Story by Leonard Fong Roka
You know barau, down the length and
breadth of my home valley, Tumpusiong in Bougainville; I was a popular wild and
sexy dancer of the Friday night parties. Drinking was my trade.
People also referred to me as a sex
maniac right across Kieta since I did pocketed myself some degree of fame with
women here and there, from Panguna to Arawa and up the Bovong river valley.
My reputation was getting sick every
day; where ever I went, people would greet me as: ‘Good morning, bottle,’ or
otherwise: ‘Good afternoon, doro’bauko1.’ Pornography, was also one
issue I was known as the master of—distributor and promoter. Whether this was
right or wrong, that was my name that the wind blew it around with it.
Regretful, you know. As sanity slowly bloomed in on me, I began developing a
tendency to reject, right from the core of my loins, such ugly tags. One can
say that such cabbage is taciturn, but I think it isn’t so—it’s a calamity. A
disaster I crowned myself with because of my irresponsible ravings originating
from the dark side of my conscience.
Besides, I had dreams—whether it will
gain fruition or not, I had them—to become the first president of the future
nation, the Republic of Bougainville.
Such good ambitions of life had being
consistently forcing me to dig down deep; lose some sleep, just to get to know
more about myself as a person. Should I still remain the beacon of such dirty
notions? No.
To rid myself from all these odious
prejudice, I slowly began looking for a girl—a full blooded Tumpusiong girl in
the few clans available: the Bompo, Barapaang, and the Bakeraang. Within my
clan, the Basikaang, I was not allowed to forage for sex; exogamy, denied what
we in pidgin refer to as ‘wantok kaikai wantok2’.
My search, you know, was met by the most
inferior clan across the valley of Tumpusiong, the Bompo. There I found one
girl—perfectly shaped by her creative papa, nurtured well by the doctrines
founded by Helen White and workaholic because of the harsh dictates of the
great Kavarong river—our river. This all happened this way.
It was a day in August, 2006, the year
of plenty as I usually know it; that I, with my head packed with all the dirty
mental graphics, was leisurely strolling about at Tabarunau Trade Store grounds
with a stupid friend who never hides his emotions. We knew the fact that there
are girls that pass through this avenue, every afternoon out of the gold
fields. So we waited, at least to win one or just to comment on her ways to
attract her out into the bush.
In the course of our aimless sauntering,
we gave way for a passerby making her way out of the trade store.
‘E, Muru’ona, where are you off to?’ my
escort, Kontemoi asked her; closely eyeing her every bodily motions.
‘Osi dei’o3. Good day to
you.’ She passed us with openness so sweet and a guilty smile.
‘Kongto bakaang4, era,’
Kontemoi murmured, his eyes fixed on her free-moving buttocks that still denied
the presence of the plain laplap she was covered with.
She was lost down the camber to the Tong
‘are pipeline that long ago transported the mining waste from the death Panguna
mine. She was heading to the hamlet Damabori. A hamlet that was so attractive
to the local populace of boys since it housed some of the good looking girls in
Tumpusiong.
For us, the proverb: ‘out of sight; out
of mind’ was not workable as we stood there watching her, manoeuvre her way
slowly through the open gravel and rock land. For me, I was thinking about her
so much: what could she say if I had asked for the thing? How could she be
responding if I was making love to her? But these were just illusions, for she
was not there. So, we got ourselves seated to gossiping.
To our surprise, however, she reappeared
just like an apparition and headed straight for the store.
‘E, beauty, back again?’ Kontemoi
snapped with interest.
‘I left something over there, in the
store. And, what are you two doing here?’ She passed by.
‘Waiting for you, baby girl.’
She was just startled by that, and cursed
Kontemoi with a laugh and headed straight for the store.
So, there was not a smell of problem with her.
We can try out asking if she could love me til it hurts. My heart beats doubled
as I saw her preparing to depart. But I was fixed not to lose this chance.
‘Kontemoi, I am going to asked her for a
minute of copulation, era,’ I told my friend. To my ill will, we moved down the
Tongare drop at the snail pace.
‘Do just that. She’s cute, you know.
Let’s wait for her here…Anikapeto5, era.’ Kontemoi began laughing
restlessly.
Muru’ona moved slowly towards us. My
heart got hot and felt like jumping out of my chest; and you what, my lips were
trembling as well. Did she note this? Who knows, but I decided not to let go
this chance blossoming right here.
“Era, Muru’ona.” I called her and took a
deep breath to steady myself up as she responded by halting in front of us. “Is
there any space?”
Her lips produced no answers. I just
stared at her in disbelieve as the world was spinning right there, between us
in fury. Was anything wrong, but at least, I’d
released myself before things got worse or out of hand.
