Living and learning in the Land of the Unexpected

A Papua New Guinea reflection

Peter Rushbrook

Charles Sturt University

2011

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- Contents -

Introduction 3 Baskets and bilums: Goroka 4

Goroka revisited 31 Balob and Lae: a continuing Papua New Guinea adventure 40 Dust, smoke and sweat: a fourth visit to Papua New Guinea 50 Learning in Lae 62 Epilogue? 73

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Introduction

Mark Twain, seeking to encourage in others his love of travel, wrote, „So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.‟ This sage advice could also have been directed to educators. What better way to learn than to take risks, move beyond one‟s comfort zone and reflect and act on the new dirt kicked over, or thrown in one‟s face? Powerfully combined, travelling and educating cleanse the soul, peel away layers of sometimes-tired assumptions, and awaken new possibilities for personal growth and professional practice. Living and learning in Papua New Guinea, then, may be one example of an educator‟s attempt to leave safe harbour to explore, dream and discover.

The contents of this document consist of five journals kept between 2003-2010. The first two were written in the Eastern Highlands town of Goroka, the second three in Lae on the Huon Gulf in Morobe Province. The five trips took place over approximately ten weeks. The journals are unedited so apologies in advance for any errors and repetitions. Keeping the journals was a pleasurable experience and to be recommended for educators seeking to capture and retain at least something of the joy of journeying into new territories, whether metaphorical or real.

Peter Rushbrook March 2011

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Basket and bilums: Goroka Sunday 4 May 2003

The start of another adventure! I took off last night from Wagga in the ever-reliable REX Saab. Sydney‟s Stamford, overlooking Qantas‟s workshops, was home for the night. I met my fellow travellers, Julie Hollitt and Bob Hill, both from CSU Bathurst, and we compared notes for the month ahead. The conversation was made easier over the hotel‟s seafood smorgasbord – there‟s something magical about Sydney rock oysters. The Yarra Valley chardy wasn‟t bad either.

Today was taken up with a couple more flights: one to Brisbane, the other

to Port Moresby. All uneventful and quite pleasant, perhaps because not too long – but three hours from Brisbane and you‟ve flown from the first to the third world.

Port Moresby is a mouldering tropical town of threatening disposition. From the air it can be seen clinging to the hilly coastline and spreading attractively around and often into a wide bay. Fingers of the town bleed into inland pointing valleys. The treeless hillsides are patch-worked with gardens of yams, taro and corn, apparently cultivated by the town‟s recently arrived highlanders. From the ground, however, it looks just plain menacing. The first thing that hits is the oppressive humidity, even though the tropics are entering their dry season. Our Primary and Secondary Teacher Education Project (PASTEP) host, Steve Pickford, a tall (aren‟t they all!), solid and greying man, laconic to a tee – perhaps mandatory in this land of programmed indecision – drove us around town and showed off its sights: the harbour, downtown, and assorted buildings. What he chose not to see, maybe from the blindness of familiarity, were the corridors of tall metal fences topped with razor wire protecting wealthy property, life and limb from local invaders. After checking in at one razor-fenced compound, the Holiday Inn Port Moresby, Steve drove us to his razor-fenced compound, a hill-hugging residential tower, for afternoon tea. Living in a seventh floor apartment overlooking the bay does have its attractions. The rumpled sea fanned by a stiff off shore breeze was quite cooling after the valley humidity. Watching a sailboarder in a distant island haze from a wide and open patio takes some beating, no matter where you are. Back to the Holiday Inn, a quick phone-call home, some dinner and off to Goroka tomorrow, apparently a much more attractive option than Port Moresby. Monday 5 May 2003 Bob, Steve and I said goodbye to Julie, who is teaching students of learning disabilities over the next three weeks in Moresby. I don‟t envy her stay. No doubt

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she will make friends and be chauffeured around, but I get the impression it won‟t be easy. Bob and I suspect we drew the long straw.

We rode out to Moresby airport, jumped on a Fokker 28 jet and surfed the clouds to Goroka, about fifty minutes. What terrain we could see was heavily forested, steep and broken every now and then by a hilltop village, stream, or snaking track. Breaking suddenly out of the clouds, we landed in a gut-wrenching tight left turn and pulled up quickly on the 1200 metre runway.

Well, Goroka certainly has an entirely different feel from Moresby. For a start, at 1600 metres or 5100 feet, it‟s cool. Green from horizon to horizon it sits in a long valley surrounded by steep and jungled mountains. Gardens set on what appear to be impossible slopes (Moresby must be easy for highlanders after this!) and the occasional „slash and burn‟ smoke, irregularly break the canopy. The airport terminal has seen better days, but it is a happy place, bubbling with the talk and laughter of locals waiting the return of family and friends.

The ever-efficient Steve rustled up a van and we drove the few hundred pot-holed metres through the decaying town to „the Bird‟ or the Bird of Paradise hotel and resort, our home for the next month. It‟s more than comfortable, quite luxurious really, and unlike the Moresby Holiday Inn is part of the local surroundings. At the rear is a bistro, bar and deck, called „The Deck‟, funnily enough. It overlooks a lush tropical garden of bougainvillea, orchids and vine encased trees. I think I can hack it!

I‟ve been given a second floor room that overlooks the intersection of the two main streets, Elizabeth Street and Fox Street. From my balcony it‟s a people watcher‟s paradise, more than worthy of a Melanesian Breugel‟s attention. Women in colourful clothes carrying shopping in forehead suspended bilums, old men in grass skirts hawking spears, vendors sitting selling beautifully crafted baskets, community trucks (PMVs) carrying entire extended families, skinny „natural‟ dogs begging for food, all contribute to the downtown busy-ness.

A quick lunch and Steve drove us up the hill about a couple of kilometres or so to the University of Goroka. Its location on a plateau beneath Mount Humulaveka is simply stunning, overlooking the town below and the mountains across the valley. The campus entrance is a steep and winding avenue of trees and colourful shrubs; at its start is a massive wrought iron gate guarded by an attendant who holds up a green „Go‟ sign if it is safe to enter the blind first turn. The dominant buildings are two-storey light timber constructions painted in coral pink. The central teaching and administration areas are formed into two courtyards with beautifully maintained central lawns and tropical gardens. Behind and adjacent to the central area is a range of similar buildings housing other faculties and facilities. At the rear are rows of single storied dormitories and a mess for resident students. The edges of the hill are devoted to small and neat timber cottages for staff – part of their paltry remuneration packages. Everywhere the gardens are colourful and fastidiously presented.

Pro-Vice Chancellor (Academic) Joe Tana introduced to the staff we‟ll be working with over the next four weeks: Bob will work with Commerce and I with Design and Technology (D&T), and a range of other vocational programs. Both areas are located with the Science Faculty. It was explained to us that UOG has three faculties: Education, Science and Humanities. Students enrol for courses within one faculty only and currently cannot complete subjects from any other faculty once selected. We were also given a tour of the unfinished yet beautiful library – a masterpiece of traditional design incorporating carved supporting poles, and a range of wonderful wooden story boards, carved in situ by local craftsmen. It

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will be finished in July, but no-one is willing to predict when donor funding will be found to supply furniture, shelving and books.

While Steve saw to some PASTEP business, Bob and I walked back to the Bird. The crowded dirt roads and greetings of „Apinun‟ („Good afternoon‟) with betel nut smiles told us that this was a very different place to Moresby. Thank goodness! Tuesday 6 May 2003 Our first day of work! Bob and I visited the supermarket over the road and bought supplies for lunch; facilities are limited on campus, unless you like the student mess‟s offering of boiled cabbage garnished with a handful of rice. We also visited the bakery next door for some fresh bread rolls. Steve, prior to going back to Moresby, gave us a brief tour of Goroka and a general warning on survival. It boiled down to a simple message: do what you are told if challenged, particularly if accosted by raskols. We drove past the local market, a huge bustling affair with countless stalls of local produce. Around the edges of town we saw small plots of coffee. We stopped to get some photos of the university from good distant vantage point and soon attracted a crowd of onlookers.

Once at the university Joe Tana placed us with some staff from the Commerce section. They more than looked after us, finding some unused office space. I now have an office in the Science Faculty (small, bare, but mine!) and after some slick computer fiddling by Iko, the volunteer Japanese IT guru, I‟m on line. I can‟t seem to raise CSU, so set up a Hotmail account instead.

Went back to the Bird this evening and strolled through the craft market in the gardens next door. The people are friendly and more than keen to make a sale. It only takes a moment of hesitation and you have a crowd of onlookers witnessing the potential purchase. It is not the custom to barter. Rather, vendors have their „Number One‟ and „Number Two‟ price. With little persuasion I bought a lovely cane basket and a bilum in PNG flag colours – both well made and ridiculously cheap: 25 Kina (K) and K35 respectively (around $A25 total). Wednesday 7 May 2003 Another great day – every one appears to be the same. The Guinness Book of Records claim that Goroka has the best climate in the world might be true. Bob and I now have a driver, Simpson, to pick us up at around 8.30 am and drop us off around 4.00 pm (I think some were alarmed that we would walk every day, establishing a pattern that might lead to „trouble‟ – understatement is an art form here). Simpson has promised to teach us some Pidgin. I kicked off the work day with some emails home and then went to a morning tea held in my honour. My host was Amado Perez, Coordinator of UOG‟s D&T program. I met people from Home Economics and Edward Wanigasekera, team leader of the Technical section. Edward hopes to show me around a few Gorokan vocational training institutions. The Dean of Science, Dr Arnold Parapi, also came along. I plan to work with all of them on curriculum-related matters. Amado, a Filipino expat, gave me a revised copy of their new syllabus to go over.

This afternoon Bob and I walked the short distance to the market. It sprawls down a bare and stone encrusted hill and is surrounded by a seemingly purposeless fence, though we figured people might have to pay to set up a space inside. The market is absolutely for local use and doesn‟t appear to have a tourist function,

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apart from its beckoning curiosity. Outside vendors sell drinks and firewood, and buses and community trucks come and go through the dust dropping off hordes of potential customers. Inside is a sea of moving faces and acres of produce. There must have been a thousand or more people selling, buying, talking, laughing and arguing. We were also obvious attractions: a couple of pale bearded faces against a black peoplescape. Quick sidesteps were required every now and then to dodge streams of scarlet betel spit – it‟s remarkable how far it goes sometimes. Vegetables and fruits I recognised – carrots appeared to be popular – and many I didn‟t were placed on the ground or mats for people to view. Colourful bilums were soon filled and everyone appeared pleased with their purchases. The smell was not unlike a local tip, and with the added cloying atmosphere of unwashed bodies and drifting smoke was certainly a challenge to this westerner. Thursday 8 May 2003 I‟ve spent the last few days going over UOG‟s D&T syllabus. Subjects taught fit within the new four-year secondary pre-service Bachelor of Education program and are studied as either a major or minor stream. Students complete on-campus trades-based skills training in woodworking, metalwork, furniture-making, plastics and traditional crafts such as hard and soft strip weaving (basketwork and the like) and bamboo furniture making. The subjects are well-documented with clearly stated aims and objectives. Towards the end of the program, students cover workshop management, curriculum construction, research skills, and undertake micro-teaching exercises and a practicum. The total lack of resources and reliable funding means that workshop equipment is ancient and poorly maintained, even though housed in a lovely building at the rear of the UOG campus. The travel unfriendly terrain complicates practicum placements because of huge transport bills. It‟s an understatement to say teacher training is challenging in this environment (that the university hasn‟t had water for a couple of days, for example, is simply shrugged off).

I met with Amado a couple of times today and shared with him some D&T websites (courtesy of some excellent advice via a CSU email or two), particularly NSW. I‟ve also spent some time going through some Australian Vocational Education and Training (VET) sites. He has never been to Australia and was unfamiliar with its VET and D&T programs.

After work Bob and I strolled around Goroka‟s central feature – the airport – and explored the western side of town. In a grassed space at the back of the airport we steered around a noisy group resolving some matter of great importance. Individual speakers rose and said their piece, to be followed by others with a counter or supportive view. Further around the airport the streets were full of people making their way home, either from the little work available, the market, or school. Most walk, though the communal trucks and local buses - mini-vans with roughly painted „Number-One‟, and so on - are everywhere, and full. The roads are unmade, dusty, and make for precarious driving and walking. Local houses are left-over Queenslander high-sets in various states of repair. Most have security fences but not to the degree seen in Moresby (though the local Pentecostal Church appears to rely on earth-bound protection with a rather impressive razor-wire fence). Our walk back to the Bird was broken with the noise of the evening jet preparing for the last flight back to Moresby.

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Friday 9 May 2003 Bob and I are into a familiar routine. We meet on the Deck for a 7.30 breakfast, venture out around town to see something new, visit the newsagent – a vendor with papers on a blanket in front of the Seventh Day Adventist („SDA‟ around here) bookshop – and wait for Simpson. He generally turns up like clockwork at 8.30. We then pile into his UOG four-wheel drive, and take the bumpy climb to the uni.

Joy on campus today - the water's back on! Bob and I had a chat with Professor Gerard Guthrie, who looks after UOG‟s postgraduate studies and research. As a long-term resident of PNG he had some interesting things to say about the some of the limitations of studying off-campus. His experience tells him that anything like DE or technology-based education has little chance of long term success. For example, most schools only have the generator on during lunch to fire up the grill. There is also little time to study out of school hours because of the time required to survive: there are few good shops, the roads are terrible and getting worse and hours must be spent tending gardens to eek out a subsistence living. His belief is that resources are better placed in local human capital rather than technological marvels such as on-line learning. In this way, better trained teachers, who may lack completely any supportive resources and technologies, are at least able to offer quality didactic education. Any form of infrastructure support, then, cannot be assumed or taken for granted, a point more than illustrated in a report from yesterday‟s Independent newspaper that nearly 2000 Southern Highlands teachers remain unpaid for the year because of a shortage of EDP12 Resumption of Duty forms. The forms were said to be unavailable because of a lack of funding for printing, and a hint from the PNG Teachers Association of provincial incompetence.

Once back at the hotel I read in today‟s Weekend National that the West Goroka Mendiakwae Supermarket we walked past yesterday was the scene of a violent murder the day before. Apparently a man was shopping with his wife and was attacked by two men armed with bush knives (machetes) and iron bars. The attackers hacked him to pieces as payback for a tribal grievance originating in a nearby district. The report that a mob of armed relatives turned up at the police station only to be sent on their way rang a bell as we think we saw the group while on the way back from the market.

Around 5.30 there was a huge commotion in the main street as four police four-wheel drives and a bus full of people paraded around the block, sirens blaring, horns honking, accompanied by much joyful shouting. Onlookers also joined in. We found out later the group was proclaiming its success after spending a couple of weeks in the troublesome Southern Highlands (Mendi District) supervising a supplementary election. A brief look at the newspapers soon makes you aware of the risky nature of PNG politics; the other day a campaigning local was attacked by an opposition group and was lucky to escape with a few bush knife wounds.

A bit more of a sit on the balcony breathing in the fumes of the 5.45 jet as it built to a deafening crescendo and threw itself down the runway and out of the valley and I was ready for dinner, a quiet read and bed. It's been an interesting week!

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Saturday 10 May 2003 Our first Goroka weekend. We followed our normal morning routine, minus Simpson. A quick walk over the street to the Bintangor Supermarket for some fruit, water and juice and we were ready for a morning hike. As non-locals (read „White‟) we weren‟t subject to the mandatory search on exiting the store.

Our mission for the morning was decided after some careful observation from our balconies. We noticed a high ridge line and track about a kilometre away and thought it might make for an interesting walk. On the local map it‟s called the Gardnozova Spur. We visually traced the track to a point several streets away and set off. A short stroll and we saw what looked like the right entrance – it was – and headed up. After a short distance we noticed a family walking ahead, loaded with market shopping. The man and woman and two girls made their way slowly but purposively, obviously experienced in managing the steep track in the growing heat and humidity. We walked quietly behind them but curiosity soon got the better of the two girls and they fell back and with big grins on their faces asked us our names. Excited, they yelled out „Peter and Bob‟. The parents turned and also grinned at the novelty of the situation. We walked up to them and introduced ourselves. In the Highlands it appears people shake hands a lot, not in the western way of a whole hand grip but more a gentle grasping of the fingers. It‟s also not unusual to see men holding hands in this way while walking around the streets. We‟ve shaken hands a lot since arriving, almost a proprietary „hailans‟ welcoming. Michael and his wife (I didn‟t catch her name, but it had a mellifluous tribal sound) were from Chimbu Province next to the Eastern Highlands and had settled in Goroka because of its relative social calm and good water.

We walked further along the track swapping information about one another. As we neared the crest of the ridge we realised that we were entering a village, quite invisible from Goroka township. While the road went along the ridge‟s razor edge the village fell away on the far side with lush gardens below, and on the Goroka side, perhaps because it was more exposed, there were gardens only. Michael introduced us to a number of people and the sounds of „Peter and Bob‟ bounced around on smiling faces. A couple of young kids, maybe three or four, grabbed and rubbed my hands, I think marvelling at the white skin. They, too, intonated „Peter and Bob‟. Hand in hand with my two new best friends and Michael, who was more than happy to act as our, as he said, „escort‟, we walked higher and further along the track. We passed several rough and ready stores, and at the village‟s highest point saw a couple of round traditional thatched huts. Michael explained these were men‟s houses. We weren‟t sure whether this meant married or unmarried men. We stopped another kilometre or so along the ridge and took in the breathtaking view of uninterrupted mountains around the valley with Goroka a spatter of buildings below. Photos were taken with willing subjects and we made our way back down the track to the Bird. In the end it appears we were actually „invited‟ into the village and its surrounds. The chance meeting and the gentle hosting was one of those traveller‟s experiences that can never be planned but always remembered.

After a mandatory seniors‟ rest that took in lunch on the Deck and a little snooze we set off down a valley road we saw from the ridge. Quite quickly after leaving the semi-order of the city centre the road reduced to yet another rutted track. Unlike West Goroka and its colonial legacy, this eastern area resembled more a squatters‟ village. Huts were rudely thrown together from any materials available, though the odd dwelling was constructed on traditional lines. We passed

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a small market selling produce and betel nut. Bob met an old friend he bought a bilum from at the town craft market. Another woman selling betel told us of her trip to Cairns and Townsville. At different points on the road were men‟s clubs, open roofed areas with dirt floors where bingo is a noisy pastime. We dodged around a woman walking two young pigs, highly valuable animals in PNG. By the time we got back to the Bird I think we said „Apinun‟ several hundred times.

Dinner on the Deck and again we had some lovely chats with the Bird staff. This has become a familiar and enjoyable pattern and we have learned a lot from their detailed local knowledge. Our conversation tonight with George revealed he was from Chimbu and an ex-policeman of eight years service. He had worked across the mainland and islands and opted to settle in Goroka for its calm and work opportunities. As a former policeman we asked about Friday night‟s commotion. He interpreted it as a public notice that the police were back in town en masse and any former misbehaviour would now have to stop. He suggested also that over the next week or so the police residing in the nearby barracks would pour out into Gorokan communities and seek and arrest or exile any identified troublemakers. The locals are proud of the region‟s peace and want to keep it that way. We‟ll keep an eye on how events unfold. Sunday 11 May 2003 Eating on the Deck is always a social affair. Over the week we have seen a passing parade of visitors coming and going. Regular groups of American missionaries come for lunch or dinner and maybe a swim before moving out into the community to save souls. Most are students with perfect teeth and designer tee-shirts. Other overnight guests have included church auditors, aid or „donor‟ managers, and a range of similarly inclined problem „fire-fighters‟. This morning we had breakfast with Liz, from Australian Volunteers International, here to sort out some problems with visiting staff. She was helpful in pointing us to possible local sources of PNG research data; for example, the West Gorokan Melanesian Institute.

For our Sunday morning walk we set out along the airport‟s eastern boundary, Goroka‟s industrial district. Coffee is the highlands main cash crop and various levels of processing exist in the region. Along the boundary road (dusty and pot-holed, of course!) we passed a range of production facilities, some of which are quite grand. Each had a private security guard dressed in dark blue and armed with a long baton and walkie-talkie. They were, however, polite and lots of „Mornin‟s‟ were exchanged.

At the end of the runway, after watching the first Sunday jet boom in and listening to singing in a nearby outdoor church, we took a chance and walked down a further side-road. Along a bit we saw a big group of people raking coffee beans on long metre-wide and parallel strips of blue plastic. We paused for a look. As appears to be the practice here, a pause means interest and we soon had a crowd of kids wanting their photo to be taken. One thing led to another and the adults put aside their rakes and beckoned us over for more photos and a chat. Proprietary handshakes were made all round and questions asked about where we were from. The sound of „Wagga Wagga‟ once again made a favourable impression. It didn‟t take long for us to be given an invitation to tour the Yondu Coffee facility, effectively a large tin shed.

The supervisor or foreman showed us the process of reducing fresh green beans, piled five metres high in hessian bags, to a step prior to the familiar

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roastable product. The beans are fed through a sieve and husking machine that takes away any unusable material. They then go through a magnet that removes any possible contaminating metallic products and fed into a sorting machine that separates desirable „premium‟ beans from their unfortunate sub-grade comrades. The final products are the green beans that make their way out to the plastic sheets for solar drying and raking. They are then re-bagged and transported elsewhere for roasting and export. The foreman told us that the facility is open seven days a week, working two shifts a day. Apparently coffee prices are okay, but „could be better.‟ Prices are higher for this factory‟s coffee because it is completely organic – grown and processed without any chemical intervention.

Lunch was, of course, a Mothers Day celebration. As is the custom here on Mothers Day, many fine Bird-baked cakes were picked up from the Deck and taken home to enjoy as a mid-afternoon treat. I had already made a couple of calls home and was glad to hear the kids are looking after their Mum. My Mum was also delighted to receive a call from yet another distant location. The Deck was uncharacteristically packed and a local band pumped out Melanesian inspired country and western music. We‟d heard the full repertoire on Friday evening; I particularly liked the two versions of „Help me make it through the night‟. The first was fairly orthodox, the second a gutsy Chicago blues.

This afternoon we did another point on the compass and headed to North Goroka at the base of the university. By chance we came across a soccer match at the Goroka Business College. We sat outside the fence with a crowd of locals and watched the purple and blues thrash the yellows. While walking around we noticed an increased police presence – at least four PMVs, four more than we saw last week.

Dinner saw a tsunami of Japanese who arrived on the incoming 5.15. They will stay a couple of days and be ferried around the local sights. On the outgoing 5.45, we found out later, was the feisty, tiny and elderly woman we had observed over the week but not yet spoken with. At lunch she was cheerily entertained by a large group of locals. George later told us that she was a former missionary who had worked for thirty-six years in the nearby mountains. She had returned from the US for a last goodbye to the two generations of people she had lived and worked with. We‟re now sorry we didn‟t get a chance to spend some time with her. Bob called Julie tonight who, we were highly relieved to hear, has settled well into Moresby and is enjoying her teaching. She has also been able to get around a bit, a little more restricted than us, but enough to enjoy a break from her teaching tasks. It will be interesting to have a chinwag about our experiences when we get back. Monday 12 May 2003 Simpson was early this morning and caught us on the hop. We‟d just bought the daily „buns‟ (as bread-rolls must be called in Goroka) and today‟s Post-Courier and were crossing the street back to the Bird as he arrived. A dash to the second floor, a thirty second assembly of a cheese and stras bun, a quick boiled-water refill of our bottles and we were off.

My first pleasant task on the hill was to talk to a group of about twenty UOG Diploma of Technical and Vocational Education students about the Australian Vocational Education and Training (VET) system. They listened with a rapt attention I wasn‟t quite used to in the Australian context. The students were the

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equivalent of our mainstream CSU VET students. All had trade backgrounds and were teachers in one or other of PNG‟s 115 publicly funded vocational centres, the rough equivalent Australia‟s Technical and Further Education (TAFE) institutes. Like most TAFE educators, the vocational teachers had to deal with status and resourcing issues related to the centres‟ perceived position in the education cosmos. However, unlike Australia, the PNG vocational centres have had a more difficult journey, variously moving in and out of the Education Department and subject to changes of mission from vocational education for industrial modernisation to vocational education for village-life sustainability. Also unlike Australian TAFE institutes, the courses offered are quite limited, mostly focusing on two-year post Year 10 pre-apprenticeship training.

After my presentation we spent a long time discussing vocational teacher training in PNG. The students were unhappy that as Year 10 graduates and tradespeople they could not convert their diplomas into degree programs unless they went back to high school to complete Year 12. They were intrigued to discover that at CSU we have a stream of degree entry for similarly qualified people. Immediately they wanted to know how they could get to Australia to complete the degree, such was their thirst to continue their studies! I suggested that perhaps another option might be to push for a similar course and entry requirements at UOG. Given that UOG is the only provider of PNG public Technical and Vocational Education (TVE), this might be a strategy worth pursuing. I also offered to send some material from CSU about our programs and the VET system. I‟m confident it will be put to good use.

So, given a week in PNG and a dig through distant thirty-year old memories of my sociology honours thesis on PNG colonial and post-colonial development, what can tentatively and perhaps naively be said about the place of vocational education in PNG‟s future? That UOG is the sole public provider of secondary and post-compulsory TVE teacher education is a key strength in that any changes at UOG should have a consistent national impact. That the UOG teaching staff is committed to change when the need for change is demonstrated is a key supporting strength to enable this capacity. Experimentation with Competency Based Training (CBT) in the pre-service degree and post-compulsory diploma, and revision of the D&T program to accord with a UOG-wide transition from a two-year diploma to a four-year pre-service degree are good examples of cautious and informed innovation. Changes have also been made to reflect the national reform of schools. An apparent lack of research capacity and access to current electronic and print-based research materials, however, will most likely limit the range of innovative choices available (Gerard Guthrie referred to this as a UOG-wide research „avoidance culture‟).

