RAYMOND KOMIS GIRANA

An entry in the Crocodile Prize
Cleland Family Award for Heritage Writing

TE TAHOL is the Buka name for Queen and it is known and understood by all four distinctive clans that exist in Buka; Naboen (eagle), Nakaripa (Chicken), Nakas (Dog) and Natasi (those who came by sea).

The queen culture of Buka is a traditional practice that is as old as Bougainville; it dates back to time immemorial.

To speak about a Queen in Buka is to speak about a great deal. There are five transitions a Te Tahol or a queen has to go through in her journey as a princess or small girl to becoming a woman and queen; birth, publicity, bride price, marriage and death.

Becoming a queen is an inherent right; this means that a queen is born a queen. Upon birth the baby queen receives automatic respect and honour from all her clan members through continuous visits by clan members during conception and nine months in the womb.

During the term of pregnancy the people wait as they long to see the baby’s gender until it is unveiled during birth. If the baby is a male, he becomes the ‘Munhil’ or prince. Otherwise the focus is mostly on the female when it comes to heritage.

This practice is done because it is oral history. It is where the life of the clan is rooted and where history and ownership of the land, resources and generation of ancestors can be traced.

It is common to almost all Melanesian societies that transitions in a girl’s growth are kept secret particularly when it comes to menstruation, as it is seen as taboo and sometimes as disrespectful when it comes to men’s knowledge or awarenss.

For a queen in Buka, such transitions are made public as initiation rituals because they act as stamps or the common seal for all the clans. The four clans, though different, embrace the same practices with regards to the rituals of initiation in relation to making the transitions of a queen known publicly.

During her first period, the queen or the princess is seated on a taro leaf as a symbol of her entry into the world of women.  

This initiation act is known as taptapa i puta (to sit down on the ground). When the taptapa i puta is being done, women imitate how it is like when a girl experiences her first period.

This is done in support and appreciation for their queen. In other words, the act confirms and maintains the life and history of the clan. Above all, it is symbolic to another journey of growth, power and identity.

The Taptapa I puta ceremonyis followed by hasei (to climb). In this act, the princess is led to climb a special type of banana tree. This symbolizes her entry and maturity as a woman who is prepared to climb to the throne and lead her people as future queen. It is an indirect way of crowning.

During the bride price ceremony, the queen is usually hidden from the public prior to the actual act of payment. The clan members will process with the queen from her Tsuhana (sacred house) to the prince’s Tsuhana. In Buka, women are brought and presented to the men when it comes to bride price. The same applies to the queen or the princess but with special treatment accompanied with processions.

Marriage is the next initiation process or the next stage that follows from the bride price ceremony. In the past, it was arranged marriage agreed upon between two clans (Male and female’s clans) or sometimes within the same clan as to maintain and extend the clan lineage.

Since Buka is a matrilineal society, a queen is arranged or marked with a prince. During marriage, strict regulations apply for instance should one wish to pay visit to the royal family, he or she must crawl on the ground or walk with his or her head lowered.

Hatasu (To enter the male’s house) is the act of offering the queen to her prince’ husband and his people and clan. Hatasu is the formal way of fully saying yes to the royal family’s marriage. It is also an act of giving power and authority to the queen who is now going to start a new family in her husband’s village.

When a queen dies, she is placed on raised platforms in her tsuhana. The platform is raised almost to the height of the tsuhana’s roof. This symbolizes her status and leadership in the community and in the clan.

Another reason for keeping her body on the high raised platform is that, she is not supposed to be viewed by mourners. In other words, the respect for her as their queen is maintained.

Upon death, the stealing ceremony known as kop (to steal) is done early in the morning after her day of passing. The people will go quietly to the gardens and harvest the taros. They will do it in a form of stealing.

After stealing, all the taros are brought to the tsuhana then they will prepare for the hahuru halan or singsing tulait (vigil) with their queen.

The initiation rites are done with procession known as sole (sway to and fro with chants and the garamut beat). Sole promotes solidarity and oneness amongst the people of each clan.

The rites surrounding the Te Tahol are rich and have a lot of positive things to learn from. In one way, they express the values of leadership, the sacredness of marriage and they promote a balance in gender.

REILLY KANAMON

An entry in the Crocodile Prize
PNG Chamber of Mines & Petroleum
Award for Essays & Journalism

THE measure of Papua New Guinea’s development is not what the prime minister of the country says; it is what a villager in the remotest part of the country experiences every day in his living standard.

The villager rarely had a voice. For a start, the media never had time for him. As a commercial radio journalist for some time, my focus was on prominent people with credibility.

However I always felt guilty about whether what the prominent figure said truly reflected the poorest person in the village or whether it was just propaganda. I felt like I was giving an already rich person another handful of cash to tell the media what he does and believes.

In a similar vein, does Port Moresby reflect the scale of development taking place in Papua New Guinea? Many people who were born and live in the city would agree but a foreigner who sees a person walking days from remote Simbai would have a different opinion of the state of the country’s development.

I am saddened when I attend a government press conference and some politician boasts of new policies and great growth in PNG. My people on the atolls of Manus have been self-reliant for eons and still have to be despite the increasing challenges posed by climate change and a rising sea level.

