Since the Bougainville conflict had come into place in 1988, efforts have been strained to appease or pacify the conflict, but still the killing, tears and division prevails. Governments of Australia, New Zealand, Solomon Islands and the United Nations entered but still we suffer from our own irresponsibility.
Because of this conflict I was age 19 in 1997 at Arawa High School doing Grade 7 and came across an inspiring English teacher, Mr William Mania from the Eastern Highlands Province of Papua New Guinea. He wrote poetry celebrating different parts of Bougainville he travelled to. He at times, came to read his poems to his us; they were very captivating, and ordered us to write more about Bougainville if we really loved our homeland.
I never personally came to love the art itself, but began to write poems without any intention to store them but as a fun thing. Later on after showing it around the class I would squeeze the paper and throw it away because William Mania was too better than me.
But, in the later months of 1997, I wrote a poem titled, Panguna for a class exercise. Mr William Mania took them away for correction. The next morning, to my surprise he called me into his office and told me my poem was the best! And also, he took my permission to write his poem based on my piece and what he created out of mind, was published in the Arawa High School 1997 Magazine. I was very pleased for myself. At least I was somebody, closer to my teacher.
Then Mr Mania left and a Kiwi ornithologist and author, Mr Don Hadden entered my world in 1999 as I was doing Grade 9. He gave me more on the value of writing. His words that I always remember is: ' writing is education to your trouble-torn Bougainville'.
He was right.
My first admiration of my writing was at UPNG in 2003 when I had a poem published in the UNIVERSITY NEWS. Many Bougainvilleans reacted very positively. So, I then came to realise that Mr Don Hadden was not speaking with experience. Through his stay in Bougainville, he saw how difficult it will be for my people to come to reach normalcy.
Bougainville recently only had few writers, namely, Leo Hannet, Matubuna Tahun and Regis Stella. Their contributions to Bougainville is great, but our peoples' accessibility to tasting real Bougainville literature is not so near.
Bougainville has to date, enormous levels of corruption, lawlessness and division. Who will help? PNG is trying and the ABG is trying but the progress is too slow and under the light of 'peace by peaceful means'.
To me, the flavour of nationalism in Bougainville has been dumped. Kept aside, but why did you fight? Why did Bougainvilleans die? It's all because the desire to be free.
As a lover of writing, I believe, Bougainville needs the literary front onboard quickly. That is to build, direct and spread the spirit of nationalism in the hearts and minds of our people. For Bougainville, being a 'true' nation, nationalism should be the driver of unity, respect and understanding so that our beloved island can reach its goals of nationhood as a united one people.
Wednesday, 28 September 2011
Friday, 16 September 2011
Two Bougainvillean Songs
Koromoni Man
Kupe
Kupe...o Kupe,
Kupe man...mountain man,
the gold miner.
Digger of the Crown Prince Range
of squandering.
When Bougainville cry for money
you heap her cartons of beer.
You snore in midget stash,
but feign a money flower
in the streets of Arawa.
O midge of the land;
the false prophet.
O you wind of squandering;
not wind of change,
but fate of the motherland.
Kavarong River
My hunting na fishing grounds.
Jungle so thick, they say.
Rivers so cold to the bone;
All is bush music
when birds, insects and breeze
came in the party.
My hunting and fishing ground.
The Kakara and ere-reng-kong
got you stark naked from Panguna.
You stand down there a harlot
of my nightmares; in stream
they come like rolling rock spree
of Kaupara nabe,
and make me cry.
My hunting and fishing ground.
When I walk...your gravel
hurts my sole.
When I thirst...you ignore
my burning agony and allow me to perish.
When I stoop to bath,
you scream me:
'Mama, it poisons!'
Kupe
Kupe...o Kupe,
Kupe man...mountain man,
the gold miner.
Digger of the Crown Prince Range
of squandering.
When Bougainville cry for money
you heap her cartons of beer.
You snore in midget stash,
but feign a money flower
in the streets of Arawa.
O midge of the land;
the false prophet.
O you wind of squandering;
not wind of change,
but fate of the motherland.
Kavarong River
My hunting na fishing grounds.
Jungle so thick, they say.
Rivers so cold to the bone;
All is bush music
when birds, insects and breeze
came in the party.
My hunting and fishing ground.
The Kakara and ere-reng-kong
got you stark naked from Panguna.
You stand down there a harlot
of my nightmares; in stream
they come like rolling rock spree
of Kaupara nabe,
and make me cry.
My hunting and fishing ground.
When I walk...your gravel
hurts my sole.
When I thirst...you ignore
my burning agony and allow me to perish.
When I stoop to bath,
you scream me:
'Mama, it poisons!'
