said storyboard; as a matter of fact he sent me here, to represent PNG at the 42^nd P.E.N. International Congress. A further exchange revealed that the man was from Harper and Row Publishers reputed to be the biggest American publishing house then. He also was interested in “work” by Ulli Beier, meaning literature written by Papua New Guineans under the entrepreneurship of Beier. But his request came too early perhaps at around that time because Ulli Beier himself was in the process of discovering the so-called finest writer in Papua New Guinea.

Some six years later storyboard, again, found himself at a little place called John Hay Library, belonging to Brown University, Providence, Rhode Island (USA), where he came across a fine volume of folk poetry from Papua New Guinea. The editor? Why, Ulli Beier, of course. It was the finest little publication storyboard had ever seen and to own it would mean luxury in the Western world. Made of tapa cloth in design as cover, all art work carefully done by Georgina Beier, it contains works by Albert Maori Kiki, Allan Natachee, Kauage, Jakupa, Akis and some of the earlier and most unheard of names in PNG literature, not to mention a few familiar ones from Ulli Beier’s creative writing classes of the 60s. Now John Hay Library is famous for the rare books and manuscript category of cataloguing, and finding Ulli Beier there meant that he had had quite an impact even around that area of New England. The other possible places of rarity as far as books are concerned would be Yale and Princeton if not Harvard. But that was it. The man was there, already, and represented by a highly affluent book binder around New Jersey/Connecticut area.

He was interested in books as much as art and wood carvings. But his interest in that category of art far exceeds an anthropologist’s vision of discovering a new idea, a new race of people altogether, and defining these. No, Ulli Beier did more than that. He did not just discover the Papua New Guinea mind, and a creative one at that. He found a new definition that far exceeds any dimension of art, Western, Oriental or other. It was a separate world altogether where both entities merge to form that new definition, that new meaning. For all art is an endless search of new discoveries and meanings. In Papua New Guinea Ulli Beier found his art and set his mind at rest.

Peter Trist’s email to storyboard Tuesday 5^th April reads in part: “Ulli died on Sunday 3rd April, 2011 after a long illness. He was 88 and lived a long eventful and productive life.

He often spoke of you with warmth and affection and followed your career with much interest.”

When storyboard was completing his matriculation at a Melbourne high school in the late 60s one of his ambitions was to meet this great professor of literature in person. Providence had been kind. Ulli Beier joined the faculty of the University of Papua New Guinea at around that time, and also at a time when the colonial world doubted if a “university” would be established in the Territory. But what that doubting world quite overlooked was the fact that the new school, under Gunther’s Vic-Chancellorship, was actually in the process of recruiting the best there was in the world. And that is how Ulli Beier came to Papua New Guinea.

At the Institute of Papua New Guinea Studies John Kolia, a naturalized citizen and under Ulli Beier’s directorship in the late 70s and early 80s, wrote so many good stories about the simple yet believable lifestyle of the locality that surrounded him. Among those writings was a careful mention of the scared essence of lahi dairi, a certain kind of communal gathering that signifies the sorrows of the lonely and the burning of the dead. There is a bit of feasting involved in this all on account of saying good bye to the ones gone and celebrating the notion that life must continue.

We at the School of Humanities and Social Sciences which houses the Literature and Language, Journalism and Creative Arts, Political Science, the Anthropology and Sociology and the History, Philosophy and Gender Studies strands, along with Modern Languages, do believe sincerely that a lahi dairi is in order, shortly, and in honor of this great professor of literature who at once decolonized and accommodated the minds of both sides of the world. 

A lahi dairi will be held in Ulli Beier's honour at the University of Papua New Guinea at a date to be set immediately after the University's graduation Day (29th April). There will be an entire afternoon of memorial service, speeches, an exhibition, poetry recitals, short drama sketches, food and drinks, commemorating the life of this great man who lived (and still does) among us.

Aioni, Ulli, and kagutoki

He was a great man indeed, a friend, mentor and adviser to those who have become wise in the world of arts and letters. His contribution to the development of PNG Literature and in particular his leadership in decolonizing the mind on both sides of the world will not be easily forgotten.

Evidence of his leadership can be seen in the great men that surround us today and they are all leaders in their chosen fields of vocation in PNG, among them prime ministers, academics, writers and artists.

Aioni, Ulli.

From the ridges

echoes are distant strangers

in the harbour

not even poem bridges

fly midnight winds

of escape

my songs are ancient dreams

of another place

another time

and were those songs

not what we enjoy now?

Photos, this & above: showing the Ulli Beier Castle and Estate, otherwise known as the Ulli Beier Arts Centre, built by the University of Papua New Guinea writers and artists in his honour long after he had left PNG to live in Australia.

                                                                           

 Aikaikaivem, Ulli; always a friend.

The modawa tree, fenced in, yet symbolic of those good things in life that we often discard or choose to do without; and yet look how they survive. The Anglicans in Papua New Guinea speak of this species of the rosewood tree in reverence and with a greater sense of respect because it represents those beautiful things we sow, as farmers would, and then watch them grow, survive for centuries. Thus, our tribute to Professor Ulli Beier through whose influence in the written word Papua New Guinea finally gained its political independence from Australia. Adieu, Ulli.