For decades a government service has been represented by a water tank in each village, perhaps a school, maybe a health centre that often had empty shelves. There is no telecommunications service. A small maritime province like Manus is 15 years behind the rest of Papua New Guinea.

Most people in remote Papua New Guinea still use pit toilets and walk long distances to access basic services and average public servants can barely manage to rent a house in the squatter settlements of ATS and Baruni in Port Moresby.

There is a huge gap between the neglected population below and the well informed and educated top elite of Papua New Guinea. The elite defines development from its perspective and the less informed accept things because they have no power or voice.

I felt guilty if I need to write, “PNG is developing very fast”. I’d rather say the educated and well informed Papua New Guineans have taken advantage of the less educated to develop their own wealth and lifestyle.

Look at the gap between a top businessman and an old lady sitting by the fire waiting for her spine to run cold and for death to knock at her door.

To my mind, PNG is like a boat dragging its anchor; the anchor being the resource owners isolated from main town and cities.

Once they have a glimpse of Port Moresby, they realise they are many decades behind. When they try to cope, they up end up building squatter settlements instead.

ABNER YALU

An entry in the Crocodile Prize
Kina Securities Award for Poetry

My children have a bird,
a sulphur crested cockatoo,
with ruffled feathers, and impeccable impression,
he could well have been a movie star,
if weren't for his evil shriek!

Now Kaiyo is no ordinary bird,
The hunter claimed, he pinched it off its mama's tetees,
Whilst the little bugger was worm-feeding at 8 weeks,
who can question the hunter,
such brave and fearless banter,
though not so sure, if birds have breast,
Kaiyo no doubt is a carnivore!

We had a mumu the other week,
plenty pork and chicken meat,
Kaiyo refused all fruits and nuts,
even spat out kaukau and kumu too,
as if removing dirt from a fallen kaukau,
he carefully removed all trace of vegetables, 
Chicken meat was his favorite pick.

My children were horrified,
of their carnivore pet,
Kiayo chuckled, as if he cherished his dark side, 
,whilst devouring his meat in giant gulps.
At one point, he gagged and nearly choked.
All the children laughed aloud, Kaiyo grunted a profanity,
 but quickly shrilled to cover up, for swearing was not allowed.

No don't take him for an evil bat, Kaiyo is none of that.
In fact he loves children, of course for their noisiness.
As if controlled by some hidden switch, he would crackle and shriek non-stop,
at the sight of pikininis playing. Often altering his speech,
Switching voices every now and then, and mine and the dogs were his specialty.
His terrifying shrieks always sends the poor dog scrambling.

Now Ambai Bun, our halfcaste mongrel, is no stranger to fright and fear,
She herself is a terror expert, brutal guard dog, so to speak.
Igam bred, military dad, this ferocious canine, is a deadly brat.
She sends visitors, and occasional wonderers, scrambling for the nearest tree,
Yet this doggie knows better, never to mess with the bird.

At the slightest sign of resistance, Kaiyo screams and lifts his wings,
a scary resemblance of the 'you know who', even our pigs and cats are terrified,
“this little bird has the evil wings” they’d quietly whisper to themselves..
But am sure they pray every night for Kaiyo to finally learn how to fly.

FIDELIS SUKINA

An entry in the Crocodile Prize
PNG Government Award for Short Stories

IT was two minutes to midnight and you could smell the putrid stench from the toilets. The Eda Ranu company had cut off the water during the day and a foul odour shrouded the whole community.

“Seriously man, I need to take a dump; like for heaven’s sake, Lord help, us,” Jake said to the boys.

“Dude, just dump in the plastic bag and chuck it over the fence,” Junior said laughing.

“Not funny man, we been stuck without water since eight this morning and, bloody hell, it’s almost the next day,” Jake said taking a deep breath and clenching his stomach.

The guys could not help but feel for poor Jake, who had been scoffing aigir during the day. The East New Britain dish of chicken, bananas, greens and coconut milk often had this effect.

“Talk about high fibre food, Jake, you were chucking down that chicken,” said Clarence.

“Lucky for you to say. You bloody ate Snax, ay, while I had a decent meal at the expense of a beautiful woman,” Jake said.

“Beautiful woman,” Clarence cackled. “I thought your uncle came and took you around during lunch and bought the food.

“Wait, your uncle’s a woman, wow I didn’t see that coming.” Everyone laughed loud and drawing threats from the neighbours.

“Oi pasim maus ya bloody idiots.”

You could tell the neighbours weren’t happy about being trapped without water for the whole day and, as if that wasn’t enough, Jake and his posse were disrupting the neighbourhood in the middle of the night.

Then, just as the clock struck 12 midnight, the water gurgled back and the street erupted with joy.

Jake hurtled across the corridor to the toilet and could be heard groaning with relief.

“Oh yeah that’s some good shit right there, don’t no one go there for a while.”

“Dude it’s like something crept in there and died, someone grab the air freshener.”

It was like a house full of small kids, messed up rooms, dirty clothes in corners, the smell of dirty socks.