While, in a sense, UOG has some control over the degree of innovation attempted, the success of that innovation diminishes in the face of wider social and economic realities. An imploding economy, a decaying or non-existent public infrastructure, donor aid over-dependency, low literacy-rates, poor school retention and attendance, an overwhelming participation in the „informal‟ agricultural economy, seven hundred or so languages (not counting dialects), ongoing tribal rivalries, a combination of corrupt and inefficient use of scarce resources, all contribute to significant implementation and management challenges.

A question asked often but answered ambivalently is: „What is the purpose of TVE?‟ The identity crisis and poor-relation status of vocational centres more than demonstrates this ambivalence. On the one hand, if a modernisation thesis is

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pursued, work-related training is essential to build skills for an emerging and globally competitive economy. On the other, given that 85 per cent of the population is occupied in subsistence and cash crop agriculture, why shouldn‟t TVE be directed to sustaining village-based life?

One powerful memory of economic development theory might help address or at least understand this issue. I remember reading some work by a Tanzanian economist and social reformer on the idea of sustainable development. His thesis was elegant yet simple: an emerging industrial economy should only progress in accord with its capacity to supply a supportive social and economic infrastructure. In practice this means that technology shouldn‟t leap-frog its capacity to be maintained. For example, what point is there having a radio if batteries cannot be bought (a solution might be use of the recent innovation of a hand-cranked radio)? Similarly, why put computers into schools when technical support or a reliable power source is unavailable? Or, why emphasise the teacher development of classroom resources or after school professional development if the major part of the day must be devoted to the food production? Of course, the reality isn‟t this simple. Like many places in the world, the people of PNG have positive expectations of the material promises of the West and more often than not vault their government‟s and society‟s capacity to support their needs. Maybe, to follow Gerard Guthrie‟s lead, more resources should be put into building human capacity rather than provide short-term, usually technological, donor solutions? (In fact, if donor archaeology were a science one could observe the life of UOG donor projects by the six-year old computers, the AusAid furniture or the recent but dead photocopiers.) This, then, is an explanation and a tentative solution. As a humble visitor I can‟t do anything about wider social and economic issues, but may be able to contribute something locally. More thought needed!

Anyway, enough of that. Our passing parade of Deck characters this evening took the form of Joe Basse, a Madang born, Port Moresby based electrical engineer who supplies alternative energy systems to remote locations. He had just returned from Chimbu district after installing a village-based solar power system. Joe learned his skills at Lae University of Technology and Sydney University. After a long period of employment with the central electrical commission he moved into alternative localised power sources, to him a much more cost-efficient and realistic approach to universal power supply. Along the way he has collected some great stories, some of which he shared with us. One that made us wince was his telling of the results of misuse of equipment left on isolated Bougainville following the island‟s dispute with the central PNG government. Apparently many former mine workers dismantled electrical generators and through skill and ingenuity turned them into water generated power plants. As Joe explained it, the generators ran in the opposite direction from what their designers intended, but they worked, even if offering a wildly fluctuating source of power. The miners then stretched uninsulated wires through trees to the island‟s houses. Lights went dull, then incandescent and then blew up, but were replaced and the process started over. It was a working, if fraught, system. Bob and I began to sense a tragedy in the making, and we weren‟t wrong. Not long into the wet season a few of the power system designers were making their way home after a big night. One fellow decided the need to relieve himself beneath a tree. Of course the tree selected was one of the de facto power poles. Well, according to the witnesses, their friend completed a circuit and was struck dead in a smoking and flaming pyre, a true martyr to all bush mechanics. Ouch!

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Tuesday 13 May 2003 A bit slow this morning, probably due to the effects of the medium Rabaul Volcano pizza I ate last night. Self explanatory really! Simpson surprised us again and turned up in a bus. But, as always, he was on time, welcoming us with a „Mornin tupala‟.

I spent this morning in the library looking for books on PNG education. Most were colonial (that is, pre-1975) with a few stretching into the 1980s. The colonial stuff was mostly prepared by expatriates who wrote about the creation of what was termed an „elite‟ education system, a kind of euphemism for the locals who chose to take the economic development pathway and engage with liberal education and professional training. Needless to say, they weren‟t of much use in an age promoting a policy of education for all. I also read a couple of recent books whose authors raised the interesting idea of Western education as a form of PNG cargo cult. Like the tribespeople who built slashed-grass runways and carved aeroplanes in the hope they would attract the same planes that brought unimaginable goods and wealth to the expatriates, so might education be regarded as means of access to First World wealth. In the end, though, this argument is not unusual as parents world-wide entertain their children‟s education as a means of upward mobility.

After lunch on the lawn, always a delightful interlude, we met with Arnold Parapi to discuss our progress and arrange further meetings with staff. I followed up the discussion I had with the TVE diploma students and was surprised to hear that he was thinking of introducing a TVE degree based on what he saw at CSU while visiting last year (I remember his curiosity and interest but didn‟t realise he had an ulterior motive). Bob and I also received a favourable response to a suggestion that at some stage we demonstrate the possibilities of Distance Education provision. With any luck we may be able to present our ideas in the as yet unused and grand lecture theatre. After our meeting I went and saw Edward. Next week we will write a proposal to the new Vice-Chancellor outlining the merits of a diploma to degree in-service upgrade. So, we look like achieving some useful outcomes from our work. Softly, softly for win-wins all round.

Once back at the Bird I took a quick tour of the craft market and bought a couple more bilums from a new vendor. One was a small string bag, rendered in a traditional and functional style. The other was much larger and beautifully patterned. In highland style the carrying strap was separated; it can then be adjusted according to the wearer‟s needs – on the forehead, or on or over the shoulder. I paid a „Number 2‟ price of K40 ($A18). My cautious shopping, it appears, is yielding some excellent results. My friend the doorman thought the bilum a good choice but commented that the patterning was more „islander‟ than hilans. Everyone, it appears is a bilum connoisseur. Now, for some more interesting baskets!

The night finished with a bang: a spectacular thunderstorm with torrential rain, lightning and booming thunder. The streets rapidly cleared. Even the old man in full tribal regalia („arse grass‟ to the culturally insensitive), a photo-opportunity feature of the main street, sought shelter near the SDA bookshop. It‟s only the third time we‟ve seen rain since arriving in Goroka.

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Wednesday 14 May 2003 I woke this morning to a pea-soup fog; visibility was down to a couple of hundred metres. It meant the Post-Courier didn‟t arrive because the morning jet was delayed. For some reason the buns were also delayed – the baker was most apologetic when I walked in. I settled for a couple of biscuits, a kind of sweet scone, instead. The two hiccups were yet another reminder that nothing is predictable in Goroka. The added coolness to the air forced locals to wear jackets and jumpers. To me it was just that much more pleasant, particularly when wearing my first tie for the visit, a Wednesday custom for the weekly faculty get together.

I walked up the hill to D&T and found only Simeon, another former PASTEP visitor to the Wagga Campus. He wasn‟t feeling well, a victim of a local round of flu. He was also a bit mentally shaken after an attempted burglary last week by „house-thieves‟. He heard a noise outside one evening and opened the curtains to investigate and was confronted by five young men on his balcony. Before he could say anything one would-be house-thief pulled out a home-made pistol and fired three quick shots – all missed. Perplexed at the weapon‟s lack of success, the five quickly vanished. Simeon called the police, but none were available because they were all away on election duty. Perhaps it was for the best, he said, as the police would most likely have summarily executed them if found.

The faculty morning tea was fun, with a serious side. Bob and I again spoke informally about Distance Education and its possibilities and generated a lot of enthusiasm. We arranged for next Wednesday‟s morning tea to become an online demonstration, using our laptops.

The lack of resources came home to me again this afternoon. I was working in the library on one of the few recent education reports available and went to photocopy some pages. The only copier in the building wasn‟t working, hadn‟t been for some time and was unlikely to be repaired in the near future. The familiar mantra of „lack of resources‟ was again intoned. So, winding back the clock, I did what all good students once did: I took notes.

After work I went on yet another bilum run and think have found an „authentic‟ hilans pattern model. Rather than the colourful blocks of yesterday‟s treasure, this one had narrow bands of bright contrasting colours. The material is also much lighter, giving it a falling and sweeping appearance. Hunting for bilums is a lot of fun; they are a wonderful, expressive and distinctive PNG artform. Thursday 15 May 2003 Liz was still around this morning: her undeclared fire-fighting session is still ongoing. We had another delightful breakfast with her, learned a bit more about Australian volunteers, and then prepared for the day. Across the street we bumped into another Bird visitor, Noel, who was up from Lae training staff at the local chemist shop. After a brief conversation we discovered that he was a teacher many years ago at the Goroka Business College when it was a technical school. He also has a daughter studying education at CSU – small world!

A meeting first thing this morning with Edward produced some excellent results. After he struggled with the three locks required to enter his classroom we made use of a whiteboard to construct a rough outline of a post-diploma TVE degree based on CSU‟s Bachelor of Vocational Education and Training. We discussed customisation of CSU subjects to suit the PNG context, in particular low literacy rates, a likely lack of resources and cultural appropriateness. Overall,

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though, the CSU approach of linking theory to practice in authentic workplace settings looks like translating into the PNG TVE system. Like CSU, students will be currently employed in a workplace with current or potential access to training experience. Our proposal to deliver the course in a mixed mode of Distance Education and residential schools may challenge some thinking here. However, given my intense discussion the other day with the diploma students, I think that should the proposal be implemented (we decided on 2005 as a commencement date) their needs can be met without studying off-shore. Edward will write up the proposal over the next few days and we will present it to relevant staff for discussion next week. After this we will revise the document and prepare it for submission through the relevant course committees. Some political lobbying through Arnold may soften the process.

After lunch I walked up the hill to have a chat with Amado about tomorrow‟s session with the D&T staff. On the way I stopped at the primary school next door to the D&T building and watched a group of kids practising a traditional dance. They were in a circle and held aloft long sticks of kunai grass, perhaps as mock spears. Chanting slowly in a lovely rhythmic Melanesian harmony, they jumped up and down while moving to the centre and back. The laughter said they were enjoying themselves. On the other side of the track a man was „mowing‟ his lawn with a bush-knife: he was seated on the ground and meticulously severed each deviant blade before moving. Weeds were dealt with using a less kind blow. The bush knife is certainly the hilans version of the Swiss army knife.

An interesting session at the Bird this evening. We asked Gerard Guthrie to join us for dinner, which he accepted. Soon after he arrived we noticed Noel looking at a loose end and invited him over to fill the table. Following introductions it soon became obvious to Noel and Gerard that they were both teaching in Goroka at the same time in the „seventies: Noel at the technical school and Gerard at the then Goroka Teachers College, which became UOG in1996. They identified mutual expatriate acquaintances and swapped interesting notes about Goroka‟s history. What I found intriguing was Gerard‟s story that during WWII the university campus was an allied forces airfield. The top of the hill is fairly flat, but it comes to an abrupt end in a matter of metres. There must have been some hair-raising take-offs and landing. No wonder the field was later shifted to the flatland near the town centre!

Gerard related another amusing story about a Goroka Teachers College agricultural lecturer who travelled the hilans collecting various kinds of kau kau, a type of sweet potato, in order to assess their protein content and general nutritional value. He figured this would be a useful contribution to the health of PNG subsistence farmers. After much searching he collected about twenty varieties, one of which had particular promise. Its protein content was about 25 per cent, it was large and it had an appealing orange colour. The lecturer then commenced trials of the plant in one of the college quadrangles, not far from his office. Not long after the planting he travelled to Moresby on business. On his return he was dismayed to find the kau kau patch absent and a new lawn planted. He tackled the gardeners who said they pulled them out and burned them. Their explanation was simple: tending lawns and ornamental gardens was men‟s work; tending kau kau patches was women‟s work. The lecturer was dumfounded and never again looked at another kau kau.

Further conversation also unravelled some of the immense complexity about the current state of vocational education. At some time in the recent past the technical schools in which Noel taught shifted from a generalist vocational

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education focus, including a number of trades and liberal education studies, to specialist colleges. Goroka technical school, for example, became Goroka Business College. Under the long-standing PNG education reform program these colleges will gradually shift from post-Year 10 to post-Year 12 institutions and form part of the higher education system. Apart from the vocational colleges are the vocational centres, the ones in which the diploma students teach. These were originally post-Year 6 institutions in the colonial system, designed to provide work-based skills for students who wished to continue their education but didn‟t qualify for entry to the then elite high schools. Over the years they drifted between Education Department and provincial control, as well as recent shared governance between a number of central government departments Other versions of vocational centres have included skulankas (or „School Anchors‟), a brief Lutheran-based experiment. Since 1999 vocational education has finally been pulled together under the Technical Vocational Education and Training Department. Vocational centres now cater for post-Year 10 students, but may extend to include post-Year 8 as well. And then there‟s the range of D&T subjects offered in high schools, called Practical Skills from Years 7-10 and D&T from Years 11-12. Another area I need to explore further is private vocational education provision; it‟s still very foggy in my head. So, it‟s not an easy system to understand. My reading of the scant resources available gave me a good initial understanding but Gerard‟s and Noel‟s musings added a wonderful personal context and clarity. The University of the Bird (Deck Campus) is a great learning environment! Friday 16 May 2003 Well, Liz sorted out her AVI issues and flew out this evening. Noel also finished his training at lunchtime and caught a commuter flight back to Lae. The Bird, then, is the site of our learning cargo cult: one sits at a table with gifts of excellent South Pacific („SP‟) beer and food and they attract fascinating people, like moths to a flame. Who knows what the weekend will bring after we lay out our next sacrificial offerings! The gods of learning and conviviality, it appears, have been more than kind to us.

The walk up the hill to the D&T meeting again drew my attention to the old man and his home and garden. Today he was cleaning the deck at the front of his small home. And, yes, he was using his bush-knife to delicately remove a layer of shavings from each strip of timber. At the meeting we talked about issues surrounding the D&T and Home Economics UOG „contingency‟ (draft) models for the proposed pre-service four year degree program. My offering was an opinion that I thought they more than appropriate given the context and constraints in which they were planned to be delivered. I then presented a talk about the range of vocational education programs available at CSU. The staff was particularly interested in Distance Education and the possibilities of on-line learning. Following an offer from the Home Economics Department I plan to talk with then next week about the introduction of a postgraduate diploma.

Three diploma students visited me this afternoon to talk about the proposed TVE degree. Ruth and Sister Mirriam, a Catholic nun, asked about the chances of a Goroka-based degree. Ruth works in a business training centre in Bougainville; Sister Mirriam works in a similar position in a coastal mission near Madang. I told them both about our session yesterday and assured them that the draft proposal would be given out for student comment. They appeared pleased to be invited to be part of the process. Not long after they left, Peter, a former Lae University of

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Technology („Unitech‟) business student arrived to discuss the same topic. Again, he was keen to see some quick progress. He also added a view that the skills from the diploma and degree should be used for village-based sustainability. He is so concerned about this approach that he is putting his thoughts down on paper and would like me to include them in any report I write at the end of my stay. A further visit followed from Edward who was tweeking our design to fit university guidelines. Several things not lacking at UOG are enthusiasm, talent and good intentions.

There was another big storm this afternoon (and it‟s still going on as I write). As a result the university had two or three power outages over a four hour period. The Internet also dropped out, playing mayhem with my emails, already difficult to get out because of snail-like speed.

Television is quirky at the Bird. The stations come through a satellite system and are a smorgasbord of time-zones and languages. Australia‟s Channel 7 and the ABC come from Bunbury and Perth, two hours behind PNG‟s Australian Eastern Time. EMT Port Moresby is basically a Channel 9 Brisbane relay but includes local news and Tok Pisin ads. MTV is from Indonesia. International BBC News is from London. Another news channel appears to be from Pakistan. There is also an English-speaking South Korean propaganda program. And Star Sports comes from Hong Kong in Cantonese; watching my favourite PGA Tour golf, then, is a challenge if incisive commentary is sought. Saturday 17 May 2003 Weekend number two began with a breakfast lesson from Colin, the Bird‟s expatriate manager, in local politics and corruption. PNG is divided into provinces, each of which has an elected governor and a number of local members. Under the Organic Act of the mid-1980s a system of political devolution was introduced that saw power flow from the central „National‟ Moresby government through provinces to districts to local councils to wards. Cutting across this is the wantok („one talk‟) or tribal system of loyalty to one‟s tribal group and „payback‟ for those insiders or outsiders who transgress. It‟s a juxtaposition of cultural politics that often invites corruption. In railing against endemic corruption on the one hand, on the other, Colin wasn‟t averse to saying that a seat on an overbooked flight could be smoothed with an occasional gift to airline officials of a pig or two, washed down with a six-pack of SP. A hotel discount to those who mattered also didn‟t go astray. In PNG gift giving and creating obligation is just the way things are done (so what‟s new?).

Following breakfast and the political science class Bob and left on our first tourist jaunt to see the famed Asaro mudmen, the hilans version of the Kelly gang, and the 2500 metre Daulo Pass. For K180 ($A80) we certainly got our kina‟s worth – a real roadside cultural show. Buryo, our guide, was a coastal man who had moved to the Goroka area twenty years ago. After paying a bride-price of K1500 he married a hilans woman and settled in a nearby village. According to him she was a „good woman‟ who worked tirelessly producing food and tending their recently planted coffee plantation. We climbed out of Goroka past UOG on the Mount Hagen road. The highway, though in poor repair and almost washed out in couple of places, was navigable.

Hilans life appears to be conducted along the highway, a logical idea as it provides quick access to the larger population centres such as Goroka. We sidled past countless people walking along its battered shoulders. Some had obviously

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returned from the Goroka or local market and were laden with bilums full of kau kau. Others were dressed in their Saturday best, testament to SDA influence. At strategic points, I guess to take into account those who walk rather than ride, were roadside stalls selling prepared food and drink. At other places villagers could be seen weaving the rolls of flattened and dried bamboo used for making hut walls. The finished products are stood on end for sale at the road‟s edge. Regular cries of „white-man‟ rang out as we rattled past in our rustic blue van. We stopped often to take photos of people, coffee plantations, villages and gardens.

We reached Asaro in about half an hour and stopped by the village, located along a track about 500 metres from the highway. Our guide stopped by in order to organise our mudmen „show‟. It was a charming and low-key way to do business. The locals introduced themselves and suggested we go away for an hour or so while they readied themselves. This gave us time to drive the highway to the Daulo Pass. As we zig-zagged up the steep mountain the cultural vignettes continued. At a couple of points roadside vendors were selling black possums for K15. The unfortunate marsupials were tethered to tree branches and most likely would see the cooking pot before dark. At the Daulo summit a group of boys sold us wreaths of mountain flowers for about 20 toia each (there are 100 toia in a kina). This is a kind of road tax for any photos taken. The boys also gave us a taste of roasted pandanus fruit. It was delicious. The bunch of 6 cm long burnt husks was tackled by peeling away the outer layer to expose the sweet white „meat‟ within. The views along this section of road were magnificent: thatched villages were everywhere in the valleys and the rugged mountain slopes pulsed in rich shades of green. We placed the wreaths around the windscreen wipers and headed back to the mudmen.

The village was more than ready. We drove in and were asked to stand separately at a couple of fixed points. A short time later two ash-covered men with grotesque mud helmets appeared from a hut and stealthily swaggered towards us, bows cocked at the ready. An old man, seated nearby and oblivious to the performance, sorted through his drying coffee beans. The mudmen, as was explained later, were re-creating the fear they struck into enemies as they emerged, ghost-like, from the forest. At a point about a metre from each of us the bows were released, thankfully with arrows still in hand. It was scary stuff. The helmets came off and broad grins displayed. Our ghost-hosts then demonstrated how to light a fire from rubbing sticks together and invited us to fire arrows at a target. The bows required considerable strength to draw and release. What I struggled with they made appear effortless. I did, however, manage to hit the target pole two out of three times, to much applause. We also tried on the helmets – a lot heavier than an Akubra. The thirty minute or so display finished with a visit to the „gift-shop‟, a rough and ready thatched shed showcasing Asaro crafts. I simply had to buy a couple of mudperson clay figurines – I hope they survive the journey home! Definitely a tourist attraction, but an enjoyable experience nevertheless. A footnote to the display was that the old man working the coffee was an „original‟ mudman - practised and experienced in the art of deception and war. No wonder he was indifferent to the mere play of younger generations.

We went back to Goroka for a brief rest and then drove through the other side of town on the Lae road to visit briefly a little piece of the US – the New Tribes Mission. After a chat with the NTM compound‟s security guards we were allowed in and marvelled at the US flags, neat weather-board homes, baseball diamond, high school, church and white adults and children. Many children were born here but possess all the trappings of US citizens, from accents to trail-bikes.

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The lifestyle of the mission includes long separations of families as parents venture into remote areas to conduct their proselytising activities. Similar work is undertaken by another Goroka-based group, the Summer Institute of Linguistics, who translate the Bible into local languages, an unintended consequence of which is the languages‟ textual preservation. We drove back to Goroka more than pleased with our morning‟s activities. Sunday 18 May 2003 A day of rest – or at least of reduced activity. I mooched around the shopping centre and spent a little time listening to some PNG music. My interest was awakened after hearing delightful melodies and rhythms flowing from the student dorms. The sound is upbeat, a fusion of country instrumentation, reggae beats and Melanesian lead vocals and harmonies; it is quite distinctive. The music also appears to be provincially based, with tape (the only medium) jackets proclaiming regional languages as a selling point. At one trading store I asked a tape be put on for a quick listen and soon the security guards were singing and dancing along; it obviously broke the monotony of the body and bag search routine.

I also swung by the craft market and bought two knitted woollen hats, typically worn around here on cool nights or during rainstorms. One was in a PNG flag theme, a popular motif in all craft work; the other was in equally popular rasta colours. Yet two more bilums also left the market - this time tiny numbers at around K5 each. The vendors know us well now and greet us familiarly, though the opportunity for a potential sale remains their first priority.

Of course all of these purchases require money, not a lot in $A terms, but nevertheless requiring a familiarity with banks and holes-in-the-wall. Fortunately the ANZ and Westpac are in the main street and happily dispense kina. The receipts display handsome if deceptive balances (one kina equals A42 cents). We‟ve learned not to go the banks on the fortnightly „Government Friday‟, or the one in between for that matter. On these days and often into Saturday, the ATM queues may stretch around the block, particularly at the two PNG-based Kwik Banks (an oxymoron if ever there was one!). Some people have told us that they begin to queue the evening before in order to avoid the disappointment of the machine running out of money.

After lunch we tracked back to West Goroka and visited the J K McCarthy Museum. It is a low slung building that carefully captures the periods before and after the 1930s arrival of European settlement, including large sections on pre-history and WWII. The Leahy family dominated the early years in search of gold. This was displaced by the requirements of war and the arrival of missionaries. Interestingly, in the hundreds of photos and artefacts displayed, only one or two non-European names are listed. A display of bilums extended my bilum data base: the bilum I had labelled „island‟ may in fact be a hilans model. A similar bilum was listed as an Eastern Highlands „Rama Sakue‟ style, from the local Bena Bena language meaning „Kundu drum‟. Bilum research, it appears, is a complex science.

Our museum host, Andrew, was a rugby fan and former visitor to Wagga. He graciously showed us around the surrounding area, taking in Goroka High School, the National Sports Institute, the Goroka Showgrounds and the Melanesian Institute. Along the way he told us of his journey from an addiction to gambling and alcohol. It was a dramatic tale of vice and ultimate redemption. I thought it may have been a „pitch‟ for a small „donation‟, but it wasn‟t - just another „Goroka moment‟ of genuine hospitality.

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Monday 19 May 2003 The day greeted us with a thick fog and drizzling rain – and it is cold, requiring a jacket or jumper to keep warm. We replenished our lunch supplies at Bintangong and headed up the hill with Simpson, as usual.

Our planned meeting with Edward went well. He had obviously worked long hours over the weekend to put together a draft proposal that carefully reflected the ideas covered in Thursday‟s meeting. I did a quick edit on some of the introductory sections and checked the correlation between proposed subjects and their CSU equivalents. Edward will rework the draft and present it to the Technical staff after their Wednesday assessment meeting. From here I would like to see some student and wider stakeholder input. It should then be ready to take through the university committee system. Like all courses in PNG schools and universities it will be full fee-paying, about K3000 a year. Given that average wages sit at around 90 toia an hour (A35-40 cents), with teachers a little higher at K500 ($A240) a fortnight, it will be a formidable cost unless some kind of student sponsorship, loan scheme, scholarship or subsidy can be obtained. Still, PNG society values education highly and individuals will find ways through the financial hurdles involved; for example, parents we have spoken to scrape and save the annual K140 average required to send their kids to primary school, and increasing numbers find the several hundred kina demanded for secondary education.

At lunch we couldn‟t sit on the lawn because of the rain. We lunched indoors instead and were joined by two TVE students with whom we discussed the planned degree. Both were pleased with the draft proposal. We also spent some time organising a visit, perhaps on Thursday, to Goroka High School and the Melanesian Institute. Things take time to organise in PNG.