Wednesday, 14 September 2011
September Sixteen
O, man blong New Guinea...
Your magnificent paints,
great bilas,
grass skirts,
and da kundu drum
migrate from the fireplace
to singsing happy birthday, kantri bilong yumi.
Naispela kantri bilong yumi;
Sepik man, Tolai man, Simbu man na Papua man.
God blessim na blessim
kantri bilong yu,
kantri bilong mi.
O, man bilong New Guinea...
Yu danis lo independence bilong yu
olsem kokonas wind i wiliwilim stap.
Singsing bilong yu olsem thunder ipairap...
taim meri kekeni i sanap klostu,
na taim emi lus yu silip olsem solwara
isave silip sore.
Moni stap yu danis...
Meri lukluk, yu stailim singsing over lo tumbuna.
Yu paul-paul stap na san go; na
taim em kam bek, yu sot-kat
na bagarapim bilas.
O, man bilong New Guinea...
Mangi Kawas iles pinis lo yu
Yu simel olsem ass-kras blong bilak-bokis antep lo maunten...
o yu kindem blong wara Sepik save rives forever
lo ai bilong korapsen.
Ba yumi how nau?
September sixteen kam na go
olsem wara Fly
but yu stap kindem iet wantem pekpek lo het.
Ba yumi how nau?
Ba yumi how nau?
Your magnificent paints,
great bilas,
grass skirts,
and da kundu drum
migrate from the fireplace
to singsing happy birthday, kantri bilong yumi.
Naispela kantri bilong yumi;
Sepik man, Tolai man, Simbu man na Papua man.
God blessim na blessim
kantri bilong yu,
kantri bilong mi.
O, man bilong New Guinea...
Yu danis lo independence bilong yu
olsem kokonas wind i wiliwilim stap.
Singsing bilong yu olsem thunder ipairap...
taim meri kekeni i sanap klostu,
na taim emi lus yu silip olsem solwara
isave silip sore.
Moni stap yu danis...
Meri lukluk, yu stailim singsing over lo tumbuna.
Yu paul-paul stap na san go; na
taim em kam bek, yu sot-kat
na bagarapim bilas.
O, man bilong New Guinea...
Mangi Kawas iles pinis lo yu
Yu simel olsem ass-kras blong bilak-bokis antep lo maunten...
o yu kindem blong wara Sepik save rives forever
lo ai bilong korapsen.
Ba yumi how nau?
September sixteen kam na go
olsem wara Fly
but yu stap kindem iet wantem pekpek lo het.
Ba yumi how nau?
Ba yumi how nau?
Sunday, 11 September 2011
36 years of independence, a waste
It was the WW2 and the 1960s I believe the founding fathers of this country, were caught unprepared by the longing for self-determination for PNG. Or otherwise, spoon fed to their conscience by some outsiders.
What good have we attained? In this 36 year old walk, I personally don't see anything worth celebrating for because the very citizens we promised for by the process of nationhood we could protect their rights and development, are still suffering as a handful of few greedy politicians and haves are getting richer and richer every day.
PNG politics, today has gone out of hand. No Papua New Guinean is behind the wheels of this country, but the foreigns organisations, governments and businesses drive us here and there to their best interest. We have had been denied the intrinsic meaning of sovereignty--or lost is the true meaning of nationhood.
Our country is are nation dictated by outside bodies that have no respect to Melanesian values and organisation of society. They benefit and we get nothing in terms of tangible outcome in politics, economic and social games played in our home soil.
So, what now, Papua New Guinean?
What good have we attained? In this 36 year old walk, I personally don't see anything worth celebrating for because the very citizens we promised for by the process of nationhood we could protect their rights and development, are still suffering as a handful of few greedy politicians and haves are getting richer and richer every day.
PNG politics, today has gone out of hand. No Papua New Guinean is behind the wheels of this country, but the foreigns organisations, governments and businesses drive us here and there to their best interest. We have had been denied the intrinsic meaning of sovereignty--or lost is the true meaning of nationhood.
Our country is are nation dictated by outside bodies that have no respect to Melanesian values and organisation of society. They benefit and we get nothing in terms of tangible outcome in politics, economic and social games played in our home soil.
So, what now, Papua New Guinean?
Monday, 5 September 2011
Bougainville Has No Place in New Guinea
Looking back through the history of Bougainville since its discovery by Captain Louis De Bougainville in the 19th century to the eruption of the bloody Bougainville in 1988, Bougainvilleans and their island were the soccer fought for control by two opposing sides without peoples' knowledge.