“Guys, this place is a mess,” mum lashed out in fury. “I can’t believe you live like this and still be called human beings.”

Her eyes were like fire, then slowly softening into a sigh.

“I give up, seriously I can’t talk sense to you guys. I hope one day you have kids and they give you headaches like this.”

The boys rolled out of the house to find some buai and a smoke.

“Bro balus pudaun oh? Is that pay cheque cleared?” Junior asked struggling to light his spear.

“Nogat ya, it’s still hovering above the trees,” Jake replied.

“Painim koins ya, mi bagarap lo smoke ya,” Jake said throwing away the rolled smoke, “I’m really dying for a smoke.

“Bro, I don’t even have five toea for busfare.”

It was like the boys had never left each other, after five years at various tertiary institutions they’d all came back to their humble street.

Everybody was getting married and moving on, and the boys where still there hanging around like adolescents.

“Where the hell is Clarence?” Jake asked. “I’m starting to think his girlfriend is pushing all the buttons.”

“I think he has used all the excuses known in PNG, probably needs a new excuse,” Junior replied.

There was a bit of jealousy.

Clarence was the only one who seemed even slightly serious about the future.

Junior and Jake enjoyed wasting their money same speed and surviving on their wits, but mostly their parents.

The Crocodile Prize 2015

827 entries received from 132 writers & illustrators

Poetry 355; Essay 196; Story 130; Children 52; Heritage 48; Illustration 21; Tourism Arts Culture 15; Book of the Year 10

The Crocodile Prize 2015

827 entries received from 132 writers & illustrators
WINNERS ANNOUNCED EARLY SEPTEMBER

Poetry 355; Essay 196; Story 130; Children 52; Heritage 48; Illustration 21; Tourism Arts Culture 15; Book of the Year 10

FIDELIS SUKINA

An entry in the Crocodile Prize
PNG Chamber of Mines & Petroleum
Award for Essays & Journalism

ARMED with a pencil, a biro and an eraser, he sits with the newspapers and takes in the week’s issues. Then he drafts a scene on a sheet of A4 sketch paper.

He needs less than 10 minutes to create an illustration summarising the week’s events.

Charles Nir, 54, lives in Port Moresby and is a freelance illustrator offering his services to news agencies and other organisations that wish to deliver a clear message through art.

“I am from Mendi in the Southern Highlands Province and since primary and high school have been interested in drawing,” says Charles.

“I didn’t do well in school but my talent took me to the Goroka School of Art and Design.

“I had been interested in expressive arts in high school and it was that interest that made me excel in it.”

Since he graduated in 1979 from the two years of art school, he has never looked back.

Charles has been an illustrator for almost 30 years, working with three different companies. He takes pride in his work and wastes no time in producing results.

He goes by the pen name CHESS, to be found within each of his illustrations.

From 1983 to 1990 he worked with Niugini Nius, which was taken over by Word Publishing and then he joined a printing shop which SP Brewery owned where he did layouts and illustrations.

In 1997 he joined The National newspaper leaving after seven years to pursue a freelance career.

He is currently contributing to the Sunday Chronicle newspaper drawing cartoons that each week depict current issues in Papua New Guinea.

“I just read the week’s news and come up with a drawing and show it to the editor for him to approve. So far all my illustrations have been accepted,” Charles says.

“Sometimes I work with non-government organisations. I illustrate booklets and other media.

“I did a booklet on environment conservation for NGO Partners. “They wanted 24 A4 size illustrations and I gave them what they wanted in just three days.”

He basically draws from his imagination after his client explains to him what they want.

As you sit and watch he will finish a drawing in 10 minutes, depending on the number of characters and the scene involved.

“When I was small I used to see drawings from village children hanging in the tucker shop and that made me excited. Hearing the praise the young artists got, I wanted to become like them.”

In a nation with a diverse culture it is often hard to differentiate characters from each province but that doesn’t hinder Charles. He has developed interesting features that help identify people from each region of Papua New Guinea

“Sometimes when I draw, I don’t differentiate but, most of the time, it’s to do with traditional attire, or body features,” he says.

“A person from the highlands will have a bigger beard than a coastal man, and coastal women especially will have grass skirts and tattoos. But it does not really matter as long as the issue is addressed.”

Charles has a talent that speaks a thousand words; pictures that stimulate the minds of readers so they clearly grasp the message.

He’s a humble and simple person, a man of very few words. Maybe that’s because he spends his time thinking more than talking.

HELEN DELPHINE KURAN

An entry in the Crocodile Prize
Kina Securities Award for Poetry

Soft skin and chubby limbs
Crawls on fours
Cries out like a whale
No teeth but soft pink gums
Just a pinch and a squeeze
Turning the skin to crimson
Nice companion
Quite enjoying

JOYCELIN LEAHY

An entry in the Crocodile Prize
Paga Hill Development Company
Award for Writing for Children
SP Brewery Award for Illustration

THE night was still and dark. Dogs did not bark. The wind blew gently.

Children and babies had stopped crying and laid their heads to rest. Even the night birds were silent around the coastal Morobe village.

Below the whistle of the gentle breeze, Kalem heard a song. It was soft, beautiful and so sad it almost made her cry. It sounded very familiar.