Dinner turned into an expat gathering. We met with Andrew, a health administrator, who we first came across a couple of weeks ago after a brief visit from Moresby. He‟s returned with his wife and daughter for a three day tour around a number of highlands medical facilities. Claire, his wife, marvelled at the more relaxed atmosphere after Moresby, and in particular at the idea she could actually venture into the street with reasonable safety. The table also included Jeremy, the expat Goroka Hospital facilities manager, and Paul, a Goroka-based architect who arrived in PNG when he was five. Paul told a great story of early island life with his parents. In the days of pre-refrigeration a monthly supply ship would bring ice for short-term cooling. On these days the island would shut down for the twenty-four hour luxury of drinking cold beer. It was a ritual observed for many years until cold beer was placed on a more secure footing. Phillip has invited us to the Goroka Aero Club on Thursday for a drink and to meet some other locals. There‟s also a chance there that we can organise a round of golf. Tuesday 20 May 2003 The TVE degree proposal went a little further today. Edward worked through the changes I suggested yesterday and presented me with a new draft. Some of the syntax is still screaming, but it‟s a big improvement. Armed with the proposal, Edward and I met with a couple of people from the Student Liaison and Practicum Office to discuss its implications for practicum placements. I outlined the arrangements used at CSU and we kicked around a few combined scenarios. I felt it was a useful exchange of ideas. More importantly, the office was delighted at

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the thought of a TVE degree. As the practicum program is based in the Faculty of Education and the proposed degree is in Science, this was an important milestone in the propaganda campaign for UOG ecumenicalism.

I devoted the remainder of the day revising the documents gathered so far and thinking about writing up my report for PASTEP. Steve emailed some material from Moresby which should help to organise my ideas. During my musing I was paid a visit from Peter, a local coffee grower, who was selling good sized packs of his produce. I don‟t drink coffee but the smell was sensational. I‟ve spoken to him a few times before and he appeared quite pleasant. I bought the coffee for K10 but didn‟t have a small enough note. I gave him a larger bill and he promised to return with the change. I was a little dubious but it wasn‟t a huge amount so I gave him the benefit of the doubt. I haven‟t seen him since.

At four we took up an offer from Guy, a learning disabilities expert from England and two-year Goroka resident, to guide us to the top of Mount Humulaveka, the „hill‟ that frames the university. Guy does the walk often and is known to mountain‟s traditional owners. However, he did warn us that there was a chance we might be refused access. We set out past the D&T Centre and quickly entered the village. There were maybe a hundred people gathered along the track chatting, sitting, and trading goods at a straggling market. Fortunately for us we immediately came across a senior village member who gave us permission to climb, as he said proudly, „My mountain‟. Guy‟s knowledge quickly took us off the track and through the back of the village to commence the climb. It wasn‟t an easy walk. The track was narrow, steep, and slippery following the heavy rain of the past two days. We rested often and after about an hour reached the top for yet another panoramic view over the university and Goroka. The „hill‟ is over 2000 metres high, making it a match for anything in Oz. It was near sunset and the air crystal clear, broken only by the spiralling smoke of ever increasing evening fires. In the three-hundred and sixty degree distance were taller and more rugged mountains, each beautifully shadowed. It doesn‟t take any imagination to confirm the opinion of many expats that the hilans are the „tropical Switzerland‟. After making our way back down we figured the least we could do was invite Guy to join us on the Deck for an SP. He accepted. After the expenditure of so much energy it was the best beer I‟ve tasted in a long time.

Wednesday 21 May 2003

The cold and wet weather has returned with a vengeance. The locals have donned jackets and hats, and many popular PNG flag brollies have appeared. There‟s still no sign of my coffee man. I asked Guy what my chances were of getting my money back. He suggested „One in a million‟. I thought his estimation far more optimistic than mine.

Bob and I spent the morning running an online demonstration in one of UOG‟s computer labs. Considering the problems we‟ve experienced so far with technology and infrastructure we were delightfully surprised that everything actually worked, including the data projector, a rare beast indeed. About ten staff turned up and had a lot of fun surfing around the CSU site. Most were interested in our post-graduate programs and we discussed ways in which they could be accessed. However, with salaries the way they are and the dismal state of the kina, the only real option for funding is through donor scholarships and the like.

This afternoon was stage one of the course approval process for the TVE degree. We didn‟t get far. I gave a brief outline of the proposal and emphasised its

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draft status. I had barely finished when Edward was publicly flayed by two staff who obviously had agendas other than program discussion. Bob and I stayed quiet and observed the unfolding dynamics. Only the Dean‟s intervention saved the day. Quite sensibly he suggested the document be revisited on Friday after a „cooling off‟ period. His unqualified support of the proposal may be the only thing that will save it. So at the end of the day we went back to the Bird, bemused.

Looking down from my balcony has caused me to reflect on, of all things, Gorokan garbage disposal. Over nearly three weeks the forty-four gallon drum on the opposite corner in front of the ANZ Bank has never been emptied, yet it always appears to have room for more rubbish. Careful observation has revealed an interesting recycling process. Cans are easily dealt with: they are recycled as soon as they hit the bin. Newspapers are grabbed and sold at the market – most people can‟t afford the K1.50 for the Post-Courier but are prepared to pay a tenth of that for an old copy. My coffee man, for example, asked for my old papers for this express purpose (he did well out of me). Any leftover food is soon disposed of by Goroka‟s larger dogs. And, when the weather cools off, what remains is burned in the evenings by security guards seeking the bin‟s smouldering warmth. This then gives the humble bin an added function – a site of social interaction. The following day the process begins again. It isn‟t elegant, but it works.

Julie rang tonight. It‟s near the end of her stay and I was pleased to hear the experience ended up being positive. In fact, she enjoyed herself so much that she would like to return for the next course offering.

Dinner included a long conversation with Keith, a quietly spoken New Zealand agricultural consultant working with PNG‟s Department of Agriculture and Livestock. His role is to provide a range of agricultural extension services to villagers who collectively take up one form of cash cropping or the other. In the Goroka area, of course, coffee rules supreme, followed by such things and spices and aquaculture. He said that after independence most villagers didn‟t have the required skills for efficient cash-cropping: they merely did what the local „kiap‟ or white district officer said, without any lasting understanding. This was understandable, he said, as the villagers had no investment in the system. As the large coffee plantations were broken up, villagers acquired cash-crops and wanted to know how to get the best out of them. The system now evolving includes the accreditation of exemplary growers as „service providers‟ of training to emerging cash crop collectives of twenty or more villagers. Service provision is paid on the achievement of contracted milestones and includes practical growing skills as well as financial management training. In one example, Keith said villager women ensured all profits were paid into a collective trust account to be used for the education of their children. This approach meant that the men, who traditionally controlled any incoming cash, couldn‟t get their hands on it for their own purposes.

I thought Keith‟s outline was one of the best examples I‟ve heard so far of a development project that has a real chance of long-term, post-donor sustainability. It recognises that the „informal‟ economy is where the future lies, at least in the short term. It also makes use of existing traditional relationships and land with a view to creating collective wealth. In many ways its flies in the face of several right-wing analyses of the PNG economy I‟ve read that suggest, almost off-hand, that all PNG needs to do is shed its traditional land system and adopt a private enterprise, industrially-focused economy and its future will be secured. It doesn‟t take long here to realise that this scenario is simply not going to happen in the imagined future. The model Keith outlined may also have potential links with the

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TVE degree structure we‟re working on: through vocational centres and technical schools, graduates may be able to create strong links with both service providers and collectives, providing training in business management and entrepreneurial skills, as well as trade-based practical skills. Yet again the Bird has come through with another example that enriches our work here.

Thursday 22 May 2003 Bob and I enjoyed a „day at home‟. A few things were on the agenda. We began to write up our individual PASTEP reports. The report provides an opportunity to reflect on what we have achieved during our Goroka visit, make comment on areas for improvement in the programs we have been working on, and make recommendations on PASTEP itself. Though we‟ve got a week to go before leaving we‟re still able to make a few preliminary comments. I would like to think the proposed TVE degree would remain an achievement, though nothing is certain in the web of university politics. I‟m sure that overall we will have made long term contacts and friends at UOG, but I wonder if the money it cost to bring us here would have been better spent on resources such as books and computers. For entirely selfish reasons, though, the visit has been incredibly rewarding, opening up a whole area of research possibilities, and also a lot of fun.

This afternoon we arranged two local visits. Our first port of call was the Melanesian Institute and its library. It was only a short walk, assisted by a UOG academic who saw us walking and delivered us the door. The library houses an excellent collection of books and research reports on the Pacific region. Primarily a religious library specialising in missionary work, it also has a wide „secular‟ library ranging from Melanesian politics to cargo cults. Some titles were particularly inviting. I was attracted to Singing With Pigs is Human, an anthropological case study of identity. While we were in the library it began to rain, which didn‟t augur well for our remaining two kilometre walk to our second destination, Goroka Secondary School.

Armed with our pathetically inefficient brollies we set out in the deluge. The roads, already rutted, had turned into rivers of mud. We muddled on and even paused for a break under an overhanging hedge, but to no avail – we were soaked, no matter what way you looked at it. So we decided to soldier on, dodging the packed Number 2 buses as they splashed through the potholes. As we arrived at the school the rain eased a little, but not much. Wet and miserable, we met with the Commerce and Business Studies Coordinator who gave us an excellent briefing on the schools‟ business and D&T programs. The school, at about 1400 students is large, particularly as it caters only for Y9-Y12. Fees run at about K600 a year for day students, and around K1200 for the school‟s seventy boarders. Teacher and resource shortages mean that junior classes run at around fifty students and senior classes at around forty-five.

We broke our normal routine tonight and visited one of Goroka‟s last expat bastions – the Goroka Aero Club. What an interesting place! Like everything else in town it is surrounded with metal bars – extending even to the enclosed barbeque area beside the runway. We were hosted and signed in by Craig, an ex-Victorian, who spends most of his time in Goroka as a coffee broker. Amid propeller blades and (white) pioneer photos we enjoyed a few „handles‟ of SP at K2 (A80 cents) – a cheap drink indeed. We even had a tarmac-side view of the 5.45 taking off at 6.15. Craig remarked that you don‟t often see a jet taking off at night without lights. We were offered a lift back to the Bird as the club is located

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adjacent to one of Goroka‟s squatter settlements, sometimes a source of „trouble‟. After looking at the motley crew assembled at the club I think there might be some merit in the expression that PNG is inhabited by expat „missionaries and misfits‟.

The night concluded at the Bird. Our busy social calendar meant that we could fit in Gerard for dinner until 7.30. He is going to Oz tomorrow and thought he would catch up with us before we left. His further contribution to our PNG knowledge was a detailed explanation of the various factions operating at UOG. Basically they operate on regional allegiances, with Highlanders and Sepiks dominating. Other groups are noted for their specialties in different occupational fields; for example, Tolais are known for their abilities in administrative and clerical matters. Unlike Australia, where such claims would attract a racial stereotype tag, PNG regional and ethnic differences are celebrated as sources of identity and pride.

Friday 23 May 2003 After a day out we‟re back into our normal routine, at least as normal as can be anticipated in this (as one UOG academic remarked this morning) „land of the unexpected‟. While out for the morning bun run a vendor who has been pestering me for days finally got me in a moment of weakness and I bought two lovely, highly decorative baskets. My basket and bilum expert, the Bird doorman, informed me that the different colours and shades are achieved through degrees of soaking in a range of solutions. And then, in a flash of insight, the gendered nature of Goroka crafts finally hit me (I‟m a bit slow): baskets are made and sold by men only and bilums are made and sold by women only. When I thought about it a bit further, certain bilum carrying styles are also gendered; for example, only women carry bilums on the forehead. With my speed of insight, I don‟t think I‟d make much of an anthropologist.

Today was D-Day for the new vocational education degree. What a difference a couple of days make! The meeting was all sweetness and light. One dissident staff member has absented himself and the others were fully committed to discussing the proposal. My colleagues Edward and Amado, brave souls that they are, immediately dobbed me in to lead the discussion. It went well. We‟ve made a few slight changes. The name will be the Bachelor of Education (Technical Vocational Education and Training). This better reflects the nomenclature of PNG vocational education. Another small change was to include specialist technical colleges as part of the degree‟s potential market. Our long meeting also discussed implementation issues, including recognition of prior learning, residentials and contextually appropriate curricula. Overall, I was thrilled with the outcome. With any luck, the proposal could be approved within a month or two – fingers crossed. The BEd (TVET) would then become PNG‟s first vocational education degree.

I spent the afternoon reading material downloaded from ANU‟s Research School of Pacific and Asian Studies. I was particularly interested in a few papers on violence in the Southern Highlands and land use issues generated through the building of PNG bridges and roads. It appears that though violence has long been part of PNG culture, it has traditionally been used as means of last resort after long periods of mediation. In a sense, then, there is sanctioned and non-sanctioned violence. Contemporary violence, however, which may include powerful automatic weapons, is often unsanctioned and includes as victims the

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traditionally taboo targets of women and children. The combination of traditional and contemporary violence has led to the current „no-go‟ status of the Southern Highlands, a situation exacerbated by compensation claims over mines in the area. Something seemingly simple as building a road or bridge is complicated in PNG by the traditional system of land ownership. Apart from designated national highways, all roads in PNG are in effect privately (read tribally) owned. Even widening a national road will lead to compensation claims, and often violence. Compensation claims, like the „payback system‟, are never „fixed‟ or „solved‟. Rather, disputes may become intergenerational, a Melanesian version of the Hatfields and McCoys. Today, for example, the Mount Hagen road was blocked as armed traditional owners exacted a toll for its use. To a lesser extent we have experienced the road ownership phenomenon through seeking, and so far always receiving, permission to walk on local village tracks. One thing is certain in PNG: your taken-for-granted and thoroughly Western assumptions about conflict resolution and „public‟ space will be challenged at many levels.

A big storm blew in this evening after a lovely day. I didn‟t hear the 5.15, so I assume passengers were diverted back to Moresby or ahead to Hagen. We enjoyed another solid meal on the Deck – excellent Western fare at amazingly cheap rates for a four star hotel, averaging between K20 and K30 for a three course meal.

Saturday 24 May 2003 Weekend number three and our last Gorokan Saturday. I spent the morning sitting on my balcony reading and assessing a delightful Canadian Masters thesis completed through James Cook University. The study is about the perceptions of educational success of a small group of women living on Malcolm Island, off the coast of Vancouver Island. Reading about the island‟s declining fishing economy and the women‟s renewed search for economic and personal fulfilment at a time of fundamental change certainly resonated with the street scene unfolding beneath me. In some things there isn‟t much difference between worlds.

Having come up with this profound (?) thought and thinking that PNG is unravelling in ever increasing contradictions, Bob and I were treated this afternoon to a journey through undiluted traditional village life. James, a UOG academic, offered on Friday to show us some aspects of life we would not see as regular tourists. He was right. James is a Southern Highlander, from a village between Hagen and Mendi. Since arriving at UOG he has created formal wantok links with the local Eastern Highlanders. This close clan bond permitted him to take us up to the largest village in Goroka, not far from the small village we went through on our Tuesday climb. We picked up one of James‟s wantoks, a person of influence in the clan, and drove to the top of a rounded hill with delightful views, clean air and good drainage. Square and round thatched homes were everywhere, oozing smoke through chimneyless rooves. At a point half way along the sweeping hill was a large and bare village meeting space. James explained that last week a funeral was held there for a much-loved and respected orator and „Big Man‟. Hundreds of pigs and many cattle were killed and eaten in his honour and dozens of relatives had arrived from many parts of the country to participate. James showed us the many „mumus‟ or earth ovens used to cook the gathered food. James and his wantok then led us further into the village to see the Big Man‟s grave. Many villagers greeted and were more than happy for us to visit. The site was fenced off and consisted of a simple burial mound surrounded by offerings of food that will be left to rot over the next few months. Thirty or more laden

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banana and betel palms cut and buried around the grave, flowers, pineapples, and assorted fruit formed this graveside garland. We then met the Big Man‟s widow. She will continue to live in her home and be supported by her children and relatives. We were told that the Big Man was an „old‟ man in his mid-50s.

James then drove us to his home and we watched the construction of a mumu in his back yard. Taro and sweet potato and other veggies were placed in the earth and layers of green banana palm and white-hot rocks were added, the whole wrapped in a layer of bags. James and his family grow most of their own food on their small university-provided house block. The soil is deep black, fertile, and able to turn over many crops a year. Taro, sweet potato, assorted yams and ginger dominate. This contrast of PhD and pot-ash drew me back to my initial day‟s thoughts on contradiction and modernity versus tradition. And so it goes…

Sunday 25 May 2003 Our last Gorokan Sunday was taken up with a great drive to Kainantu along the Lae road. We teamed up with Sean, a former London-based Aussie on his way home via Siberia, China and Indonesia. Like all of our previous Bird buddies he too has an interesting background, an adviser to a NSW shadow minister being one of his former employment incarnations. George, our Bird waiter, also came along to supply some local knowledge. We hired a Toyota 4X4 and headed down the surprisingly well-maintained highway, quite unlike the higher and rougher road we experienced last week beyond Asaro.

We wound our way along the Goroka valley and over and through rolling, heavily grassed hills. At regular intervals we drove past the almost obligatory picturesque villages. We took about ninety-minutes to get to the hill „station‟ of Kainantu. Basically it is a broad one-street town not unlike many Australian bush burgs. A contrast, however, was the number of people in its public spaces. We drove up to Kainantu Lodge, a grand low-slung hotel with delightful manicured gardens. By all appearances we were the only visitors. From the lodge we drove back into town and visited the Eastern Highlands Cultural Centre, a privately established craft workshop specialising in pottery and woven wall hangings. I bought a pot that features some interesting traditional designs. We left for the drive back to Goroka in what is commonly becoming the early afternoon deluge.

Following lunch and a quiet rest I fulfilled one of my final Goroka goals: a game of golf at the Goroka Country Club. It was worth the wait. The club is a way out of town and set in the beautiful Famito Valley. From the wide clubhouse veranda the challenging nine-hole course unfolds beneath in an interrupted vista. Given the poor state of most things in Goroka I was pleasantly surprised at the course‟s excellent condition. Part of the playing requirement was the hire of a caddy, a kid from a local village. The golf wasn‟t spectacular, but it was fun. A really heavy downpour tonight – a lovely sound on the tin roof, though the regular blackouts aren‟t much fun (thank goodness for battery-powered laptops).

Monday 26 May 2003 The time spent planning visits to a couple of vocational institutions finally paid off. Edward arranged a trip to Kamaliki Vocational Centre this morning and Goroka Business College this afternoon. The two sites offered wide contrasts. Kamaliki is on the road to Kainantu, about six kilometres out of Goroka and

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offers post-primary vocational education for young men and women who slip through the secondary school net. The centre is in appalling condition, beyond anything that can be imagined in Oz. Basically it consists of a series of run-down and open sheds thrown into a fetid paddock. There are no paths and last night‟s rain had turned the place into a bog. The centre has no resources – and this is where imagination is required, because I mean NO resources. Students are taught in the sheds using ancient blackboards packed with technical notes. The „workshops‟ are bare, and in most sat students who could not locate their teachers. I entered a girls‟ computer class and the teacher said that „at this point of time we don‟t have any computers.‟ At the sides of the room were old typewriters, all broken. I then noticed that the room didn‟t even have power. The school also had no phone; the line had been pulled down and stolen weeks before. Yet, when I spoke to the assembled staff about the chance of a UOG vocational degree, they were genuinely enthused – all were well qualified and looked optimistically towards the future. Students similarly were more than happy to be in the place, and in the absence of teachers were still engaged in work-related discussion. At the end of my visit the staff presented me with a basket and a lovely thankyou speech. It was completely unexpected and I was genuinely touched. Given that the centre‟s condition is regarded as „typical‟, I shudder to think what the other 114 or so are like.

Early in the afternoon I was invited to attend the Faculty of Science Board. It wasn‟t much different from any other university committee – a place to get out of ASAP. That Edward and I had to get to the Business College halfway through the meeting was pure manna. We apologised, left and walked quickly to the waiting Simpson for the short drive down the hill. The college is one of five or six across PNG and is well equipped and staffed and has a strong, charismatic principal. The college is moving to offer only post-Year 12 programs and will soon rival the university in its provision of high quality and professionally recognised diplomas in accountancy and business management. We have arranged a visit tomorrow to address staff about the new degree. Fortunately for us there will also be present departmental inspectors, in town for a week-long college audit. This should provide an opportunity to get some „national‟ feedback. Given the nature of the college‟s programs, I don‟t think it will be long before UOG mounts a take-over bid – it just doesn‟t make sense to have two competing institutions within a decent seven iron of one another.

Tuesday 27 May 2003 It seems that violence is never far away, even though since our arrival we‟ve experienced nothing but Gorokan openness and friendliness. I read in this morning‟s Post-Courier that an ambush occurred on a road we drove Sunday near Kainantu. George was telling us that several years ago vehicles, particularly PMVs, were subject to „highway robbery‟ by gangs in the Kainantu region, but the police had since cleaned it up and it was now relatively safe – except at night. Apparently a car was navigating the pot-holed side road from the Summer Institute of Linguistics and several men leaped out of a coffee plantation armed with a rifle and bush-knives. The car attempted to drive off but one offender took a swipe at the rear window, breaking it and deeply slashing the face of an eight year-old girl. She required thirty-two stitches and will need further plastic surgery to repair the remaining damage. The culprits haven‟t been caught. The Post-Courier editorial said,

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„Let the investigation into this latest attack not become one of those “still investigating” situations.‟

Late yesterday a rumour flew around Goroka that someone at the hospital had died of SARS. The university buzzed with the story and we started to discuss how best to deal with the situation. The Japanese volunteers located across Goroka carry walkie-talkies and one working at the hospital‟s research institute soon relayed to a UOG colleague that it was a false alarm. On arriving back at the Bird we noticed that the women in the market had taken to wearing scarves across their faces. News certainly travels fast. It will be interesting to see if the rumour persists.

The visit to the Business College went well. Staff liked the idea of a TVET degree and look forward to its introduction. Some suggested that UOG also consider offering stronger discipline-based courses to build on the college‟s teaching content areas; for example, accounting, business studies and communication skills. More importantly, the idea was well received by Mr Wini Leka, Superintendent – Inspection, from the Department of Education‟s Technical Vocational Education and Training Division (TVET). It turned out that he was a graduate of Hawthorn Teachers College, Victoria‟s former and only dedicated technical teacher-educator training institution; we swapped yarns about staff and students we both knew.

Wednesday 29 May 2003 Our final day in Goroka! It certainly has been a wonderful experience. On the balance sheet I‟m sure I will take more away with me than I leave behind. The UOG staff has shown me an amazing capacity for optimism in an environment that would make lesser mortals weep. It appears that for every good idea, there are at least a hundred insuperable barriers against its implementation. Yet, these immensely talented people shrug such obstacles off and doggedly chip away the future. There‟s a kind of fatalism about resources: there won‟t be any in the near future and if there are they will most likely be ephemeral. So, don‟t worry if the room next door is full of dead photocopiers, the last decent book in the library was acquired in 1985, the power or water is off, and your pay didn‟t arrive this week (and maybe not next week, for that matter). Students, too, share a basic optimism about their futures. They are, after all, members of an emerging PNG elite and carefully selected through an expensive and highly streamed public schooling system - they value their „chance‟ at success in a success-oriented society. They also work extremely hard and have strong beliefs in what should be taught. Both staff and students are justifiably proud of their university and its achievements and feel they are part of a grander nation-building project. They are more than conscious that they represent the future of PNG secondary education. So, „making do‟ is the PNG way. And, it‟s working, in spite of an imploding economy and increasing social dislocation.

So, what will I leave behind, if I can be that presumptuous? I think if the BEd (TVET) should get up it would give me a sense that I was able to contribute something. The UOG staff and regional vocational teachers appear to be enthusiastic, and the Dean will push it as hard as he can. University politics can be tricky but it should have a fair chance of jumping the approval hurdles. Time will tell. Apart from that I hope I‟ve been able to provide a range of interesting perspectives on vocational education possibilities; for example, distance education, on-line learning, and so on. It‟s not much, but establishing collegial, transglobal and cross-cultural friendships can‟t be a bad or inconsequential thing.

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Now, for Goroka itself. While it‟s not Dalkeith Avenue, Wagga Wagga, it‟s nevertheless a much safer place to visit than many Australian doomsayers would have one believe. We heard and read about unsavoury incidents but never once experienced anything remotely dangerous or risky. On the contrary, at all times we were received hospitably by everyone we met, even those who didn‟t know us from a bar of soap. Locals invited us into their villages, roads and mountains with open arms and smiles. While potential danger can‟t be underestimated, a bit of commonsense and awareness of the „feel‟ of a place soon tells you whether or not you should be there. And the weather and scenery? Spectacular! So, is Goroka worth a visit – most definitely.

While Peter the Coffee-Man never came back, the bun-man saw me yesterday and gave me back the K1 change I forgot to pick up late last week, and in the process symbolically redeemed all previous dodgy Gorokan business transactions.