 

Reading into a story

"It was raining outside. Alotau was entering its wet season...Dasaid nodded with a smile, then sat back in his chair, listening to the music of the night’s rain and immortal silence.”

Those sentences come from a short story titled: “Introducing Dasaid.” It was written and published in 1979 but has been re-written and popularized so much readers think it was written just yesterday.

Anyway, the protagonist of that story, Dasaid, is a product of colonialism, one might say, though he himself would consider his own character and faculty of thought as otherwise. That is, he would prefer to be regarded as Dasaid; nothing more, nothing less.

In that story an attempt is made by Dasaid’s contemporaries, and post-contemporaries alike, to scrutinize and deconstruct his being thoroughly to find flaws, if any, in his character. They find little or none and this puzzles them somewhat. Ultimately, the colleagues send out what appears to be their “secret weapon” in the person of Yoyo, a tutor in Literature at the University of Papua New Guinea. Yoyo manages to hunt down Dasaid at Alotau where a three-day interview is conducted with the latter.

After which, Yoyo returns to the Waigani campus more frustrated than ever, just to declare to his superiors: “The guy is impossible. He just cannot be engaged in a reasonable conversation.”

To which, this reply from one of his post-graduate supervisors, with a knowing smile and taking up the pen to acquit the cost of the trip: “One should imagine so, considering how impressively deceptive things can get if one wishes to interview this – this music of night rains and immortal silences.”

Thereupon, Yoyo walks away biting a lip of covetous irritation for Dasaid more than the regret of his having had taken the trouble, at all, once in his many moments of studentship conviviality, to read Freud and Derrida. Freud because one is given a leeway in “reading into a story” and Derrida because one has the opportunity of beating around the bush a bit (which is a favourite preoccupation of academics everywhere) before reaching the conclusion that really there is no point in arguing over a given text.

And it is true. One cannot interview “the music of a night’s rain and immortal silence.”

Of course, the trapping that Yoyo got himself into was that in meaning to interview Dasaid it was he, Yoyo, who was interviewed albeit treated as the subject. Dasaid never said a word beyond a few gestures of greetings and offers of cigarettes during their so-called three day interview.

But that is Dasaid, a fictitious character; and that is how he wants others to regard him. The more we try to know such a character, the more vulnerable we become in laying bare our own weaknesses and shortcomings.

And now to the point of what storyboard is getting at here: the use of language and choice of words.

In that short story, which runs for a page a half, everything about grammar in the English language is present – except the auxiliary verb. There are doing verbs, certainly; but there are no pre-qualifiers to them.

According to the author of this story, pre-qualifiers are allowable items that help decorate a creative piece of writing. But they are not absolutely necessary.

By pre-qualifiers we mean certain probables such as “Thou mayest” or “Thou mayest not” and so on. These are missing. And if we asked the author why this was so, he would, aside from recommending “Thou shalt not”, promptly reply: “They are unnecessary burdens that distract more than help tell the truth.”

Upon the shelves of filing cabinets such pre-qualifiers, if included as parts of records in libraries and archives, can turn out to be less reliable than truthful. In many cases they may become cause or causes of human conflict. A document among them, for example, might read as follows: “Where two or three are gathered in the name of justice to preside over the case of a senior officer’s misconduct in office involving misappropriation of millions in the nation’s earnings, the onus lies within the power of the said three to determine whether or not the worthy and learned senior officer may be penalized.” You can see the obvious, now, regarding the auxiliary verbs. They mean a complete waste of everybody’s time. Woe unto that native English speaker who claims to know his own language well, while in fact he should be the one telling us, “Guilty. Penalize him.”

And so we go back to our selection of sentences again and realize how much of the unnecessary jargon has been left out, all in the name of truth:

“It was raining outside. Alotau was entering its wet season. Dasaid rolled a third cigarette and asked Yoyo if he wanted it. Yoyo quickly got up from his chair and took it. He lit it and sat down, smoking hurriedly, greedily, until the cigarette burnt out... Dasaid nodded with a smile, then sat back in his chair, listening to the music of the night’s rain and immortal silence.”

Now, delicate reader, feel free to attack the passage. Dissect it, deconstruct it, analyse it as much as you must because the protagonist has given the nod with a smile. The auxiliaries are missing. And thank God the story was written by someone who never became the Prime Minister of Papua New Guinea.

The literary marvels of Tufi

From left: Drusilla Modjeska, Hilary McPhee, Max Forman, Storyboard, John Wesley Vaso and (front) Jan Hasselberg.

What is it about the fjords of Tufi that makes them special in Papua New Guinea?