Lying still on her woven pandanus mat that grandma made for her, she searched through her memories - where has she heard this song? Her grandma had passed away last year. She missed her. After tossing and turning for what seemed like forever, Kalem knew she had to find out. 

She picked up her mother’s torch. Beside the torch was a piece of hard shell, a turtle shell she found on the beach. She kept it for good luck. Suddenly she remembered - the song! It was the song of the turtles. Their nesting time happens near Kalem’s birthday, but they have not come to her village for a long time.

Tonight, something was wrong. Grandma said only the mother turtle sang the turtle song. No one in the village knew that song except her grandmother, mother and now her. Grandma sung and taught the song to Kalem while they were fishing. “Who is singing it now?” Kalem wondered.

Afraid but excited, Kalem headed to the beach. As she walked, she remembered Grandma’s words: “Our people are connected to the ocean, we fish to survive but we must respect the lives in the ocean. We must never kill for nothing.”

Not many people can connect to the animals and fish, but grandma said their family had a special gift because their ancestors came from the sea and are tied to the ways of the sea. Kalem walked quickly along the beach as she listened for the song.

“If you ever hear the song Kalem, you know, Mother Turtle needs you”, her grandmother told her.  When Kalem was born in the turtle season, grandma told her mother – “this girl would one day meet Mother Turtle”.

Kalem followed the song out of her village and along the shores, further and further away from her house.  Her heart beat faster when she arrived at the river where the villagers washed. Where the river met the sea, villagers set fishing nets along the shoreline. Kalem heard a loud splash. She slowly stepped forward, flashing the torch.

Tied to a large driftwood stump on the beach was a long, green fishing net. On the calm water surface, a big red buoy floated just offshore, and at the end of the net.

Something had been caught in the net. The thing splashed again. It rippled and frothed the seawater in a circle. It was large, dark and nearby the shore. It did not look like any fish or crocodile Kalem knew.

When she flashed the torch at the dark shape, she was shocked to find a very large sea turtle tangled in the net. It was so large, Kalem was sure it must have been the mother of all turtles. Kalem flashed the torch on the water.

She could see smaller turtles floating about, their heads bobbing in the water. The turtles circled the net. They were all making strange noises like they were crying too. The mother turtle was bigger than Kalem’s ten-year-old body, but Kalem had to try save to her.

Even with no strength left, the mother turtle kept singing her song. Weakly, her tired flippers hit the net and her voice faded to almost a whisper. Kalem’s tears flowed down as she waded through the water quickly and tried to set the turtle free. After struggling with the net and the weight of the turtle, Kalem ran back to the village and woke her mother.

“Help, wake up!” Kalem cried. “It’s Mother Turtle - we must help her”.

Kalem’s mother was confused. Often she thought her daughter was a daydreamer. After Kalem calmed herself and explained, she grabbed her mother’s arm and led her back to the beach. They took a knife and cut the net to set the mother turtle free. The large turtle swam up to Kalem and her mother. She bumped them with her nose before she and the other turtles disappeared into the deep, dark waters.

Kalem remembered grandma telling her about the life of the mother turtle. Grandma said it took many years before the turtle was ready to make babies. Every two or three years, the mother turtle leads her group to her own nesting beach, where she was born. Sometimes she travelled long distances to get there. Usually she would lay over a hundred eggs, but only a few survived.

Other animals, people and large fish eat the eggs and baby turtles. Kalem’s people loved eating turtle eggs and meat. Their village was once a nesting ground for turtles. Lately, less and less turtles have come to lay eggs. Standing silently in the dark with her mother, Kalem thought of how scared the turtles were tonight.

“They might never return…we must teach our people to protect the turtles”, she whispered to her mother.

“I am so proud of you Kalem. The turtles will head to a safe place to lay their eggs. Maybe this was not the right place for them, but they will find a perfect home some day”.

Her mother held Kalem close as they headed back to the village.

ALISON KULT

An entry in the Crocodile Prize
Kina Securities Award for Poetry

Why the increase in violence
From the Highlands to the Islands
Neighbouring tribes with conflicts
Turn humble tribesmen into convicts
Why do we fight against each other?
When we should be living together
Threatening all parties into silence
An eye for an eye to balance
The pain inflicted on one
Aren’t you tired of being on the run?

Why the increase in criminal activity
When will we put an end to all this atrocity?
Why all this robbery in our main cities
From the streets to most guarded amenities
Such acts dictate our freedom of movement
Determining where one can and can’t go, like a covenant
It’s true some things are easier said than done
But aren’t you tired of being on the run?

Why can’t a sister go anywhere she wants to?
Or do anything she wants to do
Without being harassed or stalked
Assaulted or poked
Out of fear she increases her pace
To blend in, she changes her ways
Proponents of such terror are a disgrace
I pray this generation will introduce a new phase
Because being cautious all the time is no fun
Aren’t you tired of being on the run?

Why is police brutality on the rise?
Such reports are no longer a surprise
Why is nepotism intensifying in our industry?
Why can’t we get a job without contact in the ministry?
Shouldn’t we all be seen as an equal?
Let our generation put an end to this sequel
Let us all stand united as One,
As, for one, tired of being on the run.