Enough of that reflective stuff. The Home Economics and Design and Technology put on a farewell morning tea. Home Ec. is a great place for such an event – there were all kinds of yummy goodies for cheery consumption. I particularly enjoyed something that looked like a deep fried samousa, but it was full of kau kau and banana – delightful. Arnold and Amado gave lovely speeches and then presented me with an ultimate souvenir, a UOG mug. It will be proudly used at home and CSU. If I were Daryl Kerrigan in his „Castle‟, I would say, „This is going straight to the pool room.‟

Joe Tana and his wife joined us at the Bird for dinner. It was a pleasant way to finish our stay. But that wasn‟t the end of the evening. We drove back to UOG with Joe to experience the new lecture theatre‟s inaugural performer: British-Jamaican poet, novelist and playwright Benjamin Zephaniah. He was sponsored by ConnectUK, an arts-based organisation, and joined in his Goroka leg by PNG‟s British High Commissioner, and journalist Janet Street-Porter. All, of course, are staying at the Bird. Benjamin‟s „black‟ political humour, part-rap with a reggae twist, went down well with the Goroka-wide audience.

We‟re off to Port Moresby tomorrow and will spend the morning with Steve Pickford debriefing our stay. After that we are free to explore Moresby (I can‟t wait!). On Friday afternoon we take off for Sydney via Brisbane. Because the plane gets in late to Sydney I will have to overnight there before catching a final flight to Wagga Saturday morning. As Dorothy says, clicking her heels together (she has red shoes, I have red socks), „There‟s no place like home.‟

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Goroka revisited

Sunday 8 February 2004

I have had the good fortune to return to Goroka, this time for a two week teaching stint within Charles Sturt University‟s Virtual Colombo Plan (VCP) Master of Education program (in partnership with the University of Goroka – UOG - TAFE Global and GRM Consulting). Looking down from the balcony of Room 208 at the Bird, two doors down from Room 210, my home last May, is certainly a deja vous moment. The liquid Breugelesque street scene of grunting four wheel drives protected by wire caging and darkened windows, smoking PMV‟s laden with

out-of-towners, busily passing women supporting produce laden bilums, idle men on their haunches, stray dogs attending to a range of human detritus, hawkers proffering baskets and traditional axes, and children bustling to seemingly exciting places, all speak of Gorokan continuity, with me dropping in for a brief peek. The day is cool, even cold, following a day of solid rain. People are dressed in windbreakers, some sporting a range of brollies. A colourful PNG flag model appears popular. My old mates on the Deck – Jokua, Peter and Elvis, among others (not George, who is on vacation) - were genuinely delighted to see me and I passed on Bob Hill‟s regards. At dinner I introduced them to Robin Hall, my partner in crime for this trip.

Yesterday we enjoyed an uneventful journey, flying from Sydney to Cairns and then by F28 to Moresby and, after a predictable delay, a Dash 8 to Goroka. There was a little cloud surfing over the highlands and we again lunged and spiralled into the airstrip after tearing our way through the low cover – a normal practice it appears.

As a „local‟ I showed Robin around town, from the stores to the bustling market with all its smells, humanity, squelching mud and glorious produce. Further walking took us up to the university and around a few side streets. Everything is where I remember it, only greener and more colourful. A highlight of the walk back was a brief stop at a rugby league match near the market. Thousands of excited people watched as the combatants submarined through the muddy pitch.

Goroka is an interesting place of interesting people. As if on cue our walk brought forth a local resident who regaled us on the less than gentle art of tribal warfare. He explained, as we zig-zagged our way up the rutted university road, that war is the outcome of many hours of hidden and ultimately failed negotiations - in effect the tip of a conflict iceberg. When the opposing tribes line up, the fight is usually directed towards killing an identified individual, generally someone who has killed a member of the opposing group. I guess what made the conversation interesting was not so much the details as its matter-of-factness, a frequent event not unlike observing a public holiday.

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Monday 9 February 2004 Our first day of teaching – what fun! After a little confusion about who would pick us up, we were met at the Bird by Colin, a driver and officer worker from Unigor, UOG‟s commercial arm. As is the way with the wantok system, Colin was appointed to his position and brought up from Port Moresby through the patronage of Unigor‟s director. His contract will last throughout the period of the project, about two years. He is a pleasant companion and more than willing to assist us throughout our stay.

Robin and I have divided our day in half, with Robin taking the first half for the first week and the second half the second week, with the reverse obviously the case for me. Robin is teaching the management of curriculum change while I look after a delightful subject called „Professional portfolios‟. My subject provides students an opportunity to celebrate and reflect on aspects of their workplace practice. As part of the twinning process Robin will work with Arnold Kukari, UOG Dean of Education, and I will work with Maretta Semos, UOG‟s practicum liaison officer. After the usual introductions and housekeeping matters, I absented myself and caught up with Edward and other members of the UOG Design and Technology staff. Before lunch I also spent some time with Maretta to plan our afternoon session.

Our sessions are being run in the new Mark J. Solon Auditorium, officially opened last September by Prime Minister Michael Somare. It is fashioned after the traditional haus tambarin, its great roof sailing the clouded valley mountains. Surrounding the central lecture space is a series of seminar and meeting rooms. We are in one but it is only just adequate for our forty or so students.

My first session was beyond expectations. The students are an impressive bunch from primary teachers colleges across PNG: Gaulim (Rabaul), the Papua New Guinea Education Institute (Port Moresby), Dauli (Tari), Holy Trinity (Mount Hagen), Saint Benedicts (Wewak), Madang, Balob (Lae), and Kabaleo. They quickly warmed to the ideas of workplace learning, adult learning and reflective practice. To most these approaches were novel but immediate value was seen in their application to practical contexts. The group is spirited but polite. All have strong ideas and are not afraid to express them. They also work well in small groups and report back to the large group in eloquent yet concise language. I like the occasional switches to pidgin in moments of excitement or frustration. In any one‟s book they are an adult educator‟s dream.

During the morning break one of the students, Brian, introduced himself as a senior educational administrator who also works occasionally with the World Health Organisation. He talked a little about his work and his early life in Popondetta, on the coast over the Owen Stanley Range from Port Moresby. He said he was immediately identifiable to others who know Papua New Guinea by his earrings. As a child he had his ears pierced with sharp bamboo, with the holes made larger through carefully attention to the resulting infection. Once the infection settled a little he had placed in his ears two tightly fitting rings made from boiled turtle shell: the hot water softened the carapace which was then cut into thin strips and threaded through the holes while hot and twisted into a circle. After drying the shell hardened and shrunk a little, creating a tight fit. The rings are then worn for life.

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Tuesday 10 February 2004 I spent the morning preparing for this afternoon‟s session. I decided to put together some overheads on the basic principles of adult and workplace learning. This was an interesting exercise as it gave me a chance to reflect on the stuff I have read over a long time and condense it into several lists of core ideas. It was well received by the students. We ran the afternoon session as one large group, even though yesterday another room was promised to cater for two groups of twenty students. Nothing was mentioned regarding its lack of availability. Anyway, the day worked and we covered a lot of interesting ground. The individual consultations after class continued the exchange – I‟m not teaching unless I‟m learning.

Our class discussions revealed the timeliness of the VCP program. PNG education is undergoing radical system and curriculum change. Apart from a shift from an objectives-based to an outcomes-based curriculum, the system is also coping with a shift from a conventional K-Y6 and Y7-Y12 (including Y7-Y10 provincial high schools and Y10-Y12 national high schools) to a K-Y2, Y3-Y8 and Y9-Y12 structure. Teachers‟ colleges are bearing the brunt of change, particularly in dealing with the pre-service and in-service needs of staff in the new „middle-level‟ that straddles former primary and secondary schooling. They are also negotiating changes to their Diploma of Primary Education In-service (DEPI) from a three-year to a two-year, three trimester structure, raising entry levels from Y10 to 12, and exploring credit entry into the University of Papua New Guinea and the University of Goroka. Further, the colleges have been given responsibility to train assessors to upgrade teachers from certificate to diploma level.

Steve Pickford arrived today for a brief visit. As the maestro of PNG aid and aid politics he outlined to us the labyrinthine structures that make up the VCP project. Its complexity was beyond this simple academic‟s understanding. However, he did give us a greater insight into our role within the project. He explained that our students were hand-picked for the course. They are in key positions within the teacher education system and have the potential to influence greatly the future of PNG education. Each also realises that the Masters course may be his or her „last chance‟ at a higher education qualification. This probably explains the discussion this afternoon on the „fear of failure‟ as a factor in the adult learner‟s approach to formal study. One student mentioned the heavy expectations placed on him as a conduit to his colleagues of the ideas he absorbs and constructs over the program. Steve also told us that the VCP program is not „just another academic course‟ but one that will be closely monitored by AusAid with a view to its future viability. Our subject evaluations and reports, therefore, assume greater importance than the usual end-of-course review. Wednesday 11 February 2004 I had a pleasant surprise this morning. While working on my balcony the head haus meri formally thanked me on behalf of her colleagues for the tip and gift I left last visit. It was quite heartfelt and unexpected. The people here have a formal politeness and respect for others that is touching. In various ways the same quiet grace has also been evident in our classes.

Three Wewak stragglers arrived today. They had been stopped from travelling by rain and managed to make it out at four this morning, flying via Port Moresby. I spent an hour or so late this morning bringing them up to speed. By the

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afternoon they were more than ready to participate in the ongoing discussion from yesterday (an examination of the assumptions on which the course is structured).

We have moved rooms to a much larger space, this time the lecture theatre Conference Room, a lovely curved room with plush chairs and tables. On stepping out into the sunlight one is greeted with the valley below and those ubiquitous but always beautiful, if moody, hills and mountains. A tropical Switzerland indeed! But no second room – it looks like we will run one class of forty students.

On the way back to the Bird we had a discussion with Colin and a local friend, Tony, about the place of sorcery (called sanguma in the highlands) in contemporary PNG society. Both said the casting of spells and the placing of curses is still very much a part of everyday life, but more so during periods of intertribal war. In times of peace spells are used to attract brides, control wayward husbands, cause students to fail, and stop car engines, among many other daily and seemingly „accidental‟ circumstances. In some situations sorcerers are tortured and killed by aggrieved people who believe they are victims of the identified witch‟s curses.

After a quick visit to the market Colin mentioned in passing the payment by his uncle of a 40 000 kina bride price for his son‟s marriage to a Port Moresby bride, a local record. And this didn‟t include the mandatory number of pigs and other gifts!

Thursday 12 February 2004 An interesting start to the day – I began with a lecture to the new intake of the Diploma of Technical and Vocational Education program. Edward arranged it the other day and invited along the provincial manager of vocational centres. An instant flash to last year‟s visit to the Kamaliki Vocational Centre brought a thought that she wouldn‟t have much to manage – but I held back. My talk covered the Australian VET system, the CSU‟s VET program and Edward and my attempts to put together a UOG TVE degree. I explained that the course had gone through UOG‟s Board of Studies and was waiting funding to go the next step of writing up a hybrid CSU/UOG curriculum. I didn‟t say that this step might be a long time coming. But, as is an expression here, we at least had to „try our luck‟.

The Masters group was up to speed this afternoon, firing on all cylinders. We covered unfinished work from yesterday on the contextual factors contributing to educational change in PNG. Between them they provided a strong narrative of the past two decades of educational reform, from an early elitist system to the post-independence inclusive primary and, more recently, secondary systems. They married this against the shifting socio-economic factors of increasing unemployment and crime, globalisation and marketisation. The continuation of the huge traditional or informal economy also figured largely in their deliberations. Tomorrow will see us without one of our Wewak contingent: Rosina was called home to look after her suddenly ill two-week old baby, her first child. Friday 13 February 2004 Another productive session, in spite of western presumptions of „Black Friday‟ bad luck. We examined a couple of the more difficult components that may form part of a professional portfolio: a personal philosophy of teaching and the characteristics, values and dispositions that make up professional activity. Not easy, but I thought we equipped ourselves rather well. Following a suggestion

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from one of the group we focused the discussion of philosophy around a single sentence statement from each member. This will later be unpacked into a more detailed declaration of ideas and values. The discussion of professional attitudes and dispositions took place collectively after a forty-five minute small group brainstorm. Again the report back whiteboard summary was lively, providing many hints for inclusion in the final portfolio.

Today‟s Post-Courier answered a question I had regarding the use of a Dash 8 rather than the F28 for the flight from Moresby to Goroka. I thought the use of a propeller plane rather than a jet may have been because of the weather and the associated issues of putting a slower plane down more safely on a cloud-covered and wet strip. This was Steve Pickford‟s thinking as well. However, the answer is a little more „down-to-earth‟. Apparently the Goroka strip was vandalised last December and several navigation lights, called T-vasis were destroyed. The required 75 000 kina has been found by the government and the F28 service will soon be restored.

I went on my first craft buying sortie this morning. Bilums have risen a little in price, but are still cheap at around A$20. The quality remains wonderful, with an exquisite range of patterns and colours. Given the number I bought last trip I have confined my self to a couple of „request‟ items. The craft market has shifted to the footpath outside the park, most likely because of the wet weather and the consequent mud and slush. My old friends remembered me: what good businesspeople they are! I also bought an unusual basket and a Sepik carving – both lovely. To finish of the expedition I dropped into the supermarket and bought some Gorokan coffee. I was burned last time by Peter the Coffee Man, so went commercial.

Stop Press! I came across Peter a couple of days ago and demanded my K40 change. I thought it wonderful how language fails when the business under discussion is not in one‟s favour. Peter feigned idiocy and made a quick retreat – never to be seen again. But, he remains the winner with me the long-suffering and aggrieved party. I will track him down, in my dreams! Saturday 14 February 2004 Today feels like the tropics – cloying heat, sweat-mapped skin, lethargy. You can step on the head of your shadow, a dark puddle keeping pace as you walk. An extended late morning stroll took in the airstrip – with broken fence – potholed backstreets, the museum, shanty towns and coffee factories. Back to the Bird for a cold drink, a cup of tea and a lie down, concessions to fading youth. As our colonial betters remonstrated, „Mad dogs and Englishmen…‟

But the heat didn‟t last. At about 2.00 the skies opened and the air cooled rapidly. James Yoko arrived at 3.00 to take us on a tour. Like last time he drove up the Highlands Highway, but we travelled a little further through Asaro to the beginning of the Daulo Pass. It really is quite bizarre to be higher than Mount Kosciusko and still warm, and be surrounded by mountains surging 2000 metres further into the mist. Once again we passed through many villages and dodged people and pigs along the way. The road was in good repair, having received a recent makeover. According to James the highway is considered a living river, a source of life for all. On the way back we travelled up a side road to the village of Massy and paused for a photo opportunity and a chat with the locals. At a final stop, not far from UOG, James showed us Pacific Lodge, a hotel scattered throughout a tropical forest. If I get a chance to come back, I would love to stay

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there. A couple of final thoughts: not a place to be alone on Valentine‟s Day, and the beginning of my fifth year at CSU. Sunday 15 February 2004 Sunday can really be a day of rest, particularly after our hectic week. I spent the first two thirds quietly reading, preparing some overheads, editing a history paper, watching some live golf (the ANZ Championship from the Horizons Club in Port Stephens), and painting (a black and white tonal wash of the Goroka valley). Lunch consisted of some ripe bananas bought yesterday from a roadside stall near Asaro.

But after the golf things became a more active. Robin and I tackled the Gardnozova Spur, a little further along for this time to the spectacular and precipitous Mt Kis Lookout. As appears to be the convention we were escorted by a villager and some – later many – of his friends. Our guides were equally as charming as Michael and his family last May. The village, located on the very end of the spur must surely have one of the great views on the planet: on one side to the east and west down the valley, including all of Goroka to Daulo, and on the other to the south an uninterrupted panorama of heavily clouded and forested mountains. The villagers showed us their cemetery, the cement block tomb of a villager-turned-sergeant-of-police taking pride of place. Once again people insisted on their photographs being taken. We high-tailed it back to the Bird after we saw a huge thunderstorm bearing down on us. We skidded down the trails and paths and just made it back. What a downpour – lightning, thunder, wind and rain, better watched from the security of a sheltered balcony! Monday 16 February 2004 My turn to begin early – Colin was ready for me at 8.15 and we made our way up the hill for an 8.30 start. As we made our way into the lecture theatre compound we were greeted by a bizarre sight: a new and well-trained security guard dressed in red who opened the gate, saluted, stamped his feet and stood to attention. We figured he deserved respect because he was armed with a fair sized truncheon and a wicked looking bush knife. On a few walks backwards and forwards from the theatre to our office in the university buildings he still remained at attention and very, very serious. The students thought the theatrical experience highly amusing, so I guess his attention to detail was not a run-of-the-mill display.

The students were better than well-prepared. Most had completed some weekend draft writing, which kept me occupied during Robin‟s afternoon session. They slipped easily into discussing some of the subject reading and eagerly began writing a portfolio draft. I also spent a little time going over another way of scaffolding a personal philosophy of teaching and learning (framed through ontological, epistemological and pedagogical/andragogical considerations). This was followed with a brief run-through of the principles of problem-based learning. Both went down well. They really are an outstanding group. I‟m inclined to agree with Jane Vella‟s work that dialogic learning is dialogic learning, no matter what the cultural boundaries, provided one is prepared.

This evening saw a little excitement on the airfield. I went for a brief walk to the end of the strip and was greeted by a RAAF Hercules going through the final stages of takeoff. Being a bit of a plane-nut I enjoyed its lumbering – and noisy - ascent into the thin air. This was followed by the arrival of a Dash 8 bearing the

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Eastern Highlands Province governor, Malcolm Smith, an expatriate Australian recently naturalised and the owner of Pacific Helicopters and the Pacific Lodge. The runway soon filled with a parade of four wheel drives and half of Goroka pressed against the boundary fence for a better look. Tuesday 17 February 2004

Well, who should come to breakfast this morning but the governor! He was surrounded by a buzzing swarm of anglo-sycophants, perhaps journalists and advisors, hanging on his every word. He looked grand, of average height, middle-aged, shaved head and wearing a fashionable Burbury plaid shirt – thoroughly gubernatorial.

I took a risk when I walked into class. I wrote, „You are now self-directed learners. I will see you at morning tea.‟ As I left they applauded. Apparently they organised themselves into groups to discuss the subject readings, while others wrote in groups and alone. I debriefed the exercise over a cuppa and we concluded that self-directed learning and student empowerment have a place in the educator‟s bilum. Fired up, I commenced the second half of the session with a discussion on how best to achieve our objectives of completing the first assignment and discussing the subject readings by Friday lunchtime. Using a theme of learning contracts, the students decided to number off and form groups to read, summarise and assess the readings and their value to assembling the portfolio. This task they finished by lunch using a two-minutes-a-paper large group report-back. They also decided to reserve the remaining early morning sessions to self-directed work with the late morning sessions devoted to working in either college-based or subject-based groups. I have demoted myself to resource person with an occasional appearance as facilitator. Isn‟t face-to-face teaching fun! There‟s nothing like the adrenaline-rush of quick decision-making, the „argy-bargy‟ of a good argument, the catching of a bemused eye, and the exhilaration of success. It sure beats the snail-paced feedback of distance education. Wednesday 18 February 2004 The students worked well in the pre-morning tea session. I found some value in working through individual draft assignments and answering the requests of a few small groups. The first assignment is coming along nicely, in spite of some general weaknesses with English and essay layout – these can be worked on over the next couple of assignments.

After morning tea Dr Api Maha, director of Unigor, came along to address students‟ concerns with the VCP program‟s administration. Yesterday the students appointed a spokesperson and gathered ideas for the session in a late afternoon meeting. Their approach to Api was direct yet polite, with Api first pointing out some program and student failings and their solutions, followed by the students with their list of agreed problems. Individual students then stood up and expressed their concerns. The hour long meeting concluded amicably, with some issues directed to Unigor, others to the project partners, and still others left unresolved. The oratory and sense of propriety was interesting to witness. I imagine that a similar meeting down south with the same amount of simmer-to-boil-potential would have led to more explosive outcomes.

I spent the afternoon and early evening reviewing student draft assignments and putting together my parts of a collective report on the Lahara experience.

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Through the assignments I have beefed up my knowledge and awareness of issues in PNG education. Some of these insights were more than interesting. One example stands out. In a section students are asked to reflect on the idea of educator professional attitudes and practices. A response raised the issue of non-professional behaviour. In this case a teacher filled in his ED6 resumption of duty form, and then literally went bush, no where near his school. His salary was automatically paid into his account for the remainder of the year and distributed to his wantoks. The local school inspector, not being his wantok, was loath to report the „teacher‟ because he would most likely be killed by the teacher‟s kinfolk. As poor professional practice it sure beats turning up late or failing to prepare classes. Thursday 19 February 2004 I had a rough night fighting off some kind of food bug – not a lot of fun. I battled through, though, and worked with the students until lunch. Colin drove me back to the Bird at around 2.00. Fortunately, the students were well and truly on task and needed minimal help. Some finished draft work and floated it by me while others wandered off to the computer lab to type up final copies. Two students even managed to submit. So, I nearly literally lived up to Paolo Freire‟s adult education maxim of „witnessing the death of the professor‟, though in his case it was intended as a metaphor for defining the final stage in the teaching and learning process when the educator is no longer required by his or her students. Off to bed – no food, black tea, and feeling miserable. Friday 20 February 2004 I did a Lazarus this morning – rose from the dead feeling reasonably well. Breakfast was appealing, so I guess I‟ll eat again without any unwanted consequences. Colin was waiting and both Robin and I travelled up the hill for our last session.

While working with students I took a little time to talk with Tony Hasu, one of Unigor‟s clerical staff. As a Goroka local he had a lot to say about being an eastern highlander. He said his were a proud and independent people, easily angered, difficult to please and quick to respond to any perceived injustice. Compared with the rest of PNG sustained contact with Europeans has occurred for only around fifty years. This has meant the retention of most cultural traditions, in spite of missionary and government attempts at „civilisation‟. Tony continued that he still lives in his traditional village and has little need for western materialism. He lives simply and seeks participation in the formal economy only to acquire cash for such things as bride prices, school fees, funerals and conflict-based compensation. His village grows all the food they need, with the surplus sold at the Goroka market. His people also grow a little coffee and other cash crops. He said it was a simple but rewarding life. I can only agree.

Most assignments were submitted; others will email or post them next week. At morning tea we enjoyed quite a ceremony. The men even gave up their „national function‟ - chewing betel – to attend. The two pro-vice chancellors, Musawe Sinebare and Joe Kata turned up along with a Unigor contingent. Sandwiches, fruit, tea, Milo and coffee were in abundance and well received. One of the more „senior‟ students made a lovely speech thanking us both. We were then each presented with a signed card, bilum (mine was in a „noodles‟ pattern) and PNG woollen hat. We were very touched. In over twenty-five years of

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working with adults the group was one of the best I‟ve ever had the pleasure to work with. The only dampener to the morning was the stealing of Robin‟s camera from our office just before the celebration. It appears one of the local rogues successfully „tried his luck‟.

Saturday 21 February 2004 Our last day in Goroka before the laborious flight home – it‟s been another fascinating visit. I spent the morning catching up with a little souvenir shopping. I went to one of the local trading stores and bought a couple of colourful cotton lap laps. Made in Indonesia, they are EHP haute couture, particularly in the villages. I gave the religious themed versions a miss – far too evangelical and shamelessly self-promoting. My next stop was at the Bird‟s small but comprehensive store to pick up some coastal tapa cloth. The two pieces I eventually chose are quite delightfully patterned using brown ochre. The cloth itself is really a thick paper made from pounding to a pulp the inner bark of the mulberry tree. The pulp is then dried and rolled into a „cloth‟. I think they will look great on one of the Rushbrook home walls.

After my non-lunch (still not seeing eye-to-eye with my tucker) we went for a final turn around the town. We were quite safe as cries of „white man‟ and giggles referring to our glaring height difference ensured surplus witnesses to any would-be raskol activity. The J. K. McCarthy Museum was still closed, in spite of an assurance it was open Saturday afternoons. I suppose once you‟ve seen one finger necklace you‟ve seen them all (grieving relatives sometimes cut off a digit as a sign of mourning and after drying thread and shape them into an interesting accessory). A stroll past the market revealed frenzied activity around Goroka‟s new gambling sensation, darts. Thrown at Cape Canaveral speed across scary distances in close proximity to bobbing heads, the flashing missiles make for quite a spectator treat. By way of complete contrast, before returning to the Bird we dropped in to take in a couple of ends at the Goroka Bowling Club, a genteel colonial legacy strictly observed. The „land of the unexpected‟, indeed.

Sunday 22 February 2004 Last entry – on my left is the disappearing coast of PNG south-east of Port Moresby. We are ascending into the blue en route to Sydney via a quick duty-free stop in Brisbane. The earlier flight from Goroka was, surprisingly, both on time and smooth. I have really enjoyed my time away. My Goroka colleagues were fun to work with, as was my travelling partner Robin - I shall miss his infectious laugh (apparently sharply, even cruelly, imitated by the students while travelling home nightly on the UOG bus) and good company. It is not often that one has the opportunity to teach and learn with such a talented, mature and willing group uninterrupted by the impedimenta of daily academic life – administrivia, phone calls, emails, meetings, and the like. Goroka provided „pure time‟ to reacquaint myself with the craft of classroom practice in an adult learning environment. The added twist was the novelty of working in a cross-cultural context. This provided sharp insights into other ways of thinking and doing. I only hope I can repeat the experience sometime soon. Tomorrow, Wagga – can‟t wait!

