TIME: a poem by Ruth Kamasungua

   TIEMPO                                                            

Tiempo, Dinero, Tiempo

Todos vienen en oro

Importantes y deseados

Comprar, vender gastar

Es todo lo mismo

Presupuesto, inversión, ganancias o pérdidas

No hay diferencia

Entre tiempo y dinero

Pero el tiempo es más importante

Ya que no puede ser pesado en toneladas

A diferencia del oro

Es dado gratuitamente

Sin un rótulo del precio

Úsalo o gástalo

Ten en cuenta que Dios nos lo ha dado

Todos somos responsables

Y ningún mortal puede escapar

Tr: Irene Kawakami Gashu

TAIM

Taim, mani, taim

Ol ikam olsem gol

Hevi na man isave laikim stret

Baim, salim na westim

Em wankain tasol

Burukim na skelim, mekim wok, wokim profit o lusim mani

Ino gat mak

Istap namel long taim na mani

Tasol taim i hevi tru

Bilong wanem yu no inap putim taim antap lon skel

Ino olsem gol

Taim ikam fri long yumi

Igat wanpela prais istap antap long taim

Yu ken usim o yu ken westim

Tasol yu mas lukaut gut, God i givim taim

Olgeta man bai sanap long kot

Ino gat wanpela man bai ranawe

Tr: Ruth Kamasunugua

                                                                  

The beauty of language

                                                          

The first semester exams at UPNG have come and gone in but a bat of an eye-lid. 

No doubt lecturers and tutors will be busy marking those exam papers. 

A question that needs to be asked though is how much time the academia itself will spend on looking at the sentences in those exam papers. Each sentence should reflect a lecturer’s satisfaction in initially giving hints to his students on how to write and express themselves well in the English language. A good essay, story, report on a scientific experiment, a mathematical treatise or even an anecdote in written form should give the reader a considerable amount of pleasure. And that is what we mean by the beauty of language.  

One hopes that our UPNG lecturer and examiner does not look at one paper, frown, put it away, and then pick up another for want of comfort in reading and enjoying a good essay. 

If that happens, then it is absolutely true that the standard of written expression at the Waigani Campus has dropped drastically over a very short period of time. 

Several factors surface as causes of such an abrupt drop of standards in the use of English and other areas of academic performance.

Firstly, the course loads that seemingly “overburden” our students. Each student in the BA stream is required to do four courses a semester. Exceptions are given to those at third and fourth year levels to overload, if they feel ready at a given semester to qualify as prospective graduates.

A load of four courses therefore means a lot of work, in the areas of reading, research, analysis and discourse. That number of courses affects second to fourth year students. It is the correct number, considering the demand of work load. A student who cannot handle that number of courses, particularly within the School of Humanities and Social Sciences, ought to consider switching to the sciences or the medical school. Reading and writing can become too much of a bother for some sometimes.

Secondly, the state of panic that this number of courses can cause a student. The dreaded number of assignments, for example. Having four assignments to write every two weeks requires skill and time management. A very few manage to produce a good paper in that time frame. And the list goes on.

How to remedy such a situation. Here we look at the work load of the lecturer or tutor as mentor. A good mentor has time for his students. Even if there are 300 of them in a course he still must have time to know all of them. And he does so by carefully reading all of their assignments. A student is best known through his or her writing. And it is here, in this area of academic activity, that a lecturer comes to terms with the word selectivity. The lecturer must have time with the student to point out his or her strengths and weaknesses in writing. Otherwise it is pointless deciding who gets an A and who fails.

But the most important thing that storyboard is getting at here is cultivating the beauty of language usage in our students. Here are a couple of samples of how that can be done.

“These poor people can walk long distances leaving my village few kilometers behind just to get to PMV trucks at areas where the road conditions are quite good to take their produce into town (Port Moresby) to sell and even to visit their relatives or family living here because they are tired of eating the staple food banana almost the whole year.”

This writer will make a good politician one day. You can see that by the length of her sentence. But in order to become that good politician she must learn to be brief. Brevity is what we want here, both in speech and written form. Certainly a Dorothy Tekwie in the making. Call her in and tell her that.