KONETERO RONNIE DOTAONA

An entry in the Crocodile Prize
Cleland Family Award for Heritage Writing

EVERY Suau-speaking lad is fond of the ocean. Ask him. And ask him about his dream. “Go to maritime college, join the navy or build a workboat.”

If a Simbai is born with all the secrets of the forest, then a Suau is a born seafarer.

Infant boys are carried by an uncle or grand-uncle to the beach. He is made to face Tupo Yalasi, the direction of the west wind.

The old man will make the infant to dance and perform the ritual song calling on the Yalasi wind to inundate the infant with strength.

And the baby will be taken to the front of a sailing canoe in rough storms and the waves will spray his face while uncle or grand-uncle sings. Later, young people reaching manhood or womanhood undergo rituals connected to the sea.

Our fathers sail kemuluwa or amuyuwa, ocean-going canoes with sails made of dam, woven dried pandanus leaves.

The craft remind me of the skill it took, and the tragedies experienced, on the part of my ancestors in crossing thousand miles of ocean to reach the land we call ‘home’. I do not know if the seas were pacificus in that era.

The names kemuluwa and amuyuwa signify that these voyages journeyed across the Muruwa or Muyuw seas near what are now the Woodlark and neighbouring islands.

They built and sailed wolibote, workboats without motors, driven by sails. I asked my grand-fathers where the name originated. I came to understand that these boats were similar to whaleboats, thus the name wolibote was coined.

The arrival of marine motors motivated them to share the dream of a white man, Reverend Charles Abel, to build boats.  Our fathers were trained at Kwato Island by Australian boat builders.

Some were trained at Wako Wakoko Slipways and at Sariba Island, whilel others pioneered the Salamo Slipways on Fergusson Island. The quality of work our fathers did in the boatyards was comparable to Australian and British boat builders.

I recall the stories of my grand-uncle. When he sleeps on the deck at night, he feels the pattern of currents and waves hitting the boat. He tells the tiller man if they are approaching a reef or nearing land.

He uses the stars to navigate. He knows all the current patterns and uses them to his advantage. His clan totem is the sea eagle. I had a chance to travel the coast between Milne Bay and Morobe. On many occasions, I spotted Kubona on the ship at dawn. The first thought that entered my mind was, “I’ve seen the same star, my Lapita ancestors have seen.”

We hear stories of our fathers meeting sea monsters and storms and the parts of the Milne Bay waters where one is not allowed to utter a word. They tell us the different names of ocean waves and describe the areas from Milne Bay to the Motuan to the Gulf coastline that we need to know.

Suaus take pride that their sons were some of the pioneers to sail the oceans of our country. The songs of our forefathers were composed and sung on these journeys, songs of leaving their loved ones behind, coming ashore on foreign soil and of young lasses eloping.

Our fathers taught us the lives of sea birds - sea eagle, sea hawk, frigate bird, tern - and what we can learn from them. Sayings like “being shark-eyed and not of a sting ray” or “sleep like a turtle” or “wake up like a tern” were coined.

Around the evening fires, we have heard stories and legends of the sea and its monsters: sine’ligusi’salasala, sineboudalili, polepole, bolisaielo, sasalutu gwanegwane.

If that was not enough, our mothers created games: string figures such as the amuyuwa, Kubona the dawn star, the ocean tides and currents, Taubodidi the seafarer. When kids play these figures, they are drawn closer to the spirit of seafaring.

A Suau man knows the look of a strong workboat; boats that can load at the same time and withstand the storms. As lads, we were taught the names of hardwoods that resist the naval shipworm, hardwoods that will last.

Suaus are a headache to the provincial maritime authority, because they breach strong wind warnings. They take pride in riding on the waves, even though they know that the ocean does not keep memorial headstones afloat.

May the Suau lads sail the waters and build hardwood boats out of love, respect and character, boats that will stand life’s stormy seas.

May they, in future, cross oceans with outrigger canoes. May their sails be filled with the trade winds. To our forefathers who have already sailed away. You’re a mariner. Fair winds!

NEWS LIMITED

PAPUA New Guinea's ex police chief Geoffrey Vaki has been sentenced to three years in prison after being found guilty of contempt for failing to arrest prime minister Peter O’Neill during a long running corruption probe.

Former police commissioner Vaki is expected to be soon taken into custody.

In June a court found Vaki guilty of contempt for failing to execute a district court arrest warrant issued last year for Mr O'Neill, and for later telling media any decision to arrest him was "a long way down the road".

Task Force Sweep chairman Sam Koim, who was in court today, told AAP the sentencing vindicated the court's authority.

"To my knowledge, three years is the highest penalty for contempt ever in this jurisdiction. This is how serious the court has treated the police commissioner's refusal to execute the warrant of arrest on (the prime minister)," he said.

"It is sending a strong message that all persons must observe the terms of the order."

Mr Vaki is expected to launch an appeal.

A police spokesman said he was aware of the verdict but was waiting for confirmation from the court.