In fact, Bougainville should have been the first nation to gain independence from the colonisers in the 1970s if the Australians were not worried of their 'protection shield' Papua New Guinea. Australia needed very much to create a country that must stand independent to the east of doubtful Indonesia. That is, if PNG was to remain a state of Australia, there was high probability of friction with Indonesia.
The finance to create that country, PNG, was nowhere, but the island of Bougainville. In the 1960s mining at Panguna in Central Bougainville was already under development so when, later, the Bougainvilleans called for independence, shockwaves swept through the Australian political lines that this was too terrible a disaster for their protection strategy.
With that long relegation of Bougainville people to self-determination, the fruit of PNG-Australian ignorance of human rights was the Bougainville Conflict.
During the peak of the crisis in 1990, a Highlander, J. Guis Kola from Moromaule Aidpost in Simbu, wrote for the Niu Gini Nius, 3 January 1990:
''I am a Highlander who likes reading newspapers, news articles and so on. When every time I come across a newspaper, I usually read Bougainville Crisis on the front cover page or the opposite side.
The government is short sighted sending all the very innocent soldiers and mobile squads to the troubled island to be torn into pieces. Why not let the Bougainvilleans stand on their own two feet and withdrew all the innocent soldiers, mobile squads and others from the island?
I would also like to state that what Bougainville has is only a small percentage of what the PNG mainland has. We have all the precious minerals on the mainland.
Why waste time fighting over Bougainville copper when we should concentrate our energies else where?''
This were great ideas for PNG to have considered earlier than the Bougainville Conflict. But what the author, was not aware of is that, without Bougainvillean money all his talks was not to come to fruition within his lifetime. Bougainville was still financing the development works in infrastructure and so on.
And to the Bougainvillean, this was and is a positive challenge to start thinking in the right direction. Becoming responsible people to our island, the government of the day and to our community members and work towards the betterment of our Solomon island of Bougainville.
In fact, Bougainville should have been the first nation to gain independence from the colonisers in the 1970s if the Australians were not worried of their 'protection shield' Papua New Guinea. Australia needed very much to create a country that must stand independent to the east of doubtful Indonesia. That is, if PNG was to remain a state of Australia, there was high probability of friction with Indonesia.
The finance to create that country, PNG, was nowhere, but the island of Bougainville. In the 1960s mining at Panguna in Central Bougainville was already under development so when, later, the Bougainvilleans called for independence, shockwaves swept through the Australian political lines that this was too terrible a disaster for their protection strategy.
With that long relegation of Bougainville people to self-determination, the fruit of PNG-Australian ignorance of human rights was the Bougainville Conflict.
During the peak of the crisis in 1990, a Highlander, J. Guis Kola from Moromaule Aidpost in Simbu, wrote for the Niu Gini Nius, 3 January 1990:
''I am a Highlander who likes reading newspapers, news articles and so on. When every time I come across a newspaper, I usually read Bougainville Crisis on the front cover page or the opposite side.
The government is short sighted sending all the very innocent soldiers and mobile squads to the troubled island to be torn into pieces. Why not let the Bougainvilleans stand on their own two feet and withdrew all the innocent soldiers, mobile squads and others from the island?
I would also like to state that what Bougainville has is only a small percentage of what the PNG mainland has. We have all the precious minerals on the mainland.
Why waste time fighting over Bougainville copper when we should concentrate our energies else where?''
This were great ideas for PNG to have considered earlier than the Bougainville Conflict. But what the author, was not aware of is that, without Bougainvillean money all his talks was not to come to fruition within his lifetime. Bougainville was still financing the development works in infrastructure and so on.
And to the Bougainvillean, this was and is a positive challenge to start thinking in the right direction. Becoming responsible people to our island, the government of the day and to our community members and work towards the betterment of our Solomon island of Bougainville.
Saturday, 3 September 2011
Love in Poetry
Pasin Blo Tingting
Mi missim yu, mi missim yu
Mi sidaun sore stap
lo maunten bilong Karokata,
na naispla kol win iraunim mi
na mi salim tintin igo lo yu
my Rorovana
Yu silip sore olsem mi
lo nambis daun bilo lo lek bilong mi.
Yu drin wara Pine
na hamamas.
Na olgeta de yu lukluk not
na driman lo meri Buka
yu say em stap lo aiwei rot
na singsing mo.
Na taim san igo daun
baksait lo asples Donsiro
yu karai na mi sore na karai tu.
Mitupla krai wanem taim bai em kam
dispela meri Buka
na aiwei kar i lap
na go.
Pokpok Island
My little sunshine
always sucking my two breasts
o love, and sweet future.
Mother
My mum ain't a myth
but the milk of the day
and the warmth of the night...
Long live mama,
oh Bougainville
Invisible Sting
In the skin there was hope
of a gleaming future.
