MARLENE DEE GRAY POTOURA
An entry in the Crocodile Prize
PNG Government Award for Short Stories
THE famous red tent. Phew! Sigh!
The word Digicel was written in white right across, on top and around it.
The red tent was supported by four white thin posts. It stood under a beautiful tree, with long slim branches spreading out, providing shade as far as ten metres.
The red tent was in a park with tables and benches. Behind the red tent there was a cute little trash bin bearing a McDonald ‘s sign.
It reminded me of Papua New Guinea, making me missed my children even more.
But it gave me hope and a rush of adrenaline sort of impelled me towards the familiar red colour.
Two people with red shirts were in the tent, selling Digicel phones and sim cards.
‘Sim cards for sale, only $6. Hurry, come and get one for yourself,’ the young man in a red shirt called out to passers-by.
A dark skinned man with wavy hair walked up to the red tent.
‘Can I have a Sim card, please,’ he asked the man in the red shirt.
‘Sure. Can I have your ID,’ red shirt asked wavy haired.
Wavy haired pushed his hand into his trousers pocket and took out his wallet. He got three two-dollar coins and gave them to the red shirt guy.
A new sim card was inserted in wavy haired’s mobile and red shirt dialled Digicel and connected him.
‘Vinaka,’ wavy haired said, and walked off down the footpath.
Then a big papa walked up to the red tent.
‘Bula! How much for this phone, eh?’ he asked loudly.
‘Only $126. It’s cheaper here, at the Digicel shop, it costs $210,’ red shirt woman explained to big papa.
Big papa pulled out a fat wallet from his jean’s pocket, counted some notes and gave them to red shirt woman. Then a phone was put in a Digicel bag with papa’s change and given to him.
‘Hey, you gave me the wrong change,’ big papa’s voice was loud.
‘It’s just 50 cents short. I’m sorry, I don’t have any 50 cent right now,’ red shirt woman apologised.
‘What? You have to give me the right change. Really, I am buying from this big company and you don’t even have change?’ Papa said, confused.
‘Oh, am sorry, here is 50 cents,’ the red shirt guy gave a coin to papa.
‘Vinaka, nogu cauravou (thank you, my young man),’ big papa said to the red shirt guy.
The two Digicel workers in the red tent spent an intense moment staring at each other fiercely. They argued in Fijian and the man pointed to the Victorian Corner Building.
I observed the woman yank out a brown bag and rush to the building to change dollars into smaller notes and coins.
I walked over to the red tent.
‘Bula, how are you,’ I greeted the good looking young man, who was standing behind the red table.
‘Bula, I am Brendan,’ he held out his hand to me.
We shook hands and I asked him.
‘Can I have a Fijian sim card, please?’
‘Where are you from, ma’am?’ he asked politely.
‘I’m from Papua New Guinea,’ I said smiling.
‘Are you here for a holiday?’ he asked smiling back.
‘I’m here for a conference,’ I said.
‘Where are you staying?’ he asked, and I realised he was reading from a sheet and ticking boxes.
‘At the Holiday Inn,’ I answered, handing him my Alcatel one-touch phone.
‘Do you have some kind of ID, please,’ Brendan looked up from ticking boxes.
I took my PNG driver’s license from my purse.
While he was my replacing my PNG sim, his co-worker came back, smiling at me.
‘Bula!’ she said.
‘Bula,’ I replied feeling like a real world tourist.
Three more customers came and the woman started talking to them and explaining the bigger, better Digicel network, with its wide range of phones.
‘You are connected now, ma’am,’ Brendan told me as he handed me my phone.
‘Thank you,’ I said and gave him a $10 note.
He started rummaging around looking for four dollars to give me.
‘You can keep the change. It’s okay,’ I said and smiled.
‘Oh, ma’am, thank you,’ Brendan said gratefully.
Geez, am not a millionaire, but Digicel, you saved my day.
You placed your famous red tent where I could buy a Fijian sim to call my children.