The warrant for Mr O'Neill's arrest was obtained in June last year by fraud investigators who wanted to grill the prime minister over allegations he authorised the siphoning of millions of dollars in public cash to a law firm, a claim Mr O'Neill denies.

PHILIP KAUPA

An entry in the Crocodile Prize
Kina Securities Award for Poetry

Here we gather
both to compete
and to share the weather
both to unite
and to share our cultures

Here we are, where else should we be
we are the Pacific dream
we adapt the tropics, we adapt the temperate
diverse are we no matter how specific
we've come because we are the best

From the rawest talent
to the stardom athlete
in the pool or on the field
for bronze or for gold
it doesn't matter, we merge as one

Conquer the finish lines, there is no win, no lose
appreciate dirt and sweat as achievement
let us comfort our exhaust, be the shoulder
let discipline and respect be our wheels
display all potentials, invest all efforts

Let our noise be heard
sound the cries of victory
sound the cries of defeat
let the world hear us
let the world see us

Let us blaze the Pacific spirit
for the whole world must know
that we are one people
the Pacific people
Our Pacific Games

May God bless us all...

PAULINE KARALUS

An entry in the Crocodile Prize
Cleland Family Award for Heritage Writing

THE four regions of Bougainville have their own ways of initiating young girls into womanhood. To this very day these rituals are still practised and upheld by the villagers.

They are inescapable as there are curses and laws associated with them. The traditions are vital in order for a woman to be regarded as independent and ready to start a family.

Many of these rituals from various parts of the island are no longer practised because westernisation is taking its course, however the Tinputz people of the northern region still uphold their tradition.

It is an initiation performed to adolescent girls during their first period. This ritual symbolises the independence of young girls and that they are ready to find a husband, start up a family and do everything a mother is expected to do.

When a young girl has her first period, she’s not allowed to be in the village. She’s kept in a little hut built in the forest and she’s not allowed out until the flow stops.

For up to two weeks she stays inside the hut with older women who teach her how she has to go about conducting things as soon as gets out of the house.

The young girl is forbidden to bathe and she only wears a piece of grass skirt which is changed each day by the elderly women.

Food given to her is also guided by strict rules and laws that mustn’t be broken. She is only allowed to be given food roasted over the fire and it mustn’t be superfluous.

She is soon to be an adult woman thus she has to make sacrifices.

During her days inside that hut, her upper arm is tattooed by the elderly women with sharp blades. They tattoo it by cutting little deep cuts into her upper arm and leaving them to dry up. She’s not allowed to drink water as it is believed that if she does the cuts won’t heal up as soon as possible.

The pain she bears when both her upper arms are tattooed is believed to motivate her to become a woman who will stand out and fight for what is right. A unique, tough, successful woman who is capable of handling the challenges and obstacles that will come as she starts up a family of her own.

As the second week comes to its end, she’s taken out of the house and a little feast is thrown out amongst the women of her tribe.

The initiation is closed as the girl symbolically climbs a banana tree and thus moves into adulthood.

She is carried out of the hut by an elderly woman on her shoulders and as soon as they come to the spot where the banana tree is, she leaps form her carrier’s shoulders and catches grip of the banana tree and climbs it whilst the elderly women chant in their mother tongue and dance around the tree.

After she climbs down she’s then taken by the elderly women and washed with bush herbs to drive away the spirits that have been with her throughout the initiation period.

BESSIELAH DAVID

An entry in the Crocodile Prize
Kina Securities Award for Poetry

If I may see the paradise banner
Every fleeting moment counts
If I am bold and proud enough,
The golden lace will survive the years.

This is our time, these are our games
To fly it high – to raise the banner
To run the race – our feet light weight
To shine the torch – of sportsmanship

If I may see our kumul, the sky is the limit
As we run, we soar, in prideful glee
The pressure is on, “We’re ready to go!”
The drum beats roll, “We’re ready to roar!”

The baton tip shines –
The podium calls
Anticipation wild, hearts boom, boom!
Wrapped with banners, one two three

At last we hear the names being called
Hands pump the air, we shout with glee
On podium stands our bronze in third,
Our silver in second and our gold in first

REILLY KANAMON

An entry in the Crocodile Prize
PNG Chamber of Mines & Petroleum
Award for Essays & Journalism

IN the midst of the crowd at Divine Word University’s open day in 2013, as I sat at the Communication Arts public relations booth, a senior national public servant approached me with a question.

“Son, why is it that most of the prominent journalists in the country are disappearing from the mainstream media?” The look on her face already suggested an answer before my lips could move.

Unlike any other profession where one works until retirement age, the case is otherwise for journalists in Papua New Guinea.

Only passion and love for the profession keeps a few enduring until old age, in most cases just a handful. While journalism is an exciting field, the challenges are many for the warriors who fight only with pen and paper.

For example, the green pastures offered by public relations and other communications and marketing careers are very attractive to mainstream journalists.

Journalists are marketable in public relations because they tend to have a good network of people and a broad knowledge of issues.

As a journalism student, I was exposed to the challenge of the theory and practice of journalism and the role of the media in a democratic nation.

Although the media is often termed the fourth estate (after clergy, nobility and commoners), giving it some sense of importance in society, the challenges it faces are recurring.