There no words to keep the confrontation
going, she was badly disturbed so we all went off in our separate ways. So, I
was not appealing to her, was I?
A few days later, I was resting—if not,
say daydreaming—in my domicile when my student mama began smiling at me from a
good distance after arriving from school.
“Era, Sisione what did you do to
Muru’ona?” she asked me, ridiculously laughing and pouting.
I was infuriated. “This insane lunatic
has put me in the public ears, again.” I was getting mad at myself and
condemned her.
“What did she say?” I glanced hard at my
mama.
“She said you asked for space,” young
mama was giggling, “and that has hurt her as she considers you as her real
brother.”
“Oh I did that for fun, e’ra” I lied.
Mama just laughed and walked towards the kitchen hut.
I was frustrated a little— not that
badly, though— because such experiences were part of me everyday life.
************
It was raining that Sunday morning, from
Kavarong’nau, my hamlet, the Kavarong river showed signs of easing flood. At
the opposite bank, around Dutumami, a few people though were panning for gold;
as were, a few cockatoos that were noisily searching for ripe fruits.
The church bell rang as I entered the
partially crowded classroom church. Kontemoi, who was already seated,
informatively smiled as I approached his desk-pew.
“E’ra Muru’ona was very sad with that incident,
you know,” Kontemoi began as the sing-along was gaining momentum. “Last Friday
I met her with Lisa and they scolded me. For one thing, that bisi noru’ku6
Lisa was taking things seriously.”
You know my mind was not connected with
something divine, right there; it was there, amidst those beautiful— to the
village standards— girls of the Bom’po at Damabori.
Strange, but an interesting development
was coming my way through this stubborn Muru’ona. I was thinking, “Lisa— the
daughter of this popular Tumpusiong’s chainsaw man— wants it from me.” In
actual fact, you should know that around this time of my life I was deciding to
say no to promiscuity.
To me, she was worth snoring by her side
under on thick blanket. I saw her before. Once while on a drinking spree at
Pirurari, on a Saturday, I did stared at her. She had a perfect body shape,
especially those extra large bums—wide hips— compared to her whole body. I like
it, very romantic.
And Kontemoi summed it all, after
listening to all the preaching of the church elder, he whispered: “And you know
what, this Lisa, said that Muru’ona was not fit for you, but she is the best
suit for you.”
I was dumbfounded in the middle of the
prayer session. So, I considered Lisa a blessing and partner for life, since
that day.
**********
In the distance Sipuko, a rooster gave
its morning cry at early dawn on one of those rare days of early August where the night sky was over
thrown by twinkling stars and meteorites.
With a few bats infiltrating the harmony
sown by the growing twilight, there I was, sitting on the lawn thinking about
that Bompo’rikonang7, Lisa. “How am I going to contact her to avoid
discovery by my other girlfriends?” Letters were the only way out.
I also knew the medium, that was my
young mama. Lisa was her classmate and best friend.
So at that dawn I began writing before
my mama woke up to walk the lengthy distance to Darenai Primary School. I just
used an exercise book page to write my words in simplest English. I wrote
telling her I was romantically inclined for her. That was all.
And for a full week, I waited in
anticipation for a good feedback, you know. Dirty thoughts— situations, in local
pidgin, we refer to as, ‘tingting pussy8’— ruled my mind. I was
thinking of Lisa, badly. I also lost interest in my other sex mates. Lisa was
all I wanted, no matter what.
Every time I thought about her, I listen
and sung alongside my stereo the song by the backstreet boys, “As Long as you
Love me”. Especially, the chorus got me the most. So, I sang the words much
louder:
“I don’t care who you are; Where you from;
don’t care, What you did, as long as You love me.”
So, what I wanted came the way I liked it. My
mama slipped a note into my hands one afternoon and it read:
Darenai Primary School
C/ Bougainville
11 AUGUST 2006
Dear Sisione,
Good morning or good afternoon,
taim you kisim dispel leta. Mi laik tokim yu olsem bai mitupela pren. Tasol, yu
noken niusim olsem mitupla ipren, nogut mama blong yu korosim mi.
Noken tingting plenty tumas and
slip gut tasol, bikos dream blong yu
ikamap tru.
Thank you
Lisa.
“This is the one for life,” I thought.
That night, with the folded piece of paper resting on my bare chest I went to
sleep. The night was the best in life as were the dreams it provided for
Kavarong’nau hamlet.
*************
The sun, though glowing, was setting
over the Darenai ridge as I stood and gazed at its glaring reflection on the
Damabori roofing irons. Many people pushed wheel burrows here and there on the
rocky banks of Kavarong racing against the approaching night with their
alluvial gold panning stuff.