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Balob and Lae: a continuing Papua New Guinea adventure

Port Moresby, Saturday 3 January 2009

It‟s a strange feeling: Wagga Wagga one day, Port Moresby the next. Last night‟s Sydney flight was uneventful. We crossed the divide, the familiar cloud rampart loomed and coastal moisture abruptly replaced the dry inland air. It was also our thirty-second wedding anniversary. The Stamford, a faded lady, was comfortable enough with its uninspiring airport view. I met up with my travelling companion Peter Wilson, a ceramicist and amicable colleague from the Bathurst Campus, and we agreed to a 5.30 am shuttle to Terminal 1. The poor old building is undergoing radical restoration and is a sad and

complex walk beyond the customs barrier. Wiring and metal hang in ugly curtains and the concrete floors scream for retiling. Still, it should look great whenever it is finished, though as an airport it will forever remain a navigational nightmare.

Peter and I joined the co-badged Qantas and Air Niugini flight using a cross tarmac bus. The plane was large but sparsely populated. Our fellow travellers appeared mainly to be returning expatriates rather than tourists, plus a few nationals. Papua New Guinea‟s well-known law and order issues appear to limit its potential as a leisure destination, in spite of its stunning natural beauty. I enjoyed an entire seating row to myself and could have chosen from many others. My trusty iPod helped entertain with Alistair Cooke‟s Letter from America. What an insightful and gifted writer he was. I doubled this with Stephenie Meyer‟s Twilight, the „now‟ teenage vampire romance novel, courtesy of Amy. It‟s a fun read and non-taxing on the brain. In between I looked out the window and took in at one time the arid landscape of inland Queensland and at another the wispy white lines of the Great Barrier Reef, interspersed with aqua coral atolls and sparsely treed islands. After a three-and-a-half hour direct flight we arrived at Port Moresby‟s Jacksons International Airport. Customs stung us with an airport robbery K500 Business visa and we caught the courtesy bus to the Holiday Inn compound, complete with security guards and surrounding razor wire. Getting there had the familiar feeling of running a gauntlet. It‟s around 3.00 pm, the third test, a dead rubber with South Africa, is on the TV and it looks like the afternoon build ups will bring rain, and lots of it. It‟s already raining in my room anyway: I turned off the air conditioner and the mirrors and bathroom wall quickly ran with condensation, such is the oppressive tropical humidity. Maybe it‟s a pity that some of this moisture – indoor or out - will not fall on the SCG and put the Australian team out of its misery.

So, why are we here? We are part of a Charles Sturt University program to work with lecturers at Balob Teachers College, Lae, and offer them a couple of subjects in a CSU Master of Education program. This is my third trip to PNG, but my first to Lae. In spite of the inherent risks of travelling here, the rewards are well

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worth the effort. My two trips to Goroka in the Eastern Highlands were wonderful and I‟m hoping for a similar but tantalisingly different experience on the Morobe District Coast. I am, it is true, a travel junkie looking for that adrenalin rush of what might be over the next hill, and working with appreciative adult learners, wherever they may be found, also has its rewards. Lae, Sunday 4 January 2009

We began the day with a power breakfast. A meeting with two officials from Balob left us in no doubt we were part of an important project. Using the genteel yet quaint honorifics of „Mr‟ and „Dr‟ we were transported to another time when respect was connoted through title. Our guests offered an informative and polite session where we exchanged and defined our respective patches and stalked common friends. The loose agenda outlined Balob‟s progress from teachers college in 2009 to Lutheran University in 2010. It also spoke of Balob‟s literal „mission‟ to offer courses in teaching, nursing, agri-business and theology. One of our august new friends, a lawyer and confidant of Australian government ministers and local prime ministers, regaled us with the story of Saint Paul and his role as an educator, and an exemplar for the pastoral outcomes of Balob‟s courses. A sub-text of the meeting was a call for help to use our networks to solicit assistance to get the new university up and running. We said we would try – little did they know of our humble stations as uninfluential academics assiduously avoiding the greasy pole of promotion and patronage.

Later in the morning we left the Holiday Inn for the airport and our F100 flight to Lae. The flight was brief – around forty minutes – and mapped from 34 000 feet the ground fought over nearly seventy years ago by our Kokoda heroes slogging to and fro across the Owen Stanleys. We joined a „Guard Dog‟ secure bus to the Lae International Hotel. Covered in gridded wire with a guard riding shotgun we took the thirty minute drive to inner Lae without incident on a road with a reputation for hijacking. The hotel is a quite luxurious and well protected from the troublesome town. At our breakfast meeting we were advised not to walk anywhere outside the compound. If we did – using the PNG mastery of the understated – we might experience „some difficulties.‟ We have listened and we will obey. So, with exploring limited to our world within the razor wire we walked around the more than pleasant grounds and marvelled at the towering trees festooned with epiphytic orchids and ferns guarding the haus tambaran influenced hotel and cheerful surrounding condominiums and double-storeyed guest accommodation. My room is spacious, thankfully air-conditioned, and has the added bonus of a resident gecko. As long as it doesn‟t chirp too much in the night I think we can be friends. Lae, Monday 5 January 2009

Our first day of working in the „Land of the Unexpected‟ – how true! The Balob bus picked us up at 7.45, as expected. We drove to the college over terrible pot-holed roads, as expected. The dingy blue and much run-down college greeted us with as cheery a face as possible, as expected. The lecturer-students ambled in at various times and were gracious, grateful and good-naturedly gregarious, as expected. But, the Charles Sturt student materials hadn‟t arrived, absolutely unexpected. So, using our best contingency management skills we improvised a

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productive morning session of introductions and discussion of subject outlines and expectations. We even managed to negotiate a workable timetable: I will work this week from 8.00 am – Midday and next week from 1.00 pm -4.00 pm, with Peter W doing the reverse.

We are fortunate that the college has a recently completed computer laboratory – all gleaming with new hardware and software, and air-conditioned to boot (for the computers, not the humans, though the humans remain forever grateful). The building even has its own back-up generator. My only concern, though, is that the computer project has sustainability; that is a capacity for ongoing upgrades and maintenance. My Goroka experience suggests that without these provisions Papua New Guinea‟s first post-independence tertiary education computer lab (1975) may be consigned to the same fate as most other donor (internationally funded) projects – a period of light followed by entropic failure. Still, so far, so good.

At lunch we hitched a lift back to the International with Lawrence, one of the students. He comes from Mount Hagen in the Eastern Highlands, where his wife and four children live. He told us he travelled for eight hours yesterday to Lae in a PMV (Public Motor Vehicle – usually a tray truck with bench seats and maybe a tarpaulin cover) to get to the class. He has nowhere to stay, relying nightly on the charity of his colleagues and friends. Now that‟s eagerness. A shout for lunch was the least we could do.

I used the afternoon to prepare some notes for tomorrow‟s class, only to be told later in the day that the CSU materials had arrived – phew. Given that the students won‟t read them tonight my summaries of the readings will most likely not be wasted. Another part of the afternoon was spent fighting with the hotel‟s very slow dial-up Internet Service, not peculiar to the International or Lae as PNG does not have a broadband network. We certainly take so much for granted in Oz. Tuesday 6 January 2009

Weather. There‟s plenty of it. Surprisingly it‟s not as hot as I expected. In the evenings are wonderful thunderstorms, all shake, rattle and roll, with curtains of soaking rain. As a result, the land is cooled to tolerable levels that last well into the next day. The thunder through the hills surrounding the Markham Valley sounds every bit like the storms on the recent remake of War of the Worlds. Unwelcome visitors to the manicured lawns during the rain are hundreds of cane toads – everywhere, no doubt Queensland migrants on coastal ships. At lower temperatures the humidity is tolerable, though in 30C plus I‟m sure it would be unbearable.

The bus was waiting for me at 8.00 am and we bounced our way to Balob for the morning‟s session. The students dawdled in over the first hour or so and we tackled the agreed to tasks: defining „professional portfolios‟ and their types, examining their uses, and deciding on what artefacts should go into them. I handed out the timely CSU study materials and presented a summary of the first three readings. The students worked in small groups distilling the information and presenting it back to the large group. I‟m not sure they „get‟ yet the value of portfolios, understandably I think, as it is a new concept. I hope, though, that more discussion and reading will move things along a bit. Tomorrow I hope to get some collaborative agreement on what form of professional portfolio will work best for Balob and its educators, and decide on what elements and artefacts should be included. This is the fun part of face-to-face adult learning. When mutual teaching and learning is „live‟ rather than conducted at asynchronous distance – my

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usual teaching mode - it breaths through group conversation, shifting with the ideas bouncing of the walls, and moving ahead through consensus and constructive argument. How wonderful.

I arrived back at the hotel around midday and spent most of the afternoon reading, with the cricket a chirpy background noise. Australia looks like getting the upper hand over South Africa – one out of three tests may save a little face. I also spent time looking from my balcony over my surrounding tropical gardens, waiting for the late afternoon storm. After years of Wagga drought, anticipating the tropical rain is nothing short of a good evening‟s entertainment. Lae, Wednesday 7 January 2009

Phillip arrived in the beat-up bus around eight and once again we bucked our way to the college. Along the way everyone seems to know him. Both men and women hail him with good cheer and he reciprocates. I don‟t know his secret but he has something going. At every other corner or behind mesh fences are the betel nut (buai) stalls. Most consist of a card table or rough plank on a couple of drums managed by two or three people, men and women, sometimes with kids in tow. On the table are neatly arranged rows of ping pong ball sized green betel nuts, collected from local palms or bought through wholesalers. Accompanying the nuts are tubs of mustard and lime juice, made from crushed coral. Purchasers buy nuts at around a kina (A55c) for one or six for five kina. The nut is peeled and eaten with a dollop of mustard and lime juice. The concoction is then chewed for a mild high after which the left-overs are spat on the ground as a red splatter, the chemical result of the mixed ingredients. Most of the locals can‟t afford alcohol or cigarettes and it seems to be a less toxic and self-destructive alternative. Red stained teeth and a happy smile appear to be the only by-products.

After negotiating the cratered streets we cross a low bridge over a swiftly flowing mud-stained Bumbu River. On either side of the river for a hundred metres or so the road collapses into a morass that would challenge any vehicle‟s suspension. Our bus appears to have lost that argument many trips ago. We dodge other PMVs and four wheel drives – sedans just don‟t cut it here – and look for the safest and roughly level course to navigate. Once the road resumes some semblance of solidity we pass a ramshackle market and a colourful cemetery, well kept for this decaying country, festooned with flowers natural and artificial. A little further along is the faded college, protected at its entrance by four brown-uniformed security guards, quite diligent in their overseeing of what appears to be precious little. And here we are once again, ready to begin the day.

The students had tackled the set reading tasks. Those with subsidised campus housing would have done so under mostly reliable electric lighting while those living two or so PMV hours away, mostly the women, would have done so under kerosene lamplight. Collectively we distilled the ideas from the texts and came up with a list of criteria that might appear in a professional practice portfolio. This was an interesting process and one that reached consensus quite quickly. I suspect this is the way many issues are discussed and resolution reached. Tomorrow we plan to „flesh out‟ these criteria into indicators with suggested matching artefacts or documentation. Using the computer lab is wonderful for this process as documents can be saved in a paperless environment – literally, as there isn‟t enough printing paper to go around – on a shared drive. The college administration, and in particular the Vice (and Acting) Principal – the Principal hasn‟t been seen in months, another story – is interested in the portfolio process

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and will consider adopting it for professional development and performance management activities. Let‟s hope the two functions are separated as the first is essentially private and personal growth centred and the other public and accountable.

PS: Australia won the third test, though the highlight was South African captain Graham Smith‟s valiant fight to the end with a broken hand. Lae, Thursday 8 January 2009

We enjoyed breakfast with a demi-god – a rugby League one at least. Mal Maninga, hero of the Canberra Raiders and Queensland, was in town on an AIDS awareness trip. Of Solomon Island heritage a few generations ago he is revered in this part of the world. This evening we were in the Sportsmans‟ Bar, met him again and shook hands. My hand disappeared easily between two of his fingers. As he smiled I grimaced as his vice-like paw gently and so politely crushed me. He seems a nice bloke, though, as he made time to greet everyone who cared to say hello, and he spent quite a bit of time with some young kids who stood before his bulk in awe. He certainly is charismatic.

Anyway, back to earth. The class today went really well. The students appear to be getting into the concept of professional portfolios and diligently working through the readings. We spent most of the morning sorting through our agreed focus areas: working with students, professional knowledge, community activities, and reflective practice. We broke these down further into indicators and collectible artefacts. The students brought a great deal of local knowledge into these outcomes, particularly in relation to church and community activities. Tomorrow we will tackle the more difficult areas of reflective practice and articulating a teaching philosophy. Vice-Principal Peter Seth is giving the group a head start with Balob‟s mission statement, which we should be able to flesh out into statements of collective and individual teaching and learning philosophies. This will be supported with ways of framing or setting out the portfolio. Next week I hope to start on the first assignment, most of the elements of which have been covered this week. So, in spite of a couple of power outages or „load shedding‟ we managed quite well and finished the class with handclaps all around.

On the way back to the hotel I asked Phillip to take a swing around the town. This he did with great pleasure. First we went to „Down Town‟ or the port area. Like the rest of the city it is not pretty. As the country‟s industrial centre it is all container terminals and medium to large sized industries. We drove along the coastal esplanade which has been built up by fill and garbage to ward off slow rises in the sea level. Separate from Down Town via a series of reasonably well maintained roads and roundabouts is „Top Town‟, the main shopping centre. It has the usual fare of supermarkets and small shops, but not the place for a lone white face to shop – Anglo targets, apparently, are just too soft and tempting.

This evening we had the delightful pleasure of dinner with a business associate of my brother Mark. Robert Higgs and his lovely wife Madeline drove Peter and me to the nearby Melanesian Hotel and we enjoyed their company over stories of his company, Markham Culverts, and how it operates in the haphazard PNG economic climate. Robert and Madeline have lived here fourteen years or so and are looking forward to retirement in a couple of years. We drank some excellent Wolf Blass wine and I found the crocodile salad delicious. We were back at the hotel by ten and wiser for the experience.

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Lae, Friday 9 January 2009

No sign of Phillip. Peter Seth believes he went on a bender and won‟t be seen for a few days, if ever. The bus was late, driven by another staff member. After Peter‟s explanation, he announced Alu, our new driver. Later in the morning Peter offered Alu and a four wheel drive with Andrew riding as „security‟ for a Saturday tour. This was a very generous gesture and one we‟ll take advantage of. The tour will be a break from the weekday class routine. It will be interesting to see if the sites match the tourist rhetoric, and perhaps test further the „Land of the Unexpected‟ tag.

The class went well, yet again - so, I‟m conceited enough to say that after thirty or so years I‟m a good educator. The class was more or less there, with one or two missing each day due to deaths in the family, partner and children issues, and so on, the usual fare. We worked on the difficult area of defining a personal philosophy, compounded a little by attempting to match it with Balob‟s mission statement. By the end of the session they had all made a good fist of the task and come up with a paragraph or so of heartfelt reasoning. Surrounding this challenge were suggestions on how to present the final portfolio, including a table for aligning goals, indicators and artefacts. Next week we will work on a draft of the first assignment, including guidance from me and hard work and local knowledge from them. Bring it on. Lae, Saturday 10 January 2009

Alu and Andrew arrived right on ten and we began our day as Lae tourists. First stop was the ATM at the local ANZ Bank. Alu and Andrew kept a sharp eye as we waited in line to enter the glass vestibule holding the two machines. I withdrew K500 which should last me the rest of the week. Alu then escorted us back to the Toyota, looking a little relieved that nothing happened to us – ATM‟s are a prime site for raskols „trying their luck‟.

We drove about a kilometre to visit the Lae War Cemetery. What a contrast to the rest of the town. It is quiet, beautifully maintained, and a place of peace. It was sad to read some of the inscriptions. Most of the interred are Australian, under 25 years of age, and killed in a three month period at the end of 1943. The nearly 2500 tombstones are neatly arranged in militarily perfect rows. From the cemetery we drove out of „Pot Hole City‟ to the University of Technology, a grand affair in much better order than Balob. The buildings are architecturally interesting and the roads more or less in good repair. Our aim in visiting was to take in Unitech‟s Rainforest Habitat, a collection of representative PNG flora and fauna. We weren‟t disappointed. The shade cloth enclosure, roofing a hectare or so of space, features an above ground walkway that takes the visitor up to the tree canopy to see magnificent birds of paradise and an assortment of parrots and other avian oddities. Outside of the habitat are a number of other enclosures sporting such animals as cus cus, hornbill, parrots, a huge croc aptly named „Agro‟, tree kangaroos, and more birds of paradise. Peter and I bought some Sepik story boards, lovely bas relief wood carvings of village life. On the way out we stopped for a photo opportunity with a large black python, and visited an orchid enclosure. The caretaker sold me a nice hard cane dendrobium, impossible to bring home, but no doubt he appreciated the K12 asking price.

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Perhaps the highlight of the day was visiting Alu‟s village just beyond the college and sited down a long dusty road on the beach. He took great pride in describing the village‟s features and how much it means to him and his immediate and extended family. The huts were traditional and quite rudimentary, whether built on stilts or on the ground. It was washing day and the beach was covered in drying clothes. Alu shimmied up a coconut tree and quickly prepared a few fruit for a refreshing drink and quick lunch. The meat was really tasty and moist, quite unlike the desiccated nuts we buy in Australian supermarkets. Around us kids played with recycled foam rafts in the village lagoon and dive-bombed off a rope strung from an abutting tall tree, women fished in the surf, and others just sat around taking in the idyllic scene. Just up the beach was a rusted WWII relic, a Japanese coastal trader pummelled by the US Air Force. The incident gave the village its name, Sipfir (Ship Fire). Alu then drove us back to the hotel for a much needed rest. It was a fun day and a great learning experience. We thanked each of our hosts with a K50 ($AUS 28) tip, nearly two weeks wages in these parts.

Lae, Sunday 11 January 2009

A day of rest and I didn‟t do much at all. Read a little, watched TV a lot, and reviewed my December history of education paper. I also managed a quick Skype call to Ben in Hanoi – he is in Vietnam for a three week vacation - and a face-to-face chat with Carole, a remarkable thing on a 128k dial-up connection. It hasn‟t rained much over the past few days so I‟m hoping for a bit of a display tonight. After years of Wagga drought I must admit I‟m a little obsessed with heavy rain and lightning. We just don‟t see that much of it. At around four the bed shook. I was definitely alone so it must have been a small earth tremor. The area is seismically active so not really an unusual event. So, after a buffet dinner, that was my day. Lae, Monday 12 January 2009

Land of the unexpected – by the time I arrived at the college this afternoon the computer room had shorted out and the Internet wasn‟t working anyway because Balob hadn‟t paid its bill. Apparently the required part won‟t be available for a couple of weeks, putting any chances of timely essay submission (planned for this Friday) on hold. So, using what ever contingency management skills I have learned over the years I improvised and ran a workshop on essay planning and writing and set the students to work on some guided questions I put together to suit the circumstances. Notes were taken using the old fashioned technology of pens and paper. It worked. By the end of the class, however, we managed to find some extension chords for a few computers and there is another small lab available in the nearby Curriculum Centre that has a few usable machines. With any luck most students can type their essays, copy them on to USB sticks, which they all have, and I can place them on my laptop after they are run through adequate virus protection – most of the computers and sticks are infected. A shaky plan, but it should work.

I return now to the issue of the Principal and his absence, perhaps a root cause of the Internet issue. Apparently he was appointed through the wantok system and is considered by most members of the College Board to be next to useless, even though he was a CSU graduate from the 2004 Goroka course. There are corruption issues mixed in with his doubtful competence, so the place is

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experiencing „some difficulties‟. Apparently the key „difficulty‟ is the Principal taking K500 from parents as a payment to ensure college entry. When the principal absconded so did the payments. Poor Peter Seth, a decent enough young administrator, is more or less running the college with a staff of one. Apart from trying to complete the Masters program he is handling all new enrolments and the issues associated with the corrupt payments, in particular angry parents, and facing pressure from the Board to increase numbers, in spite of inadequate staff and run-down accommodation. It‟s not an easy situation.

I did manage to talk to Carole on her birthday and bought some souvenirs for kith and kin. I thought the boys might get some fun out of a traditional penis gourd and the girls some tortoise shell earrings. I was banned from bringing home some Sepik masks I had my eye on so settled instead for a few trinkets that will be less obtrusive around the house. Still no rain here, though interest was generated last night as a rattling 5.2 tremor moved the bed around midnight. Lae, Tuesday 13 January 2009

All, things considered, the day went well, in spite of the lack of Internet connection and failed computer power. The cobbled together power kept four computers in action in the computer lab and an additional four were still available in the Curriculum Centre, even though infected with viruses. By the end of the session, though, students had produced reasonable draft material, with several further along to attempt writing the final essay. I provided some scaffolding in the form of a detailed assignment plan, which was enthusiastically received. I used my time to walk from building to building working individually with students. This was quite productive. I learned more about each student and was able to offer one-to-one assistance. One interesting comment came from Anne, who in a discussion about the lack of a police presence on the street said, „It‟s too dangerous for them to come out.‟ I think she‟s right, though I did think it was a police role to manage law and order….hmmmm.

I spent some time this morning reading the two national papers, The Papua New Guinea Post-Courier and the National. Both are full of the usual litany of political and infrastructure crisis: corrupt elections, widespread violence, failing roads, inadequate health care, and so on. The Lae section in the National reported the challenge of the potholes and car hijacks on the bridge on the way to the college – not a comforting thought after being cashed up once again at the ATM and heading out to work. But, I arrived and returned OK. So far, fingers crossed, this activity takes place around us and not to us. Lae, Wednesday 14 January 2009

We enjoyed another good day, in spite of the „difficulties‟. The students worked at the two venues and I travelled between them, reading drafts and chatting according to need. In a slow revelation of the gender politics the women are definitely disadvantaged. As the men have access to a house on campus and the women live sometimes a couple of hours away, the men can stay back late at night to work. During the day the men also grab the available computers. I stopped this today and made sure they were equitably distributed. In addition, two of the women decided to work from home where they had access to a machine. The Internet is still down so it looks like we will have to extend assignment deadlines. One thing‟s for sure, there‟s never a dull moment at Balob.

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On the way back from dinner last night I was lucky to stumble across a Rotary meeting in one of the function rooms. I was welcomed with open arms to complete a make-up and quickly found myself to be the guest speaker. I prattled on about Wagga and our club and it was well received. The Lae club has a quick turnover because of the itinerant nature of the expat workforce, though there are few nationals and one or two expats that have been here for years. I had an early night, waking up only twice, once at midnight for thunder, lightning and rain and once at five for a mild bed shaking tremor. PNG certainly is a shaky isle. Lae, Thursday 15 January 2009 More of the same today – I was pleased with the ways the students are tackling the essay draft. Many told me they worked through the night until around 7.00 am, had some shut-eye and went to Peter‟s morning class – now that‟s dedication to a task. The students are making a fair fist of the writing, though are generally weak. I guess they can‟t be criticised too much for this as English, though the formal language of PNG, is for most a third language, preceded by pidgin – Tok Pisin – and their local vernacular – Tok Ples. As long as they demonstrate a familiarity with the subject and a capacity to apply the concepts to their workplace, and submit both assignments, I will look on their success favourably. On the way out to the college Peter and I paid a visit to the Lutheran Seminary up the road and caught up with Mr Taso, one of our breakfast guests from Port Moresby. He wants to have dinner with us at the Melanesian tonight and debrief our two week stay. It should be an interesting chat. Port Moresby, Friday 16 January 2009

It bucketed down last night, the heaviest rain yet. As promised last night‟s dinner was a grand affair. We were the honoured guests of the Seminary Principal Giegere Wenge who naturally enough was a Lutheran Pastor, LUPG Project Officer Mr Taso, the Seminary Vice-Principal - a former CSU Goroka student - and Alu. It was Balob‟s shout and they were generous with both food and wine. There wouldn‟t have been much change out of K500. I guess the missionary spirit must extend to half-starved Australian university lecturers. I chatted with Pastor Wenge and he told me about his education at Concordia University in St Louis, Missouri, a Lutheran institution, of course. I enjoyed the discussion as he was a pleasant fellow and reminded me of some my research into the Germans of western Victoria. After a couple of pleasant Oz wines and some good tucker we were more than ready for bed.

Alu and Mr Taso picked me up at around 11.00 am to go out to Balob for a final brief session and a celebration of the end of the Lahara session. Peter brought along his piano accordion and ukulele, and I managed to get hold of a guitar. We had a lot of fun singing PNG and Oz songs – „Give me a home among the gum trees‟ and so on. The students also presented us with a range of bilums, a lovely gesture. Peter and I wished them well. They are more than prepared to „have a go‟ and deserve every success. There is so much against them with regard to lack of resources and endemic corruption, but they keep on keeping on. The words of their song nicely summarises their spirit:

You may be a rich man I can be myself You drive your car

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I walk along the road I carry my spears with bow and arrows I shoot down a wallaby along the way (translated from Tok Pisin)

We caught the caged Guard Dog bus at around 2.30 pm and ran the village

gauntlet at a great rate of knots. The security guard held on to an evil looking twelve gauge shotgun, which was supposed to make us feel secure. The F100 arrived on time and we left Lae for Port Moresby in a smooth ascent through the clouds. When we arrived at a wet POM a Good Samaritan on the plane felt sorry for us and gave us a lift to the Holiday Inn, a neighbourly act indeed. Sydney, Sunday 18 January 2009

Yesterday was a day for travelling – day one of the three day trip home. Amazing really that it takes so long; New York or London would be quicker. The flights to Brisbane and Sydney were uneventful, though the late POM flight meant missing the connection to Sydney, but a flight an hour later didn‟t make that much difference. Home to Wagga this just after midday, so another adventure is nearly over.