“Being a loyal and devoted leader who has served his people well during his time of leadership, seventy-six year-old Faleasa Osovae has been so concerned about the future of his people and nation as a whole that he wants upcoming leaders to be sane, young, hardworking, honest, absolutely fearless, and utterly devoted to the welfare of the people.”

This other writer sounds rich with vocabulary. He needs to own little, slow down a bit with palaver and discard some of the unnecessaries in his choice of vocabulary. Storyboard feels he will do as a critical thinker and writer. He deserves a B.

We could provide more good examples but due to limited space all we can say here is that language itself is beautiful. We must be kind to it in our writing no matter how busy we are.

DIWAI KROS

      by Ruth Kamasungua

 Diwai kros!

 Na blut!

 I naispela tru

 Hat bilong king

 Na glori

 Na laip istap gut oltaim 

 Ol dispela samtin i dia tumas 

 I bilong mi nau

 Dispela i kamap tru, bikos  

  

Diwai kros na blut

Na dispela rot Kraist yet i makim pinis   

Long dai

Long mi

                                                                       

THE CROSS

The Cross!

The Blood!

The most beautiful

The Crown

The glory

And life enternal

These priceless gifts

Are mine

All because of

The Cross!

The Blood!
And my Saviour's decision

To die

 For me

CLOUDS AND THE STORM

                                          Another trilingual rendering of Ruth Kamasungua's poem 

CLOUDS AND THE STORM

Floating against the vast blue sky

The clouds float dreamily

Having no destination

Wandering aimlessly

In the form of all kinds

And shapes

Looking as harmless as doves

Who knows what storm it holds!

What floods it can cause!

When it decides to return

To mother earth

                     (ENGLISH)

KILAUT NA BIKPELA REN

Flout antap long blupela skai

Ol kilaut i flout olsem man i driman

Inogat wanpela ples tru we ol i makim

Ol igo, ikam, long olgeta hap

Long kainkain sais

Na seip

Ol i luk olsem pisin bilong bel isis

Tasol husat i save wanem bikpela ren ol i karim!

Wanem hai wara ol i ken kamapim!

Taim ol i tingting long go bek

Long mama graun

                             (TOK PISIN)

                              Tr: Ruth Kamasungua

NUBES Y LA TORMENTA

Flotando contra el vasto cielo azul

Las nubes soñadoramente flotan

Sin destino

Fluctúan sin rumbo

En todo tipo de tamaños

Y formas

Tan inofensivas como palomas

¡Quién sabe qué tormentas guardará!

¡Qué inundaciones puede causar!

Cuando decide regresar

A la madre tierra

                    (SPANISH ARGENTINA)

                     Tr: Irene Kawakami Gashu

                                                   

Rewali re-defines the term "infrastructure"

Gegwa or kaikonukonu forms the basis of "infrastructure".

To get to Riwali, a village in the Rigo district, one has to take a three-mile long feeder road at a westward turn-off along the Hula road running further east.  A sheet iron fencing of a business house serves as a marker for the turn-off for those who may be new there. Then there is the job of unloading cargo to be carried up to the hilltop village since the big PMV trucks cannot make it up there in the wet. A slow upward climb towards the village, a good trudge through mud and mire for those who don’t own four-wheel drives and certainly not quite a pleasant evening walk if you are laden with gifts for relatives will, however, get you there eventually.

Storyboard's party.

 What struck storyboard about such a trip to Riwalirubu (full name of the village) last Saturday was this word “infrastructure” –  a term we use often but do not get round to sufficiently defining in order to thoroughly understand its workings. Certainly the word itself has its firmer foundations in military strategic planning and executions, and in our Papua New Guinean consciousness it suggests equal distribution and sharing of wealth, better implementations of educational and health programs, improvement of social or communal living conditions and so on. But it strikes us as fascinating that it becomes that word we find extremely difficult to pin down into proper focus for clearer “understanding”. Understand i stap (we get the idea) is what we say for most every other word but not, sadly enough, this one.