Fully fledged was my devotion
to the Banoni lass.
Our nooky nights were unrelenting
as the moon said so.
But then,
the sun never came
and gone was the song
with the wind of the December nights
and estranged I was
in pure wonder.
Mi missim yu, mi missim yu
Mi sidaun sore stap
lo maunten bilong Karokata,
na naispla kol win iraunim mi
na mi salim tintin igo lo yu
my Rorovana
Yu silip sore olsem mi
lo nambis daun bilo lo lek bilong mi.
Yu drin wara Pine
na hamamas.
Na olgeta de yu lukluk not
na driman lo meri Buka
yu say em stap lo aiwei rot
na singsing mo.
Na taim san igo daun
baksait lo asples Donsiro
yu karai na mi sore na karai tu.
Mitupla krai wanem taim bai em kam
dispela meri Buka
na aiwei kar i lap
na go.
Pokpok Island
My little sunshine
always sucking my two breasts
o love, and sweet future.
Mother
My mum ain't a myth
but the milk of the day
and the warmth of the night...
Long live mama,
oh Bougainville
Invisible Sting
In the skin there was hope
of a gleaming future.
Fully fledged was my devotion
to the Banoni lass.
Our nooky nights were unrelenting
as the moon said so.
But then,
the sun never came
and gone was the song
with the wind of the December nights
and estranged I was
in pure wonder.
September Poems
The Dew and Me
Morning dew
you so icy cold to my bones
The sun is high and you fade
my sleep so swiftly
o, my wonder water.
The Kawas Gunman
Lewa, o lewa
you snore the night
as I cry my heart at the frontline
to keep you warmth
from the infidel New Guineans.
Lewa, oi baka ani
you nice like the orchids of Korarei
that entice my eyes with calm
of the Kau'para peak
where legend homage
as elopers' paradise.
Lewa, baka domangnani
let your gunman snore by your side
to heaven with you
and never come back
for the sun.
My Bougainville
My Bougainville
listening to your songs I cry
my sweet home island
Free Bougainville
In the coast
I was born
In the mountains
I grew...I grew
like any other Blackman
fighting to survive
in the motherland
where the strangers of New Guinea
are wringing our milk
and killing us
to turn us New Guinean.
Sleepless nights.
Doubtful days
I survived in agony.
In the cold jungle caves
and wild ridges
I travelled in tears and blood
away from the hovering gunships,
brawling gunboats
and rattling machineguns
that kept breathing at my tail
every beautiful morning.
Beautiful morning
for not a Bougainvillean
but the grubby New Guinean
who fell in love
with my mountain abode,
Panguna gold money.
There he is, shameless
corrupt New Guinean. Yu mas longlong pinis...
call me New Guinean
if I am a Redskin...
call me New Guinean
if the Shortland islands
are seven hundred kilometres away from me.
O yu uncivilized
Australian puppet!
Free my Bougainville...
my Bougainville.
Morning dew
you so icy cold to my bones
The sun is high and you fade
my sleep so swiftly
o, my wonder water.
The Kawas Gunman
Lewa, o lewa
you snore the night
as I cry my heart at the frontline
to keep you warmth
from the infidel New Guineans.
Lewa, oi baka ani
you nice like the orchids of Korarei
that entice my eyes with calm
of the Kau'para peak
where legend homage
as elopers' paradise.
Lewa, baka domangnani
let your gunman snore by your side
to heaven with you
and never come back
for the sun.
My Bougainville
My Bougainville
listening to your songs I cry
my sweet home island
Free Bougainville
In the coast
I was born
In the mountains
I grew...I grew
like any other Blackman
fighting to survive
in the motherland
where the strangers of New Guinea
are wringing our milk
and killing us
to turn us New Guinean.
Sleepless nights.
Doubtful days
I survived in agony.
In the cold jungle caves
and wild ridges
I travelled in tears and blood
away from the hovering gunships,
brawling gunboats
and rattling machineguns
that kept breathing at my tail
every beautiful morning.
Beautiful morning
for not a Bougainvillean
but the grubby New Guinean
who fell in love
with my mountain abode,
Panguna gold money.
There he is, shameless
corrupt New Guinean. Yu mas longlong pinis...
call me New Guinean
if I am a Redskin...
call me New Guinean
if the Shortland islands
are seven hundred kilometres away from me.
O yu uncivilized
Australian puppet!
Free my Bougainville...
my Bougainville.
September Snapshots
Confuse pikinini, LFRoka
Rooms Douglass and me on a return home. Computing Science and Mathematics Block of DWU (back)
Step-up nating-nating
Wild dog from Panguna
My school, the PNG Studies Department HQ building at Divine Word University
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