So, in spite of all the issues facing PNG would I do it all over again? In a heartbeat! Apart from the PNG spirit, which I admire greatly, there‟s something about working and living on the edge, using your wits to make things work in adverse or challenging conditions. PNG really is the Land of the Unexpected and that‟s what will bring me back given the right opportunity. However, as I‟ve said before, to quote Dorothy, „There‟s no place like home!‟

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Dust, smoke and sweat: a fourth visit to Papua New Guinea

Sunday 10 January 2010

That‟s the smell of PNG and of its people. It hits you when you exit the plane at Jacksons International Airport - cloying tropical heat, the somehow wonderful smell of decaying vegetation and rain-filled air. You enter the terminal and it embraces you further: unwashed bodies cloaked with honest sweat, overlaid with the dusky scent of village smoke and dust. The smiles are genuine, flashing white teeth and crinkled eyes. It‟s a shame the malevolence of a few ruins any chance of this beautiful place being the tourist destination it should be.

Anyway, contrary to my reduced expectations of travelling from Wagga to Lae in a day, they were actually realised. A 6.30 am flight from the Place of Many Crows, a quick dash by train to Sydney‟s International Airport, a welcome catch-

up with Goroka Wantok Bob Hill and we were off on a direct flight to Port Moresby. All looked well, even miraculous, but a two hour delay at POM‟s domestic terminal soured things a little. We boarded Air Niugini‟s Focker 100 at six and rode the rough cumulous nimbus clouds to Nadzab Airport, arriving around seven in

the dark. Not an ordinary dark but a PNG one – low wattage bulbs, poorly maintained street lights and heavy cloud around forty kilometres from Lae. Our wire garlanded Guard Dog Security bus met us and ferried us at breakneck speed along the potholed highway to the Lae International. Somehow we arrived unscathed and enjoyed a hearty meal before a much needed sleep.

Today we are very low key and enjoying a welcome rest before teaching begins tomorrow at Balob. The Inter remains pleasant and magnificently maintained. This time I have a ground room floor just over the path from a noisy and cantankerous hornbill defiantly spruiking from his – too pretty to be female, such is the way of birds - well appointed cage. I can see, and hear, that I won‟t need an alarm. At the first hint of light he is up and and at it with a much practised series of raucous calls. My hellos to him were greeted by a quick swipe of his massive bill across the cage-wire. Look out fingers and beware his seemingly friendly advances. Monday 11 January 2010

Lae is positively humming. Yesterday saw the opening of the national 27th Synod of the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Papua New Guinea that meets all week on matters Lutheran, including the election of a new bishop. PM Sir Michael Somare did the honours. He was followed by a procession of Lutheran pastors selling their versions of salvation, or at least so The National

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said this morning. Bob walked down to the local stadium site and reported back that it was a wonderful opening ceremony; I declined, not quite brave enough to walk the streets. I did observe, though, that some of the pastors, nationals and expats, have opted to stay at the Inter. From what I‟ve seen so far of their dining and drinking habits, austerity doesn‟t appear to be part of their credo, at least in private.

This morning Alu arrived as cheery as ever and pleased to catch up with us again. He obviously enjoys using the borrowed Land Cruiser and showing us the town. The fishing in his village has been good, he said, with several large tuna a welcome addition to the larder. Once underway we observed that the road to Balob is a little less bumpy, apparently due to the demands of the thousands of Synod people arriving from across the country.

At the college we were staggered to see more than two thousand people camping and living in and around the dormitories and football oval. They are from the Mumeng, Wampar, and Aseki-Menyamya groups. Makeshift plastic tents and massive piles of sweet potatoes, bananas and firewood, tethered pigs, and washing-festooned trees say that this year Balob is a little different. All the produce was donated and shipped in by barge from along the coast or by truck from the highlands. The task of the temporary Balob village is to prepare food for the 850 delegates, accounting for the rapidly increasing mountains of kai kai as the day progressed. Getting into the place meant negotiating a traffic jam as PMVs ferried the helpers from Balob to the Synod meeting place at the seminary up the road. Each van and truck was covered in decorative flowers and vegetation and a notice proclaiming where they were from: Mt Hagen, Goroka, Morobe, and Tari, to name a few.

The added treat, though, was catching the many impromptu performances by traditional dance and singing troupes. They were simply magnificent – all feathers, chanting, drums and panpipes. The local crowd was appreciative, and competitive, as other groups vied for attention with their own tribal variations. This is PNG at it best – loud, crowded, happy and working together for the common good. Dust, sweat and smoke in abundance!

Needless to say, the commotion looks like it will have an effect on the way we conduct classes, at least for this week. At our orientation meeting it seemed that little more than half the students were present, the remainder either on leave or involved with Synod work of one kind or another. Some of those attending have family issues that might affect attendance. One student lost his sister over the Christmas break another his tribal son (a nephew), killed in a car accident in Port Moresby a few days ago; he will need to travel to nearby Wewak to arrange the funeral one the body is flown in today or tomorrow.

My first class went well – come to think of it, perhaps a form of secular missionary work? As with Bob‟s morning class not all students were there because of the magnitude of the week. I managed, though, to introduce the esoteric subject of professional development to a pleasing reception. I hope there is enough in the subject content to keep them interested enough to try some of their ideas in their daily practice. I thought that getting them to reflect on professional development, its ownership

and benefits within the Balob context might be a good way to start – and it was. More discussion tomorrow on some of the particular issues of our „glocalised‟

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(„global‟ and „local‟ combined to make an awful academic amalgam) times. Should be fun! Tuesday 12 January 2010

Carole‟s birthday – a quick Skype call and a Facebook posting and we were square, though it would have been much more fun to be in 3/3 Bogong Crescent. The Internet here is dial-up, but now wireless to all resort rooms, so I don‟t have to set up in the lobby like last year, a bit of a pain. I have a 100 kina allowance of 80 megabytes, which doesn‟t buy much, particularly if you want to upload photos. Still, the connections are surprisingly good, considering the perils of PNG infrastructure.

The college was little quieter today. The mountains of peeled (would „shucked‟ be better, perhaps not) bananas were gone but the yams and pigs await attention, I think by Thursday to mark the election of the new Bishop. The view from the Learning Centre building of the pigs, rude structures and myriad seated and milling villagers, though, remains somehow ancient and pleasant.

The class was reasonably well attended, with a few of yesterday‟s group absent but replaced by a few who had finally arrived from their arduous journeys from across the country. One, for example, had arrived from his village near Finschhafen by foot, sea barge and PMV. I began by exploring the local, national and global forces shaping Balob College, backed by several readings on globalisation, public service managerialism, and recent educational policy shifts. The collective response yielded some fascinating outcomes and firmly had them all thinking that they weren‟t alone in their seemingly local context. This was followed by an audit of their participation in professional development activities over their careers, which were many for some of the more experienced. I hope to use this tomorrow to discuss connections between professional development, who benefits and who pays. It should be interesting, particularly when related to the subject reading material. I guess the true test will be how long the midnight burners stay awake as the material and discussion unfolds. Wednesday 13 January 2010

Another wonderful day, both busy and productive, and definitely entertaining. The pigs still live, though I think they meet their end tomorrow. They remain happy, digging ever deeper into the muddy drains they call their last homes. I went in with Bob early to meet with individually with students to discuss how to tackle their first assignments. Overall we agreed that there would be three sections: one to discuss the concept of „professional development‟ within an educational context using the subject reference material; one to outline where examples of their own professional development „fits‟ within this literature, and a final section reflecting on directions to follow in future college and individual professional development activities. I anticipate that this will provide new theoretical material that can be integrated within their daily practice. Fingers crossed.

Around the gaps in the interviews I managed to keep up with the Synod activities. Mid-morning there was a great fuss as about two hundred members of a Mount Hagen clan ceremoniously crossed to the college from Lutheran HQ over the road chanting and dancing and literally bearing gifts – tributes of coconuts, sugar cane, (more) bananas and yams. After wheeling around the buildings the procession came to a halt and their red ochre dance troupe gave a wonderful

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performance to rhythmic drumming and singing. But that wasn‟t the end of it. Over the day other groups stepped forward. A rather churchy tambourine group of modestly covered girls and women proclaimed their Lutheran faith using lovely Melanesian harmonies. Other more traditional tribal groups went all out. A highly choreographed troupe of grass-entwined whirling dervishes excited the crowd with their precise moves. And another large group danced around three human totem poles. The dancers set a rhythm by jumping up and down to make hundreds of feathers bounce in time. It was spectacular.

In the middle of all this we had to have lunch. Alu drove us to the Lae Yacht Club and we ate on the deck. The club obviously is an expat enclave, with a meagre sprinkling of nationals. Alu, Bob and I didn‟t need much encouragement to down the delicious baked red emperor. With little time to spare (actually none - we were late) we drove back to the college for my afternoon class.

It went well, with most students attending. I summarised the morning interview material and we discussed the possibilities for the assignment. Ever mindful of my muses Jane Vella and Paolo Freire I maintained a dialogic approach to the exercise, politicising my approach wherever possible. Perhaps this was none more so when I gave a mini-lecture based on a paper I wrote several years ago on PNG and the difficulties of reconciling modernism with sustainability. Well, it did get things going with several students having more than strong opinions on the issue. This, I think, will auger well for future conversations on the forces, both global and local, that impinge on everyday teaching practice. More on Friday – tomorrow afternoon will also be devoted to one-to-one discussions about the assignment and related issues. How much fun can a Wagga boy have?

The road home was a little longer. Alu asked if we‟d like to take a look at the Synod meeting place. Well, it was another eye-opening experience. Martin Luther Seminary (MLS) is on huge grounds, all but overrun with thousands of observers and delegates. Whereas Balob is a large village MLS is a true city, with tents and rude food stalls aplenty. On what must have been several rugby fields – an ironic reference to the other major religion in Lae – is to be found a massive but temporary wooden building, carefully built by volunteer labour over the past few weeks and designed to seat the 850 delegates, which it does with aisles to spare. Fashioned as a traditional coastal haus tambaran it has a twenty metre tower at the front covered in traditional and Christian (Lutheran, of course) symbols. The tower introduces a hundred metre long pitched hall framed with a chaotic yet sturdy wooden skeleton roofed and walled with matted palm fronds. Concessions to modernity include a powerful public address system and neon lighting. Around the building were thousands of observers taking in the debates of the delegates. They appeared equally rapt in topics ranging from the proposed Lutheran University of Papua New Guinea (LUPNG), doctrinal reasons for the non-ordination of women, and the intricacies of Lutheran enterprises and their finances. Of course, all of this was in Tok Pisin. There can‟t be another place on earth where spectacles like this occur. Thursday 14 January 2010

Land of the unexpected? It certainly was today. I spent the morning reading and organising material for the afternoon‟s one-on-one interviews with the students about their ideas for the set assessment tasks. I also found time to finish off Richard Dawkins‟ magisterial The greatest show on earth: the evidence for evolution (a thoughtful Xmas gift from Amy). Yesterday I carried it around the campus for a

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while, the irony of which didn‟t escape me in a church city of Creationists. Reading, too, was the only option for the morning as the satellite was down for the day, which meant Lae missed the coverage of the Haiti earthquake. Locally, though, the city had to deal with news of a tragic head-on bus accident on the Goroka-Lae road that killed forty-five.

Over a Yacht Club lunch Bob presented me with an alternative option for the day, determined by the group during the morning session. The Balob crew wanted to attend the Synod in the afternoon to witness the bishop‟s election process. Given the uniqueness of the event I agreed, treating it as field trip research on the local and national influences shaping college professional development decision making. This is more than close to the truth as each of the four candidates has expressed different opinions on the Lutheran Church‟s role in establishing and running the planned university, from rejection to total control. So, after six or so interviews and in various ways we made our way to MLS at around 2.30 pm to observe the vigil-like event.

Once again we were greeted by the awesome sight of the seven thousand or so MLS colonisers. Most were concentrated in and around the hall watching the eighteen national diocese or „circuit‟ representatives, twenty-one to each circuit, caste their votes. Others stood, quietly chewing buai and spitting red globs into depressions on the ground or against overflowing rubbish bins. In between the voting a group from Rabaul played religious music on conch shells, sounding a little like a discordant organ. Further along a trombone and tuba band performed the same function. At the extreme end of the Synod site more traditional dancing entertained the people gathered around the temporary housing and food vendor site. Only non-cooked produced is allowed because of the risk of cholera in prepared food.

We took a small break in proceedings to chase up a box of Bob‟s textbooks, missing since November. Such is the way of PNG. We soon discovered that they were sitting on a wharf in Port Moresby waiting for payment of a newly imposed import tax. Bob drew 450 kina out of an ATM – safe because of a truck load of brown boiler suited Guard Dog staff parked next to the bank – and we drove to TNT near the port to get things moving. Once TNT was paid we drove back to the Synod past Angau Hospital, where we saw a crowd waiting for bodies to be released from yesterday‟s bus accident. A little further along the hospital site we saw the „Cholera Ward‟, a series of open tents away from the main buildings. This didn‟t appear to be in anyway suitable place to deal with the recent outbreak of that awful disease in the local area.

We stayed at the Synod a while, returned to the Inter for dinner and a cleanup and went back for the big announcement. We drove in the Lae dark with a church representative, a young Canadian, who received a phone call en-route that a university-friendly candidate had been elected. This was great news for Balob. At MLS the new bishop was introduced to the public soon after we arrived. There was great jubilation. In the middle of the celebrations we came across Mr Taso, a MLS staff member managing the development of the planned university, who I first met in Port Moresby last year, and Kumed Muleng, Principal of Balob and my former University of Goroka student. They rushed us into the hall to meet the new bishop who turned out to be none other than Pastor Giegere Wenge, the acting bishop who runs MLS and a passionate university advocate. His brother is Morobe Province governor Luther Wenge, suggesting a powerful local coalition. I had dinner with Bishop Wenge last year at the Melanesian Hotel – a small world indeed! He enjoys a good red and fine food. Now that he is supreme leader of

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Papua New Guinea‟s 1.3 million Lutherans he might need to present a more shepherd-like front. He is, though, a quiet, modest and unassuming man who has won the respect of those who work with him – good luck to him. A big Sing Sing is planned for tomorrow to celebrate the occasion. It will finish off a great week. And, the pigs have all disappeared. Friday 15 January 2010

PNG has its own rhythm. There are few clocks and no one, apart from expats and a minority of national professionals, wears a watch. Things appear to be timed by gentle reference to the progression of time from dawn to dusk. My classes during the first week are scheduled from 1.00 pm – 4.00 pm. Some students are already in the room by the time I arrive at around 12.45 pm. The remainder dawdle in between then and 1.30 pm. None wears a watch. They arrive according to when they finish lunch with their families, or chewing buai with friends, or shopping in town and either walking or catching the PMV back. There are no apologies for lateness, just a friendly „Apinoon‟ („Good afternoon‟) and they are ready to participate in the tasks at hand. This can be frustrating to a slave of the watch, but once understood cannot be misinterpreted as student apathy or disrespect. It‟s just a cultural thing to which I need to adjust.

Time, too, moved at a leisurely pace in the afternoon. My class was cancelled because of the Synod‟s closing ceremony and Sing Sing. Most of my students are Lutheran, with the remaining few Catholic and Protestants of various hues. The Lutherans wanted to attend the afternoon as supporters of the various circuit districts, whether from the local Yakem district or further afield from the Highlands or islands areas. I asked about the time the event was to begin and received answers ranging from 1.00 pm to 3.00 pm, which, of course, were just guestimations, as there was no scheduled time. It would start when it needed to. Bob and I were happy enough to walk the kilometre or so to MLS but a lift in a Toyota was quickly organised and we were soon deposited at the Sing Sing site adjacent to the delegates‟ hall.

So, without watches or a published program the rhythm of the day unfolded. The Sing Sing field was about football oval size. This was ringed by an inner row of spectators sitting on the ground and an outer standing row, constantly shifting and craning to get a better view. Further out were hundreds of groups of standing and sitting people passing the time of day eating, talking, tending to babies and children, or chewing and spitting buai. Modest estimates put the total MLS crowd once more at around 7 000. Soon enough many of the groups rehearsing at the college moved to the centre of the Sing Sing area and performed their dances. There was no prompting or scheduling. It just happened. People applauded the performances with clapping or approving roars. Eventually some semblance of the closing formalities began on a stage erected on one side of the field. This took place after the delegates left the hall for the final time, preceded by several thankyou speeches. This didn‟t stop the dancing, both appearing to operate in concert, in spite of the competing noise. No one appeared to mind. The speeches were all in Tok Pisin but could easily be understood, at least the fire and brimstone bits.

In the middle of all this Mr Taso grabbed me and re-introduced me to Mr Rimbink Pato, the Port Moresby lawyer and powerbroker of the new university. He had flown up in the morning and was here to celebrate LUPNG‟s future. We had dinner with him last year in Port Moresby where he and Mr Taso impressed

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on us the importance of creating the LUPNG and the possible role Charles Sturt University could play in educating new lecturers. Mr Pato in turn introduced me to his travelling companions, the PNG Minister of Defence and the Morobe Province Governor, Bishop Wenge‟s brother. We talked at some length, once again, of the value of CSU professional development programs offered to lecturers.

Anyway, back to the Sing Sing. Because of the crowd we retreated to the road away from the proceedings for a rest. Its closeness and constant movement raised the humidity to unbearable levels. This turned out to be a lucky move. After a brief breather we heard loud chanting from up the road and swung around to see a crowd of hundreds leaping, dancing and singing towards us. They were representatives of the Highlands clans who are hosting the next Synod in Goroka. There was range of distinct tribal groups with brightly painted faces, feathers and grass skirts. Among them, in a series of slow and sinister movements that hushed the crowd, were several Asaro mud men. They uttered no sound, and painted white - the colour of death – menacingly fixed their mud-helmeted stares on any who looked them, drawn bows at the ready. A flashback took me to Asaro in 2003 when I had a similar encounter. Another group of loud men spent its time jumping up and down with arms interlinked. They seemed to possess endless energy. The dust cloud produced caused a lot of sneezing and coughing.

As the Highlands crowd raucously made its way to the field we, too, returned to see the final stages of the ceremony. After many more speeches we were directed to the tower to see three symbolic doves flutter down on angled angle rope to begin the Synod handover. By this time the oval had been reduced to a constantly shifting tennis court. As we took our photos the crowd insisted on ushering us to the edge of the inner crowd. Though we didn‟t ask for this, it was appreciated. The final dance group was from the coast and they „rowed‟ an outrigger canoe ingeniously pulled by a series of ratcheted ropes. On the boat was a smaller canoe that was handed over to the Highlands organising committee. There was a huge roar as the Highlands procession entered the remaining space to claim the boat. They quickly spirited it away held high above their heads. By chance we enjoyed a brief chat with Bishop Wenge who was obviously pleased with the day. It was an impressive end to a once in a life time privilege, a bit like living in a 3D National Geographic spread. Sunday 17 January 2010

A quiet two days, and much needed given the nature of the last hectic week. I have spent my time sitting around, sleeping and watching the third test between Australia and Pakistan. In between these less than strenuous sessions I have wandered around the Inter looking for interesting things to photograph, mainly flowers, and eating in the bistro, modestly so I might add as I‟m not getting as much exercise as I should. I‟ve also found some time to begin examining a masters thesis from Monash University.

Monday 18 January 2010

Back to some semblance of normality in the land of the unexpected: Bob‟s books turned up and I picked up the ideas I wanted to explore on Friday. I planned an 8.30 am start but the land without watches decreed that 9.00 am „ish was more appropriate. All but two of the students turned up, which wasn‟t bad. So, after

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each received Bob‟s text on the sociology of education we began the day. I tried to mix up the activities, though I suspect PNG‟s emphasis on didacticism, a product of traditional instruction methods in an oral culture, and former colonial educational practices, led me to my choice to offer an impromptu mini-lecture on the nature of the first assignment and suggest strategies for its successful completion. It was simply easier to „instruct‟ rather than „facilitate‟ learning. The students were comfortable with this and listened attentively and took copious notes. I followed this task with an activity involving individual work on the Internet researching definitions of „professional development‟ and in-service‟. This, too, they accomplished quickly and efficiently. The challenge, though, remains to encourage the class into group work that is beyond pairs, which also work well. I suspect small group work will continue to be difficult because of the ways in which authority relations work, often subtly, within the class. There appears to be a deferential relationship between women and men, experienced and inexperienced staff, and those in authority and those in more junior positions. Also, there may be allegiances and differences based on geographical clan origin and religious preference. This all leads to complex intra class relationships that have the potential to surface as conflict in group work, hence the reluctance to engage in it within the sessions. This may be done out of politeness towards us as visitors, which is generous and heartfelt. Maybe I‟m being too „Western‟ in my expectations and lean more to its adult education strategies that emphasise self-direction, empowerment and cooperation? It would be nice to be a fly on the wall in a staff meeting or classroom so I could better figure this out. Anyway, on with the challenge tomorrow. Tuesday 19 January 2010

I guess what I am trying to achieve, too, is an introduction to the subject that scaffolds student learning around the two set assignments. This assumption centres the learning direction on me rather than the students. I discussed this and they were more than happy. In this way, hopefully, they will be better able to cope with this scaffolded self-study over the weeks that I won‟t be „live‟ in Balob. So, with me as the „facilitator‟ of this approach I turned around the discussion of „professional learning communities‟ to include a whole organisation approach to Balob. This, I think, was well received by the group as it set up a series of options to explore for the college‟s future, particularly those related to the possible formation of the university in 2011 or 2012. In the remaining two sessions I will work with the students on a series of strategies to explore the current state of Balob‟s professional development practices and how these might be extended into considering the professional learning community approach.

The Post Courier this morning reported on the continuing challenge of cholera in the Morobe-Lae area. The Angau Hospital Cholera Centre is receiving nine to ten cases a day, bringing the total since the outbreak to 541, with nine deaths recorded. Another nineteen deaths were also reported outside the hospital. Nearby Madang has reported similar statistics, making the „outbreak‟ look more like an epidemic. At the Inter guests have been assured that its local supply of water is okay to drink, but I boil it a couple of times anyway. In addition, the hotel is supplying fresh bottled water every day. I‟m glad I took the course of oral cholera vaccine before I came to Lae, just in case.

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Wednesday 20 January 2010

Bob and I ran our scheduled interviews this morning. Of course the times booked and the people occupying the set spaces bore no resemblance to what actually transpired. At the end of the session, though, everyone I was meant to chat with turned up at some time and we enjoyed productive chats about both assignments. In the one-to-one discussion environment it was interesting to note how many of the lecturers struggled with English as a second, third, or even fourth, language. Certainly it is better than my Tok Pisin. It makes me think about how I „pitch‟ my conceptual overviews. Do I use unfamiliar language, whether „plain English‟ or jargon? Probably. Do I speak too quickly? Definitely. Should I take more note of this, speak more slowly and spend more time conceptualising ideas into plain, but not patronising, English? I‟ll try. In spite of these language challenges, at the end of the morning I was convinced that all students had a good idea of the tasks at hand, had make good efforts at planning their work, had understood my feedback and were going to give the assignments their best shot. What more could I hope for?

A frustration in Lae is its regularity of contact with the rest of the world. Last night I attended the Lae Rotary Club for a brief meeting – it was eventually cancelled as most members were away – and heard tales of woe relating to the reliability of the Internet and phone service. Apparently it is a constant problem. Power black or „brown‟ outs are regular and the phone service, both domestic and international, remains patchy at best. This impacts on the Internet and my Skype and Facebook communications, leading a lot of keyboard punching and frustrated attempts to log on. Fortunately, a communications meltdown over the last couple of days appears to be over and Wagga once again is a little closer. I suppose I am spoiled in all of this as I only need to think back a bit to travel using travellers‟ cheques, postcards, and frantic scanning of foreign newspapers for cricket scores to realise how far we have come in a relatively short time.

The evening finished well with dinner at the Lae Golf Club, an expat haven. The club house is a colonial dream with wide open areas, wooden floors and views over the beautifully manicured eighteen hole course. I wish I had some space in my luggage for my clubs! We were grateful for our MLS guardians, Alu, Mr Taso and Canadian Brent for breaking our Inter cabin fever.

Thursday 21 January 2010

We plugged a final gap in the subject program this morning by working out how to arrange a series of data gathering intra-group interviews for the second assignment. Through a process of dialogue we developed an interesting process. First, we put together an open-ended interview protocol of eleven questions to elicit information and thoughts about professional development, the creation of professional learning communities, and the future of the college. This we placed on the shared drive and overhead projector for further discussion and refinement. My fellow learners opted to answer the questions in writing and post the script on the shared drive, to be accessed by all students. Using the responses as a base, students could use the data in this form in their assignments, or flesh out the data further by interviewing the response writer. It is an excellent way to have students consider their protocol response in writing and then follow it up with oral reflective comments. I see it as a dialogic and productive way to gather highly quality data for later analysis. I also hope the process might signal some of the

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initial processes for modelling a learning community. I guess, though, I will have to wait until the assignments are submitted in April before I can see this hope realised. So, once again, lecturer or facilitator? Leaving the students to their own devices to work through some of these issues raises ambivalent thoughts. Should I intervene more, say more, do more? Being the „guide on the side‟ isn‟t comfortable for me. I like to be involved, baiting, cajoling challenging. Which one is the adult educator? The students are flying as a group without me. This is good, the goal of the adult educator: „witnessing the death of the professor‟ (Freire, via Vella). Why then do I feel alone, what‟s in it for me? Yes, I‟m happy for them, and I suppose for me. The task was successful. Get used to it! Friday 22 January 2010

The final day of teaching: our time has gone so quickly. As we had organised our on-on-one interviews for the afternoon it was a long day. Bob and I began with a detour to order pizza at the Melanesian Hotel and buy pineapple, paw paw and bananas at the Lae Market. We were putting on lunch to thank our hard working colleagues. Alu, as ever, quietly drove us to and fro and steered us through selecting the best fruit, as well as managing our security. The market was bustling with hundreds of locals and Highlanders selling a bewildering range of produce. We looked but weren‟t really interested in the bundled fruit bats going for eight kina each, about four Australian dollars. They were an expensive source of rare protein. Alu said they were „very strong meat.‟ No thanks! After thirty minutes or so of careful fruit lifting and prodding we left for Balob with a couple of bags of cheap and delicious fruit.