The public would murmur if it was revealed how much a journalist is paid to keep Papua New Guinea informed every day.

There are two journalism schools in Papua New Guinea – at the University of Papua New Guinea and Divine Word University – but each generation of graduating journalists and media personnel gets little or no mentorship or training in media organisations. There are so few senior journalists around.

So it is that young, semi-experienced reporters walk into the mainstream news rooms.

This has compromised media law and the ethics of journalism. It is no surprise when we read the harsh complaints on the performance and quality of journalists in the opinion columns of the daily newspapers and on social media.

The body meant to regulate standards, the Media Council of Papua New Guinea, seems to turn a blind eye to all this and has done so for some time.

The biro and notebook are falling into young hands that have a big professional gap to bridge. And, once these young people gain momentum and experience, they too move on and the gap remains.

The thing I cannot grasp is the low wages and non-existent training for media personnel. After completing my degree in communication arts and journalism, a media firm offered me K300 a fortnight while living in Port Moresby. This was equivalent to other support staff who had no qualifications at all.

The offer made me understand why qualified journalists left the mainstream media for other communications fields and made me recognise why the mainstream media is struggling to produce quality.

While it may be wrong for the government to interfere with media affairs, I think it is fair for it to address the plight of the media personnel through agencies such as the PNG Media Council and the Labour Department.

“You have no special legislation that directly protects you as media personnel,” said my lecturer in journalism.

Yet, the risk of exposing corrupt practices and crime networks rests with journalists. It is ironic that they speak for the voiceless and inform and educate the public on national issues but their rights remain an individual risk.

Whilst there are unions for teachers, doctors and nurses, the very people who keep the four corners of Papua New Guinea informed lack one.  Journalists have no special privileges like politicians. Although news has to be timely, journalists are frequently put on waitlists for flights they need to cover breaking news.

The only time they get special privileges is when they accompany politicians and bureaucrats who expect good coverage afterwards. At times bribes and prize money is given for favours. This is where media law and ethics should come into play.

Too many single source stories make their way into the news. A single source story too easily reflects a biased view and is an indication of poor research by a journalist. A well written story is not just “he said this” or “she said that”. It is an examination of an issue from different angles and viewpoints.

Also, the issue of using materials supplied for publication is ignored by young journalists who take information unquestioningly from sources. This contravenes point 10 of the PNG Broadcasting Code of Practice which states: “When a strong editorial reason warrants the inclusion in any programme of recorded or prepared material supplied by, on behalf of, official bodies, companies or campaigning organizations, its source should be revealed”.

In journalism, there is a difference between reporting on an event and reporting on an issue. Usually reporting on an issue requires research. But most young journalists are event and happening reporters. There’s lack of critical thinking and analysis – a result of poor mentorship.

EMTV Lae bureau chief Scott Waide, an example for young journalists because of his style of reporting on cross cutting issues, once told us: “Use events as an avenue to meet bureaucrats and politicians to investigate issue-based stories”.

One of the veteran PNG TV journalists, John Higgins, is sharp in his reporting. He is also a real mentor.

Understanding the cultural diversity and level of literacy of our people is very important for those intending to be journalists, yet I find papers these days stuffed with jargon and clichés.

As a graduate journalist I get irritated by ‘walk-in recruitment’ where people are made journalists without any special training. What does this do for knowledge and standards?

Then the public comment on poor journalistic practice when the reporter isn’t a journalist’s bootlace.

Sure, anyone can write a story, but journalism is more than just writing. It’s better leave the profession to trained and qualified people so the two journalism schools in Papua New Guinea can serve their purpose.

JIMMY DREKORE

An entry in the Crocodile Prize
Kina Securities Award for Poetry

The soles of his feet
carries the foundation of his nation
the rhythm of his heartbeat
aligns his promise to his nation

The strength in his legs
carries the weight of a nation
the clench of his fists
guards his loyalty to his nation

The look in his eyes
sees his duty to his nation
the stand with his allies
builds a bridge to his nation 

The flag on his shoulder
carries the face of his nation
the pose of this soldier
is the pride to his nation

He is the first line of defence
He is the symbol of protection
He is the nation’s incense
He is the symbol of dedication

The flag of the nation

GRANT WALTON | DevPolicy Blog

IN 2012, Sam Koim, head of PNG’s Taskforce Sweep, called Australia the ‘Cayman Islands of the Pacific’ for money laundering.

Koim was drawing attention to the millions of kina that have been laundered into Australia by PNG elites – much of it ending up in the Cairns property market.

His comments reflected his, and others’, frustration that Australia was doing very little to respond to the laundering of ill-gotten gains.

Since these allegations the Australian government has been, by and large, silent about PNG corruption and money laundering. There appears to have been a greater willingness from Australia to cooperate with PNG investigators: in 2013 Koim noted that since his speech Australia increased its cooperation with Taskforce Sweep. But little was said publicly.

As a regional power, it’s important that Australia publicly demonstrates its commitment to the rule of law in the region.