“E, Sisione what are you doing here? On
date again?” Januaries interrupted my thoughts. He was returning from school.
“I left Lisa and her friends down there at the volley-ball court. She is a
right pispis, barau.”
For several days- after a few failed
dates – I was wondering if Lisa was expressing herself honestly in those sweet
words in childish English Pidgin letters. So, I was planning to squeeze the
lemon out; and here, was that opportunity.
“Why didn’t you pat her buttocks?” I
asked him. My design brother was to glean how she could react in my respect.
“You must do that. Caress her anywhere at will.”
“Damn this is an order”, the little
Januaries smiled and radiated jubilation. “Starting off, tomorrow.”
“Tell her that Sisione is taking on that
mountain girl, Rachel, as you are not giving him the thing he wants,” I told
him, as we walk back home.
Januaries was very interested, though,
underage and without sita’pu9 he seems to know every bit of love and
its making.
“Have you made love to her yet?” he
asked.
“Yes” I lied, “down there at the three
cemented tyres outside her home”
He took hold of my left hand: “Just at
her doorstep? You must be a ghost and cross this Kavarong in the nights when it
is very cold and dangerous.”
“Well, for a girl you can cross rivers,
mountains and oceans, no matter what.” We paced on for the Kavarongnau
elementary school where Januaries was dwelling with my brother.
Two days later Januaries handed me a
letter from my big girl, Lisa. She, you know complained about Rachel and my
lies that I had made love to her. “Sapos yu pren wantaim, Rachel,” it read in
one paragraph, “ pren wantaim em tasol na maski long mi10.”
“Dear sweet heart,” Januaries read aloud
the welcome address. “So, her other name is Essam, yu tok. She signs off, ‘By
Essam.” Why didn’t she write, ‘Bye, Mrs Sisione. Ol meri tu ia, save laik
stailim nabaut11.”
I neatly folded the exercise book page
and fumbled it into my back pocket as my escort struggled for words.
“I felt her buttocks are like a
mattress,” Januaries said to me, laughing one day. To him, I thought, fingering
Lisa was an achievement besides being underage bastard.
Anywhere, brother, the world is changing
everyday under our very noses— sexism boom. The toddler out there will soon
start making love before a parent realizes what is going on.
Though, I was hurt I acted as if
enjoying his talk, as usually. “How did she—your wife— reacted?”
“She just walk on. Kontemoi had Botu’to
engaged, as well.”
“This is a fucking animal. A dirty
moll.” I concluded and left Januaries for my new hamlet, Poarunau.
"Ahead on the brae, above Poaru’nau, a
garden fire was belching out thick cloud of smoke. “He will have something to
eat, tomorrow,” I thought to myself, as I, a prick just wander around after
girls’ grubby pubic.
Later in the middle of the night, I
began to write a feedback denying all these allegations. I told her that I was
just perfect.
**********
The room was packed with young and old
people with square eyes. With the film Rush
Hour on, kids were mingling around telling each other the movie story ahead.
Everyone listen attentively to the video owner’s son whom I observed, to have
some sort of a power base to talk more.
Across Tumpusiong this was children’s
culture. The motion pictures told them stories. To them, even the relationship
(kinship) between the actors was readily known.
I was frustrated but remained silent. My
eyes were on the screen whilst my ears paid close attention on the various
children’s talk under the heat of the setting sun.
“E, Januaries, Kamap nau12?”
someone asked from my back.
“Em…. And did you see Sisione around
here?” I over-heard.
“He is over there. Anything important? Otherwise you put him
into trouble.” The man giggled to a halt because the movie was to be the
prayer, right at the moment.
Januaries just laugh and squeezed his
way through the mass of people for me. Some children complained of this
intrusion.
“E, what’s up” I whispered, “what did
she said?”
“You fuckin shit.” Januaries lowered his
voice into a whisper.” Your Lisa wants you right now, by 7’o’clock at the
Tong’are pipline. She will be waiting.
I looked back at the crowd to see if
anybody was interested at my sudden leave but nobody seemed to be captured as
all were carried away by the stunt filled movie; not even Januaries, was taken
away.
***********
My ramble was more like a gait through
heaven. The pain of my sole over sharp edged gravel was not there as I speeded
up my pace in the dark. Fireflies, which in Kieta, we believe them as spirits
of the death behaved strangely at my approach but I just swore at them and
passed on.
Hamlet Teng’ona, on the opposite bank of
the Kavarong river was alive. People were laughing inside their kavo’ros.