Things were fairly mellow at Balob. We operated on Melanesian time. Students wandered in and out throughout the morning. This was fine as the session was set aside for preparing thoughts on the two assignments and presenting them at the afternoon chats. Students also interviewed one another on ideas related to professional development and professional learning communities. In between some sat with me and pre-empted some of their assignment thoughts. It was relaxed and productive.

Somehow, though, all students managed to be in the room at the appointed lunch hour. Alu drove to the Melanesian and collected the four family sized pizzas, sixteen slices to each. Bob and I carved up the fruit, though we found the plastic knives a little inefficient on the pineapple. A colleague found a steel serrated knife and all was well. The pizza disappeared in a blink, with the fruit a distant second. Treats like this are off the agenda for Balob staff as a salary of around hundred dollars Australian a month doesn‟t usually extend to pizza. They appreciated our gesture. The disparity of our capacity to pay for this without even blinking was another reminder of the economic gap between our countries.

The interviews meandered through the afternoon and went well. I hope now that all students have scaffolded assignment plans that can be filled out over the next few months. They begin teaching in a few weeks so most hope to put most of their ideas together before the onslaught. With classes of fifty or more and plenty of them, they will be under a lot of pressure. I wish them luck.

At the end of the day Peter Seth, Balob‟s deputy principal, thanked us for the two weeks and presented us with some bilums and wooden carvings from Lae and his hometown of Madang. Others also gave us local bilums, as well as some beautiful straw bilums from the Sepik. It was a very touching moment. The

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students were most generous in their praise. We also thanked them for their efforts and wished them luck for the future, particularly in relation to the challenges of the new university. It was, then, with some sadness that Alu drove us back to the Inter one final time.

But the day hadn‟t finished. The MLS crew took us out for Chinese at the nearby Aviat Club. I thought the steamed red emperor was the pick for the night – simply delicious. Brent entertained us with harrowing tales of his life as a Highlands Lutheran school principal. Five years managing a K-12 school in the middle of a tribal war, with bullets flying and buildings burning, makes working in any Australian school seem easy. The conversation and easy company was a fitting way to conclude two exciting and rewarding teaching weeks. Saturday 23 January 2010

A perfect final day in Lae, lots of sunshine and a cooling breeze. For the rainy season we haven‟t seen much moisture. It has rained only three times – evening tropical downpours but brief. The locals warned us that it can rain heavy and often as this is the „rainy season‟. I don‟t know when the five metres of annual rain falls but it certainly isn‟t mid-January.

At 10.30‟ish Alu came to the Inter looking to take us around town for a final look. He is more than perceptive of our needs. At the Synod he let us wander but knew where we were at all times and appeared out of nowhere when we needed prodding to the front of the crowd or reminding that we should get back to the College or hotel. After a brief „Hello‟ we were off around Lae.

First stop was „Bottom Town‟ and a PNG‟s largest port and commercial hub. „Top Town‟ of course is the retail district near the Inter. On the way we drove past the old airport, final taking off point for Amelia Earhart. The port area could perhaps be renamed „Container Town‟ as container skyscrapers covered many sites. We then ambled along the coast and watched locals at play on the beach and in the warm waters of the Huon Gulf.

Next was my favourite place in Lae, Alu‟s village. On the way we stopped briefly at an „umbrella market‟ and tasted locally grown roasted peanuts and coconut. Sipfire is still the idyllic place I remember from last year. Spread along the beach its stilt-based grass huts remain scrupulously maintained. Kids were in their usual school holiday playgrounds – the lagoon and rope swing, and the unlimited beach. We walked across the creek and along the sand for a kilometre or so. What a life.

To finish off our small expedition we ate at a Kai Bar in Top Town. This is a place for locals where you can buy traditional food („kai‟). The place we visited apparently is frequented by Highland Engans, who have a reputation for being disputatious. We didn‟t find this the case. After buying some takeaway taro, pork and broccoli we headed back to the Inter. It was another taste of PNG, much cheaper and probably more wholesome than the hotel fare.

We fly out tomorrow on the midday flight and hope to make the two o‟clock Sydney flight. Guard Dog will pick us up at nine and no doubt go by an interesting but circuitous route to Nadzab. The timing is tight given the erratic nature of internal flights. Overnight in Sydney and Monday morning to Wagga – fingers crossed that the plan will work out. So long PNG, until next time.

Postscript: the tight timing didn‟t work. The Nadzab plane was late and we waved goodbye to our Sydney flight from POM‟s Jacksons tarmac. We caught a later

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flight to Brisbane where we overnighted before travelling down to Sydney and Wagga. Land of the Unexpected indeed!

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Learning in Lae

Sunday 16 May 2010

„Big fat rain‟, exclaimed Forest Gump when the heavens suddenly opened up during his Vietnam adventure. Lae on Sunday isn‟t much different. I made my way back after breakfast from the Inter‟s bistro, sat down to read the Weekend Post Courier with standard tales of government corruption and debates regarding the Biblical veracity of speaking in tongues, and down it came, fiercely and without notice. The rain, a grey curtain, appears to be around a while, perhaps a portent of a week experiencing Lae‟s reputation as one of the world‟s top five wettest cities.

The flight up was uneventful, apart from a couple of interesting landings. Coming into Port Moresby the 757 pilot obviously had a sudden change of heart about which end of the runway to use, banked sharply, almost putting the wings vertical, and rudely put us on the ground. Similarly, the Lae bound Air Niugini Dash 8, after a pleasant ride over the Owen Stanleys, powered in over Lae and down the Markham Valley to Nadzab and decided to land at what appeared to be excessive speed and hit hard, almost sideways, with several bone-jarring bumps. After a few squeals and some nervous laughter we realised everything was OK and taxied, much relieved, to the forlorn terminal.

An aside. With a „hurry up and wait‟ philosophy, air travel is a long acquired, if ever, art. What to do with those interminable waits? Though the Sydney flight left on time, once at Jacksons the wait for PX106 to Lae stretched from five to six hours. An expat cynic in the lounge exclaimed its sister flight PX108 is often called „PX 10 late‟. I brought with me a bag full of electronics: my iPod with freshly acquired noise-cancelling headphones and my trusty iPhone, with all of its Internet and telecommunication possibilities. After listening to Lyle Lovett‟s musings on his native Texas and finding a way to better call Australian numbers (+61 is the only way to go), and observing the colourful goings of people catching earler and on time flights, I filled the gaps reading Marilyn Lake and Henry Reynold‟s controversial new book, What’s wrong with ANZAC?: the militarisation of Australian history, a brave poke at the ANZAC nation building myth. Not unlike my tilt with Dawkins‟ book on Darwin in a Creationist homeland, Lake and Reynold‟s counterpoint was a 757 full of Wagga Kokoda pilgrims, clothed in black polo shirts with „Adventure Kokoda‟ on the back, „Papua New Guinea‟ on one sleeve, an Australian military rising sun on the other and a logo „Kokoda: the spirit lives on‟ on the front. I don‟t think Lake and Reynolds have it wrong but good luck trying to curtail or challenge the military momentum coursing through New Millennium Oz blood. As they remark, perhaps this contemporary romance with war is born of a people never truly invaded to experience war‟s on-the-ground horror. Thus concluded these reflections and tinkering nurtured me through the long afternoon, pleasantly supplemented by the appearance of Mr Taso and a companion from the Balob seminary, who brought me up to date on all things Lutheran. They were returning to Lae after a couple of days in POM seeking visas for an impending trip to the US. So, no, I still have a way to go to reach the Alpha state of the long-experienced airport lounge waitee. Maybe, though, boredom remains the companion of the weary traveller, however experienced?

Why then am I here, alone, for the first time without a travel-mate? It all came as a bit of a surprise. Several weeks ago Steve Pickford, the guru of all things educational in PNG and a great mentor, resigned from CSU to take up an AusAid

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position in Port Moresby. His wisdom and skill will be sorely missed. Steve asked if I would like to take up the Balob Masters program baton. Of course I leapt at the chance. I am now coordinating the program and teaching its last offering, ERP403 Special Topic in Education, a subject permitting an opportunity for the Balob cohort to undertake a small research project. It will be a challenge both for them and for me to cover enough material in a week to set them on their way over the next three months.

I‟ve just been reading a 2004 article by colleague Arnold Kukari from the University of Goroka. In it he clearly outlines the essentially didactic approach to teaching and learning practised traditionally in PNG and intertwined with contemporary teacher education approaches. In keeping with most oral cultures, Kukari explains, it is common within PNG‟s 800 or so tribal grouping for learners to sit quietly, respectfully and attentively and listen to recognised and valued knowledge transmitters, usually elders, both male and female. While they are speaking or demonstrating, learners observe and commit to memory the unfolding revealed knowledge or practical skills, whether memorising a chant or dance or making a mask or canoe. Following this the learner, under guidance from the learned elder repeats the activity to the elder‟s satisfaction. A final phase involves the performance or construction of the activity for the community to witness or use. In essence, then, knowledge is not something „constructed‟ in dialogue between facilitator and student but rather „transmitted‟ from the all-knowing educator to the student-as-empty-vessel. Paolo Freire, as noted before, wrote about this as the „banking‟ concept of education. Kukari argues that this approach to knowledge must be recognised and confronted with alternative and western „constructivist‟ approaches. He recognises, however, the difficulty of changing a life of learning shaped by such a powerful and pervasive traditional cosmology represented not only through time-honoured cultural practice but also through its transformative and pervasive Christian and modernist representations.

Kukari‟s insights, too, match my observations of my Balob colleagues noted in my last visit. In spite of their successful application of western-influenced social constructivist pedagogies within their primary teacher education program, at heart I believe their core epistemological assumptions remain rooted in the village. I will again run with this approach in my presentations. They respect it and it „works‟. After all, within a Western context, this take on learning served the apprenticeship system well for millennia. The approach, however, will be modified to bring in dialogic elements once the subject content has been outlined, explained and demonstrated. This „blended‟ model, in my experience, respects the place of the „elder‟ or „expert‟, in this case me, yet still provides a space for learner construction and „ownership‟ of knowledge. In this way the elder‟s ideas and position are not challenged. Knowledge is passed down as an object or artefact, independently of the elder, as is the traditional way, but then appropriated by the learner and interrogated and re-shaped or „constructed‟ to his or her needs. Let‟s see what happens. Monday 17 May 2010 At eight this morning my trusty Pancho was waiting for me at the Inter entrance. Alu‟s expansive grin, fringed with a new beard and frizzed hair, suggested he was pleased to see me. We eased into easy conversation on yesterday‟s fishing that gave the village an outsized mackerel. My recent efforts of small rainbow trout from the Snowies paled into insignificance. Our trusty steed, Brent‟s tawny Landcruiser, was

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still up to the task of navigating through Pot Hole City‟s new craters, much enhanced I‟m sure by the overnight deluge. We paused a while at the large Top Town supermarket to buy some morning tea biscuits and took on the wasteland around the river before arriving at Balob.

As if the last few months were swept away, my Balob colleagues dawdled in between 8.30 am and 9.00 am, well and truly on Melanesian time. They, too, were pleased to see me, and I them. We exchanged pleasantries and I presented them with a CSU „bilum‟, a maroon carry bag courtesy of Carole and the School of Humanities and Social Sciences. Several remarked, tongue-in-cheek, „Maroon? Not blue?‟, a pointed reference to PNG‟s other religion, rugby League. Some, too, apologised for not completing some of last session‟s assignments. This has become a challenge and one to be dealt with this week if we are to get back on track and have all students graduating by the end of the year. Not beating around the bush we quickly eased into the day‟s activity: introducing the topic of educational research.

I think the morning session went well, my hesitation again coming from my colleagues‟ reticence to ask spontaneous questions, though, deftly I thought, I went around the room systematically and received from each participant excellent suggestions and comments on possible research topics. True to form, they obviously had given the area a lot of thought and were well-prepared. One-on-one chats, too, brought good results.

Morning tea passed, as did the biscuits, nary a one to be seen when I went for my Scotch Finger. The late morning session built up in excitement with my early promise of a live Skype cross to CSU‟s School of Education, only to be disappointed by a technological failure at the Oz end, ironical really given CSU‟s self-proclaimed reputation for efficient and effective online delivery. Here we are in a developing country with a fragile communication infrastructure and we were ready to run, whereas at CSU the disappearance of Skype software on a laptop brought them undone. We hope to have another go at the cross, CSU technology permitting, at another time during the week.

The afternoon session, then, was a bit of an anticlimax but nevertheless useful. We covered issues related to deriving appropriate research questions from the initial topic suggestions and how to massage these into the beginnings of a research proposal. Tomorrow we tackle literature reviews with some afternoon „catch-up‟ time for other subjects.

Tuesday 17 May 2005 Lovely downpour last night, so heavy it penetrated the din of my evaporative air conditioner and ceiling fan. It started around two and didn‟t quit until five‟ish, varying in intensity from a low revving jet engine to a steady kundu drum. I guess if I were the slightest bit autistic I could excuse my interest in tropical rain. Maybe as humans we need to make regular connection with the stuff from whence we came, whether oceans, rivers or rain? Certainly one‟s interest is raised coming from ten years of Wagga drought pining for the magic of rain on a tin roof, always comforting, at least from a dry location, preferably bed. From my window looking down on the sulphur lit lawn I could see, too, the cane toad invaders revelling in the wet, sitting in the deluge near the connecting breezeways waiting for a suitable morsel to be washed down. Their ululations filled the night air, harmonising almost with the birdlike calls of the geckos hunting under the rooflines. In the morning the sun slowly warmed the sodden ground and the walk to breakfast was

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through a barrier of humidified air flavoured with the unmistakable yet delicious scent of tropical decay.

A quick read of the National revealed a snapshot of life in this precarious country. Someone had brought in the military to solve a local dispute in nearby Wewak; head of the army Brigadier General Francis Agwi couldn‟t explain it, nor was he available for further comment. Some rare recording of early Chimbu Province were destroyed after they were left in a building readied for demolition; after being pulled down the locals moved in and removed or vandalised anything left of value. A local Bank South Pacific executive misappropriated K1.3 million; he was charged on fifty counts of conspiracy to defraud some of his clients. The cholera epidemic continues, now time around the capital; street vendors selling cooked food are arrested to discourage spread of the disease. Near Lae two hundred villagers laid waste to a hundred houses in Bulolo township; one person was left dead. Lae now has a murder a day; drinking potent homebrew is attributed as a cause. Competing landowners are still fighting over land claims and mineral rights; the mining companies appear to be the only winners. And so it goes…

The class went according to script, except everyone was there at 8.30 am. Not sure why. We worked carefully through the basics of preparing a literature review. I drew on examples where I could from the PNG education literature. Fortunately Steve Pickford has included a package of former Goroka student projects, which assisted greatly. I also suggested that previous subject work be drawn on, where possible. This drew sighs of relief as it may mean less work preparing for the project. Morning tea produced the same outcome for my biscuits, though my good pal Elizabeth made sure I was left a few on a plate. The next session on qualitative and quantitative research approaches was well received, a bit of revision really as much of the material was covered in a previous subject.

Alu and I lunched at the Yacht Club. The beer battered fish was very good, though it took a while to get to us because of a table number mix-up. We spent our waiting time looking over the artificial harbour towards its entrance and the comings and goings of locals boarding swift banana boats for K50 rides to Finschafen and other nearby places. Once they get moving these glorified tinnies with outsized motors soon become mere white spray on the horizon, then disappear. Apart from the luxury fishing craft in the club‟s marina we could also see modest coastal ships moored outside the breakwater, flat bottomed barges with front facing landing ramps for easy beach access, and miniaturised container boats waiting for their next pickup from the port. Not really a hive of activity, it was a view to suit a lazy and relaxed early afternoon break.

The final session was given to a subject catch up. While I loaded some research subject materials on the shared drive my colleagues worked determinedly to finish up much overdue assignments, some for me and others for Bob and Steve. In between I walked around the room to assist or sat at my desk to chat about the subjects, current and past. I think these sessions are vital as the students are clearly overworked and time-poor and these learning spaces provide valuable opportunities to research and write. I‟m sure many will repeat past practices and work through the night. They are very keen to complete the program and occupy well-earned positions in the new LUPNG, still a dream but one they all hope will be soon realised.

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Wednesday 18 May 2010 I knew today might be different when the baby gecko greeted me. It surprised me as I rummaged though my suitcase searching for my camera. A few tense moments of catch and release later and I made my way downstairs to be greeted by a beardless Alu. The ride to work wasn‟t so bumpy; the Lae city road crew had filled in the worst of the shell holes past the Yacht Club to China Town. So perhaps it wasn‟t so surprising that a breakthrough occurred in the first session. Something different was obviously in the air - the indications were there, or so it appears now with the benefit of hindsight, the historian‟s friend.

It came during the lecture on research ethics, hardly a scintillating topic. For some reason their level of „raptness‟ was that much more intense. They hung on every word about the contextual factors framing the origins of modern research ethics. I spoke of its history rooted in the horror of unethical Nazi medical experiments and damaging 1960s and 1970s research faux pas, Milgram, for example. I went on with this relatively standard fare stuff and paused to ask for questions, expecting the usual polite and deferential quiet. Not so. They spontaneously fell into animated cross discussion and interrogation of the topic, framing it again and again through reflections on daily PNG life. They questioned, for example, the ethics of international mining companies environmentally degrading tribal lands, and of often corrupt provincial and central government officials. The conversation wasn‟t about research but the sentiment was on the money. Once the excitement died down a little I redirected the excess energy back on task and we had a more than productive discussion on the necessity of sound and ethical research practice, particularly within a PNG context. After all, we concluded, as future LUPNG researchers Balob staff will need to be role models for the educational communities they serve. The conversation continued over morning tea and moved into other areas related to future study, careers and the new university. What a buzz!

Lunch at the Yacht Club was, then, a bit of an anticlimax, perhaps accentuated by the B-Gees music insinuating itself into Alu and my conversation. The hamburgers „with the lot‟, though, were a highlight. The afternoon session was a hive of activity as my colleagues ripped into the task of drafting a research proposal, filling in a CSU „minimal risk‟ ethics form, designing research questions, and framing a project information sheet. Internet research, as is the norm, was punctuated by blackouts and non-connection. You can never assume anything with technology here. It was a mellow finish to an unusual day. An eating in pizza, some Sopranos Season Three (can‟t beat the „Pine Barrens‟ episode) and I think I‟m ready for bed. Note: still no contact from CSU regarding Skype communication – a bit disappointing for all.

Thursday 20 May 2010 A smooth and productive day devoted almost entirely to learner-directed research, the Internet permitting. Throughout the sessions it wafted in and out according to brownouts and equipment failure. A highlight, though, was managing, finally, to use Skype to get through to CSU during a reception purple patch. I took a chance in the early afternoon to contact colleague Chris Boyle, and there he was in all of his Gaelic glory. Through the ether I was given the task of translating his Glaswegian speak from his end and from mine the often thick sounds of Balob‟s third language English cant. The Balob crew were quite enthusiastic in their desire

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to get a word in; I think Chris was a little shell-shocked with his popularity. One of my younger female colleagues even remarked, „Is he married?‟ I had to disappoint her that he was well and truly „on the shelf‟. At another level this fun exchange demonstrated the possibilities for the technology over future months when I return to Oz. E-video conferences at critical times should help further refine their projects.

This evening Brent, Alu and I made our way out to the Golf Club for some wonderful Chinese cooking, the highlight of which was a whole poached red emperor in a ginger sauce, so sweet and tender. Brent brought me up to speed on the latest goings on with the creation of UPNG, which he feels confident is on track. Key to his optimism was the January election of Bishop Wenge. Wenge remains pro-education and pro-LUPNG, and in his own gentle way has smoothed the waters of some rough church politics. It now appears the university can be built on church land opposite the seminary, a former obstacle. Rimbink Pato, too, remains a major player pulling strings and calling in favours within the Port Moresby elite and government circles. Brent is the orchestra conductor of the process and obviously able. I also shared my views with him on PNG preferred learning styles, and as a former Highlands school principal of many years experience, he agreed. Alu didn‟t say much, but certainly enjoyed the meal. We drove back through the ink night, and though Brent was a little concerned because he was driving a rental Hi-Lux (his distinctive and therefore „safe‟ Land Cruiser was having a new battery fitted), we arrived at the Inter without incident. Maybe an early night to prepare for tomorrow‟s planned „educational excursion‟ across the Huon Gulf to Salamaua, a treat to me from my colleagues. Tales of Indiana Jones‟ adventures may be ahead. Friday 21 May 2010 What a day! Certainly one of the best travel experiences I‟ve ever had. It started with a Balob bus pickup from the college at around 9.00 am. About twenty staff turned up, very excited, as was I. We drove to a Bottom Town supermarket for supplies. Half an hour later and we were ready to set sail, though I caused a small delay by wanting to enjoy a nervous toilet stop. Well, word quickly spread through the bus and a suitable (read „non-local‟) convenience was sought. The first stop, a motel, wasn‟t open but we found success at the Melanesian. Much relieved we made our way to the wharf.

Voco Point is adjacent to the Yacht Club and Grand Central Station for sea-travelling locals. As the name suggests it is on a sandy point at the entrance to Lae‟s commercial and leisure fishing fleet harbour. A nearby dock and several large ferries, I was informed, are owned by the Lutheran Church, one of its many successful enterprises. The Balob fearless crew were well organised, how well was progressively revealed as the day unfolded. Waiting for us were two banana boats. Up close they appear sleek but unstable. They are made of thick fibreglass and powered by an all too obvious 75 horsepower outboard motor. They are nothing more than a thick shell and the proportions and rough shape of, well, a banana. There is no seating, just a sheet of plywood in the middle for some clearance from the bottom. And, as one might expect, there are no life-jackets, fire extinguishers or any other safety equipment. What‟s life without an occasional risk? Food and coolers appeared from nowhere and were quickly loaded. We hopped in around our cargo and we were off, slowly at first until we cleared the harbour and then

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with breakneck speed as we headed across the pleasingly smooth Huon Gulf. It was an unusually clear day, quite sunny with only wispy clouds overhead.

We scudded across the flat ocean towards the distant peninsula of Salamaua, home to two of our travelling companions, Makis and Salah. The crossing was guessed at around eighty minutes, which was close to the mark. As Lae receded into the distance and we slowly appeared equidistant from all shores we settled in and enjoyed our ride, laughing and chatting along the way. Most of the jokes were in tok pisin and lost to me. I laughed anyway. The only time I became a little concerned was when Alu and the skipper lit cigarettes directly above the plastic drums of fuel at the rear of the boat. They were totally unconcerned and as experienced boat captains I gave them a reluctant benefit of the doubt. My fellow passengers were oblivious to the potential danger and chatted on. For three of our twelve, Elizabeth, Kiven and Joyce, proud Highlanders, it was their first ocean trip. Their grins were almost as broad as mine.

Once across we slowed and followed the shore for a half hour or so. Makis gave a brief history of the area, emphasising its World War Two hotspot status. We drifted past a spirit rock important to Makis and Salah‟s traditional beliefs and soon came to the remains of a Japanese destroyer, nearly seventy years ago given short shrift by US bombers and fighter planes. We turned around and moved closer to the coast to give us a better look at the rugged and steep hills cascading into the ocean, and to give Alu an opportunity to cast a lure, without success.

Once around our first landfall we beached at Makis‟s original village, which has since moved across to the other side of Salamaua‟s wide and beautiful bay. We were greeted by some of his relatives who immediately thrust into each of our collective hands an opened coconut from the „tree of life‟ and a freshly roasted fish. I was lucky enough to receive yet another red emperor, much smaller than the one last night, but just as delicious. Makis and several others explained to me that it is good manners for PNG villagers to greet all strangers in a welcoming way and share food. All of the residents of the dozen or so huts came out for a chat, obviously made a little more exciting when the news passed around that one of their guests was a little paler than the others.

Once this delicious morning tea was over we followed a jungle bordered track parallel to the ocean, with occasional diversions for a paddle in the deliciously warm water. Mud skippers bounced over the white sanded shallows and the beach shells moved everywhere, transported by their hermit crab owners. At the sides of the track we paused to admire the construction progress of new outrigger canoes and the aftermath of several recent sago palm demolitions.

The boats followed us to the next beach where yet another small village of Makis‟s relatives greeted us. After some friendly banter in the shallows between the boats I was ceremoniously presented with a freshly caught and rather large mackerel. It was a heartfelt gift that I quickly donated to our lunch larder, much to the appreciation of the group.

