Another Last Day

By Gary Juffa

Once more I was on the move. This time alone. I would be departing Lae for Popondetta. The year was 1983 and I can’t remember exactly what time of the year. I was about 10. We had moved to Lae by PMV Bus one rainy dark night under very disturbing circumstances for me. After sometime searching for a job and home and living like a nomad with relatives and friends, my Mother finally found her feet. We would live in Lae for two years of which the last was in our own home and were blissful days indeed. Aircorps Road, in a Flat just opposite Stephens Trading and a walk away from a movie theater and the SP Brewery where my friends and I would sell many empty bottles for pocket money.

I had a few friends. School friends and after school friends. MY school friends were Zadrach Ginuni and Holmes Kissing. My after school mates were Jacob, his older brother Erowa and a kid simply called Boo. Jacob and Erowa’s father worked as a truck driver and their mother was a housewife and they all lived in a compound not far from where I lived. I remember them as a wonderful family and many a time they shared a meal with me when my mother was working late and I was alone. Boo lived in the same compound and I believe his father was also a truck driver and a single father.
The usual routine for me after school was to simply come home and dump my bag and be out again to find my friends. We would then explore the neighborhood collecting bottles and when we had enough bottles, sell them at the SP Brewery Depot, purchase giant yellow scones and a bottle of 1 liter coke and head off to swim at one of the surrounding spots and swim until our eyeballs were red and on fire from the salty sea. Weekends we would be at Vocopoint unless my mother took us with her on her patrols.

Lae was a very beautiful and safe place to live in the 80s and during my two years of living there I never encountered a situation where I felt my life was threatened by anyone. People were friendly and everyone seemed to be busy working. My Mother worked several jobs, once for the Morobe Pharmacy and eventually for the Family Planning Office. When she worked for the Family Planning Office, she was responsible for awareness of Family Planning and would often visit remote areas to spread awareness on Family Planning.

She had a vehicle allocated and a driver, a wonderful bald-headed giant of a man named Willy. I remember Willy because he had amazing sideburns which he combed with a little comb he carried and had the best most flawless set of white teeth which were always seen in an ever-present smile. We would all load up and wear Family planning T-shirts and travel with Mother to the designated villages and districts and help out with moving the equipment and such. We had great fun on these patrols and got to see some of the most beautiful parts of Morobe Provinces rural places.
When we arrived at a designated village, we would be greeted by the Village Chief or Elders and they had already prepared an area where my Mother and her team would then present talks and show movies and engage in question and answer sessions.

Mats would be laid out for them to sit and talk and plates of fruit would be brought and presented by the Elders wives or their daughters. We would play with the village children in the nearby forests and swim in the rivers until she had finished her presentation. The people were very kind and always gave up lots of vegetables and fruits as well as insist we eat the evening meal with them which always consisted of large servings of the most delicious taro and bananas cooked in clay pots.

The villages were very clean and well organized and the Elders ran everything in a such a way that they were all obeyed with much respect. My most vivid memories of Lae are those beautiful villages we visited and the lovely people that welcomed us with much warmth and love as if we were their own. During all these patrols we never had any sense of danger and thoroughly enjoyed the freedom of being able to stop anywhere to buy vegetables or fruits or simply have a swim.
But I digress. Back to the last day.

Jacob, Erowa, Boo and I spent that whole day at Vocopoint Beach. We had taken the whole day off school. I confidently told them I would be away for 3 weeks for school holidays. That’s what I had been told by my Mother. In fact, 3 weeks would become 3 months and eventually almost 3 years.
Little did I know that this amazing day spent at Vocopoint would be the last time I ever saw these wonderful friends of mine. I would be leaving Lae for a long time. The next time I would return to Lae I would be 17 years old. Alone again. That’s another story.

These three boys, Jacob, Erowa and Boo were like brothers to me had taken time out from their school that day too so that we could spend our last day at our favorite picnic spot Vocopoint Beach. That particular morning, while my mother busied herself packing my bike and getting my dogs papers prepared for the flight to Popondetta the next day, the four of us went out to the vacant parking lots and surrounding areas of Aircorps Road to collect beer bottles to sell at the SP Brewery nearby. We would take the proceeds to Stephens Trading Store and purchase our favorite giant yellow scones and one liter bottle of coke.

Off we then ran, skipped and walked to Vocopoint, no shirts, no shoes and no worries. My dog Santo was our constant companion and followed us barking happily as we chattered and boasted about our amazing feats to each other all the way to the black beach of Vocopoint. By the time we had reached Vocopoint we had finished our scone and coke and were absolutely ready for a romp in the sea. Vocopoint was not a scenic beach and always had debris strewn along the beach but it was our favorite swimming spot and there was a beautiful calm serenity about it that simply appealed to us. We swam for hours going out as far as possible and often drinking much salt water as we desperately scrambled back to shore frightened and yet excited at the possibility of almost drowning.
Side-note.

Here is a side-note about almost drowning at Vocopoint. Now I don’t know how many times I almost drowned at Vocopoint in those years I lived in Lae and yet I would always go back again. I would never let any of my own children move about themselves anywhere in any country truth be told. I fear for them too much. The world today seems far more dangerous than it was when I was a growing child. Today people look angry all the time and there seems to be danger lurking at every corner and turn of any road. Lae, and indeed PNG, was never like that in the 80s it seemed. My friends and I would walk around just about everywhere and not once were we ever confronted with danger.