Maybe, the delicious smell from their cooking pots was worth chuckling at
whilst I was advancing through this night for Lisa without any dinner menu. A
moment with my love was my food for the long sleep.
As I passed the final corner of the
road, lights at the Tabarunau store came into view, just a mere two hundred or
so metres away. I checked my watch, it was half six, so I slowed my pace.
A lone bat loosened its grip from a tree
above me and surprised me. “You evil,” I condemned it loudly and watched it
heading for the Bori hamlet on the opposite bank. Maybe, his girl was there,
somewhere.
My eyes scanned the area of barren land
created for us by the Bougainville Copper Limited many years ago. All was
lifeless gravel, rocks and silts from Panguna and a few fireflies snooping
about from the cemeteries. There were no supposed- to-be intruders of my secret
love life. My wrist watched alarm rang. It was 7’o’clock, my moment to tour
heaven with Lisa. We could make love there as angels stare in pure wonder.
Unsuccessfully, I was forcing my poor
eyes not to blink and in due course my toes crushed into a lone piece of rock.
I swore, but then laughed when a funny thought came into me mind: only if
Lisa’s father knew our date, we could be in hell. He could be chasing us all
over this mining-made desert with his chain-saw screaming an inch from our
rumps.
Standing over the edge of Tong‘are
gravel washout, the mining waste pipeline- that acts as a bridge over the
Tong’are tributary –was now clear just like heavens above “ Thank God,” I told
myself” And where are you Lisa?”
*********
I
stood still for a moment leaving every task in hand to my pair of eyes. My
sight scanned vitally with every joule of energy on the Tabarunau side of the
Tong’are creek. “No-one,” I was thinking without knowing Lisa was already in a
lone cluster of elephant grass trying to tame my wandering movements.
Recognising me in the murky darkness,
she and her friend stood up. Surprised, unprepared for this, I in turn made a
quick turn-around and slowly paced back. “If this is Lisa,” I began my prayer
with my heart beating wildly “and she must follow,” It ended up the way I
wanted it. She and her companion darted to my side as my whole being perspired
with joy upon recognizing who these girls were.
I stared into the heaven: “Thank you.”
The stars were twinkling in response. They knew it; the Poa’runau lone boy is
now with his girl so don’t bother him. Mmm.
No one spoke as both of our hearts were
beating twice the normal rate. Every corner of our brains had love scenes. We
need to kiss and make it. What?
Though, I knew Lisa received my letter I
asked hopelessly just to start up our conversation, “Era, did Januaries give
you my letter?”
“Yes” she chuckled to my relieve.
My mind searched for many stories but
none was available upon sensing her closeness. I unconsciously place my right
hand over her shoulders and directed her to sit on a bare rock.
Seeing our quick union, Lisa’s friend
began to distant herself.
“Era, Tobo’nu, come get my bilum and
umbrella.” She responded swiftly, and out into the dark she was lost, again.
“Era, there’s no rain but your umbrella
is here,” I laughed, now my body glued to hers.
“I haven’t made it to the village just
because I was waiting for the lone boy from upstream Kavarong to come.”
“I am just –,” I was interrupted.
“Promise me, you will marry me,” she
begged like a child, asking his father for chocolates. “Lisa, I started
befriending you for that word ‘marry’,” I said holding her tightly. “But, your
parents are mad over our relationship.”
Lisa
kept silent searching for words. “They’ll die trying to stop us.”
My
moist lips smashed into hers in a desperate kiss. The gravel we were on came to
live as we lost our sitting position and began to roll over each other.
In
the silent darkness we were making love by the purling Kukutai brook off the
brawling Tong’are creek. Our bodies engaged in perpetual hooting of pleasure
without Damabori knowing it. Thank you, gods.
Lisa
was unconscious and laid flat on the silt. She knew she was no longer a girl. I
sat beside her and waited as she regained strength.
“Lisa,
remember you are mine, no matter what,” I whispered into her ears. We hugged
and began kissing.
“I
am dreaming we’ll be making love all over the banks of Kavarong,” I whispered.
Well go as far as Ipukei’tave and Darenai school lawns, too, darling,”
“Dako’otong13,”
she chuckled.
Our
lips met once again in goodbye. This was a night, I told myself, never to erase
off from my mind.
Glossary
1.
Sex
maniac
2.
Incest
3.
Towards
home
4.
Romantically
suitable
5.
There
she comes
6.
Big
buttocks
7.
Girl
of the Bompo clan
8.
Sex
thoughts
9.
Pubic
hair
10. If you are with
Rachel, then let it be her
11. Oh girls and
their styles!
12. Just arriving?
13. It’s up to you
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