Things that should not be forgotten....

I have been awake since 330am and I caught transport at 420am to return from a weekend away with a good friend. Vera is a fellow volunteer who has been placed at Mabiri educational institution – its a primary/high school and a vocational school for young men who are either ex combatants or child soldiers from the conflict. After 7 years of educating and counselling these young men of all educational ages (up to 30) they are in are starting to show some sign of settling down and regaining an age that should be equivalent to the year level – some 12 year olds in year 8 with a smattering of high teenager and 20 something’s. Its a Marist brother institution (for those interested, the Congregation of the Sisters of Nazareth was set up by the Marist sisters who came from the Solomon’s (originally from Fiji if my memory is correct­) – the two orders are very similar, and in my experience open minded, community based and compassionate). There are 5 brothers who are teachers at the school all in their 30’s are great guys, and funny! The principal is a visionary, he is a natural teacher (although not formally trained and is currently studying for his Diploma of Education – hes a plumber by trade) and he’s education ethos is discipline with compassion. It was a fascinating 5 days – and it was HOT!
On Friday we went to Arawa – I had heard stories. Arawa pre crisis was a thriving capital city, with some of the best facilities in the South Pacific. There were shops, an amazing supermarket, cars, squash courts, plenty of sport facilities, and amazingly beautiful surroundings with access to all sorts of outdoor activities, hiking, diving, water sports - it had everything going for it. And then the crisis broke out. Arawa was only about 10 minutes by road from Panguna mine and is the closest main city and it was all but flattened, and burnt out during the10 years of war. The capital was moved to Buka and remains there to this day – there is talk of the capital moving back to Arawa at some point but at the moment its just not possible.
Its an hours drive from Mabiri so Vera and I jumped onto the back of the truck on Friday and drive in it is a stunning drive, there is no doubt. But what really struck me was as we got closer we started to pass the landmarks of the crisis – the power station that used to pump power out to the communities 24/7 which no longer works, the power poles that are covered with vines, the pot holed road which was being worked on and used to be well maintained and easy to drive, the burnt out warehouse spaces, some with the gantry still installed but not working, the small markets and skeletons of buildings – and the people who were clearly reserved people down in Central Bougainville as compared to the overwhelming friendliness of the north. But you can understand that when you quickly realise that there is still conflict in Bougainville – in the south. Just out of Arawa there is a road turn off to the Panguna Mine – there is still a road block there which is blatant, and clear. If I were to go through this road block I would need prior permission from the warring factions to make sure your safe – even then it was in this ‘No Go Zone’ that Sister Lorraine was fired upon in a marked UNDP car on the 19th November last year.
Heading into Arawa is somewhat humbling. Here are the reminants of what clearly was once a thriving town. Now there are small shops open, a CD store the basics are there but there really are no frills! Whats so eye opening is that the current shops are set up in what used to be old shops and have been burnt out – there maybe a row of shops, 3 of the holes in the wall are crumbling and burnt, and two have small business filled, there is paint peeling off the old walls with the messages of PNG’s 10 year anniversary of independence, what was once a squash court still announces ‘Squash’ but you know that there is no way that is the truth and you wonder what the space is used for – most likely houses, most likely storage, most likely a dumping ground most likely its crumbling through disrepair and most likely a little of all of the above. The market place is thriving and a place to visit, but as I mentioned before the friendliness is not over whelming, the occupants are somewhat surly and don’t particularly appreciate their photos being taken (in the north people thank you for taking their photo). But the city is green, its lush and in a very lush environment – I thought to myself that it might have been better to bull doze and start again, but the reminder is real and the stories need to be told, and the walls with the bullet holes are there for the world to see – its a reminder that shakes you from your comfort.
When we finally got on the back of the car to come home, in typical PNG style when a group of 2 or more people go shopping its never a simple task – where as we might think of what we needed and head to store A then B then C the D and head home, here you go from store A to store G to store C to store J back to store A and C all the while waiting for those in the other stores – inevitably we drove around Arawa 3 times in circles picking up people, picking up another drink, picking up forgotten rice, dropping off ladders, it can be totally exhausting – even after 6 week of getting used to it (I have come to accept when I am in town with Sister Lorraine that I will go to certain stores 3 times in one day – there is no amount of organisation, questions asked or thinking that will stop this from happening!) and once you accept it you run with this, but in Arawa I got over heated and my patience started to wear.... So we finally headed for home where I jumped into a shower to cool down – of course the water was hot – it had been heated in the roof tank from the sun, but it still did the job!
Mabiri as a school is fantastic, the teachers were so proud of showing me around and the vocational teacher in particular was fascinated and very excited about showing me ingenious inventions of sawdust stoves to use the sawdust from the furniture/houses and other things the boys make – he showed me the projects the boys were working on, the house they had just completed! All the while telling me stories of the crisis. You see his daughter was named Rebecca – he lost her during the crisis – she was 6 and died in a care centre of a simple gut infection that we wouldn’t even take our kids to the doctor for – he wasn’t with her. But hearing my name he felt that he had a connection with me – she would have been 17 this year – so he talked about where he was for the crisis. What really struck me during these days was the difference in story telling from the men and the women – the men are a lot more graphic and still coming to terms with the trauma (which is a reason why there is so much violence against women, girls and children still) that has never been dealt with. Stories of being shot upon while in the shower, of torture and being made to drink gasoline, of being physically abused, of carrying guns and teaching people how to make guns, of seeing father being beheaded, siblings killed, uncles eyes being gouged out.... The Sisters and the women talk about the strength and the lesson learnt. As Sister L says – if I had come 5 years ago I would have heard the graphic stories, but they have talked and talked and counselled and they now talk of the lessons and the strength and the look to the future. And future that Sister doesn’t think can be the same as pre-crisis.
How does a country turn against its own – and how does it recover from that.
So here is taking a moment to remembering those things, the people in our life and those we have lost that should never be forgotten – and may we never repeat the mistakes of the past as ­they should never be repeated.
Bec