But at Riwalirubu that afternoon last Saturday storyboard managed to get the word pinned down to its proper focus.

Part of the want for a better understanding of the word came from the fact that those travelling to the hilltop village that Saturday to observe the guluma or lahi dairi of the late husband of one storyboard’s cousin sisters noticed the poor condition of the feeder road itself. The first thing that came to mind was: “Who is the member (MP) for this part of our country?” Names such as Dr. Puka Temu cropped up suddenly or vaguely, then there were the Genias, the Diros, oh, dear, until some young school girl from that area said, “Storyboard, you are wrong. The member for this region is so-and-so, not Dr. Puka Temu.” “Thanks,” said storyboard, humbly, “until this moment I hadn’t the faintest idea who the member was.”  One point became clear. No one at that gathering, either spontaneously or subconsciously, named an MP representing that area. A mention of such would at least give us some idea of where to start in our attempt to define the word “infrastructure.” Even the people of Gulf Province know who Charles Abel is and what electorate he represents, simply because the man probably knows what “infrastructure” means.

Who is our member (MP)?

All this, of course, prompted storyboard to look at the word “infrastructure” much more closely. A careful observation of that guluma feast at Riwali, which was in honour of the late Richard Kini and the simultaneous bringing out to public life from seclusion of the widows, one of whom was the cousin sister of storyboard, revealed to storyboard that all aspects of infrastructure revolve around the arrangement of family units that constitute the clan structure of a community or village and how that community or clan grouping as a whole responds to the gathering of food harvest, the display of this for public viewing and finally the distribution of such. Every clan, every family unit, must partake of that food on display. This then becomes our first glance at the word “infrastructure.”

Riwali itself has four main clans. Vetailubu, Golotauna, Gwalai and Burogolo. (Those who are not familiar with that region of the Rigo district may recall John Kolia’s book, A History of the Balawaia.) When this guluma feast was called for by the Vetailubu clan some two years previously all the other three clans were obliged to participate in the preparation of food harvest and rearing (in some cases money raising for the purchase) of pigs. A quick scan of the Vetailubu, Golotauna and Gwalai homestead locations from one end to the other revealed several fifty metre long bamboo poles on which were suspended besa (bunches of cooking bananas) forming the gegwa (or kaikonukonu), the base of the “infrastructure” of the whole feast. An equal number of coconut woven basketfuls of yam varieties were sighted, along with 12 or so pigs. All this denotes the amount of work put into the preparations for the feast.

Mr. Laka Koloa of Riwali explaining to an Anuki elder how the food will be distributed by the four clans.

Since this was a lahi dairi (guluma) such an amount of garden produce and the number of pigs would suffice. Invited guests participating at the feast included firstly the former working colleagues of the late Richard Kini from the National Capital District Commission, and secondly members of the extended families from town (through mixed or intercultural marriages) of each of these four clans. A superficial scan of the faces of the overall crowd present would deem the guluma a national type of gathering and not strictly limited to the four clans of Riwalirubu itself. Whether one was a Tolai, a Sepik, a Manusian, a Momase or Highlander, virtually every Papua New Guinean was present at this feast.

 

And now we come to our attempt at defining the word “infrastructure”. We understand the word through words such as gegwa (Balawaia) or kaikonukonu (Anuki). These words denote the amount of besa suspended on bamboo poles and placed in a manner that they surround a whole village, forming a suspended fence somewhat. The sight of such a structure denotes the strength of how much there is available by way of product and services for equitable distribution among the masses constituting a community, a society or a nation. The structure is also put up as a public display in the interest of what we regard as transparency. At all costs all that food must be distributed in a manner that every member of the community must benefit, man, woman and child. Not a single morsel of that food must go to waste or be misused.

At Riwalirubu that Saturday afternoon it took three hours to distribute all that food displayed, not just to those of the immediate locality but also to those who cooked and brought dishes with them from the city. And so that things should be that way. Our venture into defining the term “infrastructure” is now complete. 

                                                                       

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.