
By Kange Wilson Punim…📝
The first time I took a banana boat ride out to open sea was from Kavieng to New Hanover. It was the scariest day of my life. There were about six of us including the skipper with only one life jacket on board. All of the passengers were from coastal provinces so naturally I assumed that the life jacket was intended for me as the only highlander on board.
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It was a fine sunny day so I encouraged myself..You are seeing the world brother, before your kick the bucket…but I did not want to kick the bucket while heading out to see the world. I told myself that I could be among only a handful of highlanders or could even be the first to go to New Hanover from Kavieng. For my tribe, Yamka, I was absolutely certain that I was the first. There will be stories to tell why worry, I encouraged myself.
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I tried to pump myself up. Usually pumping up worked with me, but not this time. Non of the pumping worked. The more pumping had the complete opposite effect. The fear and dread was overwhelming.
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I could never have gone but the invitation had been given by the then Provincial Administrator of New Ireland Province so sink or swim after much self encouragement, that didn’t work, I took the plunge because the success of my work there in New Ireland depended on the Administrator.
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On the boat I sat next to a Morobean, my friend and co-worker and the life jacket was at our feet on the boat’s floor. I moved the life jacket closer to myself with one of my feet. The Morobean noticed and said,” K** yu lusim display samting stap long namel.” I was still shaking inside so I said,”Hul yu, yu highlands or mi highlands.” His reply was a sad,” Mipla olgeta Morobe ino gat sol wara. Mi blo Pindiu ya na em wan kain olsem ples blo yu. Lusim samting ya stap namel na husait i laki bai win.” I told him not to joke and that this was not a winning or losing game, it was life or death. He looked at me seriously and said he was not playing around either, he was dead serious.
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His words made me realise a long held perception that all coastal people were good swimmers, was not true at all. So that made two of us. I had some comfort knowing that I was not going to die alone. But whatever it took, the life jacket was mine by default as the only highlander on board and no Morobe from Pindiu, Heaven or wherever was going to take it. If something happened and we competed for the jacket, he was a small sized man, I was going to knock him out with half a punch, before the sharks got him.
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The plan was, after I was rescued with the help of the life jacket, I would have said,” Sore mi traim best long savim em but shark kisim em.” It would have been the perfect cover.
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Anyways, as we set out, the sea was all calm and I was growing in confidence by the minute. I recalled the many songs I hear on the radio about…sol wara slip sore…and actually laughed because the sea was indeed calm. What was all these fear and shaking about?
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I didn’t realise that the closer the sea is to land, the shallowness calms the sea.
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As we hit open sea, my confidence immediately melted. The bloody sea that appeared calm from a distance was not calm at all. The waves looked like small mountains dwarfing the little boat and looked like they were going to fall down on us. Bloody hell, why did I come? Fuck the work and the Administrator. Hell, it was not my private business but public service work. Who the hell wanted to die for the public. I should have stayed in the comfort of the hotel and let the Morobean and other coastals take the risk.
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I thought of our big fat juicy over paid and under worked MPs who were relaxing away with all the perks, privileges and money whilst little struggling public servants like myself risked life in the name of serving the country. I wished they were here in my place right now to face this.
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The skipper was truly a master. He maneuvered the giant waves in such a way that nothing fell on us. One guide was pointing to some islands and explaining…this is Limus, Governor Ian Ling Starkey’s island…This is an island where only birds live, no human is allowed there…This is the direction to Mussau…I listened and smiled occasionally but my “mong ting” that’s Melpa for side eyes, was always on the life jacket.
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My Morobean later related to me that he had done the exact same thing. His side eyes were always on the life jacket too. I told him that he was a small man and I was going to knock him out for the jacket. He told me he knew that and was going for a timber that was used as a cross on either sides of the boat to knock me unconscious for the life jacket. I saw the timber and got angry with the Morobean because it was made of kwila and it should have finished me off and not given me a fighting chance with a mere unconscious knock. So much for being friends!
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After hours of sitting on the edge and contemplating murder. We finally arrived on a group or rather string of islands separate by passages in between, about five or six such islands. The last of which was our destination. The village there is called Tsoilick.
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The fear had made me oblivious to the sheer beauty of the place. It is truly paradise. The places and beaches I see on magazines of Fiji or any other place was not comparable to this.
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It’s just natural and just there beckoning for visitors. I saw white sandy beaches stretching for miles. The sea breaking two three kilometres away and the water and white sandy beach coming right up to the shore. I soon forgot the fear. I even told the Morobean he can keep the life jacket on our return trip. I’d rather die here and let my spirit roam freely than in the highlands where trespassing is a big offence.
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We stayed at the Administrator’s own guest house built right on the shore. You could just walk down the stairs onto the white sandy beach into the sea which was chest high during low tides. How I wished never to return back to Port Moresby, where I knew now was contaminated and so so unnatural.
From Tsoilick to the main island of New Hanover was only 30 minutes or so, so I took the ride there at night just to set foot on New Hanover as if it was a Neil Amstrong type visit to the moon. Set foot I did, may be the first Yamka to do so, but not first highlander because I was told that two or three were married there and were permanent residents there. “Ples blo ok nogat meri o”, so I thought.
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Looking back now, I’d say that if there was a bikini wearing one such as seen in photos in tourism magazines,…sori tumas, Yamka would never have returned. I would have started a new Yamka tribe in New Hanover.
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When I hear songs that refer to the sea as, ” sol wara slip sore”, I am quick to exclaim that that is bull shit and very misleading. From the shore it will look calm and serene but it is not. The waves are like mountains popping up every seconds and the valley so deep making the boat and the passengers look like ants. It is so scary.
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The Morobean and I worked together for about seven years and is still a close friend of mine today. One time he took me to Pindiu, but that is another story.
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Please if you get the chance, visit Tsoilick Island next to the main island of New Hanover. There is a beautiful guest house there at almost next to nothing and I tell you, you wouldn’t want to ever return, but it will be much better if your baggage included a bikini.
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CHEERS!
After Academia Nomad followers voted for New Ireland as the place to visit, being doing research on it, and came across this funny story by Wilson Punim shared by a page called “A tap into my imagination”.