We farewelled our fish donors, packed ourselves back into our plantains and headed further around the bay to Salamaua Station, playground to Lae‟s elite. The Station sits on a narrow sand spit with ocean on two sides, one with rough water, the other smooth. On both there are well maintained and large beach houses, the weekend playground for expat executives. Conspicuously absent was razor wire and fences, amazing. Apparently there is no crime here. We were dropped off at the start of the spit and walked between the houses down a smooth sand walkway – there are no cars here – to a modest „resort‟ where our boats had berthed with our supplies. As is the way our female colleagues prepared a cornucopia of fruit

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for lunch. Our mackerel disappeared into a nearby building and soon after reappeared on a large plate under foil. Incongruously among this natural produce several cans of spaghetti, spam and baked beans were also produced. Within a half hour most of everything was demolished. Peter Seth then gave a rousing and heartfelt vice-Principal‟s speech on how hard his staff had worked with their students, often to the detriment of their masters studies, and wished them well. I was asked to respond and thanked them effusively for the gift of this stunning day. We packed up and continued on our way. I was beginning to realise how well this day had been organised. Nothing that happened so far was an accident, or anything that was to follow.

We cruised to the other side of the bay and past Salah‟s beautiful village. Around a corner we beached our selves at Buakap village, Makis‟s „true‟ home. Buakap by far was the largest we had seen during our cruise. The modest and neat stilt houses were located parallel to the beach in two rows divided by a wide path. We visited the Lutheran school and spoke with Lenny, its teacher and recent Balob graduate. He was thrilled to see his former lecturers. Lenny guided us through the village to a large home with a wide lean-to veranda. We were all casually invited to sit in front of a table festooned with flowers and colourful leaves. Then, surprisingly, we were given a speech by a village elder who re-emphasised the importance of welcoming strangers. Soon after this generous speech a procession of food appeared borne by the village women. There were several varieties of fish, sago, sweet potatoes, spinach and fish soup, all in abundance on many plates. As good Lutherans, grace was said by Giesa and I was invited to be the first to eat. It was impressive. As we were eating each visitor was invited to introduce him or her self to the village, followed by applause. They were clearly fascinated by how far I had come for the meal. After we finished the introductions the elder presented me with a locally made bilum. I was touched, almost teary. It was a wonderful moment.

A little later, and reluctantly, we bade goodbye to the villagers as we had to cross the gulf to Lae before dark. We reversed from the sand, fired up the engines made our way seaward. Many of our hosts and a small army of children waved until they were a blur against the darkening jungle. We followed the coast all of the way to Lae. The water was a lot rougher than on the way over and the boats ploughed into the increasing waves. We passed many outriggers making their way back from the Lae markets, or using the last light to catch an extra fish or two. As we crossed the muddied flow of the mighty Markham River we were thrown around like a cork in a washing machine. Our skipper knew what he was doing and slowly surfed the mountainous chop until we reached smoother water. It didn‟t assuage our sense of panic, though, that he decided to change fuel drums in the middle of the maelstrom. We cruised past the Lae docks back to Voco Point, disembarked and the Balob crew dropped me back at the Inter. I said farewell and suggested I might be back in August for a Masters program review. They cheered and clapped; I was embarrassed. And, the bonus tonight, as if anything else could top today? Geelong beat Collingwood; live in Lae from the Melbourne Cricket Ground. All in all, perfect.

Saturday 22 May 2010 Another humbling day in this quixotic country. Brent and Alu arrived at the Inter at around 9.45 am to drive me to a Hilans women‟s cultural group event. It was organised by Balob colleague Elizabeth Owa. She told me earlier in the week that

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she and her fellow highlanders were excited about the day, and were busy with their preparations. How prepared, and for what, was about to unfold.

Elizabeth met us at an intersection near Unitech and guided us in a beat up red truck into West Taraka, a known „no go zone‟ for whites. Brent wasn‟t that concerned, explaining that as long as you are known to the locals and respected them, things should not get out of hand. And they didn‟t.

Further along the West Taraka settlement road the red truck slowed to a crawl, then a stop in front of an excited crowd of chanting, dancing and singing Hilans women. The eight or members of the troupe were dressed in brightly coloured tribal clothing with matching painted faces. Their song was accompanied by a beaten plastic drum and bottle rhythm. It was only after a minute or so that I realised they were singing about me. Later Brent roughly translated the song as:

Peter is a warrior He is a good man When we think of his face We will remember him and his kindness For a long time Peter is a warrior.

What can you say? It was, as one might expect, a total surprise and a little overwhelming. The women directed me to the entrance of Elizabeth‟s house where crossed palm fronds bore a sign, „Welcome to West Taraka Dr Peter Rushbrook‟. After some raucous shouts designed to announce to those inside that I was about to enter, I was picked up by two of the women and carried through to a florally decorated seat. Brett and Alu, too, were made welcome as secondary guests. As we sat down two beautifully dressed girls were placed on either side of us. Then, as with yesterday, the speeches of welcome began. Elizabeth explained who I was to the gathering crowd: where I was from, my relationship as her friend, and my desire to see PNG become a better place. She also spoke of her work with Hilans women to improve their lot through better education, Aids/HIV awareness programs, commercial agriculture and the sale of clothing and bilums. I was invited to respond. I thanked them for their kindness, told them a little about Australia and Wagga Wagga and wished them well. My talk was then translated into tok pisin and the Hilans tok ples by Jenny, a Hilans medico. Jenny also added her thanks for coming into West Taraka. This was followed by a presentation of gifts, including PNG hats and bilums. Around the yard there were simple displays of the outlined activities and we were invited, a little like royal visitors, to inspect them and speak with the women sitting or standing behind their tables. Food was produced, consisting of chicken, steamed vegetables, fruit and a delicious vegetable pie. As the honoured guest I was the first invited to eat. After the meal the women once again sang their „Peter‟ song, this time with an added verse about Brent. We then spent some time inspecting the beautiful bilum display. I bought two, a gesture that was much appreciated.

At around midday the activities came to an end. Brent, Alu and I walked out to the road flanked by the singing women. For a while we even danced with them before arriving at the car. We were escorted back to the Unitec road. Brent drove with his window down waving to people, a way he said of showing people who he was, and that he was a friend. At the end of the road our escort waved good bye and we made our way back to Top Town.

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I asked Alu and Brent to drive me to a CD shop so I could buy some PNG music. I love the reggae beat and its variations and thought it might be useful when playing back my photos on my neat Apple TV. I asked Alu for his recommendation and we selected Sharzy‟s Hem Street, a great example of the genre. Unknown to Alu I also bought him a copy and presented it to him when we walked back to the car. He was rapt.

So here I am this afternoon resting and packing before tomorrow‟s Moresby flight. PNG is growing on me in a welcome way. I love the people and their considerate ways. If only this side of the country could getter better publicity. There is no doubt, though, that the security and corruption challenges must be addressed before the country can move ahead. I just hope that the price of the modernist mantra doesn‟t destroy all the kindness I have seen on my trips here.

Sunday 23 May 2010 Guard Dog arrived early at around 8.40 am and we were off to Nadzab. The small van‟s windows, as expected, were covered in security mesh and the guard next to the driver rested his hand on a loaded 12 gauge pump-action shotgun, just in case. We ambled through the residential compounds around the golf club to pick up a couple of extra passengers, soon to become my new best friends. Willy, a German from Christchurch, was already on board sharing jokes with our crew. We first stopped to pick up Mike, an engineer and project manager for Sir Bob. Next we bounced down Hibiscus Street a couple of times and eventually found Patrick, an electrical fitter who worked with Mike. Mike has lived in Lae for about five years and before that had a long stint in New Britain where he married a national and now has three kids and a good life. He shared with us that a close member of his wife‟s family died last week and there had been a celebration of his life at his attractive and very secure home. He spoke of the old man‟s memories of WWII and working with the Japanese, remarking, that „a lot of PNG‟s history goes when these old blokes die.‟ We kept the robust conversation going for the next half hour or so while covering the forty kilometres to the airport.

Given our early departure time we arrived ahead of schedule at Nadzab. We cleared „security‟ quickly after a cursory hand check of our suitcases; an orange „‟Security Checked‟ sticker was placed on each to mark its new status. We checked in for the 11.35 am flight and set in for the long wait. About half an hour later an announcement was made that the flight was delayed three hours, shades of my last trip that meant a missed flight to Sydney. Mike wasn‟t going to have this as he and his colleagues were due on a couple of Brisbane flights in the early afternoon. Using a bit of bluster and local knowledge he managed to get us on the 12.30 F100 flight. In all sorts of security breaches we ended up in the luggage storage area checking that our bags had been relabelled and placed on the correct trolley. It all ended well. The flight arrived on time and POM greeted us at around 1.30 pm. Once I picked up my luggage hidden amongst the carousel‟s fresh produce section I bade farewell to my new friends and made my way up the pathway gauntlet to the International Terminal looking for the Holiday Inn bus. I passed a PNG cop beating a woman with a strap, probably for the simple mistake of sitting at the edge of the path chewing buai. I eventually found the bus and spent the next forty-five minutes waiting for passengers from the recently arrived Oz flight. And, lo and behold, the last person to board was Steve Pickford, providence indeed. On the way to the hotel we caught up on the week‟s events. It was a smooth conclusion to a chaotic trip.

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But the day wasn‟t yet over. Soon after checking in I received a call from Vivien Carroll, an old friend and colleague from Box Hill Institute of TAFE days. She now works in POM and coincidentally will be Steve‟s new colleague. It‟s a small world. Vivien invited Steve and me for dinner. After a quick clean up and a drink at the hotel pool deck we were picked up and driven downtown to her beautifully located apartment high above downtown POM. The view over the sunset-sprayed harbour was breathtaking, and a stiff cooling breeze off the ocean made the atmosphere better than pleasant. Other guests were also present: two fellow residents, Vivien and Steve‟s new GRM Glaswegian boss, fresh from Angola, and an impromptu guest from next door who turned out to be the New Zealand High Commissioner and former ambassador to Japan, the Philippines and Afghanistan. We sat around a long table on a Tuscan-like paved deck overlooking the harbour, made even more Italian by the delicious fare of lasagne, fresh salad and hot bread. It was an interesting mix and the conversation about matters PNG fascinating. The High Commissioner was finishing his post in a few days and writing his final report about the country. With the experience present he left with plenty to think about, and the 2002 Marlborough red he brought with him only helped further animate the discussion. All in all it was a grand evening recreating the best of expat life in the „colonies‟.

Monday 24 May 2010 My final day in POM; I‟m finding it to be a day of rest and calm after eleven hectic and rewarding days. I enjoyed the best I could do for a sleep in and rose at around 8.00 am. Last night on the way to Vivien‟s we stopped at a downtown supermarket for some supplies and I consumed some of them for breakfast: an apple, some orchy (juice) and a couple of yummy sesame bars. This was followed by a trip downstairs to buy a rather nice wooden bowl at the hotel store. The downstairs expedition concluded with a brisk stroll around the Holiday Inn boundary past some new works and the attractive gardens. Back in the room I watched a few movies, perhaps the highlight being my umpteenth viewing of Zulu. I tried not to see anything symbolic in it, but one couldn‟t help but see indigenous peoples getting their own back on colonial invaders and their cronies. Maybe it will be the PNG villagers‟ turn in the future to chant from the hills and win a better share of the bounty currently shipped overseas or going no further down the money chain than corrupt politicians‟ pockets? And, maybe, too, they might let the red-jacketed Royal Engineers below take a beating but escape to return another day a little more humbled and informed?

I was hoping to catch up with Rimbink Pato for a chat, but I‟ve heard nothing from him. Both Steve and Brent have left messages but he may well be out of the country or too busy with his legal work. At least he will know I tried and was seeking an audience. A chat about the future LUPNG and a handover of the masters program from Steve to me with Rimbink offering his wisdom and latest news might have been useful. Maybe next time?

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Epilogue?

Monday 14 February 2011

Valentine‟s Day, and once again I‟m in the bowels of Sydney International Airport waiting for my Air Niugini flight to Port Moresby. No fancy air bridges, just an isolated lounge for Gate 27. More a bus stop actually as passengers use the gate to board one of those beetle-like buses to be conveyed to the Bird of Paradise plane. This (I think) final trip to Balob College is tinged with great satisfaction and not a little sadness. Combined with earlier trips to Goroka my time is PNG has been immensely rewarding, both professionally and personally. I‟ve made some great friends and certainly take more away from the country than I‟ve given to it, at least to my mind. I‟m confident, though, that I‟ve made an impact on the students – also colleagues – I‟ve worked and learned with. The Land of the Unexpected has taught me many things that I will carry with me forever. Anyway, given I‟ve said all of this before, let‟s see what transpires over the next few days, a journey designed to evaluate the Masters program.

A novel feature of this final visit is that through an accident of work diaries my brother Mark will also be at the Inter for most of my stay in Lae. There is, though, a certain sense of foreboding as he has just posted on Facebook that last night his Guard Dog bus was shot at by raskols. Should be an interesting trip from the airport.

The flight up was uneventful. An average meal, a movie (Wall Street: money never sleeps), a listen to an audio book (Ken Follet‟s Fall of Giants) and a short snooze and we were at tired Jacksons International. I particularly enjoyed the flight once we left the Australian mainland: the tropical ocean is just spectacular. Among the clouds and pale blue ocean are myriad mother-of-pearl coral quays, atolls and small islands.

With three hours to wait for the Lae flight (it‟s not called PX 106 Late for nothing). I think I‟ll listen to my audio book. I just love my iPod.

…Well, I arrived at the Inter OK. We ran the airport road gauntlet without incident, though the Guard Dog guys drove the wire cage bus at greater than breakneck speed to avoid any „problems‟. We dropped off a local along the road and he was escorted with a pump-action shotgun. The brown boiler suited guards were quite edgy throughout the forty km trip. The road is so, so dark and in such poor condition. The lack of lighting, the all present dust and human shapes looming in and out of the shadows no doubt contributed to their demeanour.

I caught up with Mark and he was still shaken after his airport road incident. Apparently he was in a Guard Dog Land Cruiser as an individual escort from the airport and a couple of guys jumped out on the road and pointed a hand gun at the driver. It was at Eleven Mile Village, a notorious place for car jackings. The driver put his foot on the accelerator and hit both raskols, throwing them aside. The escort guard was going to shoot them but decided to continue because of the potential danger to Mark.

Mark related his story over dinner with Bob and Madeline Higgs, who I met up here a few trips ago, and Ron, the new Managing Director of the steel company Bob is shortly to retire from. They were good company. Bob and Madeline will go back to England after seventeen years in Lae. Bob is looking forward to getting back to his roses and a cooler climate. Well deserved, I think.

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Tuesday 15 February 2011

I followed my morning Lae routine and at around 8.00 sat outside the Inter waiting for Alu. But nothing happened. Sensing something wasn‟t right I navigated the Lae telephone system and called Balob. Bingo - Peter Seth‟s secretary Lisa answered cheerily and said the college wasn‟t aware I would be around today, just sometime this week. Melanesian time. Anyway, Peter soon drove down and picked me up in a brand new caged van. It already has a few nasty dings due to a recent rock throwing incident. As he said of the chunk out of the driver‟s side window, „If it wasn‟t for the wire I would be a dead man.‟

The way to the college was circuitous because of some surprising road work. Though the potholes appear worse in most places there are some new sections of road being built out of concrete, a way it seems of reducing the rain fed shifting soil that makes short work of bitumen. We rattled our way to the college and arrived in good time in spite of the detours.

I first met with Kumud Milung the Acting Principal. He expressed his delight with the program and the great prestige eighteen new masters graduates would bring to the college and church. With Peter we also discussed a graduation ceremony, settling perhaps on one the rooms at the Inter with a guest list including the Prime Minister (this week Michael Somare) and Bishop Wenge. Let‟s hope we can pull it off.

After this pleasing meeting Peter made an announcement over the quaint public address system – I had an instant flashback to high school days – requesting that the Masters students meet with me in the Computer Centre, our old haunt. And there they were. It required many hugs and introductions and much laughter to get around the room. It was wonderful reunion. Last week most had received a notice of eligibility to graduate and were delighted with their success. All were receptive to the long evaluation survey I had prepared and will have it completed by the time I return tomorrow. I have brought with me some CSU pens and will present them after the surveys are returned.

Peter and I walked the short distance back to his office and further discussed the possibilities of graduation. There was a knock on the door and there was an apologetic Alu, mortified that he had missed me this morning, even though it wasn‟t his fault. It was great to see him. With him I know I am safe. We said good bye to Peter, hopped into the trusty Land Cruiser and made our way up to the Seminary where we caught up with Brent Kilback and Mr Taso. They were pleased to see me and spoke, too, of their delight with the program. They also took great pride – justifiably so – in showing off their „new‟ headquarters, a very nicely renovated building next to their current aging and un-air-conditioned building. A conversation outside suggested that I should catch up with Rimbink Pato in Port Moresby on my way back to Wagga. As the „Mr Big‟ of the Lutheran Church movers and shakers it would make for another „rounding off‟ moment to give him a first-hand report of the program‟s success.

Alu and I then drove to Top Town and the supermarket where I bought a forgotten tube of toothpaste and some evening biscuits – Peanut Cookies (yum!). This was followed by a quick stop at the Amelia Earhart monument – Lae was the last place she was seen alive before taking off on that fateful flight – and lunch at the Yacht Club. As a small example of Alu‟s second sense of looking out for me I went to open the gate into the club and grabbed the wrong side, but he already had his hand on the correct latch, way ahead of me. He enjoyed his hamburger with the lot and me my chicken schnitzel burger, both with chips. What a great

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simple meal by the ocean, fanned by a cooling sea breeze. It doesn‟t get much better than this.

Today was another Melanesian experience. I had my plans in place but no-one appeared to be aware of them, in spite of my emails and pre-planning. Not to worry. The phone call to Peter swung things into action and a parallel plan unfolded. By the end of the day I had met with the Balob administration, the college staff and the LUPNG management. It was all spontaneous but purposeful and all goals were met. Tomorrow I hope to collect the survey and facilitate a general discussion, but who knows what will transpire? And, there‟s the promise of a fishing trip on Thursday.

Wednesday 16 February 2011

An early start this morning – one of those head spinning nights, so I started the day at around 4.30 am with a shower and cup of tea. Some early news, a 6.00 o‟clock breakfast and I was ready to write a History of Education Review book review that has been sitting around for a while. It felt good to be writing and it cleared some of the fog.

I finished a draft review by 9.30‟ish and went downstairs to wait for Alu, though it was Brent who actually met me. He‟d been swimming at the Inter and was more than happy to drive me to Balob.

The Balob staff had been kind enough to fill in the course completion surveys and indicated their happiness with the program, more so because most of them had passed with flying colours. As a mini-reward and gift I gave each student a CSU pen, which was graciously received. Of course the planned late morning session went later than expected because whenever there is a crowd in PNG it provides an opportunity for speechmaking. Vice-Principal Peter Seth spoke loudly of the benefits of the course to the individual, college, students, church and nation, rousing stuff indeed. Mr Taso from the Lutheran Seminary echoed Peter‟s remarks and all was well.

After saying a temporary (I hope) goodbye to my colleagues, Brent, Alu, Mr Taso and I headed to the Melanesian Hotel for lunch, based on a rumour that it had a new chef and the menu had improved. Well, the rumour proved baseless as the lunch was barely ordinary. We discussed the program from the LUPNG point of view and agreed, too, that it was outrageously successful. We tentatively talked about future courses and agreed that there would be some form of future cooperation between our two institutions.

I came back to the Inter after lunch and polished my review for emailing to the editor. This over I caught Mark as he returned from work and we met for a few beers at the Propeller Bar. He said he had heard that Guard Dog had tracked down the two raskols who attacked his car and shot them, throwing their bodies into the nearby river. Summary justice indeed.

Thursday 17 February 2011

An early start, around 7.00 from the Inter to Alu‟s village, Sipfir. Brent picked me up. With him was John, a friend of Alu‟s from the village. A familiar drive past Balob, the Lutheran Seminary, the local market, the technical school, along the long, straight dirt and dust road, past the Avatar-like tree and we were there. Apparently we drove right by Alu as Brent discovered when Alu phoned for a lift to the beach. While Brent and I chatted about matters university Alu and John

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prepared Brent‟s runabout for a day‟s fishing. About fifteen feet long, a little beat up but seaworthy with a canopy and twin forty horsepower outboards, it looked ready for work. John and Alu pushed the boat through the village lagoon and across its protecting sandbar to the ocean. I jumped on board and we were off. Brent drove the Land Cruiser to the Yacht Club where he would meet us to refuel the boat. This was certainly required as we chugged to the fuel pump on fumes alone. The motors stopped a couple of times and Captain Alu was forced to shake the fuel tanks to harvest the remaining precious drops. We had to line up at the dock. Ahead of us were several banana boats filling up their tanks for the four hour journey to Finschafen. They were full of passengers, the obvious message being: no fuel or travel until the cash is on the forecastle! Brent eventually arrived and our four red plastic tanks were soon full of two stroke. And then we were off, the engines drowning out all small talk. With fuel the boat could really motor along.

We headed past Sipfir and hugged the coast. About half an hour out we slowed and dropped the lures for some trawling. We saw a few small fish jump but no action. I enjoyed the scenery while the fish thought about committing suicide. From about a kilometre out on the placid turquoise sea the coast could be seen curving around a large bay broken by smaller bays formed by fast flowing rivers meeting the sea, easily recognisable by the massive plumes of muddy water issuing from their mouths. The narrow and dark sanded beaches were bordered by ubiquitous palms and the occasional village. Behind them were towering, razor crested blue mountains. Somehow the fishing was incidental, though Captain Alu remained apologetic.

We cruised for a couple of hours, without success, and returned to the Yacht Club for lunch and to debark Brent, who had a few chores to finalise at the seminary. Alu, John and I headed back on our morning track but only to Busu, not far from Sipfir. The sea had roughened up somewhat, but this is what the captain wanted. He soon pointed to sea, shouting „Birds‟, a signpost of feeding tuna. And there they were, massive fish cutting a swathe through unfortunate bait fish, the birds swooping down to pick up the leftovers. I couldn‟t believe how quickly the fish moved. We could barely keep up and were eventually outstripped. We spent the next hour or so circling the area, with no success. The sea became even more like a washing machine and we headed back to Sipfir, Alu expertly navigating the rolling swell. The village lads were disappointed with their lack of success. I was delighted with a day well spent.

Alu and John returned the boat to the lagoon and packed away the gear. I spoke to some villagers and we swapped stories in broken English and pidgin. They were all friendly and comfortable with me. After all, I was Alu‟s guest. Brent was some time away from picking me up so Alu found me a chair and propped me in the shade by the beach. Not long after he raced up a nearby coconut palm and quickly prepared a lovely nut for afternoon tea – cool, sweet tasting milk and softly textured, delicious white meat. So, both comfortable and fed I sat and enjoyed village life. Little pigs and local dogs scrounged for scraps. Women prepared food for the evening meal. Kids swam in the lagoon. Men slept on raised platforms. Washing waved on makeshift lines. Fishermen stood up to their chests in the sea carefully watching their bamboo poles. The pace was gentle, peaceful and productive. It was, too, the paradise everyone dreams of but never sees. I am privileged.

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Brent arrived at around five and drove me back to the Inter. We said our good byes and expressed a mutual hope that we would meet again. Maybe for the graduation ceremony?

Friday 18 February 2011

I set the alarm for 4.00 am but with my much practised capacity to beat the clock I woke at 3.45 am and started the day. Guard Dog was outside the lobby at 5.00 am and we lumbered out on the Raskol Highway to the airport. Because the bus was full we didn‟t drive around the various razor wire compounds picking up expats for destinations south. Unlike Mark‟s adventure it was a smooth drive, metaphorically at least. In perhaps a moment of PNG‟t airlines history the trusty F100 wasn‟t just on time, it was even ten minutes early. The flight down was smooth and provided a great view of the rugged mountains and valleys, each of which appeared to have a village perching somewhere. We few in over POM and took some great photos of downtown and the nearby massive LNG project, which may just save the local economy. We touched down just after 8.00 am, an impeccable example of Air Niugini Service, this time.

My afternoon flight to Sydney – from where I‟m now writing – wasn‟t due to depart until 2.30 pm giving me six or so hours of quality airport waiting time. I listened to my e-book for a while and bought a Courier-Post and five packs of Hilans coffee. It wasn‟t quite as exciting as my last layover where I spent time with Jeremy, the guy who makes the River monsters documentary series on the Discovery Channel and Animal Planet.

At around twelve, though, by prearrangement, Vivien Carroll came to Jacksons, picked me up in her new four wheel drive and shouted me lunch at a nearby and wonderful boutique hotel, recently voted the best small hotel in the world. Go figure, in Port Moresby no less. We enjoyed delicious tuna sushi and some great bread. It was nice to catch up with her and all of the gossip about mutual US and Box Hill TAFE friends. She dropped me off at 1.45 pm, just as PX001 was boarding – great timing.

So, this is it dear journal, the probable end to a series of adventures in a country I have dreamed of visiting since undergraduate days. Papua New Guinea has always been fascinating and unpredictable and never boring. I have met some great characters and made firm friends - national and expat. In the end, though, I think PNG is also a sad little country, one of the most beautiful on the planet yet hamstrung by endemic corruption and failing infrastructure. I am though, its friend and wish it the best for the future.