So it is heartening to see that on the back of a media investigation into PNG money laundering (which has gone viral on PNG social media sites), Foreign Minister Julie Bishop has spoken out about Australia’s role as a destination for PNG’s dirty money.

In a recent Fairfax media article, she is quoted as saying:

We take very seriously allegations that the proceeds of crime in PNG and the proceeds of corruption can be laundered in Australia…We are working closely with PNG to ensure Australia is not a safe haven for the proceeds of corruption.

Of course, these words need to be matched by action – specifically investigation into the transnational flow of corrupt funds – but Bishop’s response is welcome. It was also good to see Bishop saying that Australian authorities recently recovered $574,000 of ‘misused’ aid money.

Still there’s more that needs to be said (and done) about political corruption in PNG. We are still waiting for Australia to publically condemn the defunding of Taskforce Sweep. And Australia should be speaking out about Peter O’Neill’s refusal to submit to an arrest warrant, which was issued last year but is still being contested in the courts.

Australia doesn’t need to become the Pacific’s morality police (there’s plenty of corruption here), but as Stephen Howes and I argued in August last year, it should speak out when there have been flagrant attacks on anti-corruption institutions and legal processes in the Pacific.

Let’s hope that Bishop’s recent statement is just the beginning of a more meaningful conversation about corruption in PNG, and between PNG and Australia.

ELLAH OIRAMU

An entry in the Crocodile Prize
Cleland Family Award for Heritage Writing

BOUGAINVILLE has great cultural diversity, its customs and traditions vary in every district and Buin in the south is no exception.

Marriage customs vary widely throughout the autonomous region and in Buin there is a unique traditional process for marriage.

Today only parts of the sacred ritual are practiced, many aspects subsided two or three generations ago, when most marriages were still arranged.

After a couple is betrothed the two families get together and discuss the bride price, in which the bride’s extended family has a final say.

The payments were traditionally made using aputa (shell money).

On the day of the payment the groom’s family leaves him at his place and goes to the bride’s family home to pay the bride price. They bring with them food and pigs and, after the payments have been made, they feast, sing songs and celebrate until everything is ready for the bride’s departure. After the feast the bride is carried by her ma’si (sister-in-law) to her new home.

The bride’s family makes her kapu, as it is known in Buin. They give her household necessities for life with her husband and families take pride in how much they give to their daughters when they are marrying.

The bride price money is distributed to every member of the clan and anyone who has helped raise the bride as a child. It is also given to people who care about her and will look out for her in the future.

It is evenly distributed, however the mother gets an extra payment called nutubu’m.It is for her hard work as a mother in bringing up the child. The term nutubu’mliterally translates to ‘payment for the breastfeeding’ in Telei language.

Not any other person, apart from immediate female family members, is allowed to see the bride once the groom arrives.

She stays with the mother-in-law still wearing her riki (traditional dress) for three days, after which the bride’s family come to wash her. They take off the jewellery and all the other decorations they had used to dress her up and again her ma’si carries her, this time to a river, all the time hiding her with a kariang (a traditional accessory used as an umbrella and/or bedding).

At the river a person whom the bride’s family trusts is appointed to perform the ritual of cleansing her. It is conducted using leaves from specific trees and herbs. The ritual is believed to purify her for husband and make her fertile to bear him children. A woman who has not undergone this ritual is believed to be a curse or a bad omen to the groom’s family.

After the ritual the woman is considered a wife and part of the groom’s clan.

Her family goes home and she returns to her new home with the groom’s family where her husband awaits. After which she moves in with her husband and build a new family.

But the whole ritual is not completed until she bears her first child and the irikage is held.

JIMMY DREKORE & MARIE-ROSE SAU

An entry in the Crocodile Prize
Kina Securities Award for Poetry

If you can see paradise from the ugly terrain,
Mt Wilhelm is smiling at you, my dear

…I always have seen paradise through the ugliest terrain
Even through the eyes of my dreams...

Then you have the eyes of a queen,
Can you see the empty throne beside Wilhelm?

Through the eyes of the queen in my dream
I can see it clear
That empty chair of royalty,
Seat made of the finest cuscus fur,
Head proudly attired in glorious plumes fit for a king
And guarded by the spirit warriors only my eyes can see
Yes I see that empty throne and it is alluring me into its arms

From your feet stretches a carpet of forest moss
with guard of honour from Wilhelm's finest soldiers
Let the sole of your feet lost in this cosiness
He watches like an impatient groom

I know that groom is impatient
But my desires have always been ancient.
Onto that carpet of forest moss
I long to weep at my silent loss
The soles of my feet are sore with weariness
For I have travelled far from my Simbu paradise...

Oh you fairy-tale queen
Like a butterfly you leap once again

Maybe I am glad that I now can sing
of missing my paradise that I am not singing in vain...

Your song shall sail through the gorges
Like the sound of crystal streams
marrying light and mists
giving birth to rainbow of love

That rainbow of love
Of light and of life
May be the groom and to it, maybe I, his wife.
Upon the sleeping forest between the crest of those gorges
Shall my pride glide
Soaring above the bosom of that paradise in one accord with that rainbow of love
If heaven is for real, you have just brought it to earth
Joy to the earthlings

And praise to the heavens above…