Vocopoint was our favorite spot for picnics or just a swim. Today when I go to Vocopoint I see how dangerous it has become and would not be safe for children hanging about by themselves. As for the sea, it was as if the sea were only warning us and just as we thought we were done for a wave would simply pick us up and deliver us on the black beach. As an adult, I once thought about those days when I was with my friends alone, there were perhaps two or three, were I almost did drown for real and I wondered how my mother would have felt if indeed I had not made it. I felt terrible imagining myself in that situation and if one of my own children had drowned and I could not bear that horrible thought. Knowing my mother, she would probably be so angry she would find some way to bring me back to life so she could belt me with her favorite giant wooden spoon which she seemingly kept for only for such occasions.

Side-note over.

That blissful day on Vocopoint, we lay exhausted on the warm black beach and finished the remaining coke as we realized the sun was going down and we had to make our way back home. As we sat next to each other, we watched the cargo ships of Lutheran Shipping make their way into Port and we talked about how it must be to work on these huge vessels. We stood up and started to walk back to Aircorps Road, our eyes red from the sea and our skin brown from the sun. We picked our sandy bare feet and called Santo who was still barking and chasing waves and he ran to us his tongue hanging out happily and off we set for home.

Finally, we reached the gate at the flats I lived with my mother and I hugged my brothers one by one. I stood there with Santo waving as they walked back to their homes stopping and waving every so often until I could not see them anymore for the dusk. While I was excited to go home for the holidays, I was also very sad I would not see my friends for so long. Little did I know, I would never see them again. Ever.

Santo and I walked into our small flat quietly. My Mother was listening to Don Williams and cooking our last supper. I looked around what had been my home this last year.
To this day I have never met them again after that one blissful day. But I have always thought of them and I have never forgotten their names. I hope they have fared well and I am sure they would be beautiful souls as adults just as they were as children, they had been raised well by loving parents.
I would leave Lae and these four brothers and my two best friends from school, Zadrach Ginuni and Holmes Kissing for Kokoda the next day on a Talair Plane to Popondetta. 3 weeks didn’t seem long to me.

But 3 years was going to be a long time away from one’s best friends and one’s mother and Lae. I had no idea what was in store. For 3 years, Kokoda would be home, no electricity, no running water and often no meat and a period of time where I would experience many other challenges and yet many happy memories too. I would understand that even a child can be hated and judged for merely be a different shade of skin color and even adults could say the most vile things about you or your mother because they could and you couldn’t do anything about it no matter how hurt or angry you would be by their words that cut like the sharpest knives.

The next day my Mother took me to the airport and we waited for my Talair Flight to Popondetta. I was wearing my best Sunday clothes. I think my only Sunday clothes. I was travelling alone with Santo. He would be sedated and put in a special case for dogs and would wake up in Popondetta. After losing my dog Rocky from our trip from Hagen I had demanded and insisted that Santo come with me. I was prepared to run away with him if my Mother didn’t send him with me. I had a simple plan. Live with Jacob and Erowa and collect bottles all day. Just as well she had given in. He would be my companion, brother and best friend for these 3 long years. I was taking my BMX bike that a friend of ours had bought me. It would be spoilt after a few weeks riding up and down the road to and from the Kokoda Community school. I had on my only pair of shoes which would fall apart after a year.

When I arrived at Popondetta I was picked up by my Uncle John in a PMV that he drove for someone at the Girua Airport. I loved Uncle John. He had the amazing ability to talk non stop for the entire drive and always had amazing jokes and stories. The PMV was empty as he had come to pick only me and some other cargo sent by someone for someone else. It was on hire. So it was just myself and my cousins and my wonderful Aunty Glen and Uncle John.

The PMV made its way up to Kokoda I was excited about the 3 months of holiday I was to be spending in Kokoda. The drive was uneventful but for a moment when we stopped near a pile of wood fire stacked by the side of the road. Uncle John abruptly parked and while the engine was running, he ran out and collected all the firewood and placed them in the PMV. He then jumped in the car and explained that he was merely borrowing them from another Uncle and he had a grin on his face as he did so. As we turned the road just passed the Iora River, although it was getting dark, I could see the familiar trees of landmarks of my childhood.

As usual, even to this day, I felt my eyes water as I thought of my late Grandfather who I had often accompanied as a child up and down this very road many a time. As we got closer to our home, I struggled hard not to cry. The waves of nostalgic familiarity always wash over us when we go home to our roots for sure.

When we finally arrived at Block 168, it was already dark and my Grandmother was waiting by the road with her kerosene lamp to welcome us home. She hugged me and Santo and she laughed and cried at once and so did we. “Finally! You are here!” she cried and took my bag that contained my few clothes and colored pencils and pens and a small bag of toy soldiers and led the way.

Santo and I were exhausted and after a small meal of rice and tinned fish with pumpkin leaves, we went up the wooden stairs of the wooden house that my Grandfather had built and went straight to bed on a mattress on the floor side by side. The mosquito net was already hung up and the hurricane lamp was turned down to a small glow just enough to keep the incredible darkness at bay. It started to rain softly and eventually torrents beat down hard on the tin roof and I heard my Grandmother calling a cousin of mine to bring her another pot for a new leak…I dozed off smiling. I was home. 3 weeks. 3 months. 3 years.
I had no idea. Tomorrow would be another day full of adventure.