While browsing in a local bookstore, I suddenly gave a gasp of surprise. Waves of nostalgia swept over me. I took the book and eagerly opened it. It was entitled “Papua New Guinea.” All of a sudden I was back in 1975 when we got out of the aircraft and were greeted by six Papua New Guineans in grasskirts, spears in hands and pig bones stuck through their noses. I didn’t care if we were rude in staring at them but we did; to say we were uneasy is an understatement.
But there were other things to consider: the thick green jungle that surrounded us as well as the fresh air. Everything looked clean and thoroughly washed. Coming from Pakistan I had seldom seen such greenery. But then what could one expect in the middle of a rain forest? In 1975 the capital, Port Moresby, was a small and, as Harper Lee would have said, “a tired old town.” It was an Australian colony until August 1975 when it became independent. One could drive around the entire city in an hour’s time. There was no television but they did manage to set up a radio station. There was hardly any Asian population so we very conspicuous in our Pakistani clothing. It was simply an exotic place.
We walked out of customs and were swept off to a guest house. The best thing about arriving in Moresby was that the flight from Singapore always arrived at seven in the morning. And as we always came back from our holidays in February, we were invariably greeted by the rainy season. So with jet lag setting in, we made it exhausted and wide-eyed to the Civic Guest House.
We survived on bread and butter which really tasted heavenly as none of us felt very brave about tasting the beef steaks with boiled broccoli or cauliflower! A few days later we ventured into the commercial area. There were two main markets: the Boroko and Ela Beach which were the favorite haunts. This is the place where we were introduced to the fact that drumsticks does not necessarily refer to chicken; there it meant a certain kind of cone.
The views were absolutely wonderful when we caught our first glimpses of the sea. The sea played hide and seek with the road as it wove its way through undulating hills. One of the most familiar sights of Moresby is the island between the main land and the exotic coral reef beyond. Our own favorite place became a little hut by the beach. We went there nearly every Saturday afternoon for such things as fried jumbo prawns and sumptuous sandwiches hot and dripping with chicken, cheese and onions with a cold coke. It passed for heaven.
It was strange that after the shops closed at 12 noon on Saturday the city slept. Not a soul would be seen on the streets till Monday morning. Going out at night was really scary. Men roamed the streets at night, stalking their prey. My mother’s purse was snatched from her shoulder and all of us left stunned and we could do nothing because chasing them would only have produced more trouble.
But we lived there for six memorable years. It was the place where I first saw houses on stilts in the sea and where we in fact lived in a modernized version of them. It was the place where I went snorkeling and saw undersea life for the first time. It was the place where I learnt that a sing-sing meant a tribal gathering. It was a place where I met and liked Polynesians. It was the place where I made many friends. It was, in short, the place where I grew up.