Snorkelling? Scuba-diving? Fishing? Lobsters or crayfish at the dinner table? Or the land mass of Tufi itself with so many fjords and estuary-looking bays and inlets that go zigzagging north and south of its coastline? Or the villager who would like to sit down with us, his visitors, and tell us about those days when the Kotofu ruled the surrounding hills and mountains, including the fjords that go deep into the sides of the mountains; those days when the warrior kotofu rushed down to the shores with spears to welcome strangers in large sailing vessels; or those days when a certain class of kotofu met and negotiated with the visitors over a certain portion of the fjords for the price of a few sticks of tobacco and axes?

From whatever aspect we look at the fjords, the answers to those questions are numerous. Some answers can set our minds at rest. But there are answers, questions in fact, that are waiting there, yet to be asked or answered, in order to make us all feel at ease.

One of these questions would be the fjords themselves, as looked at from the point of view of writing and generally literature. That was what storyboard went to find out last weekend at the request of fellow writers from Australia and Papua New Guinea wanting to treat the resort as a central meeting place. There several questions were raised and answered – but only to a degree; since a lot was in want of (should one say) investigation.

One of the things looked at was in the area of writing novels. Now Drusilla Modjeska, a long time visitor and friend to the people of Tufi, had always wanted to write a novel about that part of the world. And now she feels she has completed the manuscript. But the thing that makes her hesitate a little about publishing it is the fact that she feels she is an outsider looking at a setting that is outside her own view.

How can one overcome such a dilemma, one may ask. Well, storyboard and those around Tufi area who know Drusilla very well, think that this can be done by having the author accompanied by friends in the know sit down and talk about the book with the villagers before going into press. And this is what storyboard went over to Tufi to do: to talk about the book with friends in the village and set a date for its launching nowhere else but at that village.

The book is about a mountain, which could be Mt Lamington or anyone of the highest mountains around Tufi Wanigela area. It is well narrated using that mountain as a metaphor and this becomes the central theme which in turn poses as a web weaving all the different language groups of the area together. In short, it is a novel about the Oro Province with the mountain looming at the background as that entity that keeps all these little groups of people together.

The undercurrents of all that would be the sort of questions we would ask about the province and the sort of answers we would anticipate to them. But what comes to the reader’s mind so powerfully is the question of whether or not we are content as we are now. Or are there rather questions within the undercurrents that are yet to be asked and answered.

Of course, when a writer is faced with that dilemma, he or she must need some critiquing from the people for whom the book is written in the first place. And so storyboard goes to that meeting, along with a kotofu from the Maisin area who might assist with the critiquing – including the villagers themselves as objective readers and critics.

Drusilla Modjeska’s novel, “The Mountain”, is a big book in its own right. Not only does it trace the history of written literature in Papua New Guinea through various characters posing as writers of the 60s and the 70s of the pre-Independent era, but other aspects of the country’s development towards nationhood. All this happens entirely in fiction. But all the characters, both white and black, are as truthful sounding as ever, then, now and in the future. And this is what Modjeska wanted the people of Tufi, especially those at Siu Village, to know and if possible comment upon. And here’s the catch of it all. All royalties from the sale of that book will go to the people of that and surrounding villages to help pay for their children’s school fees. Not a bad fishing trip round the fjords, eh?

Modjeska was also accompanied by a fellow writer called Hilary McPhee, herself a writer but better known as a publisher who had helped so many young Australian writers gain international exposure. So when we see a publisher and a writer or a group of writers milling around the Tufi fjords this turns out to be a big thing,  effects of which might be felt in the not too distant future. Other people present at this meeting were John Wesley Vaso of Uiaku in the Maisin area and Jan Hasselberg of Norway.

John Wesley Vaso (left) and Max Forman (Headmaster of Tufi Primary School) at a Siu village guest house.

John Wesley Vaso was present there as a village elder and member of the kotofu of Maisin because he has been working with Drusilla Modjeska for many years: writing manuscripts, re-writing and editing them. But his presence there finally boiled down to the question of what is happening to the people of Collingwood Bay area today. Are they happy? Are they content? Or is there anything happening in their area that might need attention both at the national and international levels?

Perhaps the answer to that lies in the way the other member of this group, Jan Hasselberg of Norway, reacted when he first came to Tufi as a tourist. The fjords reminded him of his own country and generally the Scandinavian parts of Western Europe. Therein lies one’s idea of beauty in landscape as much as the sea that moves in gracefully or otherwise to meet it. To Hasselberg Tufi is another way of looking at the beauty of his own country. But if a tourist like Hasselberg comes to our country to snorkel around, do a bit of scuba-diving and even go fishing, and then see that things just next door are not right, then truly he too shall be disturbed.

To this group of writers, Jan Hasselberg declared one evening at the resort’s dinner table: “You know, of all the friends that I have been meeting at this resort this is the best group that I have met and have become part of.” Hence, storyboard’s choice of the title of this article.

But Jan Hasselberg’s other reactions to being at Tufi at all can be summed up in just this one intriguing sentence through an article that he himself has written: “Keroroa (Mt Victory) is weeping...yet another example of how the assets of the people and the nation are given away to end up as luxury cars and diamond rings in Kuala Lumpur and Sydney, or turtle- and shark fin soup in Shanghai.”